Shadow of a Ghost. ["Libella"/Schellenburg]

[Ivana Dimionva Kuznetsova]

Ivana was called back to Russia for a new assignment. This slightly wrecked her nerves due to the fact that she had to up and leave Bruges to report back to Moscow. It was rather dangerous, for the Nazis held most, if not all of Europe, in their choking grip. This made traveling difficult and the chances of being caught increase. Ivana was able to get by with her false passports and documents that were inked in her pen name. It took her body some time to adjust to the estranged bite of her homeland winters. Ivana reported to the Moscow HQ for her assignment. That same day her mission brought her to almost the middle of nowhere. This was a bit different, but she was trained for missions like this. Originally she was supposed to meet her contact in Leningrad, but the current war caused the location to be more remote.

Ivana spent hours trudging in meters of the bone-chilling snow. The bag that was given to her carried a bit of extra weight, but it was not difficult to manage. What was inside the bag was probably the military documents of the current Nazi stations and posts, capsules of cyanide, a journal, and money. The spy believed these items were secure in the bag, for she did not check. The spy was now alone in the Russian wilderness, looking for Starshiy Leytenant Zolnerowich. The light of the moon gave her enough light for Ivana to make her journey to the meeting place. Her morale was currently depleating by the second. The spy was wondering if the man froze to death or just disappeared. It was strange to her that a human could just stand in these God forsaken temperatures for hours, but something was keeping her moving. When it seemed like bleakness and the ugly head of defeat would overcome the woman's body, she spotted a figure in the distance. This must be him. Ivana thought to herself. The spy continued trekking throught the crunchy
snow until the figure became more pronounced as probably her cotact. All that Ivana learned started to flood back to her.

The spy stopped a good feet from the man, it was enough distance to see some of his scruffy, but handsome face. Ivana noted his features as she stood in front of him. The woman was making mental notes to her contact.

"Are you Zolnerowich?"

Her voice softly trailed as her Russian accent surfaced on her toungue. She rested one gloved hand on the bag clasp as she waited for an answer from the man. The spy did not quite give him her GRU codename yet for she wanted to make sure that this male was her contact.

[Stanimir Zolnerowich]

6km North of Tolmachevo, Leningradskaya Oblast, Russia

7th October, 1942

0212 Hours




Resolute. Perhaps not the most fitting word for Stanimir's state of mind, but as close as one could come to an accurate phrase. After all, he'd been in the torrential snow, chewing on icicles, for a little over seven hours now. He'd sent his men back to the lines two hours prior; no reason for them to die in the name of his adrenaline addiction.

Well, actually there was all the reason in the world. Namely that he enjoyed watching them wither up and die like bugs. Their death rattles intrigued him, if only because of the sheer outlandish nature of a man freezing to death in the snow. Especially so early in the morning when they could barely see a foot ahead of them, and the darkness of the forest just a kilometer behind him blocked out the light of the moon. It was such a delightful horror to die in total darkness. Nobody is there to hold onto you as you pass.

But Starshiy Leytenant Zolnerowich had not taken the time to sit in the snow for hours on end to watch men die. Well, yes, he had. But he was supposed to await the arrival of a contact. A spy of some sort. The NKVD were very “hush hush” on these matters. They told him what he needed to know, and then he did as he was instructed; the killer enjoyed the killing that came with it, and the man enjoyed the gig of food, shelter, and a little cash for a future when the killer finally had its fill. If it had its fill.

The contact's name was “Libella”. An absurd name, he felt. Too “pretty”. But he wasn't there to assess the NKVD's choice of codename. He was there to watch men die. And follow orders. But mainly watch men die.

Speaking of death, judging by the location of the moon, it was well past the rendezvous time; he was beginning to suspect Libella had been killed or captured en route to meet with him. Not that he really cared beyond perhaps seeing the battered corpse half-buried in snow and ice.

Before he could give up on the spy however, his glazed, unblinking eyes caught the shadow of a ghost on the horizon, trudging through the half meter of snow. They looked tired, small in frame, and to be carrying something. A bag perhaps.

Stanimir shot to his feet with absurd and seemingly unreal speed, dropping his rifle into his hands with the shrug of a shoulder. He had yet to raise it, but a tense index finger stroked the trigger lovingly. If it wasn't the contact, then the killer always had a voracious appetite that the man could scarcely control.


