J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮

Lt. J. 'Shade' I. | 1st Class Op. | Shadow Force of Britain | Coffee Addict | Lover to tactical gear and sarcasm. #MilitaryOC #NSFW #Fictional

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

Content warnings!

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜. 𝙰𝚗𝚢 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜? 𝙳𝙼 𝚖𝚎.

❝𝓒𝓸𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽, 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓭. 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝔂 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓹, 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝔂 𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮.❞ — J. 𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙚 I.

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

𝙊𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙩: “𝙀𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝘼𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙪𝙢”
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Setting: Afternoon. Large urban shopping mall. Busy crowd. Food court level.
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#openplotrp #openplot #roleplay #rp (anyone welcome)
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Shade was at the shopping centre. Not for a spot of retail therapy, obviously. His objective that day was clear, he was tailing a man in his forties, dressed in a grey hoodie, moving briskly toward the escalator.

The mission brief was simple: 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊��𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎. 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙽𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝.

Shade kept a steady five paces behind the target—far enough not to raise suspicion, close enough to catch any words the man might mutter into a comms device or to someone nearby.

Then, out of nowhere—gunfire. From the west end. Another shot followed. Then another. Screams erupted as panicked shoppers scattered in every direction, their footsteps and screams echoing through the tiled halls of the centre.

Without missing a beat, Shade ducked behind a kiosk near a frozen yoghurt stand, scanning the area. The sound came from the upper level. No security in sight. Civilians everywhere. How many shooters were there? One?More? Chaos blurred the numbers.

And then he saw someone—amid the panic, this person stood out. Not panicking. Not confused. Calm, almost deliberate. Like they knew exactly what they were doing.

Shade dipped his head, one hand already hovering near his concealed sidearm. He called out, voice low but sharp. “Oi—” The stranger didn’t flinch. “You got a screw loose, or d’you actually know what you’re doing? Which one is it?”

[CharlieIntel @charlieINTEL]

Battlefield 6 - rumored release date: October 10, 2025

Call of Duty: Black Ops 7 - rumored release date: November 14, 2025

[#DontBuy2K27 @JABridgeforth]

I was 11 when Call of Duty first came out

[Tridzo @Tridzo]

The Battlefield 6 Trailer has already surpassed the Black Ops 7 Teaser Trailer likes in just one hour.

Is Call of Duty cooked?

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

// I imagine Kestrel looks like Valkyrae, petite but dangerous. Carrying a rifle taller than her own body.

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

// Roarke tailing Shade's taxi would be looked like this.

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙖𝙭𝙞

The rain pattered gently on the roof of a yellow car bearing the word “TAKSI” in black lettering. A man sat in the driver’s seat, gloved hands resting lightly on the wheel, hood drawn over his head, a scarf covering most of his face.

A crackle of static buzzed in his earpiece. On the other end, Bayrak Gece and Shadow Force members were reporting in, already set in position.

Kestrel reporting, “One subject approaching the vehicle. Possible contact.”

In the driver’s seat, Shade caught sight of the man approaching — dressed plainly, looking every bit the civilian. He knocked once on the driver’s side window.

Monk running facial ID through database.

Shade lowered the window slightly.

“Mind taking me around the city a bit?” asked the man, very much in American accent, in his forties with a smile far too polished to be innocent.

Monk reported through comms, “ID acquired. Reed Carter. CIA. That’s our intel.”

Shade gave a single nod, unlocking the door.

Carter stepped in and settled comfortably into the back seat. “I’m assuming you've already checked my credentials,” he said casually, like a man who knew full well he was being watched.

Shade pulled the car away from the kerb. “Iron Ruins. Talk,” he said plainly.

Carter chuckled. "Straight to it, then? Fair enough. But first, my condolences. Alec Morgan’s death—tragic.”

Shade’s hands tightened around the wheel. His eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror, catching Carter’s reflection, the man seemed unbothered, watching the city slip by the window.

“Maren Osei. Nathan Kohler. Jenna Ramirez. Colonel Adam Voss. Rest in peace,” Carter added, the tone of his voice uncomfortably measured.

Monk confirmed, “Positive. All KIA.”

Shade eased onto the brake, not out of frustration, but simply because the traffic light ahead had turned red.

