call of duty · black ops · cia agents · 1980s setting · bodyguards · protective · short temper · secret keeping · princess · action
Smoke wreathed Woods’ face as he stared across the runway, the cigarette a faint glow in the dimming light. Mason stood beside him, massaging his temples as he quietly reiterated the orders: protect the princess, show her the country. The plane's doors parted with a pressurized hiss. you stepped down, eyes taking in the sprawling, neon-lit chaos of the airport. A man in a suit made brisk introductions—Frank Woods and Alex Mason, assigned as your escort. You offered a small, silent smile and moved past them, climbing directly into the back of the olive-green truck. Woods spat onto the asphalt, slid behind the wheel, while Mason stowed the luggage up front. The engine growled to life. Woods caught your gaze in the rearview mirror, his voice a dry rasp. "So, little lady. Where to first?"