I cocked up who I posted with, so I fixed it. The posts still work to a degree in their current locations, so jut run with it. - Herman


[]

[Stanimir Zolnerowich]

As the woman (an unexpected move to him) stopped but a meter before him, Stanimir's gloved hands fiddled with the bolt of his Nagant. He had unfortunately lost his PPD some months prior to an artillery barrage; he missed it somewhat, but the Nagant had a tendency to put bigger holes in people. His brow furrowed at the utterance of his name.

“Sparrow,” he corrected,“Yes. I am. That makes you Libella.” Just as she had looked him over, musing over his gruff appearance and frozen facial hair, he took an eye to her. Small frame, not particularly imposing. The average woman. With a small neck. In truth, the Killer found strangling to be both risky and uninteresting. The victim squirmed and writhed, and had every chance to fight back. Everything about it appealed to him, but he simply felt a proclivity against the action. Almost disgusted by it. No, if he was to do her in it would be with his bayonet more than likely.

What's more was that there was nobody to witness it. A perfect opportunity, the Killer noted. How long would Stanimir be able to keep him at bay? It seemed that every opportunity the...thing inside him got the chance to take over, Stanimir had to lock himself in a deathly struggle against it. It had been so many years that they had been neighbors in the same mind that there was almost no longer a reason for their bickering and fighting as well. The Killer would pick a fight knowing that he wouldn't gain control. It was just to make Stanimir come to “blows” with him.

Truthfully, you see, Stanimir had little a qualm with anyone. He just wanted to die. Settling for less, to gain access to food and water long enough to fight off the Killer for a little longer. Just until he could replenish himself to do so again. It was a fight so difficult to imagine or express that nobody outside his own head would ever understand it. There wasn't even a medical name for it (not that he'd ever seen a doctor for fear of being placed in a sanitarium). He was just “crazy”. “Crazy” not “in need of help” or “in need of understanding”. Perhaps it was why Stanimir kept to the shadows, and the let the Killer take the helm so often: he didn't want to surprise everyone with constant flips in personality.

“Is that the package, or are you the package?” He nonchalantly gestured to the bag in her hand, support by a solitary leather strap around the shoulder. She looked to be very cold. Were the Killer a gentleman, he would have offered their coat to Libella. But his nature and (less so) common sense dictated he hang onto the great coat in near sub-zero temperatures.

[Ivana Dimionva Kuznetsova]

Ivana listened to the man speak carefully, she continued to watch him in the dimmed moonlight. Honestly she was freezing to the marrow in her bones. She kept her fingers constricted around the leather strap of the bag. The spy began picking through the fleshly, rugged appearence of the man before her, trying to read him.

"Well I have something to give and you have something to have with you, for the current moment."

Ivana wittily replied to the man's question. She silently continued to seal in the man's outward apperance. She developed the photographic memory during her training years. It is vital for one, especially a spy to get to know their contacts without asking about the other. Her blue-gray eyes landed on the rifle that was in the grasp of the senior leutienant. Ivana was able to pick up that she was still not really trusted in his book or he was being cautious. She was also able to tell that he has been waiting for her longer than she had been wandering this white wasteland for search of her contact; it was previlant in the ice and snow that was caked on his facial hair. But something else was coming off of him. Almost like an aura... it was perplexing but omomious at the same time. This feeling was new to the woman spy. She had met many people Soviet, Nazi, Jew... and they had their arua's and personalities but this man was very different. The spy's eyes were locked on his face as she was pulled into thought about this man. Ivana made herself snap out of the drowning thought so her attention was not pourous.

[Stanimir Zolnerowich]

Internally, Stanimir cringed at her half-tease. Half corporeal, half-ethereal. He was stuck with the woman until they reached the lines. He couldn't kill her either. Well, he could, but-

No! No. Not getting tempted again. Stanimir struggled against the nigh out of control Killer. He couldn't let it take control of him now. Not when they were so close to being alone again. Alone.

Alone was the only time the Man ever really felt safe inside his own skin. Nobody was around for him to murder. Kill sometimes, yes. But nobody to murder. No senseless, raging violence to be had when he was by himself. Comfort was brought in that fact.

Narrowing eyes betrayed his skepticism at her words. The Killer was beginning to look for an excuse to butcher her. The Man was starting to lose this battle. It was an oh-so frantic feeling. Feeling control of his own body slip out of his grasp, he could only acknowledge his own fingers tensing around the grip of his rifle. A horrifying experience each time. And it had happened so many times before. It never seemed to get any easier.

