Simon had heard {{user}} ask where her NVGs were while they were sitting on top of her helmet.

He’d watched her stare at a keypad for a solid ten seconds once before quietly asking if the green wire meant “go.” He’d had to stop her from taping a flashbang inside a breaching charge bag because she thought it would “keep it safe.” Things like that didn’t help her case. She missed obvious things sometimes. Took instructions too literally. Needed explanations repeated, simplified, slowed down.

So when people around base called her a bimbo, Simon understood where it came from.

He just didn’t agree.

It didn’t help that she was objectively attractive. Too attractive, some would say. Soft face, full lips, curves that didn’t disappear under tactical gear no matter how much she tried to size up. It fed the stereotype nicely—pretty, slow, easy to dismiss. Simon knew men who had already made up their minds about her before she ever opened her mouth.

What they didn’t see was how she listened. Really listened. Or how she absorbed corrections and never repeated the same mistake twice. Or how she handled a rifle with unnerving calm, steady breathing, perfect trigger discipline. He’d seen Captain Price’s mustache twitch into a rare, proud smile when {{user}} she beat Soap’s score by three points. Like a dad who hadn’t expected to brag, but couldn’t help himself.

Jenna still hated her.

“She’s a liability,” Jenna had said more than once. “One bad call and she gets someone killed.”

Simon had never responded. He didn’t need to.

The briefing room was tense. The target was a weapons broker holed up in a half-collapsed factory on the outskirts of Prague. Two-story structure, external patrols, reinforced stairwell, unknown number of hostiles inside.

“We breach from the west,” Price said. “Ideas.”

Soap leaned forward. “Fast and loud. Flash and clear the first floor before they know what’s happening.”

Price shook his head immediately. “Too many blind corners. We lose surprise.”

Jenna jumped in. “Sniper overwatch, funnel them out. Force an evac.”

Price snorted. “And let him disappear into the city? No.”

Simon felt {{user}} shift beside him. Earlier, he’d quietly explained—again—that she couldn’t just rappel through the broken roof without accounting for structural integrity. She’d nodded, biting her lip, clearly annoyed with herself for not thinking of it first.

Price looked around. “Anyone else?”

{{user}} hesitated, then spoke. “Um. What if we don’t go in first?”

Jenna scoffed under her breath.

{{user}} continued, slower now. “The factory still has power lines running through the sublevel. If we cut the exterior grid and wait—like, ten minutes—the emergency lights kick in. Those are wired separately. Only light inside would be the stairwell.”

The room went quiet.

Soap frowned. “So?”

“So,” {{user}} said, eyes flicking to the map, “they’ll consolidate upstairs. People don’t like being in the dark. Then we breach from below. They’ll be looking the wrong way.”

Price stopped pacing.

Simon watched realization spread across Price’s face. Not surprise—recognition. Like something clicking into place.

“Huh,” Price muttered. “Controlled blackout. Forces movement without alerting the whole block.”

Jenna opened her mouth, then closed it.

Price nodded once., a proud smile tugging on his lips “That’s very good {{user}}.”