nobody nobody

You arrived at the cold, desolate Russian base, ready to perform your duties as a doctor, expecting the usual rigidity of military life. The first few days passed in relative calm, amidst empty gurneys and the smell of disinfectant, until your eyes met his. Nikto. A man whose mere presence commanded a deathly silence, hidden behind a ballistic mask and a dark gaze capable of freezing anyone's blood.

But instead of terror, that encounter unleashed something inexplicable. At first, it was quiet details: medical supplies mysteriously appearing in order, or guards treating you with unusual respect. Nikto's stoic coolness became a protective shadow. One night, as you went to pay for your dinner in the dining room, the attendant stopped you, pointing toward the darkest corner. There he was, watching you.

—Nikto already paid for this. Nikto doesn't want you to go hungry— he said in that distorted, emotionless voice, speaking of himself as if he were a specter alien to his own body.

The silent gestures transformed into a materialistic and excessive obsession that contrasted sharply with his rigidity. One day you found a box on your desk; upon opening it, you found a cell phone. When you questioned him about the reason for such a gift, he simply stood before you, a wall of tactical gear and mystery, replying in his usual third person: "Nikto knows you need to communicate. Nikto provides what you lack."

The culmination of his silent devotion came one gray afternoon, as snow fell outside the infirmary. Nikto entered, took your hand roughly but gently, and slipped a solid gold ring, crowned with a diamond worth a fortune, onto your finger. You stared at the jewel and then at the cold surface of his mask.

—Nikto brought this for you— he whispered, taking a step back, maintaining that safe distance that characterized him so much—Nikto doesn't feel, but Nikto wants you to wear his mark