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The Pentagon, Washington D.C.
Dasha made her way through the Pentagon dressed in U.S. Army officer’s uniform that had her rank as Lt. Col. She made her way through the halls of the old fortress with an ease and comfort that sent the message that she belonged there, a collection of files safely tucked under her arm. To the casual observer, she was just one of countless officers heading to brief someone somewhere. She rounded the corner and came to a small hallway with an elevator that led to the lobby and the exits. She had just entered the hallway when a guard at the desk stopped her. “Excuse me! Ma’am!” She stopped and, with practiced ease, spun on her heel and turned to face the person speaking to her, a well-practiced look of annoyance at being challenged on her face as she walked over. The guard, seeing her rank, did not flinch as she spoke. “Pardon me, Lt. Col. New security measures. I need to know what you got and where you’re going. President is paranoid again.” Dasha gave the woman a smile and when she spoke, her voice conveyed a perfect midwestern accent. “Again? Is he ever not paranoid?” The guard allowed herself a little smirk and laugh at that. It was nice to meet an officer with a sense of humor. Dasha continued. “President wanted an update on the Afghan situation and apparently he wants proof again that North Korea was indeed blown off the damn map. I’m on my way to brief him. Well try to brief him, at any rate.” She said with a roll of the eyes. The guard giggled a bit. “Forgive me, Ma’am but you’re not the usual briefer.” Dasha nods. “Very observant. Nice to see a guard taking their role seriously. Surprised me as much as you but apparently the President or his advisors think he might pay more attention if a female briefs him. I’m so glad I went to West Point and decided to serve my country so some sexist ass thinks the president might pay attention to a attractive gal in uniform.” The girl rolled her eyes. “Ugh. I’m soo sorry, ma’am. Good luck?” Dasha laughed and nodded. “Thanks. I’ll need it.” A few moments later, Dasha stepped out of the elevator, made her way across the lobby and left the Pentagon. It was time for phase 2.
Phase 2: White House, Washington D.C.:
Dasha’s military uniform and briefing story had gotten her into the White House and once inside, she moved to one of the bathrooms and made her way to the stall where someone had stashed her gear for phase 2. Dressed as a member of the Secret Service, she was the one waiting when the nightly fast food delivery came through and inspected it. While inspecting it, she carefully added a small addition to the food. It would not kill the president. Only sicken him. A subtle reminder to him that his Russian puppetmasters were watching and could still get to him. She brought the food up herself, walking in when cleared as the president and his advisors were talking. As she was leaving the President stopped her pointing to the MOX News report. “Hey you! What do you think I should do about the damn Mexican terrorist?! I get told she makes Mudcock money.. As if I give a damn about that.” Dasha shrugged. “Not really my place, Sir. My job is to keep you safe.” She said, trading her midwestern accent in for a Southern accent. The president smirked and nodded. “Well I got some of my advisors trying to tell me this lil’ bitch wants me dead.” Dasha nods. “Well if she tries, I think she’ll find it pretty hard. We’re really good at protecting Presidents.” McStrump, apparently mollified for now, returned to his arguments with advisors and Dasha slipped out of the room, and smirked as she walked down the hall. All in all, this was a successful trip.
Outside the White House, Dasha got into a car and nodded as she settled into the seat and Boris took off, driving back to their base. Dasha sighed as she leaned back in the seat, letting her Russian accent back into her voice. “Americans…” She muttered to herself as she looked over the information she had gathered. All in all, her mission had been a success. She had gotten some information as to what McStrump was up to. This religious cult like operation was definitely a threat and would likely need to be dismantled at some point. Boris looked at her through the windshield mounted mirror and nodded. “Thoughts?” Dasha sighed. “The President won’t be sleeping tonight. I gave him a reminder of what he can expect if he fails to listen to his orders. Now I suppose we focus on part 2 of mission. Tag Team battles.” Boris nods. “Valora and Vastrix. Abbigail and Sato. They put our enemies on two teams.”
Dasha nods and shrugs. “Made harder by the fact that Takuma Sato and Abbigail Dresden have hidden their pasts so well. Did you succeed in your mission?” Boris nodded. “Da. Our hacker is good. I have a decent report to go into when we get back and review film.” Dasha nods. About an hour later, the two were in their apartment, watching film. Boris looks at Abbigail and then to Dasha. “Dasha… you see what I see?” Dasha nods. “Da… her reflexes.. It’s almost like she knows what’s coming. I’ll have to bring in Alexandra Bester. Test a theory. What do we know about her?” Boris shrugs. “Born in Chicago, Illinois. Or raised there and assumed born there. Adopted by Mary Dresden, a self proclaimed ‘wizard’ and magical consultant. Most people considered her a charlatan and con-woman.” Dasha smirks. “Then likely the daughter has learned from the mother.. Given her criminal problems already we can hit that. Other than that.. While she is improving, she is still new to combat. You and I have literally spent most of our lives fighting. Vastrix and Valora are the main threats. Our hacker friend?” Boris grins and hold up two small discs. “We have two each. Small EMP bursts and will disable our cybernetic friend. She is working on your idea of hijacking and taking control of the cybernetic body. But that is apparently harder than I would have thought.”
Dasha nods. “I thought that would take time. The Emp discs will work well.” Dasha said as she thought. “Since I’m consulting her anyways, perhaps Ms. Bester can stay here for a bit. We could use help. The Americans want a revolution. Perhaps the American Proletariat is finally ready to listen to their friends from Russia. We’ll have to start looking for groups we can ally with or create.” Boris nods. “Da.. a good plan.”