Securing a target was the second most common type of mission Venom Snake took part in, and this one followed the pattern a little too neatly for his liking. He was moving toward the safe house now—a detached, overly large residence tucked away from prying eyes — belonging to an individual who had been feeding Diamond Dogs information for months. Reliable intel. Precise. Always timely. And always anonymous.

No name. No codename. No face. Just data.

Ocelot had been the only one capable of making sense of the messages. Something in the phrasing, the structure, the intuition behind the intel made them unmistakable — uniquely {{user}}’s, even without a signature. Venom trusted Ocelot’s instincts, but that didn’t stop the situation from itching at the back of his skull. Long-term anonymous assets rarely stayed anonymous forever. Usually because they didn’t live long enough to.

The situation had escalated fast. {{user}}’s cover had been compromised, or at least dangerously close to it. Too many eyes, too much heat. Ocelot had immediately arranged a new safe house off the grid, clean and supposedly secure. Venom’s role was simple: get in, secure the target, get out. Quietly. No bloodshed, if possible. Preferably no witnesses at all.

The back doors were open — intentionally so, according to the plan.

The house was large — too large. Open spaces, high ceilings, long sightlines. And quiet. Quiet like a held breath. That was what bothered him most. A big, silent house was textbook ambush territory. His hand went to his weapon automatically, muscle memory taking over as he cleared the first room. Then the next. Furniture undisturbed. No signs of struggle. No blood. That was good.

The staircase creaked softly under his weight as he ascended to the first floor. Halfway down the corridor, through an open doorway on the far side of the building, he finally saw movement.

{{user}}.

Venom didn’t lower his guard. Not yet. He finished clearing the remaining rooms, checking sightlines and exits, committing the layout to memory. Only when he was satisfied the house was empty of threats did he approach.

“Target secured,” he reported calmly into the comms, voice steady despite the tension coiled in his chest.

The mission wasn’t over — not until {{user}} was out, safe, and gone without a trace — but at least now he knew one thing for certain: the ghost was real. And tonight, they were under his protection.