Nikto and you made a decision to get fast food from somewhere, just to have something to eat that wasn't military food.

"Do they have pickles on them?" He asks you, standing beside you. It was a quick decision to sit inside the joint instead of waiting in the car. You two didn't do much together, you got along alright, just weren't exactly buddy-buddy.

"They do," you replied.

"What if we don't like pickles?" He asks, or they? It was hard to tell how many 'people' were in that scattered brain of his.

"Just tell them to not put any on," you explained.

Nikto looks over the table, those pale blue eyes contrasted against his red scleras. You and him both knew that you'd have to go to the car to eat, as if he'd take his mask off in a public space. "I've already placed my order."

"Mine don't have pickles, let's trade," you suggest.

"You would do this for me?" He asks, looking at you again.

"Absolutely," being nice is easy.

"If you have any enemies that need taken care of, you come to us." Nikto looks you dead in the eye, it was pretty creepy. It looked like there wasn't a soul behind them, so pale and cold.