“They were all on Operation Iron Ruins,” Carter said. “Your mission was to wipe out a cell. Grab any intel, sweep the zone. You engaged hostiles that weren’t even visible. And then, an airstrike hit the site. But it wasn’t your CO who called it in. Wasn’t HQ either. Yet your mission was labelled a success, because supposedly, the threat was neutralised.”

Everyone listening was silent now. Focused. Tension across every line.

“There’s no trace of that op left on record. Nothing. Because it involved people far above your pay grade. And the target? Wasn’t a terrorist cell. It was a covert Turkish black unit. Süleyman was its leader.” Carter leaned forward slightly, still calm. “He wasn’t just a leader. He was the ghost. No files. No insignia. No names. Just clean results. They wiped threats before the threats existed.”

Shade didn’t speak, but he knew what this meant.

“And that’s why the Turkish elite shut them down. Too dangerous. Too unpredictable. They couldn’t control him. So they erased him.”

Shade cut in. “Is that your theory? Or are you stating fact?”

Carter smiled faintly. “I’ve no paper trail to show you. Because there was no paper. But up here—” he tapped his temple “—I remember everything. Every operation. Every ghost.”

Shade understood the weight of it. If Süleyman had survived Iron Ruins, then this wasn’t a vendetta. “He was sending a message.”

Carter leaned back with a chuckle, fingers interlocked, head turned towards the window. “You’re as sharp as ever, Lt. Yes, he’s sending a message. And the higher ups are panicking. Now they want him finished. Properly finished.”

Shade exhaled deeply.

“Your new mission, Lt. Track Süleyman. End him. He’s just surfaced in Warsaw.” Carter paused, letting the weight of that city settle. “You know who he’s after? Sergeant Tomasz Rook Valen. One of your own.”

“We’ve got a new mission,” Monk reported in.

Shade pulled the taxi to a halt.

Carter opened the door and stepped out. “Keep your blade sharp, Lt. I’ll be watching.”

“We regroup. Safehouse. Now,” Shade commanded through comms. His taxi rolled forward, disappearing into the night.

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

// Somewhat I have conflicted feeling if I should make Shade hated Süleyman or understanding him instead

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

@zephraelis “The blade hasn't found me because I don’t wait to be cut. I strike first. And wisdom? ...most of us only had instinct and target.”

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙖𝙭𝙞

The rain pattered gently on the roof of a yellow car bearing the word “TAKSI” in black lettering. A man sat in the driver’s seat, gloved hands resting lightly on the wheel, hood drawn over his head, a scarf covering most of his face.

A crackle of static buzzed in his earpiece. On the other end, Bayrak Gece and Shadow Force members were reporting in, already set in position.

Kestrel reporting, “One subject approaching the vehicle. Possible contact.”

In the driver’s seat, Shade caught sight of the man approaching — dressed plainly, looking every bit the civilian. He knocked once on the driver’s side window.

Monk running facial ID through database.

Shade lowered the window slightly.

“Mind taking me around the city a bit?” asked the man, very much in American accent, in his forties with a smile far too polished to be innocent.

Monk reported through comms, “ID acquired. Reed Carter. CIA. That’s our intel.”

Shade gave a single nod, unlocking the door.

Carter stepped in and settled comfortably into the back seat. “I’m assuming you've already checked my credentials,” he said casually, like a man who knew full well he was being watched.

Shade pulled the car away from the kerb. “Iron Ruins. Talk,” he said plainly.

Carter chuckled. "Straight to it, then? Fair enough. But first, my condolences. Alec Morgan’s death—tragic.”

Shade’s hands tightened around the wheel. His eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror, catching Carter’s reflection, the man seemed unbothered, watching the city slip by the window.

“Maren Osei. Nathan Kohler. Jenna Ramirez. Colonel Adam Voss. Rest in peace,” Carter added, the tone of his voice uncomfortably measured.

Monk confirmed, “Positive. All KIA.”

Shade eased onto the brake, not out of frustration, but simply because the traffic light ahead had turned red.

“They were all on Operation Iron Ruins,” Carter said. “Your mission was to wipe out a cell. Grab any intel, sweep the zone. You engaged hostiles that weren’t even visible. And then, an airstrike hit the site. But it wasn’t your CO who called it in. Wasn’t HQ either. Yet your mission was labelled a success, because supposedly, the threat was neutralised.”

Everyone listening was silent now. Focused. Tension across every line.

