Age of Darkness Christmas Special

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The Moscow Rules
1. Assume nothing
2. Never go against your gut
3. Everyone is potentially under opposition control
4. Don't look back; you are never completely alone
5. Go with the flow, blend in
6. Vary your pattern and stay within your cover
7. Lull them into a sense of complacency
8. Don't harass the opposition
9. Pick the time and place for action
10. Keep your options open

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Music: 41 Minutes of Spy Themes

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Part Two: Rule 4 - Don't Look Back; You Are Never Completely Alone

After the introductions to the team she'd be working with, the Avengers, Agent G has decided to lay out a plan for the evening of the infiltration of the HYDRA party. She was given full command by Director Carter and sent on her merry way to the training room with the others. She's found a quiet corner to work, by herself, alone.

Like she always is, alone.

Lucky for her, it doesn't stay that way for long. "You got some nerve showing up here," Glory says, not looking up from the schematics of the building the ball will be held in that Carter provided her. The Christmas event for the Russian and American Presidents is a high class, fancy party. All the wealthy people, the rich diplomats, the high ranking politicians, the royalty, will be there. Getting in is harder than Glory first thought, but not harder than what she's faced before.

Rule nine: pick the time and place for action.

A laugh comes from the tall figure in front of her table as she continues to work, outlining possible exits and entrances to sneak in. "You will not need a way to sneak in, Возлюбленная," Pietro says. "Carter is providing a way inside."

"What did you just call me?" She snaps her head up, glaring at the young man.

Pietro smirks and glances down at her work. "You seem to have this down to a science."

She shrugs off his nickname this time and glances back down to her papers. "It's the job. I do it well, if I do say so myself. And I do." She sighs, frustrated. "Why do we even have to do this? Why don't we just get the event cancelled? I'm sure S.H.I.E.L.D. has that kind of pull."

"We cannot. HYDRA's boss, their leading man, is supposed to be there. Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull as they call him. He is supposedly been dead for years after an unfortunate accident, but we have reasons to believe he is very much alive and going to make the finishing blow to the Presidents himself." He pauses. "You must have a lot of down time, with this whole secret agent thing," he says sarcastically, leaning against the wall nearest them.

Glory rolls her eyes. "Like you're one to talk, Maximoff. From the way you tried to kill me, or rather, tried to not to try to kill me, you've been at this whole S.H.I.E.L.D. game for a while now. You could've killed me. I was unguarded and tipsy. There were at least twenty ways you could've at least knocked me out before I left the restaurant." She tilts her head to the side. "But those weren't your orders."

Pietro nods. "We needed you alive." He grins, slyly. "Besides, why would I want to hurt a pretty little face like yours, Возлюбленная?"

Before she can slam her fist to his face, and say, "Stop calling me that!", Steve Rogers comes over to her table, followed by Winter Soldier, whom she leaned was named Bucky Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, the Widow and the Hawk. They all loom over the table, looking at her notes and diagrams of the security systems, guards, exit routes, get aways, attendance listings, and more.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and nods his head approvingly. "You have a nice layout, Agent G. Care to bring us into the loop?"

Glory hesitates. This is all so new to her. She's a loner, and a loner can't just flip a switch and suddenly let people in. All her life, people have let her down. Her abandoning mother, her verbally abusive father, her uncaring sister, her physically and sexually abusive boyfriend. After years of hurt, she'd sworn never to hurt again, never to let anyone in again.

But twelve million dollars... she has a plan for that money...

Glory nods. She slides the papers over to the Avengers. "The party begins at eight in the evening in the Grand Hall in downtown Moscow. The guests are brought in via private security in private limos. You have to prove your identity to the security outside the Hall, and no weapons are allowed. Obviously."

"How many guards?" Clint Barton asks. "Exits? Entrances?"

"Four guards at each entrance, and there are three. The main entrance where all the guests arrive, the secondary on the side of the Hall, and the third is a back entrance." Glory points to each of the entrances as she speaks. "They are also exits, as well as the underground garage which leads directly into the street."

"What kind of guards are we talking?" Natasha Romanoff asks, twirling a curl of her short, red hair in her fingers.

"Nothing to worry about," Glory chuckles. "Simple Red Army guard. Maybe a couple of Americans, but the good thing about Americans is that you can spot them from a mile away."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "How?"

"You always look so uncomfortable," Glory smirks.

"You say 'you' like you aren't American," Doctor Banner observes, coming to the table. "Are you, Agent G?"

Glory rolls her eyes. "This isn't about me. This is about saving the Presidents of two very important nations."

