Shipments were always one of the biggest pains in the ass. Honestly, a poorly run shipping company was like....it was like an obviously fake Fendi bag. New Atlantis City's biggest shipping company was poorly run. I mean, Jesus Christ, it was even run by some poor Russian bastards.

There was the inherit problem. It was run by men.

The petite brunette took a drag from an all black cigarette with gold leafing at the butt, flicking the ash onto the ground. They looked as though they must have cost a fortune. They looked a little illegal, the writing on the cigarette was in Russian. They were both, but damn if they weren't worth it. She was holding a real Fendi purse, and was making sure that everyone was well aware of what it looked like to know how to run a mafia cover-up well. A tall blond man holding a rather large duffel bag stood next to her. He bent to her, whispering something in her ear as the giant metal door opened up to the shipping yard. Both proceeded outside where a large shipment was being unloaded onto the docks.

There was something more than a load of illegal merchandise, guns, and drugs coming in on this shipment. The brunette (who was supposed to be on vacation) was specially enlisted by the her government to deliver a very special package. It was supposed to be an entire team of these “metahumans”. Some sort of counter for Savior. She didn't care, Savior wasn't in her city. However, she was more than happy to allow Russia to attempt to destroy the Americans. Actually, she would quite enough watching the destruction on television. She was sure that the blond wouldn't, but...well, that didn't matter too much.

“Hurry up. Where the fuck are they? Does it really take that long to get some fucking super strong bastards off of a god damn boat?” the Russian woman tossed her cigarette on the ground, stomping on it with the toe of the Prada boot.

“They are coming off the boat now, woman.” An equally tall man

“I'm sure they are Ilya.” The woman crinkled her nose, opening her large Fendi. She watched as he turned back around, the back of his head facing her. Asshole. Slowly, the Russian pulled out a gun, equipped with a silencer. There was a soft thud noise as blood and brains trickled down the back of Ilya's neck. The blond freaked out, coughing to hold back his vomit. "Bad move, Ilya." She watched with overwhelming pleasure as the large Russian hit the ground with a thud. "

From the edge of the docks, Varvara Novikova watched, slightly mortified that the blond did nothing to stop to woman. Varya, who was in torn and ragged clothing, approached the blond.

"Что? Почему Вы позволяли женщине убивать его?" She was yelling in Russian to the Russian man. It was obvious to her that he was in charge. The blond looked completely baffled.

"I...I don't...know?" He frowned, looking the the short woman next to him. "Why is she talking to me...?"

"Why indeed." She frowned, snapping her fingers, trying to get the woman's attention. "Эй, девочка. Не говорите с ним, он не понимает, и он не является ответственным. Я являюсь ответственным здесь. Я стрелял его, потому что он - голова дерьма. Где остальная часть - команда? Кто - Вы?"

"Они, должно быть, стали потерянными в отгрузке. Меня зовут Варвара Новикова. Codename: Красная Зима."

"What did she say?" The blond whispered.

"They got lost in the shipping. Her name is Varya, "Codename: Red Winter." Leave it to the government to come up with catchy names. Alright, Varya. You need to speak in English, so we're only going to speak to you in English. This," She pointed the the bag the blond had, "is clothing. We have an apartment for you. I will take you there. It's not far from here. If you need something, there is a number for you to call, and there in a man that will answer the phone. His name is Sasha. The apartment is fully stocked. You will stay there until the leader of your team arrives. Do you understand?"

Varya nodded. "Yes. I do." With that the brunette lead Varya to the car.

"Here are your papers. Do not leave the apartment. Do not speak to anyone. Just...stay." With that, the brunette sent Varya and her driver on their way to the the apartments at 8900 94th Street.


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Varvara Novikova was dumped off in front of a large, broken down building with the duffel bag. She watched, looking up and the tall building as people walked past her. Some stared, but Varvara was unusually tall for a woman of any ethnicity. She was sure that they could tell what she was though, she was some horrible half-breed of Russian and Siberian Yupik...and all of the filthy mutt Americans knew. They had no right to judge her. At least she was part Russian, more than any of the people that were passing her anyway. That automatically made her superior.

She looked at the piece of paper written in English...which was not very good for her. Despite having a decent grasp on speaking (or what she thought was decent grasp), Varvara did not possess the ability to actually read English. This is why she actually needed Alexei. Well, at least she was dressed half-way decently, in normal clothing. She blended, at least as much as she could. The tall, dark skinned woman made her way inside of the apartment. She was looking for apartment number 43. However, she didn't realize that she was suppose to go to the fourth floor (because that would make sense), and the woman took the large duffel bag and spent about 10 minutes figuring out how to work the elevator (she watched someone get on it right before her and wanted to try it out). Once inside the elevator, she pressed every button she could.

The door opened on the second floor. Unsure of what to do...Varya got out and began to search for her apartment. Numbers were the same, but for some odd reason, she had no idea why her apartment was not on his floor. This was the only floor with rooms, wasn't it? She assumed that this was the only floor that she could go to. After close inspection, she found an apartment close to 43. It was number 23. It was...it was not unlocked, but that didn't matter. Varvara pulled the doorknob off, opening the door.

"Привет? Любой здесь?" Varya threw her duffel bag on the floor and took off her shoes. "H...hello?" Nothing, not right then anyway. She replaces the door knob by smashing it back into the hole it had left. Varya merely headed to the 'fully stocked kitchen' to find some tea. At least this may be able to easy her tensions about being...alone.