“You know where we're going?” A genuine question in it's entirety. Stanimir hadn't been explained more than was necessary. Yet the Killer had the intent of affirming it was in fact the contact. If she said something ridiculously far off, she would surely be lying. Both of them knew it, the Man and the Killer. But the Man would simply leave her to die in the snow. The Killer would listen to her scream as the sub-zero temperatures froze the soft tissue as he skinned her alive.


[[S*** just got real, son.]]

[Ivana Dimionva Kuznetsova]

The spy listened closely to the question that was being asked. Honestly, Ivana had a slight clue of where she is suppose to lead him, but whether she wanted to actually tell him where to go was another thing. Part of her wanted to tell the man the coordinates of their location and let him figure out the place on his own, but then again it was against her orders to tell locations. It took Ivana to assess what she was going to say but the thought of how strange and unsettling this man seemed dictated her actual response.

"I do. All you need to know is that it is not too far off, but far enough to dodge the combat."

A small itch of worry was apparent in her voice. The spy worried about her actual safety rather than if she answered the question right. The woman continued walking in the direction of the given location. She silently wishes that she was not called back to her homeland and having to explain to the Gestapo leaders on why she will take a temporary absence. Ivana wondered on why the NKVD just did not use another agent to do this task. Some things just seemed so out of place that it was best not to think so hard about them.

[]

[Stanimir Zolnerowich]

“All I need to know,” he retorted, raising a single eyebrow for a mere second. The Killer drew his rifle from the waist, narrowing his sights on the woman. This was all the excuse he needed. Failure to relay some kind of critical information. Hell, even if that didn't end up passing for an excuse, they would just find her body laying in the snow months later, too decomposed to identify. She was easy prey. Stanimir, somewhere in there, was fighting as he may to hold him back. He was the only thing holding the Killer back from murdering her then and there.

“Let me help you to understand your situation, Libella,” he uttered. Even in the dense snowfall and shadowed moonlight, his words were crisp and deafening to any unscathed soul. A foreboding tone quite clear in intention and purpose.

“My orders are clear: 'get the package and courier to the drop point. If I have any reason to suspect the package or courier has been compromised, I am to take necessary action.'” The Killer took a moment to relish the words in all their imposing glory; her heart was likely tearing itself to pieces in terror.

“Right now, 'necessary action' means killing you, unless you can convince me otherwise; nobody is going to hear you scream out here. Nobody.” It brought no smile to his stoic, frosty face, but his heart seemed to visibly warm with glee at the very utterance of the phrase.


[[Neither do I anymore. Let's figure it out in the posts?]]

[Ivana Dimionva Kuznetsova]

Ivana stopped in her tracks and turned to face the man. His threatening words did slightly disturb her, but she refused to let it surface. The spy stared the man down and tightened her grip on the leather.

"Killing me would only hurt you and your men Leytenant. I was called from a very dangerous mission to come back and give you documents. I was given orders to met you at the checkpoint and lead you to the location. I am only here to do the job that was given to me and carry it out the best I know how."

Ivana paused and looked down at her bag.

"It is my duty to get this critical information to you without any upset. These documents can change the tide of the war... If it makes you happy, I am supposed to lead you a few miles east from Luga, there I am supposed to deliver the military information to you and be on my way."

The spy swallowed as she continued to watch the man before her, she was internally growing weary and unnerved.

[[hurrah for improv. well hopefully i got my act together in this post.]]

[Stanimir Zolnerowich]

Truthfully, there was a part of the Killer that wanted to laugh hysterically at the girl's comment. “Hurt you and your men.” The very implication that his men were not a form of disposable income was more than enough to tickle his fancy in one twisted direction or another.

But there was a more pressing issue. One that partially baffled him, and partially incited him to give a chuckle; an outburst he somehow continued to suppress, giving way only to his stoic, frosted beard.

”I may not be the smartest man in the world, but you are not particularly good at arguing for your life, are you?” The Killer's posture remained locked and unwavering. The crisp, statuesque position of his body continued to collect snowflakes. His breath was barely visible in the moonlight, and even then seemed to be borderline nonexistent.

“What part of your rotted skull forgot the part where I can kill you now and take the bag? This is getting more and more suspicious by the minute, 'fraulein'.” It was in that moment that it finally broke free. Creeping and cracking from the corners of his mouth, the faintest of malicious grins spread beneath his beard while his brow sunk, casting ever more shadow across the surface of his eyes.

