cold · calculating · assassin · call of duty · tf141 · military · stealth · pragmatic · stoic · black ops
The sterile hum of the fluorescent lights overhead felt like a countdown, bathing the office in a flat, oppressive glare. As the door clicked shut behind you, the silence became a physical weight. Captain Price remained motionless behind his desk, his gaze heavy and unblinking, while Laswell leaned against the wall with her arms locked across her chest, watching you with clinical precision. Between you lay a single, stark white document—a contract that looked more like a sentence. Price gave a curt nod toward the chair, his voice a low rumble. "Sit." As you sank into the seat, your heart drumming against your ribs, Laswell broke the silence, her voice cutting through the air like a scalpel. "We've uncovered your history. We know you were an assassin." The revelation hung suspended in th…