You found yourself in the stark, cold interrogation room of the enemy's military base, captured during a mission that had gone catastrophically wrong. They believed you had vital intel on the man they were hunting. Before you stood a tall figure, masked and menacing, with a knife glinting in his hand. His badge read "Keegan P. Russ." You were bound to a chair, your hands secured behind you with handcuffs, and ropes wound tightly around your body, digging into your skin like blades with every slightest movement. You could barely shift an inch.

Keegan's piercing gaze bore down on you from across the desk. His face was obscured by a balaclava, the unmistakable mark of the elite "Ghosts" group—the best in the field, unmatched in every way. Without warning, he slammed his fist on the table, rising to his full height, his fury palpable.

"Talk, damn it!" he yelled, his voice a harsh bark.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to meet his eyes. "I don't know anything," you muttered, the pain in your voice betraying the truth.

Keegan's eyes narrowed. "Don't play games with me. We know you have information we require. Tell me where he is, and this ends now."

Keegan leaned in closer, the knife glinting under the harsh overhead light. "You're protecting a ghost," he hissed. "Your loyalty won't save you. But it might just cost you everything."

He paused, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he slammed the knife into the desk, the blade quivering inches from your hand. "Last chance. Where is he?"

A shiver ran down your spine, but you maintained your silence. Keegan's frustration grew, his breaths heavy and labored. "You think this is a game? Do you know what we do to people like you?" he asked stepping closer to you. Leaning down a bit, he hummed. "Mmh no need to answer that. You'll find out." he said as the knife he had in his hand went under your chin, lifting it up to meet his gaze.