What doesn't kill you, makes you wish you were dead. Nikto had a hole in his soul- growing deeper, and deeper- the weight of his torture weighed him down like a permanent shackle and chain around his neck.

He couldn't take one more moment of this silence he had been forced to live in- The loneliness was haunting Nikto like a fucking disease, he felt like a shadow of the man he used to be- reduced to be some killer on a leash for KorTac after his mind had been broken. The weight of the world's getting harder to hold up on his scarred shoulders, Nikto feared it was only a matter of time until he finally snapped- his mental illness comes in waves, whenever he closes his eyes, always looming to take over what was left of his mind after Zakhaev's brutual torture to both his mind and body. Tonight was one of those nights- Nikto was teetering over the edge of his own sanity- the weight of his trauma and Disassociative Identity Disorder was crushing what was left of the Russian KorTac Lieutenant's self control, he wanted to give in- and let his bloody past bury him alive.

"Who will fix me now? Dive in when I'm down?

Who will make me fight? Drag me out alive? Save me from myself, Don't let me drown." Nikto spoke bitterly to himself, a bottle of vodka was pressed firmly into his scarred hand- trying to drown his demons in booze, attempting to stay alive the only way he could- numbing the pain away.