"And a pay day, right?" Pietro retorts. "Because that's what it is all about for you, is it not?"

Glory glares daggers into his eyes. If looks could kill, Pietro Maximoff would be a bug on a windshield. "Do you try to be a prick, or does it just happen? You have no right to judge my actions, Maximoff. None of you know me, and none of you have the right. I am doing this for my own reasons. That's all you need to know." She turns back to her maps. "Now, once we make it inside, the Presidents will hang out with their guests for a while, making their rounds. After which will be the speeches. It's then that I believe HYDRA will try to make a move."

"They are going to go for an assassination?" Wanda asks, confused. "That is awfully risky. If they are caught-"

"-Then they'll use their best friend," I reply.

"Cyanide," Steve says. "They've used it multiple times. They don't prefer being taken alive."

Glory nods. "Now, what happens then is up to us. I'm still working on it-"

"-Perhaps I could be of some assistance, G?" Tony Stark suggests, coming over to the table and joining the group for the first time. He's shoving a donut into his face, wiping the pink sprinkles from his face. "Mmm! Those are delicious! Nothing like Russian pastries, I swear."

Glory places a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow at the genius man. "Thanks for joining us, Stark. Care to share your master plan?"

Tony licks his fingers, one by one, then pulls out a tablet of sorts. The computer floats above the tablet. He hits multiple buttons, showing us the floorplan of the Hall. "We enter here, like G said, and we have agents stationed at the south, west, and north corners. Those have exits. Then we make sure that no one is on the upper levels. No snipers can take anyone out without being seen."

"That is great," Pietro says, nodding his head, sarcastically. "Now how the hell do we prevent the modern world calling into chaos because some crazy Nazi obsessed cult decided to kill two Presidents?"

"We use these," Tony grabs his invention from the side table, smiling widely like a kid that got away with something bad. He's holding tiny helicopters.

"What the hell are those?" Natasha asks, taking one of the tiny machines in her hands.

"Those are the Dwarves. I have seven. One of my students in S.H.I.E.L.D. designed them for me. Fitz, I think his name is." He takes the helicopter and places a headset on his head. "You can control it with your thoughts. Pretty cool, huh? We can use these to spy on every point of the building without being there. They can also fire missiles."

"To what, kill an ant?" Clint laughs, poking the tiny machine with his finger. "No offense, Tony, but these look more like something I'd get my kids for Christmas."

Tony scoffs and controls the helicopter to fly with the rest of the six towards the shooting range, where Clint's arrows remain in a bullseye formation. "Sleepy, Dopey, fire at will." The two of the helicopters fire missiles at the targets and blow them up, creating a large pillar of fire and smoke to rage around the destroyed targets.

The sprinkler system comes on, trying to put out the fire. "What the hell, Stark!"

"Don't insult my Dwarves!"

· ~ · ~ · ~ · ~ ·

The night of the event came faster than Glory would've liked to admit. Such a mission needed weeks, months to plan out, but they were given 24 hours. Was this risky? Hell yes. Was it probably going to go south? Most definitely. She guesses that's why Carter assigned her a team. Safety in numbers.

Glory picks the golden dress from the hanger in the changing room. Ten minutes until they move out, and she's changing into a gold, shimmery, classic dress. It takes a lot for Glory to feel like anything more than an assassin, an Agent of a rogue society, but this dress and a string of pearls made her feel like she was the queen of Asgard. She can't help but twirl in front of the full-length mirror, smiling at herself.

As she ruffles her unruly red curls and attempts to clasp the pearls around her neck, her fingers fumble, not able to find their place.

A voice interrupts her focus, startling her. "May I help?" Glory turns around to see none other than Pietro Maximoff, all dressed up in an expensive tuxedo. His white hair is combed to the side and he has his jacket thrown over his shoulder.

She nods, looking back to the reflection in the mirror. Pietro comes up behind her and gently takes the necklace into his hands, clasping it around her neck with ease. "I barely recognize myself," Glory whispers, for once, forgetting that anyone else is in the room. She's not distracted by the mission or the lives at stake. She can only focus on how different her reflection is to what she normally sees. "This isn't me."

"Maybe not how you normally see yourself," Pietro replies, standing back from her a bit, "but it is you." He pauses, not sure of what to say next, so he settles with, "You look beautiful," and hurriedly scurries out of the room, leaving Glory with a surprised expression. She's never seen him so gentle.

"Agent G, report to the limousine on the curb immediately," Director Carter's voice boomed over the com system in the dressing room.

