"Cough, cough..." The man lay on the ground, struggling to breathe. The sharp pain in his chest was unbearable—he knew his sternum had cracked, possibly even broken. Gritting his teeth, he reached for a syringe from his tactical belt and injected it into his thigh. The special potion coursed through his veins, temporarily dulling the pain.
Slowly, he pushed himself up, looking ahead. There, standing in front of him, was Natasha Romanoff—the target he had been tracking for years. But he hadn't expected this. Her strength, her speed—it all seemed far beyond what he had anticipated.
He recalled the arrow he'd shot earlier. The way Natasha had effortlessly dodged it and landed unharmed after falling several floors—something was clearly off. His well-honed instincts screamed danger. As a seasoned agent, he knew when to retreat, but even with all his precautions, she had managed to track him across such a distance.
Yelena arrived shortly after, breathing heavily from the chase. She took in the scene, seeing the man struggling to stand while Natasha stood before him, calm and unfazed.
"Is he going to kill us?" Yelena asked, her voice steady now that her emotions had calmed. She eyed the man warily.
Natasha shook her head. "Maybe just me." Then she turned her attention to him. "So, who are you?"
The man remained silent, gripping his compound bow and assuming a stance that indicated he was ready to attack. Yelena instinctively prepared to strike, but Natasha stopped her with a gesture. She could tell that this man wasn't just anyone. His gear wasn't the kind an ordinary organization could provide, and a wounded animal was always more dangerous. He might try to take Yelena down to shift the balance.
"Your target is me. Do we know each other? Are you from Eastern Europe? Western countries?" Natasha's questions came swiftly, her sharp eyes observing every micro-expression on his face. She listened closely, even to the rhythm of his heartbeat, using her heightened senses. "England? Germany? The U.S.? France?"
Her interrogation left both the man and Yelena momentarily stunned. Natasha's expertise in reading people, paired with her enhanced abilities, allowed her to detect the subtlest shifts in the man's demeanor.
"Are you with a special U.S. intelligence agency? FBI? CIA? Director of National Intelligence? NSA? DIA?" She rattled off the names, carefully observing his reactions. When she mentioned the FBI, the man tried to mask his response, but his breathing and slight twitch gave him away.
Natasha shook her head. "No, it's another covert agency, isn't it?"
Her eyes narrowed as she continued. "Is this about Dreykov? Are you targeting me because of him? Were you involved in his death in Eastern Europe?"
The man's composure faltered. He didn't need to say anything—Natasha had pieced it together herself, exposing the truth without ever knowing the name of his organization. He could barely contain his frustration as she calmly unraveled his identity.
"Fuck," the man muttered under his breath, feeling his composure slip. He hadn't said a word, but the woman in front of him had practically exposed every detail of his identity, all by thinking out loud. She hadn't even needed to know the name of his organization.
This woman was a monster.
Natasha's lips curled into a half-smile. "I doubt someone as tough as you will answer my next question, right?" she asked, her tone mocking. "So, your best option is to kill me."
The man tensed, hearing the deadly calm in her voice.
"You're impressive," Natasha added, almost as if she were agreeing with him. "Someone worth appreciating. So... goodbye."
And just like that, her aura shifted. The cold, ruthless assassin replaced the woman standing before him a moment ago.
Bang!
In the blink of an eye, Natasha vanished. The man's sharp, trained senses kicked in, and he immediately registered the shift in the air around him. An ominous gust of wind whistled past his side, but even though he could sense the danger, his body couldn't keep up. He was too slow.
A hand clamped around his throat, squeezing with a force that made it impossible for him to breathe. His face flushed red as he frantically reached for his waist, fingers trembling.
Just as Natasha was about to crush his windpipe, a sudden beeping sound came from the communicator on the man's chest. A calm, gentle voice broke the tension.
"Natasha Romanoff. If you can, give me a minute, and we can talk."
Natasha's grip loosened slightly, her brow furrowed, eyes flickering with thought. She considered for a moment—she could always kill the man later. "Who are you?" she asked, her tone sharp.
"We're from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," the voice replied, a note of urgency creeping in.
Natasha made sure to remember the name. The voice continued before she could respond.
"Three years ago, we learned about a spy named Natasha Romanoff. A female operative involved in numerous assassinations and espionage missions across Eastern Europe. You caused us considerable losses, so we sent agents to apprehend you."
"Just to arrest me?" Natasha's voice dripped with skepticism.
"Well, there were kill orders too. We wanted to learn more about you, and if possible, recruit you. But when you disappeared, we shifted our focus. We located Dreykov and completed his assassination."
The voice was surprisingly candid, revealing everything without hesitation. As an expert in psychology, Natasha could easily discern which parts of the story were true and which were exaggerated. She raised an eyebrow. "So?" she prompted, her tone cold.
"We're willing to offer compensation for the agent's reckless actions," the voice on the other end said, surprisingly direct.
Natasha raised an eyebrow. This organization, usually cold and ruthless, was now offering a compromise? It was unexpected.
Her thoughts raced—what was going on? Had they discovered something, or was this a calculated move?
"Ms. Romanoff, I believe we don't have to be enemies," the voice added.
Natasha wasn't intimidated by the organization, but Yelena's safety was a priority. She loosened her grip, and the man collapsed to the ground, clutching his throat, coughing violently.
"Stay out of our lives—don't disturb Yelena or me again," she warned before turning away.
Yelena, who had been about to speak, remained silent as they walked away.