Assignment Name: Shiloh Luxor Richmond {SLR} (Charliesweb7 & Razgriz)

[charliesweb7]

The room was bare. The typical gray concrete floors in the walled area. There was some red stains in various places, a sure sign that several (if not more) before her had been beaten into submission. Had those ones given in? The walls were plain gray cinderblocks. This place looked like a dungeon of sorts. Fluorescent lights that went from being blindingly bright, to flickering, to rather dim, hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room. It was all part of their tactic. A single long metal table sat in the middle of the room, two metal chairs on either side. There was just one door and one, one way mirror. Nothing else except one thing...There was a woman, chained to the wall. Her arms were above her head, feet just barely dangling above the floor. How long had it been? Possibly a week. Or maybe even longer. She thought it had been a month now. Who knows. Without any windows, each day that ticked by was possibly only hours or something. But that white noise coming through he speakers was annoying the shit out of her. Of course, she only noticed it every once in a while now. Only when she let her mind free. When she dared to let it bother her.

They had tried everything. Water boarding. They had been dripping water on her endlessly. They would take times where they put her on the floor, dripping water in between her eyes. Of course, she just welcomed it and drank some of it. Deprivation of food and water. They could only hold out so much before she died. They wanted her to talk, not kill her. After all, if she was dead...she couldn't speak. Sure, she was hungry as hell. But she could deal with it. She just thought of other things until then. They deprived her of the ability to use the restroom. But that just caused more problems for them as she soiled herself. They had tried hanging her up, but she just annoyed them. Rattling chains and giving wicked smiles. Deprivation of sleep by injecting her with adrenaline. The girl would not give up! This woman was some crazy shit. “Come here..” She whispered, a smile on her face. “I have something to say...” She whispered, licking her lips. She looked rather different from when they first took her. Her red hair was matted and a mess. The clothes she wore seemed to look a little looser on her even. She smelled atrocious, like she had lived in a landfill for years. Not only were her clothes soiled but they were stained with...unmentionables you could say. There was various cuts on her body and bruises, mainly from struggling and being wild. The man approached her, looking like he had just hit the jackpot. Was she going to squeal? Had they finally cracked her? Was she going to give them everything?! He could get a promotion for this...

“I am not telling you anything, bastard.” She spoke in Russian, spitting right in the guys face. She laughed maniacally, as if this was some game. Of course it was a game to her! All of this was just so much fun. The FBI had to do better than this. They were child's play to what she was used to. Psh, FBI, CIA. These silly Americans thought they were so good. “Oh, you have to do better than that.” She replied, a thick Russian accent in her voice.

Anatasia Dvořák. More commonly known as Cutthroat. She was ruthless alright, just like her name implied. She looked like a buxom bombshell, a sweetheart at best. Ice blue/green eyes that hide behind flirty lashes. Rich red hair that cascaded down in prefect waves to her bra line. The hour glass shape of a smaller waist and fuller hips. The pert, round rear and full breasts. She was what men dreamed of; what men wanted. And that is exactly what made her perfect to do her job. Sometimes she looked so innocent and sweet. She let men put their guard down for a pretty face like hers. And that is when she struck. She had her identification number tattooed on the back of her neck, in a white colored ink. It blended in more to her skin so it was not obvious when her hair was up. On her hip was a scar, in the Cyrillic letter k, which stood for cutthroat. It looked rather painful, mainly because she had been branded there. The raised and crumpled flesh had all but healed now, but it still did look rather nasty. Scars littered her body, more focused on her arms, legs and stomach. And there was a few round circular holes, indicating bullets in her shoulder and stomach. She didn’t even want to start with how many times she had broken bones or dislocated shoulders. That was the price to pay for being in her line of work however.

But ironically...this girl didn’t exist before age 10. Literally. She just appeared one day. That is what the KGB wanted everyone to think at least. That Anastasia just simply... appeared one day.

"You will pay for that you little bitch..." The man hissed, his hands going to her neck. He firmly gripped her neck, starting to squeeze.

