GONE DARK ✰ S. ROGERS

➜ [7] Dream Job

I walk through the empty streets with my hands stuffed into the pockets, shielding them from winter's snow.

How the hell does a black girl walk through the streets of Nazi Germany during World War II? Well, it's not an easy task, but it's easier than it sounds. Basically just cover up every inch of your skin and keep your head down.

When I asked Ms. Weaver that same question she firstly asked me if I thought she was stupid, which I obviously answered no. Then she went on to explain that wherever I'm going that they'll underestimate me which I was meant to use to my advantage and that the man Johann Schmidt who I was supposed to be getting information on had another mindset.

She didn't exactly elaborate on whatever that meant.

She told me to go to a base that the Resistance had in Germany. From there, a helicopter would fly me out to the mountains.

Obviously this Johann Schmidt guy is a villain. He has a secret base in a mountain range.

So stereotypical.

I reach a tall skyscraper that looks a dull grey on the outside, but unlike any other building on the street.

I walk through the doors assuming this was where I was suppose to go as it was exactly as it was described in my file.

A lady at the front sat behind an encounter and upon seeing me enter she casually said in German, "Es ist eine Schande über das wetter draußen." It's a shame about the weather outside.

"Anata wa Pari ni aubekidesu, anata wa jibun ga rakkīda to omodeshou," I responded, completing the secret phrase in Russian. You should see Paris then, you'd think yourself lucky. 

"Go to the top floor," she said promptly in English, pointing to the elevator.

I walked to the elevator and told the man the top floor and when I got in he cranked the elevator up to the level.

I left the lift to be greeted by air angrily blowing in my face from the helicopter that was waiting.

A man was standing there with his hand out to me. "Samiella Bryant?" he asked. I nodded yes in response. He led me into the helicopter. "Not anymore," he shook his head. "You're cover is Valentina De Luca. I'm assuming you know that already?"

"Yes sir," I responded.

He got into the cockpit and immediately took off with me barely having enough time to get into my seat.

Valentina De Luca born in Matera, Italy in 1924. My parents are Marco and Angela De Luca and my father works in the industrial sector of America. Past that I can come up with the rest.

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the loud sound of the helicopter blades. I clutched my small bag to my body containing a few things: a photo of my family and a gun. Ms. Weaver also gave me a pen with a little light at the top but told me whatever I do to not point it at myself.

She could've definitely explained that more too. "We're going to land in a minute or so!" the pilot yelled back to me.

I opened my eyes and looked over at the ground. The helicopter slowly lowered and now I could see the man more clearly.

He seemed pretty small in size, but definitely an older man. His hair was balding, leaving a very thin layer paired with large circular glasses.

When we landed I got out of the helicopter as soon as possible and the pilot took off immediately.

The older man stuck his hand out to me and I took it hesitantly.  I have to remember these guys are Nazis. I only have to pretend to respect them.