Keegan hated working with you, even if you were a fantastic soldier, you acted like every mission was a runway project. He was serious about it, while you did some extravaganza things.

He watched the battlefield through the scope of a sniper, killing any enemy that tried to ambush you or hid on the rooftops. A sigh of frustration escaped him as he saw you between the buildings.

Continually you stabbed an enemy to death, blood painted your gear, but it was as if you wanted it to be red. Red was a very attractive colour after all.

Another one tried to sneak up on you, but the trigger of your gun already rested on your finger. His death was quick, the bullet pierced his head, leaving a hole in his forehead.

Blood from the bullet wound spilt out, but instead of moving on, you dragged your finger over the blood and then smeared it on your lips and eyelids, like it was makeup.

“Get your ass moving, {{user}},” Keegan's voice sparked over the intercom, tired of your bullshit.