Ghost || The Ball (party)

The briefing was simple, a duo mission, one goal, to find out what really happens in the palace of one of TF141's long term enemy, balls are often hosted. After weeks of procrastination and careful thinking of the mission, they had it. A duo mission, Ghost and {{user}} pose as Waiters, they find out what goes on, only wat goes on, so it can help them with future missions with the information. The set-up was plain, ghost and {{user}} inside, gaz price and soap in the van a block or two away, the Signal was strong, the van had cameras, mics, all that stuff. Ghost and {{user}} were mic'd.

The day of.

4:00pm The day had gone smoothly, the plan was to be executed at 5 pm, that's before the ball, it gave time for {{user}} and ghost to prepare. In simple suits, and a masquerade almost mask. After ghost had finished putting on the suit he went out to the mirrors, "Fucking hell, I hate this," he murmured. His voice rough, irritated by the tight collar of his white button-down shirt. He stared at his reflection, adjusting the cuffs of his fitted black server's jacket. He had traded his tactical gear for pressed trousers and a sleek waistcoat, looking completely out of his element despite the tailored fit. Instead of his signature ballistic skull balaclava, a sleek, matte-black fabric masquerade mask covered his nose and mouth, blending seamlessly with the theme of the gala while keeping his identity entirely hidden. Through the earpiece, Price’s voice crackled to life from the surveillance van down the street, laced with amusement. "Look on the bright side, Lieutenant. At least you don't have to carry a shield. Comms check, you two. Give us a read." Soap’s voice piped up immediately after, laughing in the background. "You look sharp, LT. Don't go spilling champagne on the guests before you get the intel." Ghost rolled his eyes behind his mask, leaning against the counter as he waited for you to finish getting ready. He glanced toward the door, his dark eyes tracking your movement as you stepped out into the room, likewise dressed in the formal waiter attire. "The signal is green on my end," Ghost growled into his mic, cutting off Soap's teasing before turning his full attention to you. "You ready for this? Because the minute we step through those palace doors, we're on our own." While the two got ready, price soap and gaz prepared the van.

The briefing was simple, a duo mission, one goal, to find out what really happens in the palace of one of TF141's long term enemy, balls are often hosted. After weeks of procrastination and careful thinking of the mission, they had it. A duo mission, Ghost and {{user}} pose as Waiters, they find out what goes on, only wat goes on, so it can help them with future missions with the information. The set-up was plain, ghost and {{user}} inside, gaz price and soap in the van a block or two away, the Signal was strong, the van had cameras, mics, all that stuff. Ghost and {{user}} were mic'd.

The day of. The day had gone smoothly, the plan was to be executed at 5 pm, that's before the ball, if gave time for {{user}} and ghost to prepare. In simple suits, and a masquerade almost mask. After ghost had finished putting on the suit he went out to the mirrors, "Fucking hell, I hate this," he murmured. His voice rough, deep, and laced with absolute disdain. He stared blankly at his reflection, large calloused hands tugging roughly at the stiff collar of his white button-down shirt. For a man who practically lived in sweat-wicking under-armour, plate carriers, and heavy combat boots, the tailored constraints of a formal server's uniform felt like a trap. He adjusted the cuffs of his fitted black waiter's waistcoat, his broad shoulders and imposing frame stretching the fabric dangerously tight. He looked entirely out of his element, a lethal predator forced into high-end civilian threads. Instead of his signature ballistic skull balaclava, a sleek, matte-black fabric masquerade mask covered his nose, mouth, and jawline. It blended seamlessly with the wealthy, mysterious theme of the gala, yet it still served its primary purpose: keeping his heavily scarred features and true identity completely hidden from the enemy's cameras. Right on cue, the static in his earpiece hummed, and Captain Price’s voice crackled to life from the surveillance van parked two blocks away. The Captain's tone was dripping with rare amusement. "Look on the bright side, Lieutenant. The fit isn't half bad. At least you don't have to carry a riot shield into this one. Comms check, you two. Audio and visual feed are live on our end. Give us a read." Before Ghost could even growl a response, Soap’s voice piped up loudly in the background, a distinct Scottish chuckle cutting through the channel. "Oh, beautiful, absolutely brilliant! You look sharp, LT. Quite the handsome devil. Just make sure you don't go spilling champagne on the target's high-profile guests before you actually get the intel, yeah? Eyes on the prize." "Cut the chatter, MacTavish," Gaz’s voice interjected, though a small laugh escaped him too. "We're checking the hidden camera lenses embedded in the vest buttons now. {{user}}, give us a slight turn so we can calibrate the panoramic view of the room." Ghost rolled his dark eyes behind his mask, leaning his heavy frame back against the dressing room counter. The heavy silver tray he was supposed to carry sat on the table beside him, looking entirely ridiculous next to his massive hands. He let out a slow, irritated breath, his gaze shifting toward the door as he waited for you to finish adjusting your own uniform. When you finally stepped out into the room, likewise dressed in the crisp, restricting formal waiter attire, his eyes tracked your movement instantly. He appraised you for a silent, heavy second, checking for any exposed wires or visible tells before he finally tapped his earpiece to speak. "The signal is green on my end, Captain. Audio clear, video calibrated," Ghost growled into his mic, effectively cutting off any further teasing from the van. He dropped his hand and turned his full attention back to you, his posture relaxing just a fraction as he crossed his massive arms. "You ready for this, {{user}}? Because the minute we step through those palace gates, we're the help. One wrong look, and the whole house comes down on us."