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Hii >< with the new fallout KN fic, could I maybe ask what it was like in niktos vault??
hi! great question!
in Nikto's vault, they were raised to fight. and everyone was forced to fight each other to the death. no one was allowed to make friends. if you weren't taking to the training fast enough, you would be tortured. if you refused to kill your opponent, you would be tortured. food was a reward for fighting. Nikto never lost and never hesitated to kill his opponent. Victor Zakhaev was the overseer and he in particular liked to torture Nikto because Nikto never broke, never begged, never cried. Zakhaev found him amusing. in the end, Nikto snapped and killed Zakhaev and the rest of the vault rioted and killed each other. Nikto is the only one that survived because he killed his way to freedom. no major loss to him because he hated everyone in the vault with him anyway. they were basically animals at that point. and he had no one who he cared about or who cared about him.
More KN in the Fallout universe. Krueger and Nikto's first time meeting each other...
Emerging from his Vault is like nothing Nikto can describe. Beyond the vault doors is a paradise. The air is fresh under the radiation, dust, and frost. The sky is enormous. Nikto breathes and breathes and breathes, even as the geiger counter in his pip boy squawks. Nikto has only known agony before this moment. The experiments left a sole survivor, a mutilated man, darkened to his core.
Nikto has never known a kind soul or a simple comfort in his life.
In the wastes, the people are hardened but not like him. He does not blink an eye at violence. He always flinches from a kind touch. Like that, his world is twisted. He meets the wasteland the same way every Vault dweller does. Only Nikto is backwards. He stands out like a sore thumb but not because his skin-tight blue Vault suit is too clean and pristine.
No, Nikto stands out because his face is mutilated beyond recognition, his mannerisms are ice cold and paranoid, his blue Vault suit is stained with red blood and stitched-back-together bullet holes. He's tall and well-fed and somehow still a shell of a man.
He learns to hide his face and his Vault suit. If he's just another brute in a wasteland of brutes then no one pays him any mind.
Nikto finds work as a mercenary, eventually getting hired as a caravan guard. Him and two others, a hardened woman with short hair and a younger man who talks too much. They don't have to get along to do their job. And Nikto needs the caps.
As the caravan moves through a valley, following train tracks between two cliffs, the hair on the back of Nikto's neck stands on end.
“Good place for an ambush.”
The younger man scoffs at him, “You're paranoid.”
True but that doesn't mean Nikto is wrong. When he looks up, he sees a glint on one of the cliffs. The scope of a high powered rifle.
“Down!” he shouts.
Too late as a bullet rips through the young man in front of him. He collapses in a burst of red. The woman immediately raises her gun to fire at the enemies on the cliffs. Their position is terrible, having to shoot up and over the cliffs. In no time, they are swarmed as enemies jump down and surround them.
Gunners. Not usual for this area but not that surprising. Lying in wait for an ambush is more a Gunner tactic than a Raider one.
Nikto closes in on the nearest Gunner. He punches him in the face, hard. Then throws him over his shoulder and stomps on his head, killing him in one swift blow. A low whistle to his right has him whirling around, brandishing his combat knife.
“Not bad,” the Gunner with netting over his face says, in heavily accented English.
Nikto charges at him. The Gunner dodges his knife, gets his arm under Nikto's, and manages to flip him onto his back. Nikto hits the ground hard, knocking the air from his lungs. He growls, furious, and kicks the Gunner in his knee. The man drops to a crouch and Nikto swiftly wraps an arm around his neck. The Gunner fucking laughs, like he's having fun.
Another Gunner shoves his pistol into the back of Nikto's neck, making him freeze.
“No, Hans,” the Gunner in his hold says, “Not this one.”
Hans snorts, “You clearly have him under control.”
A swift elbow to Nikto's diaphragm has him dropping the Gunner in his hold with a low groan. Not like he can fight with a gun to the back of his head anyway.
“I'm taking this one,” the Gunner says and Nikto's stomach drops.
