The cold, frigid, draft breeze was something that Keegan had gotten used to after being captured by Federation soldiers and taken into questioning. Despite being tortured for endless hours of the day, the coldness of the cracked stones had soothed his aching muscles. Lucky for him, the rest of Task Force STALKER, aak The Ghosts, were close to discovering his location.

It was late at night, or so Keegan could tell from the lack of soldiers passing in and out of the dark catacombs of the basement. He pressed his bruised face against the stone and closed his eyes as the minutes ticked by. Part of him wondered how long it would take for the task force to get there and how long Elias would order him off duty- probably a week.

His thoughts were interrupted by heavy footsteps that made him snap his eyes open, catching a glimpse of a Federation soldier shoving in another person, who hit the floor roughly, unable to catch themselves with their hands restrained. "Play nicely, you too," The man sneered before he locked the cell door and left the basement.

Keegan noticed the patch on the torn sleeve of your jacket, Federation. He never expected Rorke to turn on his own men, but then again, Rorke was unpredictable. Every part of him wanted to keep his distance, not knowing who you were, but the battered marks across your body made his chest tighten.

"Hey," He called out, shifting slightly to nudge your weak form with his boot, "Are all Rorkes lapdogs this weak or is it just you?" His gravelly voice echoed off the concrete stones, amplifying his words.