[[Would you like to keep the posts short, or shall we get bigger? Your call; I have no preference.]]

[Ivana Dimionva Kuznetsova]

The spy continued to watch the man before her carefully. A part of her memory of what her seniors told her about this man came back to her, but she cursed herself in her mind that she remembered their warning now. By this time she would have noticed that her flesh was freezing over, but being in this situation, she would not have noticed if she lost a limb.

Ivana listened carefully at what the man before her said. "Arguing your life." That statement was just a luxury that she lost when she joined the NKVD. She was only concerned about following her objective. She knew what she was getting into when she accepted becoming an agent. She continued holding her grip on the bag, but relaxed it and breathing the frigid air.

"I know that you can kill me. I don't know how following orders is being suspicious. But dying is not something that I am afraid of." The woman still felt a lingering emotion of nerves and slight fear as she was in the middle of nowhere with a manic threatening her life.

[]

[Stanimir Zolnerowich]

Not something she was afraid of? How many people had the Killer met who proclaimed such a statement so ardently? The number was easily among the dozens. Most of them were dim-witted egotists, or young men that wrapped themselves up in the red standard. Most of them were dead now. A few by his own action.

He didn't think Libella brave either. Not in the least. The Killer, in fact, pitied her. Not because she was blindly courageous, but because she wasn't outright fearful. It made him want to turn this into a game all the more. To call homage to hardy Siberian hunters stalking wolves; his pray would be more akin to a rabbit, though. A small, brown rabbit scurrying through snow, standing out so very blatantly in action and manner.

While the Killer pondered action, Stanimir wrestled with him internally. There was so little he could do beyond holding off the monstrosity's tendencies and directing them elsewhere. Maybe, just maybe though, he could save this girl's life.

“You're not a very good spy, Libella,” the Killer uttered plainly,“And I don't imagine you could run very fast either...”

Stanimir lowered his weapon, drawing the shallowest of breaths, and pinning it to his waist with a single arm. A wave of relief befell him. The Killer had heeded him for the time being. For how much longer he could maintain some semblance of control was unclear, but he would try his utmost.

“You know the way,” suggested Stanimir as ice flaked from his beard, “Lead on.”

[Ivana Dimionva Kuznetsova]

The Russian winters were just as unforgiving as the crazed man before her. The similarities of the chilling bite and the dangerous behavior coming from her mole were strikingly similar. The spy maintained her ground as she pondered the corse of action to take in case this hits the rocks, or thin ice. As the spy kept eye contact, thoughts on how to harm this man before he harms her whirled through her brain. It was a surprise that her mind was still operational, despite being thrown into the worst case scenero.

The Russian remained silent as she heard another insult being lashed out at her, followed by another threat. Honestly, the insults did not phase the agent. She knew what she was doing and tried her absolute best, but this situation fell out of her control. Of course returning the favor is an option, but Libella knew that it was not the best option. The absolute last bullet on the list. A chilly swallow traveled down her throat as she knew that her body would be apart of the remote Russian landscape. She would pray, but she does not believe. Her only remaining option is to take it and hope for an accident that would save her life. Hope.

Indeed the tide turned in her favor as the Starshii Leitenant lowered the rifle to his side. He kept it thightly pinned to his side, as if he was fighting against something. Libella did not milk over the sudden change, she was just glad that her life was spared. A small smile appeared on her lips as she was in the clear. "You know the way, lead on." When those words left the man's mouth, it carried a different tone, much different than the previous conversation she was having. Libella hesitated for a minute as she pondered if she wanted to continue this or just abort the mission. The Russian woman made her move and lead the way. She knew that despite the threats and the dangerous situation she was in, she made an oath to finish all given missions.

[Tristan Herman]

As they marched headlong into the night, the air between the two of them was certainly one of succinct distrust and suspicion. Stanimir and the Killer were bearing down on the young woman as she marched on ahead of them, and Libella was surely shooting cautious glances over her shoulder every few moments in the near perfect darkness. Were the duo of Stanimir and his festering alternate soul not so adept to hunting and killing, the pitch darkness would have caused him to lose site of his once (and perhaps potential) prey.

As kilometers passed them by, Stanimir's eyes crept across the vague horizon between trees dotting the landscape. Libella's steps in the deepening snow were present as ever in motion and sound, but there was a definite further presence in the slowly encroaching woods. Was it man?