The white noise cut out before something replaced it."Agent Taylor..." A voice called out through the speaker.

The man soon dropped his hands, causing Anastasia to inhale a rough breath before coughing a bit.

A few seconds later, the door was opened and a new man appeared. He seemed to be the one in charge. The way he held himself spoke volumes. The straightened back, puffed out chest and narrowed eyes. His salt and pepper hair showed signs of thinning and his face looked clearly weathered. Yes, he was clearly in charge.

"Agent Taylor, you are dismissed. I will handle Miss Dvořák from here." He said simply, taking a few steps towards the woman. The way he wrinkled his nose, Anastasia knew that he didn't like the smell. Totally their fault though. She wasn't going to feel sorry for him. He stopped a few feet from the woman, his steel gray eyes locked on hers before giving one a once over. "Two weeks, six days, seventeen hours, forty two minutes and..." He spoke, glancing to his watch. "Roughly twenty seconds." He simply told her.

Anastasia smirked at the man. "What, is that how long you have been dying to ask me out?" She teased him, chuckling gently.

"I will have to say...we expected this much. Considering you have been on the watch list for the past nine years and you just now surfaced. However...I still have to wonder why you were caught so easily this time..." He replied to her, moving away and walking to the table.

"Because it has always been my wish to be captured and tortured by the FBI here in America. It has been on my bucket list for...gosh...ever." She added, laughing once again.

The man didn't seemed moved by her little joke. "We have a deal for you. But we are still unsure if you can be trusted. Even if the word is that you are now ex-KGB...we are unsure where your true allegiance still lies...This will not be an easy task. And believe me. The hard part is not even over." He explained. "However, you are a valuable asset. Whether that may be as a bargaining chip or part of our team is to be determined. For now, you are in need of a shower." He simply responded, giving her one last glance before opening the door. At this point, there was three men who entered. One wore a pair of gloves and had a syringe in his hand, waiting to be able to drug her.

