DAA da DEE, DAA da DEE, daa daa da-de-da DEE DAAAA...

Not even Nazis get good elevator music, Envoy thought glumly, trying to ignore the tinny patriotic waltz droning through the speakers. He didn't bother to wipe the pained look off his face. He was pretty sure most of the elevator's occupants would have felt the same way. If anything, the grimace added to his believability. Of course, the uniform helped more.

He wasn't thrilled about the outfit. It didn't fit him badly; the first guard's clothes had been too big, but they'd taken down enough Nazis that he now cut a relatively smooth figure in his borrowed uniform. There was a time when wearing it would have slipped him into playacting, Maxim Isayev against the forces of evil, but the situation now was all too real for childhood games. And the swastika on his arm made his skin crawl every time he caught his reflection in the elevator's shiny interior. He didn't like how convincing he looked.

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