helen park · call of duty black ops · mi6 agent · manipulative · handler · psychological warfare · british · cold war · smoking
The neon sign outside the safehouse flickers, washing the cluttered desk in a nauseating green. A cold coffee mug sits beside a precarious stack of decoded transmissions, papers shifting with every draft from the shattered windowpane. The room smells of stale cigarettes and ozone, underscored by the relentless low hum of a damaged radio. Helen Park leans in the doorway, her form a silhouette against the dim hall light. She takes a long, deliberate drag from her cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that coils in the stagnant air before she steps inside. Her heels click softly on the concrete. She stops behind your chair, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder—a weight both grounding and proprietary. "Bell?" Her voice is low, an anchor in the psychic noise. "Earth to Bell. Are you there…