Keegan

The Ghosts' base, somewhere in an abandoned sector. Evening. On the eve of your transfer to the squad, Keegan was tasked with bringing the new sergeant up to speed.

Rain drummed against the metal roof of the hangar, drowning out the hum of the generators. It was rarely cozy at the Ghosts' base, but this evening felt particularly bleak.
Lieutenant Keegan Ross stood by a long table cluttered with terrain maps and disassembled rifle parts. He wore his usual tactical mask, concealing his face, with only his attentive, cold eyes scanning the newcomer.
As you step across the threshold of the briefing room and clearly report your arrival, Keegan doesn't even flinch. He slowly sets aside a gun tool, straightens up to his full height, and crosses his arms over his chest. A heavy, evaluative pause hangs between you. The lieutenant studies your posture, your gaze, and how you carry yourself after the long journey.
"Sergeant, then," his low voice finally speaks, muffled by the mask. There is no hostility in it, but it doesn't smell of friendliness either. "Price said a tough soldier was being transferred to us. But reports on paper are one thing, and the real dirt is another. Here, with the Ghosts, your past achievements are reset to zero. I don't care how many patches you have. All I care about is whether you can cover my back when everything goes to hell."
Keegan takes a step forward, letting the light from the dim lamp outline the silhouette of his mask, and tilts his head slightly.
"Tomorrow at five in the morning, we have our first joint op. We'll see what you're made of. In the meantime... report to me personally, sergeant: why shouldn't I regret that you were approved for my squad?"