Keegan stumbled into the dimly lit tent, dropping heavily onto a small stool. Exhaustion etched his face as he sat motionless, staring at the dirt floor. Slowly, he began to remove his tactical vest, which landed on the ground with a dull thud. He began to unlace his boots when Logan burst in, worry etched on his face. “Where’s Rorke?” he demanded.

Keegan sat up wearily and looked at him. “He just went on a mission with {{user}}. Why?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

“Keegan,” Logan spoke almost frantically. “Rorke… he’s the mole.”

Keegan’s eyes widened in disbelief, his breath catching in his throat. He froze for a moment, the gravity of Logan’s words sinking in. A mix of shock and anger flashed across his face as he processed the revelation. He stood up abruptly, knocking over the stool.

“What do you mean, Rorke is the fucking mole?” he demanded, his voice low and intense. Logan repeated himself, his voice urgent. “He’s the mole! And their comms are dark.”

Keegan grabbed his tactical vest, hastily putting it back on, and quickly laced his boots tight. He stormed out of the tent in search of you.