"Aww, you have to drug me? Now where is the fun in that? I thought we could all have a little fun." She responded with a wink. No response by the gentlemen and they seemed to not waiver in the slightest. All three approached before the one with the gloves took the last few steps towards her. A simple poke in the neck before they stepped away. The medicine rushed through her system, taking effect within minutes. And before she knew it, she was passed out cold.

~~~

"Are the restraints really necessary?" She asked, smirking as they zip tied her wrists together behind her back. Handcuffs were easy enough to get out for this woman. She was unsure how long she had been out but she knew it still had been another day or two before she was to be shown around to a few people. Anastasia was finally cleaned up, smelling like a fresh flower instead of Amarillo. That must have been a terrible job to whoever cleaned her. They certainly didn't trust her alone in the shower. She would somehow use something against the guards. Her red hair was no longer matted but brushed and tangle free, back to its former silky quality. Since she had finally gotten a good meal in her and some sleep, her face seemed to be better. Overall, she looked a lot better. Less...sallow. Although, her wrists and ankles were still cherry red, the skin ripped and chapped from the restraints. She currently wore a FBI t-shirt and a pair of mesh men's shorts. Very flattering to her body. "Is this the outfit you give all new recruits?" Anastasia teased. All she got was stern looks. Apparently they didn't find her jokes all that funny. Yeah well screw them. She didn't give one iota.

There was 5 men around her. Two in front of her, the "boss" at the very front and two behind her. The two behind her made sure that they had either arm of her and gripped her flesh tightly. They were her guards for the day. It was to make sure she didn't run or hurt any other agents.

They took her through the office, apparently on a mission to meet one person. Who? She was unsure of. Walking through the halls, she noticed everyone stood at their cubicles. All of them watched her, eyes glaring at her soul. Some seemed to just watch in curiosity. She was the show of the day though. She knew why some glared at her. She was public enemy number one around here. She had probably killed some of their agents. Their families. Hell, who knew. She lost count of the bodies she had killed. She lost count of anything. The men she had slept with, the bodies she had killed, the orders she had taken. She only kept track of a few things...

"Oh I guess this is my walk of shame huh? I guess I was due for one of those!" She replied, plastering on a smile for the people watching her intently. Another man in a suit. Another woman glaring at her. Oh look, another door that they went through. All of it was so fascinating.

Their journey finally came to an end, knocking before opening a door and leading her in. It was a massive room, filled with servers. The stark white room was buzzing with sounds as the men in suits lead her into a small room. This room was rather dark and housed a man at a keyboard.

"Darren." The "boss" replied, waiting for him to get up. "Darren, this is Anastasia. The woman I have told you about." He replied, looking between her and him. "Anastasia, this is Darren Jacobs." He introduced. "There is a small scale operation that I would like the two of you to work on. This is merely just one of the tests I will be subjecting you through Miss Dvořák." He informed them.

 

[Razgriz]

Life is a strange thing; one can never truly expect where it comes from or where it will lead. All one can know is that things will happen, and as humans the ability to adapt and overcome is sorely tested. How people deal with life and its various obstacles and challenges is different: Some rise to unforeseen new heights, others crash and burn, and the rest find that life has its ups and downs. However, many may argue that it's the not the destination, but the journey that makes life wonderful. There's so many things to do, so many places to explore; however, no one person can do everything. There's just too much out there, and sometimes compromises have to be made.

This was not the case for one little boy; born in Concord, New Hampshire from the union of his father Frank Lee Jacobs and mother Marie Roseanne Jacobs with the given name "Darren Smith Jacobs", it was fairly obvious early on that the kid was destined for great things. As a child, he exhibited unusually high intelligence, the magnitude of which normally attributed to a wunderkind; his parents, however, did not wish for their child to be objectified like those other boys they saw on television. And so, they tried to shelter him as much as possible; however, his projects during elementary school soon drew attention to him. It started when he (correctly) modeled a three-dimensional strand of DNA using nothing more than colored Play-Doh (of course, this meant that the other children had none to play with, as the molecule was quite large in scale). But his intelligence really came to fruition in middle school, where he managed to design a rudimentary voice simulator; of course, it would often crackle and pop due to inefficiencies in the circuitry, but the demonstration at the science fair won him first prize. Especially when he got it model his principal's voice reciting the national anthem with a surprising degree of accuracy (though she commented that it sounded far too shrill, despite assurances from other students that he got it spot on). His continuing excellence did eventually lead to his family being hounded; however, the attention soon let him be accepted into Technical University Munich. From there, he graduated egregia cum laude with a Ph.D in Drafting and Design Engineering and had started his second master's in Computer Software Engineering, particularly focusing on viruses and correlations to their organic counterparts.

