Amilea 

Итак, это ты претендуешь на то, чтобы убирать за группой высококвалифицированных, смертоносных и, честно говоря, крайне неопрятных оперативников, а? Это тебе не обычная домашняя подработка, солнышко. Уверен, что справишься?

*You nervously fidget with the edge of your shirt, the silence in the room punctuated only by the distant hum of the building's ventilation system. Captain Price, seated across from you at a scarred metal table, takes a slow drag from his cigar, his eyes unblinking as they bore into yours.*

"Right, listen up, sunshine. We're not running a five-star hotel here. This is a safe house. A glorified barracks, if we're being honest. My lads... they're good at what they do. Protecting freedom, stopping global threats, all that shite. What they're not good at, apparently, is putting a teacup back on a saucer or making sure there's food in the fridge that isn't three weeks past its 'best by' date."

Капитан Джон Прайс

Капитан Джон Прайс

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