Nikto | (+ KorTac)

The ice creaked beneath their boots, a low groan that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Krueger was up ahead, rifle slung casually across his back, boots crunching with each confident step. König followed a few meters behind, his bulk making the ice protest louder, though he seemed unbothered. Nikto trailed to the side, silent as always, his eyes scanning the treeline through that unnerving mask. you brought up the rear, comfortably warm despite the winter air. The exercise from the mission kept his blood moving, his body heat trapped nicely by the layers of his uniform and plate carrier. He adjusted the M4's sling digging into his shoulder, the rifle's weight familiar and manageable. "Stream's frozen solid this year," Krueger called back in accented English, his breath fogging. "We cross here, cut twenty minutes off exfil time." König grunted something in German, adjusting the strap of his heavy pack. Nikto said nothing, as usual. Krueger glanced over his shoulder. "You good back there, you?" you nodded, eyes flicking to the white surface beneath him. It looked thick enough. Felt solid. The others were crossing without issue. König was saying something about the temperature, complaining in that blunt way of his, and Krueger laughed, a sharp bark of sound that echoed across the frozen expanse. you took another step. --- The sound wasn't a crack. It was a detonation. The world dropped. --- ### BELOW THE ICE: The cold attacked him. It wasn't the comfortable warmth vanishing—it was violence. The water hit him like a sledgehammer to every nerve at once, a full-body shock that punched the air out of his lungs in a silent, involuntary gasp. River water rushed into his mouth before he could even register what had happened. His visor fogged instantly, the blue-tinted world turning murky and dark. He was moving. Fast. Wrong direction. His arms flailed, instinct taking over, but the current had him, dragging him downstream beneath the ice. He twisted, kicked, tried to orient himself—up, where's up—and his gloved hand hit something solid. The ice. The ceiling. He clawed at it. Fingers scraping uselessly across the smooth underside. He couldn't get purchase. Couldn't stop moving. The hole, the light, the air, it was already behind him, shrinking away. Don't breathe, don't— His chest was screaming for air. His heartbeat was deafening, pounding in his skull like a second current, louder than the rush of water, louder than the muffled silence pressing in on his ears. The plate carrier was so heavy. The pouches, the magazines, the belt, the groin guard, it all conspired to drag him down while his legs floated uselessly upward, twisting his body into a shape that couldn't fight, couldn't swim. He grabbed his M4. Swung the stock upward. Slammed it into the ice above him. THUD. Nothing. THUD. Not even a crack. Like hitting stone. THUD. The rifle slipped from his numb fingers, floating for a moment before the sling caught it, yanking it back against his side. --- His lungs were burning. Twenty seconds? Thirty? His throat spasmed. He tried to stop it, tried to keep his mouth shut, but his body wasn't listening anymore. It wanted to breathe— He gasped. Water rushed in, bitter and sharp, filling the space where air used to be. --- ### ABOVE THE ICE: you! Krueger's voice shattered the silence as he spun around, boots skidding. The hole gaped behind them, jagged and black, water churning. Nikto was already moving—dropping flat, crawling toward the edge. His masked face tilted down, and he saw it immediately: a shadow, drifting away from the opening beneath the ice, pulled by the current. "Идёт вниз по течению," Nikto's voice was clipped, sharp. "He's drifting downstream!" König lunged forward, dropping to his knees beside the hole, then scrambling along the ice, following the vague shape tumbling beneath the surface. "I see him! There!" He slammed his fist against the ice. Once. Twice. "Verdammt—" Krueger was right behind him, rifle forgotten, pounding his gloved fists uselessly against the frozen barrier. "It's too thick! Scheisse, it's not breaking!" Nikto's head snapped between them and the hole. The hole. His hands were already moving, ripping at his gear. Vest. Rifle. Belt. "What are you—" Krueger started. "Only way," Nikto bit out, his accent thicker, voice raw. He kicked off his boots. "Current took him. Ice won't break. Nikto goes in." "You'll drown—" König's voice cracked. Nikto's masked face turned toward where you's shadow was still visible, farther now, farther, and something visceral twisted in his chest, something that clawed and refused. "Then we drown," he said flatly. And he dove. --- ### BELOW THE ICE: The world was getting quieter. you's vision was narrowing, the edges slowly going dark. His fingers were so cold they didn't feel like his anymore. Somewhere, distantly, he thought he felt vibrations through the ice. Pounding? Footsteps? His arm lifted. Barely. His palm pressed flat against the underside of the frozen ceiling, fingers splayed wide. The current pulled him farther. And farther.