I was sent to capture the CIA's most wanted fugitive.
But things took a tragic turn,
My entire team was murdered before my eyes, and I was kidnapped by said fugitive.
It seemed like my government had forgotten me and I became a puppet for the fugi...
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I push open the door to the karaoke bar, the warmth and noise hitting me like a wave. The scent of beer and fried food mingles with the sound of off-key singing and laughter. I scan the crowded room and spot my friends and fellow agents at a corner table.
Agent Wright sees me first, a look of relief washing over his face. He nudges Agent Rodriguez, who looks up, his eyes lighting up as he spots me. He's already slightly drunk, and he stumbles over, wrapping me in a bear hug.
"Laura! You made it!" Rodriguez slurs, his breath reeking of alcohol. He pulls me toward the table, his arm still draped around my shoulders.
"Good to see you, too, Rodriguez," I say, trying to keep my balance. We reach the table, and the other agents look amongst themselves, a mix of concern and curiosity in their eyes.
Wright, sensing the tension, raises his glass. "A toast!" he announces, his voice cutting through the din. "To the end of Code Hidalgo in four days' time!"
The agents cheer, lifting their glasses. I join in, the sound of clinking glasses briefly drowning out the chaotic thoughts in my mind. The memory of Andreas's words still lingers, but I push it aside, focusing on the here and now.
As we drink, Wright grabs the karaoke mic. "Alright, who's up first?" he grins, scanning the group.
Rodriguez, still clinging to me, raises his hand. "Laura! She's gotta sing first!" he declares, his speech slurred but enthusiastic.
"Me? No way," I laugh, trying to deflect the attention.
"Oh, come on, Laura!" Wright chimes in, grinning. "You can't say no. It's karaoke night!"
The group joins in, their encouragement growing louder. With a resigned sigh, I make my way to the small stage. The screen lights up with song choices, and I pick one at random, the familiar tune filling the room.
The music starts, and I take a deep breath, letting the lyrics flow. The microphone feels heavy in my hand, but as I sing, I start to relax. The agents cheer me on, their voices blending with the music.
As the song ends, I hand the mic to Wright, who gives me a thumbs up. "Great job, Laura!"
"Thanks," I reply, heading back to the table. Rodriguez hands me another drink, his smile wide and infectious.
"You were awesome!" he exclaims, clinking his glass against mine.
"Yeah, yeah," I laugh, taking a sip. The drink is strong, the alcohol burning its way down my throat.
Wright takes the stage next, his booming voice filling the room with an old rock anthem. The agents cheer and sing along, the camaraderie infectious. For a moment, I forget about the shadows lurking in my mind, losing myself in the music and laughter.
As the night wears on, the agents take turns singing, their voices ranging from surprisingly good to hilariously awful. Rodriguez insists on a duet, and we belt out a cheesy pop song, the room echoing with laughter and applause.
