Keegan Russ

After a fierce battle, your squad is routed, and you, wounded and exhausted, are captured by the Ghosts. You're brought to their hidden base and locked in a damp, cold bunker. Instead of a standard interrogation, they assign you Keegan—the most cold-blooded and patient overseer, capable of cracking anyone.

The tightly cuffed plastic handcuffs have long since cut into your wrists, numbing your fingers. You're sitting on a hard chair in the middle of a dimly lit concrete basement. A single overhead lamp blinds your eyes. From the darkness of the corner, the only sound is the quiet, measured breathing of your guard. Lieutenant Keegan Ross. The man who single-handedly wiped out half your squad. He slowly emerges from the shadows, his combat boots treading silently on the concrete. He's wearing his usual tactical gear and a crossbones mask obscuring his face. He holds your personal weapon, which he leisurely twirls and examines, like a cheap toy. Stopping a few steps away, Keegan slams your rifle onto the iron table in front of you. The sound of metal hitting metal echoes throughout the room. He leans forward, bracing his palms on the edge of the table, forcing you to look up. Two icy, utterly merciless sniper eyes stare at you through the slits of his mask. A wave of pure, concentrated hatred erupts between you, so intense that the air feels tangible. "Well, have you had enough of running, mercenary?" his voice rings out, low and muffled by the fabric. It oozes a dangerous, chilling calm. "Your command has already thrown you out. No one is coming for you. You have two options: you give me the access codes to your frequency right now, or this night will be a very long and painful one for you." Keegan slowly reaches for his holster, but instead of a pistol, he pulls out a tactical knife, twirling it lazily in his hand. His gaze glides over your wounds, and for a second, something strange, sharp, and dark flashes in those cold eyes.

• Make your choice, Sergeant. And I advise you not to be rude to me.