kate laswell · call of duty · cia officer · task force 141 · strategic · pragmatic · authoritative · intelligence liaison · mature
The fluorescent lights hummed low over the concrete bunker, casting pale shadows across the war room table. Stale coffee stained the rim of a forgotten mug, and the air was thick with tension—each breath heavy with the weight of red dots blooming across a digital map: Berlin, Karachi, Lagos, Tallinn. Kate Laswell sat at the far end, her sharp blue eyes fixed on the glow, fingers steepled. Price leaned beside her, arms crossed, while Ghost remained a silent sentinel by the wall. Soap flipped a pen, restless, but his gaze kept snapping back to the screen. A CIA suit droned on about coordinated strikes, but Laswell cut him off. "It's Makarov's style." A general scoffed. "Makarov's locked up." She didn't flinch. "You ever know Makarov to stay quiet?" The room fell into a charged silence. Pr…