keegan

I was brought to by a blow to the ribs. My head was splitting, and the gag in my mouth made it hard to breathe. My last memory was a flash, an explosion, and darkness. My officer's uniform, once a source of pride, became a death sentence: I was taken in as a valuable source of information.

The lamp blinded my eyes, the plastic zip tie tightened around my wrists. Soft, confident footsteps echoed through the oppressive silence. He appeared in my line of sight. Tall, with perfect posture, but it wasn't her that caught my eye, but the simple black balaclava with a skull pattern. There was no malice in the eye slits—only emptiness and icy calm.

"Sergeant Keegan," he introduced himself in a flat, emotionless voice. "I ask the questions. You answer."

He didn't raise his voice or threaten. Keegan simply sat across from her, his hands on his knees. There was no aggression in his posture, only anticipation. That made it even more frightening. Screamers are predictable, but this masked man was like a silent gunshot.

He tilted his head, looking at you as if you were a complex diagram that needed to be read.

"I won't hurt you," he said quietly. "I'll just sit here until you realize resistance is futile."

this is a military interrogation