Glory takes a deep, glances at her reflection once more, and leaves the room.

On her way to the limousine, she recites herself the mission plans. They had gone over it a million times in training earlier that day, but once more couldn't hurt.

Get inside and find the HYDRA agents.

Wait for the Red Skull to show himself.

Take out the Red Skull before anyone gets hurt, mainly the Presidents.

Sounds easy, right?

Wrong.

They will have to get through top notch security systems, evade detection of HYDRA, figure out an escape plan on the run if things go wrong, figure out a way to keep both Russian and American Presidents safe, and keep all S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operatives alive.

So no, not easy at all.

"Remember the Moscow Rules," Natasha Romanoff says, coming up beside Glory from out of nowhere. "Name them. It will help you focus and stay calm. One of your parents was Russian, I assume. That's why you stay in Moscow most of the time and you choose very specific Russian alias'. So, go on. Number one?"

Glory swallows visibly. How did she figure all that out? "Rule one, assume nothing."

Natasha nods. "Rule two..."

"Never go against your gut."

"Three?"

"Everyone is potentially under opposition control."

"Four?"

"Don't look back; you are never completely alone."

"Five," Natasha adds, "go with the flow, blend in."

"Six, vary your pattern and stay within your cover."

"Seven, lull them into a sense of complacency."

"Eight, don't harass the opposition."

"Nine, pick a time and place for action."

"Ten," Glory finishes, "keep your options open."

Natasha nods her approval, smirking. "Now I know your family is Russian." Her smile falls off her face. "Who are you?"

Glory fakes her Russian accent as she replies, "Liana Rustova, wife to the Russian Secretary of State, who couldn't be here today, but Maximoff will be masquerading as. I am married to a Leonard Rustova, twenty-seven years old, no children, born in Stalingrad, born to poor parents in the falling Soviet regime." Glory rolls her eyes at the alias. Who came up with those ridiculous covers?

Natasha nods again as they approach the limo. "Excellent."

"And you? Who are you tonight?"

Natasha fakes an annoying American accent and laughs dramatically. "I'm the one and only Mariah Drake! I do full coverage reports for CNN and cover most of the Presidential campaigns. Of course, I'm married to my work, a huge flirt, no children, a lush at parties, and I have slept with more men than I can count!"

Glory chuckles. "At least I got the classy act."

Natasha drops the cover and rolls her green eyes. "It's a unique cover I'll give you that. I've done worse." She pauses. "How much of that cover of yours is a lie, G? We know next to nothing about you personally."

Glory's face turns serious as she opens the limousine door. "It's better that way."

Once inside, she settles in, and the other door opens. Pietro Maximoff slides in on the other side of the limo. "Oh, come on," Glory groans, face palming herself. "Not only do we have to act like we're married, but I have to ride twenty miles with you?"

Pietro crosses his arms and grins widely. "I could get Stark to ride with you-"

"-No, no, you're just fine." Glory huffs and turns to look out the window. "No personal questions, though."

"Carter told me to give you this," he says, opening his palm to show two, small, translucent, flesh-colored earpieces. "These will not set the security off. Your cover has hearing aids. They will pass as normal equipment."

Glory nods and takes the coms in her hands, gently placing them in each ear.

"And this," he hands her a small, thin mask, "will make your face and voice of that of Ms. Liana Rustova. Also, this," Pietro pulls out a gun from the bag beside him. "It is to fit under your dress."

Glory waves the gun away from her, but takes the mask and holds it in her hands. "I already have two under my dress, and the material shields from detection, so nothing will be seen."

Pietro's eyes get wide and he glances down at her dress. "That is a very form fitting gown. Where the hell did you put them?"

Glory smirks. "Trade secret, my friend."

Pietro smirks and raises an eyebrow in a suggestive manner. "Perhaps we can get to know each other better tonight, da?"

"We're on a mission, Maximoff. Find what motivates you to complete it and shut up."

"I just wanted to say I am sorry for trying to shoot you... and for being an ass in training. Whatever your reasons for doing this, they are your reasons and yours alone. I have no right. I was just uncertain of whether or not to trust you. You are an outsider. You are not an Avenger. I'm very protective over my team and my sister... especially my sister, for reasons you do not yet know."

"We all have something we're protective over, Pietro. Your reasons are more similar to mine than you might think."

Pietro is silent for a moment as Glory turns to look out the window at the passing buildings. They're on their way into downtown Moscow. The Grand Hall, or Bol'shoy Zal, is only a few minutes away once he speaks again. "You are awfully quiet, Возлюбленная."

