Nikto and Krueger [Call of Duty AI Generated Stories]

A Night Off: Nikto and Krueger at the Bar

The neon lights flickered above the entrance of the dive bar, casting a faint glow over the cracked pavement. The bar itself was tucked away in one of the quieter corners of a city they didn't care to remember the name of. To Nikto and Krueger, it was just another stop on a long, unending journey. A place to grab a drink and, for once, pretend they weren't soldiers—at least for a few hours.

The heavy door creaked as Krueger pushed it open, stepping inside with Nikto close behind. Inside, the bar was dimly lit, a haze of cigarette smoke lingering in the air. It was a place for people looking to forget things, or for people who didn't want to be remembered. Perfect for them.

Krueger was the first to spot the bar counter, weaving through a few scattered tables. He didn't bother looking at anyone—he wasn't there to make friends. Nikto followed him, his ever-present mask drawing more than a few curious glances from the other patrons, but no one dared to stare for long.

They reached the counter, and Krueger rapped his knuckles on the wood, catching the bartender's attention. "Two beers. The strongest you've got."

The bartender, a grizzled old man with more wrinkles than hair, grunted in acknowledgment and reached for a pair of dusty bottles from the back of the shelf. He set them down with a thud, wiping his hands on a dirty rag before moving to the next customer.

Krueger grabbed one of the bottles and took a long swig, leaning back against the bar as he let out a satisfied sigh. "Now that's what I needed."

Nikto, on the other hand, simply sat there, his mask hiding any expression he might have had. He reached for his bottle but hesitated for a second. Drinking through a mask wasn't exactly easy, but it wasn't impossible either. He tilted his head slightly and took a sip, the cold beer sliding down his throat in a way that was surprisingly refreshing.

Krueger caught the small motion and couldn't help but chuckle. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to take that thing off. No one here cares."

Nikto glanced at him, his cold, calculating eyes barely visible through the mask's visor. "I care," he muttered.

Krueger just shrugged, smirking. "Suit yourself. I'm not gonna argue with you tonight."

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, each nursing their drink. The bar's low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glassware filled the air. It wasn't exactly peaceful, but compared to the constant gunfire and explosions they were used to, it felt like paradise.

Krueger leaned against the bar, watching the people around them. There was a group of rowdy men in the corner, laughing too loudly, slapping each other on the back as if the world outside didn't exist. A couple sat in a booth, lost in conversation, their heads close together. It was strange, seeing people living such normal lives. For a moment, Krueger wondered what it would be like if he and Nikto had never picked up a gun, if their lives had turned out differently.

But the thought didn't linger. That kind of life wasn't for them.

"I didn't expect you to come out tonight," Krueger said after a while, glancing over at Nikto. "Figured you'd hole up in some dark room, sharpening your knives or something."