“There’s no trace of that op left on record. Nothing. Because it involved people far above your pay grade. And the target? Wasn’t a terrorist cell. It was a covert Turkish black unit. Süleyman was its leader.” Carter leaned forward slightly, still calm. “He wasn’t just a leader. He was the ghost. No files. No insignia. No names. Just clean results. They wiped threats before the threats existed.”

Shade didn’t speak, but he knew what this meant.

“And that’s why the Turkish elite shut them down. Too dangerous. Too unpredictable. They couldn’t control him. So they erased him.”

Shade cut in. “Is that your theory? Or are you stating fact?”

Carter smiled faintly. “I’ve no paper trail to show you. Because there was no paper. But up here—” he tapped his temple “—I remember everything. Every operation. Every ghost.”

Shade understood the weight of it. If Süleyman had survived Iron Ruins, then this wasn’t a vendetta. “He was sending a message.”

Carter leaned back with a chuckle, fingers interlocked, head turned towards the window. “You’re as sharp as ever, Lt. Yes, he’s sending a message. And the higher ups are panicking. Now they want him finished. Properly finished.”

Shade exhaled deeply.

“Your new mission, Lt. Track Süleyman. End him. He’s just surfaced in Warsaw.” Carter paused, letting the weight of that city settle. “You know who he’s after? Sergeant Tomasz Rook Valen. One of your own.”

“We’ve got a new mission,” Monk reported in.

Shade pulled the taxi to a halt.

Carter opened the door and stepped out. “Keep your blade sharp, Lt. I’ll be watching.”

“We regroup. Safehouse. Now,” Shade commanded through comms. His taxi rolled forward, disappearing into the night.

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙙 𝙁𝙞𝙡𝙚
Location: Bayrak Gece Safehouse

The low hum of electricity lingered in the air. Rain tapped gently against the windowpanes. The safehouse sat in silence, battered by recent events, weighed down by grief.

Monk was seated alone at a workstation in the far corner, his face was illuminated by the cold, flickering blue of multiple monitors. His fingers danced across the keys with tense urgency.

Dozens of tabs were open — military archives, international watchlists, encrypted communications. Over and over, the name “SÜLEYMAN DERVİŞ” filled the search bars.
Every time, the resulted come back the same: NO MATCH FOUND.

Monk muttered to himself, “Come on... there’s always a bloody trace.” He attempted alternate spellings. Phonetic guesses. Nothing. He dug deeper — slipping through old NATO backchannels, coverted CIA logs, black ops files from long-disbanded Turkish units.

Still nothing.

Then — A black terminal window blinked to life on his screen. The words appeared, typed out silently, almost like a warning:
> 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜. 𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚞𝚙: 𝙸𝚁𝙾𝙽 𝚁𝚄𝙸𝙽𝚂

Monk’s fingers froze over the keyboard. He frowned, “...What the hell is Iron Ruins?” He typed it in.

A file popped up.
𝙸𝚁𝙾𝙽 𝚁𝚄𝙸𝙽𝚂 – 𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈 – 𝙻𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙻 7 𝙲𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴

He opened it. Dozens of pages flicked past — all heavily censored. Names, operations, orders.
Entire sections drowned in black ink: 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳. 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳. 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳.

Monk groaned, “You’ve got to be joking... what is this?”

The cursor blinked. Suddenly, the screen changed again.

𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻: 𝚄𝙽𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴

Monk stared at it — hesitant — then clicked 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃.

The screen reminded pitch black.
Only a voice came through — older, composed, with an unmistakable American accent.

CIA AGENT
> You’re poking around in matters best left buried.

Monk answered, “Who the hell is this?”

CIA AGENT
> Someone who knows what you’re chasing.

“Then why don’t you enlighten me?”

CIA AGENT
> Not over this line. Not here. You want answers? Tell Shade to meet me.

Monk’s back straightened, jaw tightening. “You know him?”

CIA AGENT
> I know enough.
> You want the truth? He picks the location. No tricks.

The line cut.

Monk sat in stunned silence, the eerie blue light of the screens the only glowed in the room.

After a beat, he exhaled, then reached up and pressee his earpiece. Monk spoke through his comms, “Lt... we need a word. Urgently.”

