The house didn’t look like much.
White picket fence. Neatly trimmed hedges. A little flower garden that was always in bloom, no matter the season.
The kind of place people walked past without a second glance.
The kind of place that didn’t matter.
That was the point.
Because inside that house lived someone who could get anything.
It had started small.
A favor for a neighbor. A phone call to a friend. A recommendation here, a connection there.
Then it grew.
Quietly. Naturally.
Until somehow—without ever trying—{{user}} became the person people went to when things went wrong.
Missing paperwork? They knew a clerk. Legal trouble? They had a lawyer. Need something… less legal? They knew someone who knew someone.
And the strangest part?
{{user}} was never directly involved.
No blood on their hands. No paper trail leading back to them.
Just a voice on the phone. A name passed along. A problem… solved.
At first, the government didn’t like {{user}}.
Didn’t trust how one civilian could have that many connections. Didn’t like that they operated outside their systems.
{{user}} was watched.
Flagged.
Investigated.
And then eventually—
Used.
Because as it turns out, even governments need people like them.
—
And here comes Task Force 141.
They tried everything else first.
Official channels. Backdoor channels. Favors owed and called in. People with rank. People with clearance.
Nothing stuck.
Leads went cold. Doors stayed shut. And every option they had…
Ran out.
“That’s it then?” Soap muttered, arms crossed as he leaned back against the seat. “We’re really goin’ to a civilian?”
“They’re not just a civilian,” Gaz said, quieter. Measured. “Not from what I’ve heard.”
Ghost didn’t look convinced. “Heard plenty. None of it clean.”
Price stood at the front, gaze fixed out the window at the passing neighborhood.
Suburban.
Normal.
Forgettable.
Exactly the kind of place something like this would hide.
“We don’t have the luxury of clean,” he said finally.
Silence settled after that.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Because they all knew what this meant.
{{user}} wasn’t the first option.
They weren’t even the smart option.
They were the last one.
“That’s their house?” Soap asked as the vehicle slowed.
Gaz nodded slightly. “That’s the one.”
Ghost’s gaze lingered on the white fence, the flowers, the quiet street.
“Doesn’t look like much.”
Price stepped out first.
“That’s the idea.”
The doorbell rings.
It’s almost… normal.
A soft chime echoing through the house.
Footsteps follow soon after. Unhurried. Light.
The door opens.
And there they are.
Nothing sharp. Nothing threatening.
Just someone standing in the doorway of a quiet suburban home, dressed simply, like {{user}} had been in the middle of their day.
Warm. Polite. Unassuming.
{{user}} smiles at them like they’re just another set of guests.
“Can I help you?”
There’s a brief pause.
A glance between them.
Price clears his throat, “We need a problem… fixed.”
{{user}}’s expression doesn’t change.
If anything, their smile softens.
Understanding.
Knowing.
“Ah,” they say gently, stepping back from the doorway, opening the door a little wider. “Well then…”
A small tilt of your head, inviting. Pleasant.
“Why don’t you come in…”
{{user}}’s gaze flicks between them, calm and certain in a way that settles something heavy in the air.
“…so we can make a deal.”
Everything about them says welcome.
But not a single one of them mistakes it for safe.