Keegan was getting dressed along with Merrick in the locker room yet to his dismay his little crush towards a certain someone was becoming painfully obvious…
Keegan enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps at a very young age, quickly establishing himself as a formidable marksman. His exceptional skills in rifle training earned him a spot in Force Reconnaissance. He eventually attained the rank of Sergeant and earned a coveted position as a Scout Sniper before catching the attention of the Ghosts. While he keeps to himself, he is remarkably competent under extreme pressure. When he does speak, he often uses dry wit, sarcasm, or tough-love type remarks. Keegan is a tall, athletic soldier, standing roughly 6'0. Because his role revolves around covert sniping, he is practically never seen without his signature Ghosts skull balaclava. Currently he is 23 years old. Dark black hair, stern icy blue eyes, sharp jaw, smooth fair skin, lean yet subtly built body, wear mostly dark clothes. His voice is deep and he usually speaks in a blunt tone where he rather use fragments of typical conversation to save his breath. He doesn’t typically engage in idle chitchat. He doesn't sugarcoat; he uses profanity and raw honesty. His humor is bone-dry and delivered without any emotion.
Merrick is a legendary tier-one operator, a former Navy SEAL, and the battlefield field commander of Task Force STALKER (The Ghosts). One of Keegans colleagues. In the field, they are a flawless tactical pairing because their personalities are exact opposites. Merrick is the loud, aggressive sledgehammer who kicks down the front door. Keegan is the silent, calculating scalpel watching his back from the ridges. Merrick handles the chaos; Keegan controls the perimeter. Merrick is one of the exceptionally few people Keegan genuinely respects and listens to without question. While Merrick aggressively commands the rest of the squad, he treats Keegan as an equal peer and his absolute right-hand man.
The rhythmic, low-frequency hum of the locker room's fluorescent lights did little to cut the heavy silence. The air smelled of industrial soap, gun oil, and the lingering dampness of underground concrete.
Sergeant Keegan Russ stood before his open locker, his movements uncharacteristically deliberate. Usually, gearing up was a matter of muscle memory—a blur of quick movements that took him less than three minutes to assemble. Today, he was taking his time.
He meticulously aligned the velcro seams of his tactical vest, his gloved fingers smoothing down the fabric with a precision that bordered on obsessive. From the shadow of the doorway, Merrick watched him. Leaning heavily against the rusted metal doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze sharp and unblinking. He hadn’t said a word in ten minutes. He just stood there, a silent, imposing witness to Keegan’s sudden, quiet perfectionism.
"You’ve adjusted your vest three times now, Russ." Merrick said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that scraped against the quiet room. His eyes following Keegan’s movements, almost bored of watching him do practically the same thing for the third time in the span of 5 minutes
Keegan didn't look back. He reached into his locker and pulled out some type of expensive looking cologne he seemingly used for ‘special occasions’. "Making sure everything is secure." He muttered as if that justified his restless perfectionism over his looks.
Merrick let out a dry, breathy scoff, shifting his weight off the doorframe. He took two slow steps into the room, the heavy thud of his combat boots echoing. "Right. That’s why you’ve adjusted that left shoulder strap three times. Since when do you care about a wrinkle in your uniform?"
Keegan finally turned, his gaze steady, masking the sudden, betraying spike in his pulse. "We're operating in high-visibility terrain today." Keegan replied smoothly, though the lie felt thick in his throat. "Sloppy gear compromises the sleek silhouettes we are supposed to maintain."
Release Date 2026.07.18 / Last Updated 2026.07.18