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

𝙂𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙄𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙍𝙪𝙞𝙣𝙨

The air inside Bayrak Gece’s safehouse hung heavy with silence, broken only by the low whirr of the ageing ventilation fan turning slowly in the corner. Monk sat at the head of the table, tablet aglow in the dim light. Around him gathered the rest of the team—Shade, Kestrel, Blitz, Roarke, and Captain Arda—each waiting for him to speak.

Monk cleared his throat, voice calm but quiet. “I’ve been digging into Süleyman. Proper digging. Cross-border intel channels, Turkish military archives—declassified stuff—UN threads. You name it.” He paused, thumb swiping across his tablet’s screen. “And I came up with nothing.”

Shade’s jaw tensed. “Nothing,” he repeated, flatly.

“Which tells us something,” Monk went on. “Men like him don’t vanish just instant. Not unless someone’s scrubbing his record—and doing a bloody thorough job of it.”

Shade’s eyes narrowed.

Monk looked up. “Someone dropped me a breadcrumb. More of a whisper, really. Anonymous backdoor message. Told me to look into Operation Iron Ruins.”

Shade’s face darkened. He leaned forward, fingers interlaced on the table. “I remember that op.”

Kestrel, leaning against the wall with arms folded, straightened slightly. Her expression remained unreadable, but her voice cut with the edge of something personal. “We both should. We were there.”

Shade flicked her a subtle signal—two fingers up, then down. Not now.

She gave the smallest nod and fell silent. But her gaze didn’t shift from him.

Monk nodded again, fingers dancing over the tablet. “I found a trace of it—buried in an old NATO joint archive. But it’s been completely redacted. Everything. No date. No time. No brief. Objective? Gone. Threat level? Gone. Unit deployment—redacted. Casualties? All of it.”

Blitz muttered under his breath, “How bloody convenient.”

Monk didn’t disagree. “And here’s the kicker. The file? Last accessed nine years ago—by someone with CIA clearance.”

Shade’s voice dropped an octave. “Who?”

“I couldn’t get a name. But whoever it is... they reached out. Said they were embedded in the op. CIA field agent. Wants to speak with you, Lt. Says he’ll only talk face-to-face.”

Shade didn’t blink. “Where?”

“Didn’t say. Said it has to be you. No tricks.”

Blitz frowned. “That’s textbook bait, Monk. We’re really pinning everything on some spook’s word?”

Monk held his gaze. “Someone up the ladder buried this op deep—and this agent’s the only thread we’ve got.”

Roarke said nothing. Just rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, like he was weighing a coin he hadn’t yet flipped.

Captain Arda stood. “Shade’s not going in alone. We fan out. Eyes on the meet from all sides. The moment something feels off, we move in. But until then… we let him handle it.”

Shade gave a slight nod. “I’ve got this.”

Arda looked around the room. “Right, then. It’s settled.”

No objections. They all knew it.

Whatever Operation Iron Ruins had been—whatever truth had been buried alongside it—it was clawing its way back now.

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎 07

https://t.co/7PwaxGCy1W

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙙 𝙁𝙞𝙡𝙚
Location: Bayrak Gece Safehouse

The low hum of electricity lingered in the air. Rain tapped gently against the windowpanes. The safehouse sat in silence, battered by recent events, weighed down by grief.

Monk was seated alone at a workstation in the far corner, his face was illuminated by the cold, flickering blue of multiple monitors. His fingers danced across the keys with tense urgency.

Dozens of tabs were open — military archives, international watchlists, encrypted communications. Over and over, the name “SÜLEYMAN DERVİŞ” filled the search bars.
Every time, the resulted come back the same: NO MATCH FOUND.

Monk muttered to himself, “Come on... there’s always a bloody trace.” He attempted alternate spellings. Phonetic guesses. Nothing. He dug deeper — slipping through old NATO backchannels, coverted CIA logs, black ops files from long-disbanded Turkish units.

Still nothing.

Then — A black terminal window blinked to life on his screen. The words appeared, typed out silently, almost like a warning:
> 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜. 𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚞𝚙: 𝙸𝚁𝙾𝙽 𝚁𝚄𝙸𝙽𝚂

Monk’s fingers froze over the keyboard. He frowned, “...What the hell is Iron Ruins?” He typed it in.

A file popped up.
𝙸𝚁𝙾𝙽 𝚁𝚄𝙸𝙽𝚂 – 𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈 – 𝙻𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙻 7 𝙲𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴

He opened it. Dozens of pages flicked past — all heavily censored. Names, operations, orders.
Entire sections drowned in black ink: 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳. 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳. 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳.

