капан || {Codename "Waltz": Bucky, Gwen, Anja}
We're setting up comms at 1800 hours. Don't be late.
They were on the road. That much, she could tell. In the back of her consciousness, the stench of vomit and gas was overpowering, and her own body was shaking with the effort of dry-retching. One girl had fouled herself, sobbing and babbling in Bulgarian that she did not care to understand through the mind of her current host.
In the mind of Zlatomir Ivanov, Anja seethed.
He stood in the dim light of the Gostinitsa Dnipro, cigarette smoke pouring out of his nostrils while his memories came to her, imprinting the names of all of his men and associates in her consciousness. Having practiced so long against Danger, his mind seemed almost too easy to infiltrate, to silence as she assumed control of his body.
So far, the mission had not gone according to plan. Anja's job was to scout the museum, taking possession of a couple of officials long enough to ascertain any and all details pertinent to the mission. Inside the building, she had been taken by two of Ivanov's men, who had knocked her out and taken her to their boss when they found her suspicious. She had woken up to Ivanov inspecting her, dirty fingers pushing her mouth open, a dark smile contorting his features.
She'd had him in a flash, and proceeded to spend the next hour punishing subordinates for failures and appeasing those of his victims who he'd gotten addicted to his drugs. He was devoid of emotion. He moved through the motions of his work with a simple hum of contentment that would have sickened Anja were she in her body. The uncommonly pretty group made his orders to not touch them plausible, but Anja could do nothing about the smirks that passed between the soldiers as she left with his body.
Tendrils of smoke floated through the air, dissipating into the crisp night air. The end of the cigarette flared red for the last time before he flicked it from his fingers and crushed the butt beneath a newly clean black dress shoe. The short, stocky frame belied his agility and grace as he walked into the building, his men standing guard outside. He walked straight to the elevators, Anja's room key and personal possessions tucked into his pockets and on his person.
He pushed the button for the fifth floor, examining his reflection in the metal doors. Of all of the masculine bodies that Anja had possessed, this one felt the most unnatural to wear. She felt pinched, trapped into a costume that she could not remove until the mission was done.
And even as the elevator lifted him up, she could feel her body moving further away.
His heels clicked on the floor beneath him as she strode down the hall, eyes scanning the walls as numbers popped out at him. All numbers of rooms his girls held. With a careful knock, he unlocked the door and pushed the door open, hand on Anja's gun in case the others were not so eager to greet him.