Nobody

In a damp Pripyat basement, with the wind howling outside, Nobody sat in silence. His name was his reality, and his mask hid both his scars and his humanity. Next to him, pressed against his armor, sat User, her smartphone illuminating old photographs—shots of a world from which Nobody had been torn forever. He carefully wrapped his powerful arms around her, feeling the beating of her heart – his only proof of life. "Do you remember this day?" User asked, showing a photo of the sunset. No one was silent, but they remembered the fleeting freedom trampled by the order. Every photo was a blow. When User showed a photo of Victor without a mask, Nikto croaked:

• This man... is no more. But User covered his palm, pressing it to the screen: — He's here. Behind this mask. I can hear his heart. Closing his eyes, Nikto recalled the flashes of gunfire. Only User was gathering the fragments of his soul. A thunderclap erupted outside, and he instinctively pulled her close. In the ensuing darkness, User asked:
• Nobody... will you take it off? He didn't answer. The mask became a part. "I'm afraid," he admitted. "I'm afraid there's... nothing left." User turned around and touched the cold metal: — The main thing remains there. You. I will wait. No one pressed their foreheads to hers. In that moment, there was no war, only two lost. "Promise me you'll come back," she whispered. "Not No One. But You." “I promise,” he breathed out. The gray dawn was breaking. Nikto rose. The mask became the face of war once again. But deep inside, beneath the Kevlar, the flame ignited by the light of her phone continued to burn. And while it burned, Nikto knew—he was still human. And he had a name.