His father being an agent of the FBI, he was never home that often; however, whenever he was, he would tell his son about what he did - within reason of course. Darren eventually decided he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps and join the FBI as well, causing him to drop out of school; his dad - after seriously talking about dropping out from a prestigious university - offered to pull some strings and talk with his boss. Later on, demonstrations of his skills with computers, science and his mind pushed him more towards research and development rather than actual field work like his father. Soon after, his father got transferred to a different unit, but Darren's skills and the unwavering faith his family had in him led him to become the man he is today.

And now, at the ripe age of 26, Darren was now one of the leading technological experts and head of the R&D department of the FBI. Someone in his station had a lot of benefits: A full crew of interns helping him develop tech and gear for the FBI's agents, a decent salary, and even his own little workshop where he could tinker with...well, just about everything. He'd been doing it since he was a kid, and it was this tinkering and messing with stuff that got him noticed by the FBI in the first place, so obviously to keep him sharp they needed to let him sate his curiosity. Especially with what he was working on now; it was a brand-new form of self-executing virus, really more like a virtual intelligence that could sift through data and compile it in a matter of seconds. With it, all any agent had to know was how to insert a flash drive into one of the receiver ports on a computer tower and it would do the rest.

Darren was busy at his station, furiously typing away at a computer that sat in the middle of the server room; when it came to him, no one ever really knew what it was he worked on unless they specifically requested something from him. The guy had a way with gizmos, as they would say; some of the others wondered where the hell he kept all his knowledge, to which he would often reply it was like a library. Ironic considering he would spout off what seemed like a textbook's worth of information on a subject he had knowledge in. Many often joked (in the friendliest way possible) that he was actually a robot and that's why he could build just about anything; it would make sense that his brain was like a computer to anyone that might not know him. And given his state of his dress, he seemed every bit the nerd type: A purple button-up long-sleeved shirt, black slacks, and glasses that seemed to somewhat overtly frame his hazel eyes. His dark brown hair was neatly combed and his skin had that characteristic shade of fish-belly white; and despite the fact that his work station was surrounded with parts that didn't seem to fit anywhere, he was no worse for wear. Like the chaos in his station was normal.

Darren, however, looked up upon hearing his name called; he saw his boss and a woman with fiery red hair in zip-ties. "One moment Boss...Just need to finish compiling this kernel....Done" he then said before standing up. "So...What brings you to my corner of paradise?" he then asked; it didn't the man long to introduce her to him and vice-versa. So this was the infamous Anastasia Dvořák, alias Cutthroat. Had to admit...She was beautiful for someone who was supposedly tortured; then again, it was likely they cleaned her up before bringing her to him. He couldn't imagine what she'd gone through, so he would try to be as polite as possible. "An assignment, huh? Sounds awesome" he replied before walking over to Anastasia and holding out his hand even though she would have to use both of hers if she so desired, "I've heard a lot about you; you were a hard one to find. But I guess that's what makes you...well, you! I look forward to working with you though! Welcome to the FBI International Task Force; I'd offer a tour, but I know Boss man already gave you it, haha. My humble little abode is usually the last stop for any new recruits". His shining eyes - portraying a relative innocence despite the fact that he was an adult - traveled over her body, though not like he was being a pervert; even with the modest clothing, she had to be one of the most beautiful women he'd ever laid eyes on, despite the visible scarring.

"Darren...Cool it with the welcome act. You're a professional, act like it" the boss then said to him; a hint of dejection crossed his features before a sigh left his lips, "Yes sir". He then clapped his hands together and asked with a bit more excitement, "So, what's this operation we'll be working on?" Honestly, he wanted to see this woman in action; the intel on her was so hard to find, and even then there wasn't much. He had to see what she was capable of.

 

[charliesweb7]

The man finally seemed to turn around, Anastasia noticing the thick rimmed glasses. Oh so typical. He tinkered with computers and he looked like a nerd. Please, did everyone do that? Was this some trend she was missing? Or were Americans just looney? Hum, perhaps it was the latter of those options... She wanted to laugh at the man. In fact, she should at this rate. She did end up snickering as he mentioned his paradise. "You mean this dark room with buzzing computers, a lingering stale smell of canned air, and a pasty white nerd? Sure. This is paradise alright if that is what you call it." She replied. The woman really didn't have a filter on her. Rather, she spoke freely and her words were not very kind. There had been no room for soft spoken kind words in KGB. There was no room for weakness or emotions in general.