“You're sick, Josef,” Hans laughs.
Josef, apparently, chuckles as well, not denying anything. Then he's shoving Nikto forward onto his front and handcuffing his hands behind his back. Nikto wants to fight, wants to thrash and snarl and bite, but Hans still has his gun pointed at him. And Nikto's survival instincts override everything else.
The Gunners rob the caravan Nikto was supposed to protect, killing everyone but him. A shame that he won't be getting those caps. At least he'll be keeping his life. For now that is.
They drag him to an old military elevator that takes him up to an overpass, the Gunner's base. There are a few wooden shacks hastily thrown together to make ramshackle places to sleep. A couple couches are sitting around a bonfire. Nikto has no idea how the Gunners got that furniture up here. A rough shove directs him to a shack a bit of distance away from the others.
“Willkommen,” Josef says pleasantly like Nikto isn't his prisoner, “My home.”
The shack has a military cot shoved into the corner. A camp stove on a table. Two mismatched wooden chairs. A metal footlocker and a trunk. On the wall, an array of weapons are hanging. Including a fat man, two shells of which are sitting on the table. Nikto is almost jealous. He seethes when Josef adds Nikto's 10mm pistol and combat knife to his collection.
“Why am I here?”
Josef flips the netting covering his face up and over his helmet. His features are average. Dark brown eyes, roman nose, gaunt cheeks, square jaw. Nikto can see sandy blonde hair peeking out from under his helmet.
“You're tough, ja? Not like those other guards,” Josef eyes him critically, “Maybe you join us instead.”
Nikto scoffs, “Not fucking likely.”
“We'll see,” Josef smiles like Nikto didn't just turn him down.
Nikto isn't going to join the Gunners. Not because of some moral complication. He won't join simply because he refuses to give in to anything his captors want. Especially anything this Josef wants.
“Sit,” Josef gestures to his bed.
Nikto bristles. He doesn't intend on following any orders either. When he makes no move to obey, Josef cocks his head, looking him over. Then Josef unhooks his helmet and pulls it off, setting it on the table between them. He has helmet hair, matted to his head. It almost looks comical before he runs a hand through it, messing it up.
“Please, sit,” Josef tries again, voice light, “You must be tired. I am. All of that adrenaline, yes?”
Nikto stubbornly refuses. Josef's eyes go cold. In the blink of an eye, he flips out a curved knife, a karambit, and presses it against Nikto's throat.
“Sit,” he growls.
Nikto edges toward the bed and sits, the knife never leaving his neck the whole time. Once he's seated, Josef flips his karambit away.
“Danke,” Josef says, voice carefree again, “That was not so hard, now was it?”
Nikto just grunts dismissively. He tests the cuffs around his wrists. No space for him to pull free even if he dislocated his thumb. He hates doing that anyway. When a hand reaches for his mask, Nikto reels back suddenly.
“Don't-!” he starts but stops himself. He doesn't want to show any weakness.
Josef's hand is poised mid-reach but hanging in the air. He looks into Nikto's eyes for a moment, curious maybe. Then he rips Nikto's mask off in one quick fluid move.
Nikto grimaces at the feeling of cool air against the sensitive skin of his scars. Half of his face is mutilated. He can't even grow hair on that side of his head anymore. He knows what he looks like.
Josef hums, “Are you a ghoul?” He doesn't sound judgemental or afraid, only curious.
“No,” Nikto glares at the other man vehemently.
A gloved hand cups the mangled side of his face and Nikto jerks under the touch. The fabric of the glove is grating against his skin. A thumb strokes over the cleft of Nikto's mouth, where the skin has peeled back to reveal the edge of his teeth. Nikto snaps at him and almost bites his hand before Josef pulls back quickly.
Then Josef puts Nikto's mask back on, a bit too roughly.
“Our secret,” he says playfully.
