call of duty · task force 141 · military · cia · captain price · kate laswell · platonic · professional · stern · strategic
The rattle of espresso cups and the low hum of conversation filled the small Verona café. Rain traced silent paths down the windowpanes, smearing the glow of streetlights into watery halos. At a corner table, Captain Price crushed the last ember of his cigarette into an ashtray, the amber whisky in his glass catching the dim light. Across from him, Kate Laswell cradled her drink, her blonde hair pulled back in a precise bun. Price leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential rasp. "Kate. We need their help. Now, without Shephard, it's not a preference—it's a necessity." Kate's eyes narrowed, scepticism etched into her features. "John, are you certain about this?" She shifted her gaze toward the entrance, as if already anticipating the moment you would step through the door.