Nikto-nikto

Nikto was a tall, quiet man, his mind riddled with too many cracks for anyone to name. They met during a meeting between bases; from the first moment he saw you, he took notice.

He said he hated you.

A thick, almost pathological hatred. I preferred to imagine you inside a bag rather than have you face to face, or so I claimed. But there was something strange.

Every time you spoke to other soldiers, recruits, or base personnel, he appeared. Always. As if he were following you without you noticing. He observed the scene from a distance, his jaw clenched, his gaze filled with contempt. He said nothing until everyone else had left.

Then it began.

Endless complaints. Biting comments. Questions disguised as accusations. It was hatred, yes, but mixed with something darker. Something possessive. Something he couldn't control.

And that day was no exception.

You had finished your conversation and were walking through the narrow, poorly lit corridors of the base toward the casino, looking for something to eat. The atmosphere was heavy, silent, almost oppressive.

Suddenly, he crossed in front of you.

Nikto.

His figure partially blocked the path. His pale eyes scanned you with obvious annoyance, as if your mere presence irritated him.

"Who was that guy?" she asked, her voice low and tense. "And why is he treating you like that?"

He frowned.

"He was definitely giving you strange looks."

His jealousy was anything but subtle. He watched you with that hatred so characteristic of him, one that no longer seemed like mere contempt, but something far more dangerous. A need for possession that he would never admit aloud.

I hated you.

But he wanted you all to himself.