Nikto just glowers at him. Josef doesn't seem bothered as he begins digging through his belongings. He pulls out two MREs, chilli from what Nikto can read, and starts warming them over his small cooking stove.
“What do I call you?” Josef asks.
Nikto hesitates to answer for so long the other man looks at him over his shoulder, raising an impatient brow.
“Nikto.”
“Nobody,” Josef translates, returning his attention to the food, “Don't you have a name?”
“No,” Nikto growls. Not one that means anything to him anyway, “You speak Russian?”
“Da,” Josef chuckles, “Good with my tongue, you see.”
Nikto doesn't ask the other man his name. He already knows. And Josef makes no move to introduce himself anyway.
When Josef sets the warm MREs on the table, one in front of himself and one across from him, he gives Nikto a thoughtful look.
“If I let you go, are you going to kill me?” his voice is teasing.
Yes, Nikto thinks. Josef must see it on his face because he shakes his head. Then he gets up, grabs Nikto's portion, and comes to stand in front of him. His dark eyes are bright with amusement. He drags up Nikto's mask so it sits just above his nose. Digging a spoon into the chilli, Josef gets out a decent sized bite. Then he holds it out in front of Nikto's face.
“Open up,” he hums, clearly enjoying himself.
Nikto grits his teeth. Again his survival instinct rallies against his pride. He won't let himself starve, he's not that big of a fool. The thought of another man feeding him like this doesn't sit right with him either though. After boring his gaze into the other man's eyes for a solid minute, Nikto reluctantly opens his mouth.
Josef doesn't shove the spoon into his mouth like Nikto is expecting. Instead he glides the spoon past Nikto's lips smoothly. Feeding him almost gently. Nikto never looks away from Josef's eyes and they never look away from him as Josef gives him the rest of his portion. Not so fast that Nikto feels sick but not slow enough to get on his nerves. The chilli is bland, probably expired, but it fills his belly all the same.
When Nikto is finished eating, he watches Josef lift his spoon to his own mouth and suck it clean. Arousal curls in Nikto's gut against his will. Something he hasn't felt in a long time. Josef licks his lips after and Nikto watches the pink of his tongue with fire roiling through his veins.
“You have pretty eyes,” Josef tells him with a smirk.
Nikto is so surprised that he blinks at the other man in confusion. Then Nikto scoffs.
“Fuck off.”
Josef leans against the table behind him, folding his arms and watching Nikto for a reaction.
“You don't like when I talk sweet to you?”
Nikto scowls behind his mask, “What the fuck do you want from me?”
Josef shrugs, “You're interesting.”
“No, I'm not,” Nikto growls, offended for reasons he can't explain to himself.
Josef chuckles at his insistence, “Well I think you are. Why not join us? We could be good together.”
“I have no interest in becoming a military wannabe with no training who acts like they're any better than a common Raider.”
“Hm,” Josef cocks his head to the side thoughtfully, “Point.”
Nikto is surprised that the other man agrees with him. Considering he's a Gunner and all.
“Come with me then.”
Nikto furrows his brow, “Are you going somewhere?”
“I would,” Josef's stare is intense, “If you went with me.”
“Gunners don't leave,” Nikto scoffs. Everyone knows that no one walks away from the Gunners and lives.
“I have no loyalty here. No one can stop me if I want to go.”
“You sound awfully confident about that,” Nikto can't help but be curious. This man is starting to pique his interest.
“I'd like them to try and stop me,” Josef grins. One of his front teeth is chipped. Nikto wants to lick at it.
This could be the only way for Nikto to escape. Josef is practically handing him his freedom on a platter. The cost being the other man's freedom as well. Nikto has no problem killing Gunners.
“Fine,” Nikto agrees, “You let me go. We kill them all. Then we get out of here.”
“Not all,” Josef insists, “Only the ones that get in our way.”
“Why?”
“I owe a few favors,” Josef says cryptically.
“They will come for you if you leave them alive.”
Josef just shrugs, “Let them.”
