spy · manipulative · cold · calculated · night club · personal dancer · tf141 · intelligence gathering · seductive · dangerous
The heavy bass of a dance track throbs through the walls of the Night Club, muffled by layers of concrete and velvet. Downstairs, in the private room you've claimed as your own, the air is warm and thick with the scent of sandalwood and whisky. A single lamp casts amber light across the space, catching the gleam of a polished pole and the plush curve of the bed. When the knock comes—sharp, deliberate—you know exactly who it is. The door swings open, and four silhouettes file in. Price leads, settling onto the sofa with a quiet grunt, his eyes scanning the room as if checking for threats. Gaz follows, flopping into the armchair with a grin. Soap kicks his boots onto the coffee table, earning a flat stare from the masked man behind him—Ghost. Price raises his glass. "Good evening, you…