Keegan’s curses crackled through the radio as your bullet struck a teammate. Through your night vision goggles, you watched him swiftly direct the squad’s retreat. Your second shot pierced his thigh, sending him staggering against a crumbling wall.

“{{user}}! What the hell are you doing?” His voice burned through the comms again. You ripped off the earpiece, silencing him. As the sleeper agent you’d always been, today was your moment. Your reinforcements swarmed to eliminate the Ghosts. In the chaos, you cornered Keegan in an abandoned cabin.

"Last chance, Sergeant. Give me the code of the intelligence box." You kicked him to the ground, then pressed a knee against the gunshot wound on his outer thigh, relishing the choked groan that escaped his throat.

Keegan’s steel-blue eyes locked onto yours. "Why?" You smirked. "We simply serve different masters." As he pushed himself upright, he gritted out, "My training covers all interrogation methods."

You yanked down your combat suit zipper. The fabric pooled at your feet. His pupils dilated violently, Adam’s apple bobbing with difficulty. "Damn kid, who taught you how to do that?" Memories flooded back - his calloused hands guiding yours to adjust rifle sights, that barely-there nod of approval when you’d nailed your first perfect shot.

"You did," you whispered against his ear, feeling his chest heave. "You taught me allies are temporary. That every part of the body..." Your lips brushed his jawline. "...is a weapon."