Nikto huffs in irritation. The man's aloof nature pisses Nikto off. But it also kind of intrigues him too. He's not what Nikto was expecting when they took him captive. His pessimistic nature means Nikto was anticipating violence, torture, maybe even death. Gunners aren't known for being merciful. Yet the man in front of him has no interest in hurting him. At least not so far.
Nikto tugs on his handcuffs, “Get these off.”
“As long as you don't attack me,” Josef says, “I don't want to have to kill you.”
Nikto snorts, amused at the idea, “You couldn't if you tried.”
“Cute,” Josef teases.
Then he pushes away from the table and approaches Nikto. Instead of moving around Nikto, he stands in front of him. Leaning over so Nikto can feel his body pressed against him. It makes Nikto tense up, makes his breath stutter. He's not used to anyone being close enough to touch him. Undeniably, the heat of the other man feels good. Nikto almost wishes he could enjoy it.
Then the lock of the cuffs click open and Nikto is free.
He rubs at his raw wrists as he watches the other man closely. He doesn't make a move to attack, trusting the tentative allegiance between them.
“Sebastian Krueger,” Josef tells him, eyes dark and glinting with satisfaction.
Nikto frowns, “What?”
“That is my name.”
“The other Gunner, he called you Josef.”
“Ja,” Sebastian leans in like he's whispering a secret, “They don't know my real name. Only you do, now.”
Nikto likes Sebastian better than Josef. It suits the man more anyway.
“Give me my weapons,” Nikto demands.
Sebastian hands them over easily.
“No shooting. Tonight we use our knives. Keep it quiet.”
Nikto nods. He waits while Sebastian finishes his dinner. Then again as Sebastian packs up his belongings into a green duffle bag: clothes, food, ammo, miscellaneous weapons he probably doesn't really need. He leaves the fat man behind even though Nikto wishes he could have fired it at least once.
“Let's go,” Sebastian tells him, slinging his bag across his chest, “While it's dark.”
Nikto nods and follows the other man. They paint their knives with Gunner blood. And escape back into the wasteland.
put Nikto through it now it's Krueger's turn! Read with CAUTION as this story is DARK
https://archiveofourown.org/works/88627636
When Krueger stops responding on comms, Nikto isn't worried. Their comms have been notoriously unreliable lately. Plus Krueger isn't in combat with the rest of them. He's at a sniper post, calling shots and helping the team navigate the maze of buildings they are searching for drugs.
His silence is an inconvenience if anything.
“Krueger's comms must be down,” Syd says exactly what Nikto is thinking.
“It's too risky to keep going without his callouts,” Rodion adds, adjusting his rifle.
Nikto ponders their next move. Rodion is right that they need Krueger to guide them and to watch their six. So with a heavy, put upon sigh, Nikto turns to his teammates.
“We rendezvous at Krueger's position,” he commands, “When we re-establish communication, we finish the mission.”
No one questions him, accepting his orders with a series of tight nods. It takes them a while to backtrack the way they came. And even more time to climb the building Krueger is on the roof of. Nikto expects to find a pissed off Krueger when he opens the door and steps onto the roof. Instead, he finds no one.
The roof is empty save for Krueger's rifle still in position at the ledge. He thinks Krueger perhaps had to take a piss. Only when he approaches the rifle, he notices two things immediately. One, Krueger's comm device is laying on the ground. Two, the helmet and netting Krueger never takes off on a mission is also on the ground, upturned and empty.
“Where is he?” Syd asks, a note of something disturbed in her voice.
Rodion shifts next to her, “I don't like this. Something is wrong.”
That's when Nikto spots Krueger's bloody karambit. He knows the other man would never drop his knife unless he was forced to. That and the blood have Nikto's sharp mind putting the pieces together quickly.
“He's been captured,” Nikto growls.
“Гавно,” Rodion curses under his breath, “What do we do now?”
“Now-” Nikto grunts, adjusting the scope of his rifle and flicking the safety off, “We find him.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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