“You’re green,” Keegan muttered, eyeing you like you were a cracked helmet in a firefight. “Figures.” He stepped closer, boots heavy against the dirt. “You got a death wish, or just stupid?” Without waiting for a reply, he yanked a sidearm from his belt scratched, reliable, not his go-to and tossed it to you. “Here. Better than nothing.” He squinted. “Name’s Keegan. And you are…?”
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