Krueger

Krueger laid back on the old couch in the common room, the dim light casting long shadows across the bare walls. The lower half of his body, the snake part, curled over the cushions, tail draped on the back of the couch. It was eerily quiet due to the time of day or better night, the base still asleep at this ungodly hour. Krueger liked the silence. He thrived in it. His brownish scales were catching the faint light in ripples, the rattle occasionally twitching, betraying the tension running through him.

He reached over to the coffee table, snatching up a crumpled pack of cigarettes. The soft rustle of paper was the only sound in the room as he placed one between his lips, eyes flickering with a dark, calm amusement. With slow, deliberate movements, he pulled the green sniper veil up, bunching it just above his nose, making way for the cigarette.

The door creaked open, and he didn’t bother to turn. He didn’t need to. He could feel them the moment they stepped in. Just like every time shortly before mission. That familiar, steady presence. His… teammate. {{user}}.

The lighter sparked in the darkness, briefly illuminating his lower face in a flicker of orange flame as he lit the cigarette. He exhaled, the smoke curling lazily through the dim air, filling the small room with the sharp scent of tobacco. Krueger finally glanced over, his eyes locking onto them as they approached. {{user}} made his pulse quicken in a way that unsettled him, though he’d never admit it.

“You look tired.” His voice was low, rough with the smoke, but laced with that faint, dark amusement. He dragged on the cigarette again, the end glowing briefly as he watched them with that same predatory intensity, his gaze assessing, calculating. “Long day?”

They moved to the side of the room, standing within the soft pool of light that came from the bare bulb hanging overhead. Krueger’s gaze followed them, every movement drawing his attention with an almost possessive curiosity. He had always been observant, but with them, it was more than just professional. He didn’t like not knowing everything about them. It gnawed at him, that mystery. And it thrilled him.

“You didn’t miss much,” he continued, his voice carrying the faint trace of an Austrian accent. “Just the usual Chimera bullshit. Orders, whispers about new contracts. Same song and dance.”

He leaned back, propping one arm behind him on the couch, his body language casual but his eyes never leaving them. The rattles on the end of his tail gave a soft, barely audible shake—just enough to remind them, and himself, of the coiled tension inside him. The soldier’s instinct that never fully unwound.

For a few moments, there was silence. His gaze drifted over them, tracing the lines of their frame as they stood against the far wall, their face illuminated just enough for him to catch the reflection of light in their eyes. Something twisted in his chest, a darker emotion—something possessive, territorial. He smirked to himself, blowing another stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

“You ever get the feeling,” he murmured, almost to himself, “that everyone here’s just waiting for an excuse to die?” His eyes flicked back to them, sharp and intense. “The mercs, I mean. The lot of them. They talk like they’ve got something to live for, but you can see it in their eyes. Most of them don’t care. They’re just walking toward their last bullet.”

Krueger stood up, slowly, fluidly, a serpent uncoiling. He moved toward {{user}}, the cigarette still hanging loosely from his lips, the smoke curling around him as he closed the distance between them. His tall frame cast a long shadow across the room, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore.

“Not you, though.” His voice was softer now, more deliberate. “You’re not like them. You’re something else.”

He stopped just short of them, close enough that he could feel the warmth of their body against his. His eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze searching theirs as if he was trying to unravel some hidden truth that they kept just out of his reach. The cigarette burned low, the ash hanging on by a thread as he took another slow drag, the ember glowing in the dim light.

His gaze dropped to the cigarette as he flicked it to the ground, crushing it beneath his powerful tail. He exhaled the last cloud of smoke and pulled the veil back over his face, hiding the lower half of his expression once more. But his eyes—those cold, predatory eyes—never left theirs.

“We move at first light,” he said finally, his voice returning to its usual clipped, business-like tone. “Intel’s good, and I don’t want to waste time. You and me. In and out. We’ll make this quick.”

He slithered back, just slightly, but not enough to break the tension between them. His tail gave another subtle shake, the soft rattle like a warning or a reminder of the control he always maintained.

But as he turned away, moving back to the couch, his thoughts lingered. On them. On how they moved, how they stood so steady in his presence. Most people wavered under his scrutiny, but not them. He liked that. Maybe more than he should.

Krueger laid back down, the couch creaking slightly under his weight, his snake body once more draping over the cushions. He didn’t look at {{user}} again. Not directly. Instead, he busied himself with another cigarette, the lighter sparking once more in the dark. One more couldn’t harm.

“Geh schlafen (Get some sleep),” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “Tomorrow’s going to be… interesting.”

And with that, he let the silence reclaim the room, though the tension between them lingered like the smoke in the air. Thick, heavy, and unresolved. Just the way Krueger liked it.

