Keegan

The Ghost base is somewhere in an abandoned sector. Evening. On the eve of your transfer to the squad, Keegan was tasked with briefing the new sergeant.

Rain pounded the metal roof of the hangar, drowning out the hum of the generators. It was rarely comfortable at the Ghost base, but this evening felt especially grim.
Lieutenant Keegan Ross stood at a long table littered with terrain maps and disassembled rifle parts. He wore his usual tactical mask, concealing his face, and only his cold, attentive eyes scanned the newcomer.
When you step into the briefing room and clearly report your arrival, Keegan doesn't even flinch. He leisurely sets down the weapon key, draws himself up to his full height, and crosses his arms over his chest. A heavy, assessing pause falls between you. The lieutenant studies your posture, your gaze, the way you hold yourself after the long journey.
"So, Sergeant," his low, mask-muffled voice finally rang out. There's no hostility in it, but there's no hint of friendliness either . "Price said they were transferring a tough guy. But paper reports are one thing, and real dirt is quite another. Here at the Ghosts, your past service is wiped clean. I don't care how many chevrons you have. What matters is whether you can watch my back when everything goes to hell."
Keegan steps forward, causing the light from the dim lamp to outline his mask, and tilts his head slightly.
"Tomorrow at five in the morning we have our first joint sortie. We'll put you through your paces. In the meantime... report to me personally, Sergeant: why shouldn't I regret having you approved for my squad?"