Monk groaned, “You’ve got to be joking... what is this?”

The cursor blinked. Suddenly, the screen changed again.

𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻: 𝚄𝙽𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴

Monk stared at it — hesitant — then clicked 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃.

The screen reminded pitch black.
Only a voice came through — older, composed, with an unmistakable American accent.

CIA AGENT
> You’re poking around in matters best left buried.

Monk answered, “Who the hell is this?”

CIA AGENT
> Someone who knows what you’re chasing.

“Then why don’t you enlighten me?”

CIA AGENT
> Not over this line. Not here. You want answers? Tell Shade to meet me.

Monk’s back straightened, jaw tightening. “You know him?”

CIA AGENT
> I know enough.
> You want the truth? He picks the location. No tricks.

The line cut.

Monk sat in stunned silence, the eerie blue light of the screens the only glowed in the room.

After a beat, he exhaled, then reached up and pressee his earpiece. Monk spoke through his comms, “Lt... we need a word. Urgently.”

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

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𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚈: 𝙰𝙱𝚂𝙾𝙻𝚄𝚃𝙴 𝚉𝙴𝚁𝙾
𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾: [𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚁𝙸𝚉𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚃 𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈]
𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙸𝙽: 𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙳𝙾𝚆 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴 (𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚃 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙺𝙴)
𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳: 𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙳𝙴 // 𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙰𝙻
𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙲𝙴𝙴𝙳 𝙸𝙽 𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 — 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙱𝙴𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙳
█████████████████████████████████████████████

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎 06

https://t.co/aQb1f6kapM

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

𝙒𝙞𝙙𝙤𝙬 𝙍𝙤𝙤𝙩 𝙊𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙕𝙖𝙝𝙞𝙙 𝘽𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙫

Location: Thessaloniki, Greece - Abandoned Sea Fortress
Time: 21:47 local time

Intel from Colonel Halim gave them one name. One location. One chance.

Zahid Belov. The architect behind youth radicalisation, weapons funneling, and aiming ex special ops. The man who’d orchestrated the death of Alec Morgan. He was hiding now, in an abandoned off the coast Ottoman fortress — one Widow Root had quietly converted into a blacksite.

His capture?

“He won’t run,” Monk had said. “He’s not built like that. He’ll let us come.”

“Because he’s certain we won’t walk out,” Shade replied.

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

“You know it’s war when both sides pray and both sides bleed—and no one wins.”

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

@AntonioSergei_ “You talk like someone who wore one too,” Shade looked at his own two hands, still intacted fortunately, “You call it stains, I call it memories.”

[KIRIM MENFESS MELALUI LINK DI CARRD! @2DimensiMenfess]

!2DFess ── Greetings from the two of us. We are trying to expand our social life by meeting new friends. A little trivia about us, we’re siblings. Would you like to take the offer? [ W-OC ]

Reply with a word / retweet this post and we’ll come to you in a jiffy.

[J. I — ❝Shade.❞ - 𝙊𝙣 𝙙𝙪𝙩𝙮 @LtJShadeI]

@2DimensiMenfess // my unit members?

[KIRIM MENFESS MELALUI LINK DI CARRD! @2DimensiMenfess]

!2dfess looking for interactions and mutuals, please either leave a trace in the form of keyword/IC or a repost. thank you for your time.

- lion hybrid oc, all genres welcomed.

[KIRIM MENFESS MELALUI LINK DI CARRD! @2DimensiMenfess]

!2Dfess

Greetings. I was told to seek acquaintances. If anyone's interested, repost this letter or leave a keyword for interactions. I'm looking forward to our interactions. (book editor AU)

A̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶h̶o̶p̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶,̶ ̶a̶h̶e̶m̶,̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶y̶j̶h̶.̶

[KIRIM MENFESS MELALUI LINK DI CARRD! @2DimensiMenfess]

ㅤㅤ꒰ !2DFess ꒱ㅤSelamat siang, cantik dan gantengㅤ…ㅤ৻ꪆ

[KIRIM MENFESS MELALUI LINK DI CARRD! @2DimensiMenfess]

𝓖ood evening, !2DFESS folks! I'm in search of new friends (or companions) to mingle with, would you mind leaving a trace (your IC or a repost)? Thank you in advance!

From: W-OC who works as a part-time stage actor.