"Don't judge. No one plans a murder aloud."

"Very funny."

"You know what the Russians say? A chatterbox is a treasure for a spy."

"Do you have family?"

Glory sighs. "I thought I said no personal questions."

"Fine, I will restate: why did you choose this life?"

Glory turns to face Pietro with a very unhappy glare. "What part of no personal questions don't you understand?"

He shrugs. "It is not that personal. If it makes you feel better, I choose this life to save my sister. Now, you answer."

She pauses, but soon realizes he won't be shutting up anytime soon. "I didn't choose this life."

"What do you mean?"

She smirks. "No. First, you answer this: what do you mean, to save your sister?"

Pietro leans back in his chair and grins, knowing he's won. Glory is opening up to him. "I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. after my sister and I had done some very bad things. We worked for a third party, a man by the name of Ultron, but his real name is Raymond Reddington. He had us make enemies in both HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. Eventually, both parties grew tired of us, and went about our capture. HYDRA got to us first.

"When my sister was taken, I went to S.H.I.E.L.D. for help. In exchange for my sister's rescue, I would come to work for them." He pauses. "They completed their part of the bargain, and so did I. Director Carter said I was free to go about a year ago, but I stayed on because Wanda and I had found a home in S.H.I.E.L.D. I am loyal to them now for different reasons."

Glory nods. "I joined the KGB at eighteen. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. My... my mother was a KGB officer, and she went undercover when I was 6. She never came back. I was hoping to find something on her disappearance, or worse, her death.

"After years, I found nothing, but in the process of looking, I went beyond my clearance. The KGB kicked me out, and that's when I found Agent V. He helped me hack the KGB, and that got me on their bad side. I've been on the run, a spy, a rogue agent, ever since." Glory shrugs. "I haven't had a normal life since I was eighteen. Not much to tell other than that."

"I am sorry about your mother, Agent G."

When Glory looks over to Pietro, she's surprised to see actual emotion on his face. He really does feel sorry for her. She sighs and looks down. "This is why I didn't want personal questions."

"What?"

"That. That right there. You feel sorry for me, and I don't want that. The key is keeping yourself to yourself. Keep your mystery. Don't give anyone too much information so they can't define you." She looks back over to him. "I don't want your sympathy. I don't want your sadness."

Pietro nods once. "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Alright." The limousine pulls up to the Grand Hall. "We are here," he whispers. Glory clicks her mask on and her face comes that of another person, the ultimate spy tech.

Pietro does the same and quickly gets out of the limousine and rushes over to Glory's door, like lightning. He offers her a hand. "My lady?"

Glory blushes slightly and takes his extended hand, pulling herself out of the ride. "I thought the driver was supposed to do that?"

Pietro smiles and links his arm with hers. "Keep smiling. We are married, da?"

Glory smiles through her discomfort and leans against Pietro, smiling at the paparazzi that have crowded around the building. As the camera's flash, Glory whispers, "So, where exactly is the real Russian Secretary of State and Ms. Rustova?"

He leans down, and whispers, "Probably locked in a bunker somewhere."

Glory chuckles to herself and they walk inside the Bol'shoy Zal.

Now comes the tricky part: sneaking past security. No matter who you are, there is always a security check of great extent at these events.

Luckily, with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s high tech, and some of Tony Starks inventions, Glory and Pietro are able to sneak past without the armed guards detecting either of their multiple weapons and coms on their person.

They enter a large room filled with wondrous Russian music playing. The band plays the strings so beautifully that Glory's toes feel almost off the ground. The entrance room is a gold color, and a chandelier hangs from the cathedral high ceilings. There are multiple floors, one going up, the other going down, just as the schematics told her. The entire building is regal in nature, and the people are gathered in pairs in the room below to dance to the music. This is the ballroom.

"You like Russian ballads," Pietro states, looking down at her.

She nods. "How did you know?"

"You are smiling, for real this time. I have not seen a genuine smile yet."

She shrugs, looking around the gorgeous entrance. "It's my Russian blood, I suppose." A waiter comes by, and Glory takes two glasses of champagne from the tray he carries. Handing one to Pietro, she holds her glass up. "Cheers, to a great night."

Pietro clinks their glasses together, and they both take a small sip. "Where are our friends?" she asks.

Pietro leads her towards the large staircase, down towards the ballroom. "They are right behind us. Do not look."

She soon hears a loud, obnoxious voice come from behind her. "Yep. That's Natasha's cover alright."