His ears perked up, and his glassy eyes narrowed. The only way he could discern the sound, between the bursts of distant artillery fire, was to cease all movement. His, and Libella's. A brisk, creeping run up behind her was followed by a hand placed gently, yet firmly, upon her right shoulder.

”Stop,” he whispered.“Movement. As his heart-rate settled, and his breathing came under control, Stanimir's eyes returned to the murky shadows between clusters of trees. Every few moments, he'd pick up on the faintest of movements. Pattering through the snow. Whisps of humid breath in the freezing cold air. It was no man.

It was a wolf. And it had their scent.

[Ivana Dimionva Kuznetsova]

The Russian femme continued trudging through knee deep of snow. Every few moments Libella would glance over her shoulder in the near darkness, whether it was out of nervous habit or taking caution she wanted to make sure the contact was alive or sane. She noticed that the man was closing a bit of distance between them in walking, but it did not concern the spy too much. Her mind was ever so focused in getting this insane human being off of her hands. The sounds of firearms and canons could be heard in the distance, it was not a shock or surprise, but it was rather unsettling.

The movements continued for some time, seeming to drag on and almost stop. Ivana was hyper focused in arriving a few paces away from the desired town, that she almost attacked the mole when he creeped upon her and whipsered in her freezing ear to stop her movements. It was purely frightening to the spy for a number of reasons. Libella was pondering how the man was able to cover that much distance. Was it because she disconnected from her surroundings? Or maybe because he was really that close to her in the first place. Either way it made the Russian agent very uncomfortable and nervous. Libella did not utter a sound, she was wondering why he stopped her in the first place, but she did not ask questions when she heard small footsteps crunching in the snow. It was strange because it was only the two of them in this landscape, or so she thought.

Ivana looked around for any sound of life that interrupted their journey. It was difficult to spot anything because of the lack of light.

"I don't see anything, but I hear sounds."

The footsteps continued to be heard approaching them for some time, but ceased out of nowhere. It silence settled over the land, but the silence was foreboading of the approaching danger that was in their path.

[Stanimir Zolnerowich]

It was something of a game the Killer liked the play at a younger age. When it was late at night in Sankt Pyetersburg, the Killer would hunt down stray dogs and cats; the latter of the two was especially difficult, given their agility. Sometimes for sustenance, other times for sport; to tickle his fancy as it were. It was a skill he honed over many years of cat-and-mouse (pardon the pun) survivalism during the civil war.

Stanimir crept forward, passing Libella with his breath held and his steps muffled. It was atypical for a wolf to hunt alone. It was either lost, or a pack leader; an alpha male out hunting on its lonesome. The more challenging, the better.

Pressing forward into the shriveled, naked brush beneath the trees, the Killer's movements were deliberate and audible, but stealthy all the same. As though his presences were noticeable, but in the background. The creature paid him little heed until he was but meters away, quickly becoming startled and growling at him. Clearly, the beast felt it needed to act defensively around the Killer.

Flashing its teeth, the beast began to slowly trot around its aggressor, making every attempt to move away. But the Killer pressed forward, holding his rifle like a sparring staff between his two hands, continuing the advance toward the wolf, breath still shallow and unstrained.

Finally, the wolf could take no more. Feeling threatened, it leaped for the Killer, jaws wide open and snarling, with a definite fire in its eyes. It had every intention of surviving the encounter and rising up as the victor.

The Killer had other plans.

Inches away, the wolf's jaws clamped around the wooden body of the Mosin-Nagant rather than the flesh of the Killer's neck. The stained white teeth buried into the matted, mahogany-colored wood, and the Killer whipped the beast around, slamming it against the trunk of a tree to his rear in amazing feat of strength. Its bones snapping were an audible cacophony, and the pain it was experiencing rather palpable as it wailed and whined.

Upon hitting the ground, the creature squirmed and writhed, unable to rise. Had the chance existed however, it would have been of little consequence as the Killer brought the butt of his rifle down upon the creature's skull once, then twice, three times, and ending with a fourth that smashed into its skull, gushing blood onto the Killer and soaking the white snow beneath.

The entire altercation lasted but fifteen seconds.

Satisfied that the beast was dead, Stanimir finally exhaled, and laid his rifle down in the snow, paying no heed to the blood on his face and gloves, instead opting to unsheathe a knife from the small of his back.

“Ever eaten wolf flesh?”