As the man rambled on, she let out an exasperated sigh as her eyes traveled over the man in front of her. Sure, he wasn't all that bad really. Decent frame, nice jaw line. He wasn't the most attractive man on the planet but he was good looking. Not that she really cared. Then again, she would easily sleep with him. What can she say? Sex was fun for her. It really had no meaning anymore besides some physical pleasure. Nothing emotional for her. There was another snicker from Anastasia when the boss had to tell Darren to effectively shut up. This was entertaining to her in a stupid sort of way. "So you gotta be joking right? I mean...this kid must be what...eighteen at best? And he tinkers with computers. You really think my talents are best served with a man like him?" She asked the boss.

"This assignment will be about Don Rossi." The boss explained, moving over and then turning to face both of them. "He is a local mob boss...." He started. but didn't get to finish. There was a groan and a serious eye roll from Anastasia.

"Really? You do all this shit...just so you can give me some menial task of a mob boss? Excuse me. I thought this was the FBI. Don't you chase terrorists? Or people like me? Not some...minimal risk? My talents would be better served teaching old women how to kick some guy in the crotch." She replied quickly, her sharp tongue earning a stern glare from the boss.

"Miss Dvořák...do you plan on doing this the entire time?" He asked her. Quite frankly, her mouth was more of a nuisance. He should have just put tape over her mouth. If only that would solve all of their problems.

"Are you going to give me a partner I can work with and a real assignment? This kid is probably good at what he does but he isn't a field agent by far. Tell me, does he even know how to shoot a gun?" She asked, looking over to him again for the first time in a while. Anastasia was not exactly complimenting this man. And it made it obvious why people didn't send her birthday cards. She wasn't very well liked. She had been talking about him their entire time, as if he wasn't there. Hopefully the kid wasn't too hurt by it. Then again, she really couldn't care less if he was or wasn't hurt by her.

There was a pause from the boss before he continued on. "Don Rossi holds sensitive information on his computer. Since intel seems to be one of your fortes Miss Dvořák, you can rather easily infiltrate the organization. Darren here has a program that can compile the data extracted." He finished. "And this is a matter of national security." He warned. Maybe that would catch her attention. Then again, she really didn't have the choice. They had information that she wanted. They had something she treasured. Something she would die for.

With a simple lick of her lips, giving a simple shrug of her shoulders. "It seems as if you perhaps doubt me. Of course I can infiltrate." She told him, then looking to Darren. "I guess it is just you and me kid." She commented. Anastasia was only twenty five herself. Darren just looked young to her, juvenile almost. Maybe it was just because he looked so nerdy.

 

[Razgriz]

Darren was expecting her to be brash....Though not quite this much. Seemed she had no real problem expressing what her take on the situation was; though he should have guessed that how she was talking to the Boss. Still, what she said kind of stung; his eyes averted from her as Boss began explaining about Don Rossi. He'd wondered why there was a rush for him to finish this; was this going to be its field test? He'd never had it used before, though all tests that were run showed the compression algorithms could do their job well. Hell, with what he designed, he could fit the entire Library of Congress on a two-gig harddrive if he had to.

"Don Rossi....That's the guy who keeps slipping through our fingers" Darren whispered to himself; the guy was like a chameleon. Even if it was obvious that it was him who did it...Somehow they could never find enough evidence to fully cement the accusation. It was like he would blend in, and anything they had on him was gone; the guy didn't even have much of a digital footprint. No social networking, no online banking...Nothing.

But when she called him out again - granted this time she gave him a veiled compliment - he felt his pride hurt just a bit more. Sure, he was no James Bond but he was capable in other ways. Still, he didn't raise a fuss about it; she worked for the KGB after all. They were known for putting their recruits through the meat grinder, even worse than what the Marines or even the Navy SEALs went through. At least that was how he imagined it; he could be wrong. But still it seemed that things would be moving right along, because Anastasia then commented on how it would just be the two of them. "Looks like it....Like I said, look forward to working with you" he then added, still sounding cheery but a little disheartened by her hostility.

Here, the director spoke once more, "Miss Dvořák, Mr. Jacobs is quite capable; he may not have much field experience but he is an expert analyst. And not just with computers; in fact, if it weren't for him...We would have never found you. Despite some of our best agents working on how you might have infiltrated this country, it was him that somehow figured where you would go and allow us to intercept you". Giving a cough, he then added "But you can ask him how he pulled it off later...Right now we need to get to work".

He then turned to Darren and said, "Darren, if you would....Let's begin the briefing". Giving a nod, Darren pulled out a laptop and after punching a few keys opened up a live video feed. It was a luxurious compound of sorts, complete with all the things a powerful mob boss would have: Marble fountain, expensive sport cars, the list could go on. This mission would be quite interesting indeed.

---

(Imma let you handle the briefing, since you have a better idea of what this mission entails)