Rule four: don't look back; you are never completely alone.

They enter a room even grander than the last, if that's even possible. The live music is on the stage, playing soft, beautiful chords from a traditional Russian waltz. The people are swaying with each other, enjoying the company of nearly two hundred esteemed guests.

Even with all the people there, royalty, politicians, agents, Glory can't help but feel alone. This isn't her life, and it never will be. Each time she's gone undercover, it's been as a ballerina, or a small town girl, or a barista. She's felt at home in that because her entire life has been about blending in to small places where no one would think to look.

But here, in the Bol'shoy Zal, one of the most beautiful and ancient buildings in all of Russia, surrounded by billionaires and presidents, she has never felt more outside of her comfort zone than now.

"Rule five," she mumbles to herself, "go with the flow, blend in. Go with the flow, blend in."

"What are you mumbling?" Pietro asks, setting both their champagne glasses on a waiters tray.

"The Moscow Rules," Glory replies, glancing around the room and spying the other agents. Romanoff and Barton are over by the drinks, Romanoff laughing all too loudly. Maximova and Rogers are by the music, pretending to be entranced by the sounds, but are secretly keeping an eye out for intruders from above the band or even in the band. Stark has arrived and made a scene for himself, no surprise there. Dr. Banner is hiding amongst the crowd, searching for HYDRA in the corners. Barnes and Carter are standing at the exits, casually hanging out to keep HYDRA from escaping.

Pietro and Glory are just where they're supposed to be: right in the middle of everything and close to the politicians and royalty to spot HYDRA agents. Carter had them memorize the faces of the diplomats and royals that were attending. If they see someone who isn't on the list, they take them out.

Pietro suddenly offers her his hand as a new waltz comes on. "A dance while we wait?"

Glory nods and takes his hand, letting him lead her through the dance. "Who knew you were a good dancer, Maximoff."

"I am full of surprises, are not I?" He pauses, trying to collect his words. "You really do look beautiful."

Glory blushes a deep crimson. "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself."

"I bet there is not a man or woman here tonight that would not want a chance to know you." Pietro smiles softly to the corner of his mouth.

"They can't even see my real face," Glory retorts.

"Can anyone see your real, face, Agent G?" Glory doesn't know what to say to that. "'People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.'"

"Elisabeth Kubler-Ross," Glory mumbles. "You read."

"Barely. I do not have the attention span." He smiles down at her. "You know, a name would be nice to know, Agent."

Glory's smile faulters. "I... I can't."

Pietro glances away for a flash of a second. "I understand."

"But not for the reasons you think."

"It does not matter. I will just keep calling you Возлюбленная until you learn to trust me."

"I don't trust anyone, Pietro."

"I know, Возлюбленная."

Glory chuckles as the music moves to it's chorus, a beautiful melody of a tragedy. The strings collide with the percussion in a wondrous dance, just like Glory and Pietro.

She lets him lead her through the waltz, following his steps like an expert. Had everyone not met them, they would've thought they moved together with such grace. Palm to palm. Like they were made to do this dance for the rest of their lives. Face to face. Like they'd done this before. Inches apart. Like they'll do it again and again. She is dressed to kill, and he is to die for.

For just one second, for merely one moment in time, Glory let her guard down. Her Jericho, her Berlin Wall, she allows Pietro to blast that trumpet to cause its crashing down, to win the war against her fear of companionship. No one has done this that fast, and she doubts anyone will again.

Oddly, she's okay with that. Pietro is all she needs in that one moment. As they sway together to the best of the music, Pietro leans in closer, almost brushing his nose against hers. If the music had gone on, Glory might've kissed him, or let him kiss her.

But every moment ends, no matter how marvelous.

The song ends all too soon, and Pietro pulls back, bowing to Glory; Glory mirrors him. Is it possible for someone to be breathless from a dance? If it was even the dance that made her breathless.

Straightening up, Pietro takes a look to the stage. "They are about to begin speaking. We should keep an eye out for Schmidt."

Glory nods, still awestruck. Taking his hand, warm and comforting and home, they walk to the edge of the stage where all the other distinguished guests have gathered. The band is taking a seat, and the speakers are making their ways to the stand. Among them are the Russian and American Presidents, Pavel Lebedev and Matthew Carson, respectively. The Presidents shake hands as they meet in the center of the stage, smiling friendly at each other as the cameras flash.

Pietro tugs on Glory's hand, pulling her towards the right corner of the building. "What is it?"

"Carter sees something."

