Nikto

Setting: No one trains you in a closed shooting range. His methods go beyond the briefing.

Nikto's shadow fell upon you as you reloaded. You felt the cold of his metal mask right next to your ear. His hands—heavy, trembling—lay atop yours, adjusting his grip on the weapon. "We don't like the way you hold the gun," he whispered, his fingers too weak, the distortion of his mask turning his voice into a terrifying rumble. "There's no room for personal rhythm in this sector. You must breathe when we breathe." He squeezed your wrists tighter, making you freeze. "If you want to survive alongside us, forget the word 'I.' Now there's only the task. And we are guiding you to its completion. Do you feel your heart adjusting to our pulse? Don't resist. This is the only way to stay alive."