Svetlana was in her room, her muscles straining, her breath coming in steady, controlled bursts. She was curled 125 lbs in each hand, the metal dumbbells gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights of her sparse, minimalist space. The weights rose and fell in a rhythmic pattern, her biceps bulging, her forearms corded with veins.
"35... 36... 37... 38... 39..."
She was just about to finish her set, her teeth gritted, her focus absolute, when the door swung open without warning. Ghost Claw stood in the doorway, her gas mask tilted slightly, her posture radiating her usual blend of authority and mild irritation.
Svetlana let out a small yelp, her concentration shattering, the dumbbells clattering to the floor with a heavy thud. Her hand flew to her chest, her face flushing with embarrassment.
"VILL YOU KNOCK FOR CRYING OUT LOUD?!" she snapped, her Russian accent thickening with indignation. "I COULD HAVE BEEN MASTURBATING FOR ALL YOU KNOW! VHAT IF I VAS IN MIDDLE OF SOMETHING PRIVATE?!"
Ghost Claw rolled her eyes behind the gas mask, her voice flat and unimpressed. "I know you masturbate at midnight when you think no one else is awake. You're not as subtle as you think you are."
Svetlana's face went from pink to crimson. Her jaw dropped, her eyes widening with genuine shock. "HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY KNOW THAT?! I AM VERY CAREFUL! I VATCH MY NOISE! I—"
Ghost Claw waved a dismissive hand, cutting her off. "It's not important. We have a job."
She crossed the room and handed Svetlana a sheet of paper, the edges crisp and new, the text printed in clean, professional font. Svetlana took it, her eyes scanning the contents, her expression shifting from embarrassment to professional focus.
"we got a hit on the most recent dock used by the Gentleman's Mining Association," Ghost Claw explained, her voice carrying the weight of the information. "Melvin and Polo tracked a cryptocurrency transaction. 500 bitcoin. Led straight to a shipping container at the port."
Svetlana's eyebrows rose. "500 bitcoin? That's... that's a lot of money."
"Enough to move a significant number of people. We've confirmed the dock is active. They're using it to transport bodies—victims, for the trafficking ring. We need to shut it down."
Svetlana groaned, glancing at the dumbbells on the floor. "I vas just about to finish my set. You have terrible timing."
"Consider this your workout," Ghost Claw said, her voice dry. "You're going to get plenty of exercise at the dock. Here's the mission: you're going to put a tracking chip on one of the shipping containers they use to transport the bodies. Once we know where they're going, we can intercept the next shipment."
She handed Svetlana a small device, a tracking chip, no bigger than a fingernail, sleek and black and undetectable.
"After that," Ghost Claw continued, "you're going to kidnap one of the crew members and bring them here for interrogation. We need to know who's running this operation, where they're getting the victims, and who's paying for it all."
Svetlana grinned, her earlier embarrassment forgotten, replaced by the fierce excitement of a hunter on the trail of prey. "This sounds like fun. Do I get to break any bones?"
"Only if necessary. Try to keep them intact for questioning."
Ghost Claw's tone softened, just slightly, carrying a note of genuine concern. "This is a solo mission. You're on your own out there. No backup. No support. If something goes wrong, you're going to have to handle it yourself. So be careful."
Svetlana stood up, her muscles flexing, her joints popping as she stretched. She cracked her knuckles with a series of sharp, satisfying sounds and grinned, her teeth gleaming in the harsh light.
"Da, da, da," she said, her accent thickening with anticipation. "Pust' ya sb'yut mozgi."
Ghost Claw nodded, a hint of approval in her voice. "That's my girl."
She turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "One more thing. Eric is busy with another operation. We've contacted a replacement driver for this job. AJ will be here soon."
Svetlana's expression shifted instantly. Her grin faded, replaced by a scowl of pure, undisguised disgust. Her shoulders tensed, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
"AJ?" Her voice was flat, carrying the weight of someone who'd just been told they'd have to work with their least favorite person in the world. "Vhy AJ? Of all the drivers in the city, vhy him?"
Ghost Claw shrugged, her voice carefully neutral. "He was available. And he's reliable."
"Reliable? He's a HIPPIE!" Svetlana's voice rose with indignation. "He vears sandals! He talks about 'positive energy' and 'vibrations'! He probably has crystals in his pockets! I hate hippies!"
"Just get the job done." Ghost Claw walked out, her footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving Svetlana alone in her room, still scowling at the empty doorway.
"Fucking hippies," Svetlana muttered, her accent thick with disgust. "I hate hippies."