"Why doesn't she just tell us through our coms?"

When they arrive at Carter's position, she pulls them away towards the hallway. "Coms are out. Someone's disabled our communications with home base and each other. Whatever is going to happen, it's going to happen soon. I have Barnes, Rogers, Romanoff, Barton, and both Odinsons standing guard. Maximova and Banner are on the balcony. Stark is up on stage with the Presidents. I have a mission for you."

They both nod. "What is it?"

"I need you both to find Johann Schmidt. He's here. I know he is. Find him and finish him before this gets worse. Here," she hands them tiny walkie talkie type gadgets, "old school spy tech. Use them for communications."

Glory and Pietro nod to Director Carter and turn to go about their business, each taking one walkie. Pietro shoves his in his tux pocket, and Glory places her in her clutch. "You take the left side of the building; I'll take right."

Pietro nods and lifts her hand to kiss the back of it. "Be safe, Возлюбленная."

She smiles at him. "I will."

As they depart, Glory recounts the memory of Johann Schmidt's profile, one of which she memorized for this mission. She remembers he is a tall man with brown hair and wary eyes. Something about him terrifies her. Why did they even call him the Red Skull?

She walks through the crowd like she belongs there, nodding politely at the smiling guests. The Presidents are making their speeches, attempting to make secure the world they live in by reuniting their alliance.

It's all bullshit, Glory thinks to herself. They think a couple petty words and a gala will fix the nuclear war and terrorism? They are even more foolish than I thought.

Glory comes to a pause at the back of the auditorium, frozen and looking frantically around. She's found no one who matches the description of the man she saw in the profile. Perhaps he didn't come after all. Perhaps only his henchmen are here. Maybe no one came at all. Maybe the attack was on someone else, and false information was leaked to S.H.I.E.L.D.

"They are full of themselves, aren't they?" A man says, coming to stand beside Glory.

Shocked, she turns her head towards him. Not Schmidt, thank God. Only a man, about fifty or so, with a bald head and brown eyes. She calms herself and regains her composure, instantly slipping into her cover. "I suppose. My husband works for Russia, so they all aren't that bad."

The man chuckles and offers Glory a cigarette. She doesn't smoke, but takes it anyways. "Politics were never my social circle. I feel sorry for you husband." He turns to her and offers a hand. "I'm so sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Robert. Robert Butler. I'm a businessman from the great country of England."

Glory shakes his hand. "Liana Rustova. It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Butler." Glory slips her hand into her clutch and presses the contact button to let Pietro listen on on her conversation. He will hear and know what to do.

He smiles. "Oh, please. Call be Robert." They both continue to watch the stage, but for very different reasons. "I can't believe they think a party will solve the world's problems." Robert sighs. "'Old men declare war, but it is the youth that must fight and die.'"

"Herbert Hoover."

He nods. "He was right. Under the oppression of the United States and Russia, no man will ever die that isn't a foot soldier. What a pitty." Robert turns to Glory once again. "Where is your husband, Ms. Rustova? I hope he's enjoying the party more than I am."

Glory fakes a laugh. Rule three: everyone is potentially under opposition control. She wasn't about to let her guard down to this man. More likely than not, he's a HYDRA agent who has her made. "I have no earthly idea. Probably finding the vodka. Goodness knows he loves it too much."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Pietro stumbling towards her, clearly pretending to be quite drunk. He smiles, and slurs, "Hello, Mrs. Rustova. What brings you here this fine evening?" He wraps his arm in hers sloppily, looking like a drunk teenager at a college party. Not attractive. At least, not much.

Glory rolls her eyes. "I have been conversing with this fine gentleman, Dear. I see I was right about the vodka?" She turns to Robert Butler. "I must see to it that he gets to a seat without falling. It was good to meet you, Mr. Butler."

He nods. "Likewise, Ms. Rustova. Enjoy your evening."

Glory leads an acting Pietro away. Once out of hearing range, back in the quiet hallway between the entrance and the ballroom, she turns to him and says, "Thanks for the rescue. That guy was creeping me out."

"That was smart what you did with the walkie." He stands up straight and shakes his head. "He was getting too friendly with you."

"Did you find Schmidt?"

He shakes his head. "No. It is like the man does not exist."

"Have any of the others seen anything?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing yet, but we will-"

Before he can finish his sentence, shots ring out in the ballroom. People start screaming. Glory and Pietro drop what they were discussing and run at full speed to the ballroom, pulling out their weapons and loading them.

What they see is a horrifying sight.

END PART TWO.