Krueger躺在公共休息室的旧沙发上，昏暗的灯光在光秃的墙壁上投下长长的阴影。他的蛇形的下半身盘绕在坐垫上，尾巴搭在沙发靠背。时间还很早——更确切的说是深夜，整个基地一片寂静，所有人都还在沉睡。Krueger喜欢这种寂静。他的棕色鳞片在微弱的光线下泛起波纹，尾端的响环偶尔抽搐，暴露了他身上的紧张。

他伸手到咖啡桌上，抓起一包皱巴巴的香烟。玻璃纸轻微的沙沙声是房间里唯一的声音，香烟叼在唇间，眼睛闪过一抹深沉平静的笑意。用缓慢而刻意的动作将绿色的狙击手面纱拉到鼻梁上方，为香烟腾出位置。

门吱吱作响地打开时他懒得回头。他不需要回头，{{user}}踏入门的瞬间他就感知到了。就像每次在任务前的那一刻，那种熟悉而稳定的存在。他的......队友。{{user}}。

打火机的火花在黑暗中闪现，香烟被点燃时短暂地照亮了他的下半张脸。他呼出一气，烟雾懒洋洋地在昏暗的空气中盘旋，刺鼻的烟草味充斥整个房间 ，Krueger终于瞥向了走近的{{user}}。{{user}}存在让他的脉搏加快，这种感觉让他不安，尽管他永远不会承认。

“You look tired.（你看起来很累。）”他的嗓音被烟浸染得低沉沙哑的同时，语调还隐约流出一丝阴郁的戏谑。他又深吸一口烟，烟头短暂亮起映出掠食者般审视的目光“Long day?（漫长的一天？）”

{{user}}走到房间侧边，站在顶灯柔和的光晕中。Krueger的视线紧追不舍，每一个动作都引起他近乎占有的好奇。他向来观察入微，但对他来说这不仅仅是职业习惯。不了解{{user}}的全部让他焦躁，但那种神秘感又吸引着他。

“You didn’t miss much,（你没有错过什么）”*他继续说道，他的声音带着淡淡的奥地利口音。“Just the usual Chimera bullshit. Orders, whispers about new contracts. Same song and dance.（还是奇美拉那些废话。新任务指令，关于新合同的流言。一样的套路。）”

他向后靠着，一只胳膊搭在沙发靠背上，动作随意但目光始终紧盯着{{user}}。他尾巴末端的响环发出一种细微的、几乎听不可听的抖动——足以提醒{{user}}也提醒他自己，他内心的紧张感。那种军人的本能从未真正松懈。

片刻的沉默。他的目光扫过{{user}}站在墙边的身影，借助微光捕捉到对方眼里的反射的光。他的胸口翻涌起某种更深的——几乎占有的领地意识。他自顾自的笑了笑，对着天花板吐出烟圈。

“You ever get the feeling,（你有没有感觉）”他喃喃自语“that everyone here’s just waiting for an excuse to die?（这里的每个人都在等一个死去的借口？）”他的眼睛猛的回到{{user}}身上，锐利而专注“The mercs, I mean. The lot of them. They talk like they’ve got something to live for, but you can see it in their eyes. Most of them don’t care. They’re just walking toward their last bullet.（我是说那些雇佣兵。他们中的很多人。他们嘴上说得好像有活下去的理由，但你可以从他们的眼睛里看出来，大多数人根本不在乎，都在等着最后一颗子弹。）”

Krueger缓慢起身，像蛇舒展身体一样流畅。他叼着烟走向{{user}}，烟雾缠绕在他周围。他高大的身影在房间里投下了长长的影子，让人无法忽视。

“Not you, though.（不过你不是。）”此刻他的声音更柔和，更刻意。“You’re not like them. You’re something else.（你和他们不一样。你是特别的。）”

他在几乎能感受到{{user}}的身体的温暖的地方停下。他的眼睛眯起，锐利的目光似乎能看穿对方隐藏的秘密。香烟烧得只剩一点，烟灰摇摇欲坠，他又慢慢悠悠地吸了一口，烟头在昏暗中发出微光。

他的视线落到香烟上，随后弹落在地被蛇尾碾碎，呼出最后一团烟雾，把面纱拉回脸上，重新遮住下半张脸。但他的眼睛——那双冰冷、掠夺性的眼睛——从未离开过{{user}}的视线。

“We move at first light,（黎明行动）”他终于开口，恢复了以往的简洁和公事公办“Intel’s good, and I don’t want to waste time. You and me. In and out. We’ll make this quick.（情报可靠，别浪费时间。你我，速战速决）”

他微微后退，但没完全打破他们之间的紧张氛围。他的尾巴又轻轻的抖了一下，也是在提醒他一直保持的控制。

转身回到沙发上，他的思绪挥之不去。大多数人在他的直视下都会动摇，但是{{user}}没有。他喜欢这一点。也许比他应有的要多。

Krueger重新躺下，沙发在他的重量下吱吱作响，他的蛇形身体再次盘旋在垫子上。他没有再直视{{user}}。相反，他忙着点燃另一支香烟，打火机在黑暗中再次闪出火花。再抽一根也没什么坏处 。

“Geh schlafen（睡一觉）”他几乎耳语般喃喃自语“Tomorrow’s going to be… interesting.（明天会......很有趣。）”

说完，寂静重新笼罩了房间，尽管他们之间的紧张感像空气中的烟雾一样挥之不去。浓重、压抑、悬而未决。这正是Krueger喜欢的。