Natasha POV:
Before I can even breathe, it's already on top of me.
He's a blur of claws and blood, crashing forward on all fours, ripping apart anything that comes in his way with his razor-sharp claws
My instincts scream, and I dive sideways, a claw tearing through where my head was an instant before. The cargo container behind me shrieks as it's ripped open like paper.
I pivot, planting a boot on the wall, springing over him. His head snaps up instantly, tracking me with his sight. His hearing. his smell. A predator locked onto its prey.
His claws swipe my legs midair. It shreds my reinforced battle suit like nothing. A single drop of blood drips onto the cold concrete floor.
I roll and come up with my Glock drawn. I fired three times in controlled bursts.
He doesn't even flinch, only pausing for a few seconds. The bullets sink into his flesh, but it doesn't even faze him. He keeps coming, running on all fours, the glowing red tattoo pulsing like a heartbeat across his chest, his claws dragging sparks against the floor.
My hand trembles. The movements are familiar. To anybody watching from outside, it might seem like his movements are those of an uncontrolled beast, but to my eyes, everything has precision.
Even now, when he's running at me in a rampage, all his steps are coordinated, only kicking off the infrastructure that can hold him. In an environment like this, if he actually were feral, he would've broken something and buried himself in cargo at this point.
Even before. That lunge. The angle of the swipe. The way he pivots his hips to carry momentum through the strike. It's familiar.
I grit my teeth and move, forcing myself to be calm. I can think about this after defeating him. My body reacts before my brain can catch up, decades of training taking over. I deflect his next swing with the muzzle of my pistol, slide under his arm, and snap a kick into his ribs. He doesn't even stagger.
He spins, claws hissing through the air, and I have to roll again, concrete scraping against my back.
I plant a shock disk on the ground as I retreat. He pounces, full weight, claws-first, straight into the trap.
Electricity rips through him, the air sizzling, the light casting that savage outline in sharp relief. For half a second, he convulses. For half a second, I thought it worked.
Then his head snaps up.
Shit. I have to use this moment that he's weakened to finish him.
I rush him, and he also runs at me.
I drop low, everything I am folding into that single movement. My go-to technique when taking out musclebrains.
Bait the overcommit, step to the outside, hook the trailing leg, drive the hip, and take their weight across your shoulder. Using their size as a weapon, great for taking down those bigger and stronger than me.
I sell the bait with a grunt, reach for his wrist, and snap my hips. My shoulder catches his weight, my hook slides behind his knee. He tips forward exactly the way i expected. I roll, shoulders tight, and snap my hips again to flip him clean over me. His mass feeds into the momentum, the leverage, everything falling into place. My hands flash to control his arm, elbow pinning to my ribs, legs wrapping for the lock. Just one snap and the fight will be over.
And then he does the impossible.
Where I expect resistance, he mirrors me. Every twitch of my body, every microshift in balance I used to finish the throw, he answers with the same motion, a mirror-image so precise it could only have been trained. As I lock for the armbar, his free hand threads behind mine, palms sliding, and he rolls through my hold like it's the exact counter Ive been practicing for years. The arm that should be trapped becomes his lever, the throw that should have ended him becomes the setup for a response.
How is this possible. This isn't even something that they taught in the red room. something that I developed myself over years and years of field experience.
We're locked at a standstill. In a tangled mess on the ground, one move and the opponent gets the upper hand. A deadlock.
His breath is hot and ragged, washing over my face. For the first time, I catch it. beneath the iron and blood and sweat, a faintly human scent.
I grit my teeth and shove, trying to shake out of his grip.
That was when I got a glimpse below the mask.
And I freeze.
The glowing red eyes aren't familiar. But the rest of the face is.
I recognize that face. How could I not, when I've been seeing the same face every day for 2 months?
It was Alex.
My only student who gritted his teeth and held through everything. The only one that I put my heart into teaching. One of the only people that I can actually be myself around.
But there he is. Fangs bared. Tribal marks crawl across his chest like fire. Wild attacks bearing with no humanity.
"Alex…?" The name slips out before I can stop it.
The beast, no, Alex, using my moment of weakness, got out of my grip and slashed towards my midsection.
I couldn't react. The emotional pain hit harder than the wound.
What happened to him?
It hasn't even been a few weeks since I let him go?
Did an evil organization get to him?
Was it Hydra? The Hand?
I feel a little lightheaded...
I look down, only to see 4 massive gashes running along my stomach, leaking blood like a running river. The claws dug straight through my body armour.
I couldn't feel any physical pain though. All I felt was...
The aching of my heart.
My vision goes hazy.
Alex POV:
It feels like I've been sleeping for a really long time. Like I just woke up from a coma. If the bed I was on was made of rocks. Everything's so sore. Where was I again?
Right. I'm at the docks, looking for the missing kids. I was fighting Bullseye, and...
And what.
Shit, my memories are hazy. Are the kids safe at least?
I finally take in my environment. First things first, the safety of the kids. Yup, they're fine. Second, bullseye. He's bruised up and knocked out on the ground a few dozen meters away.
If he's just bruised up, where's all this blood coming from?
My senses start coming back to me.
My entire body hurts like bloody hell. What even happened over the last few minutes? I think I have faint memories of me beating Bullseye and... somebody else?
my fingertipsare warm. It's covered in blood.
I look down.
In front of me lies a familiar redhead.
My mentor, friend, and one of the only genuine relationships that I've made in this world.
My heart drops.
"...Nat?"
(a/n hey guys its been a while. im gonna be honest, ive lost the motivation to write, and was caught up in a lot of irl stuff over the summer. I went to summerschool then to korea and japan. then my grade 12 year started, and that shit eats up your time like crazy. Ill try to keep uploading, becuase i have such a grand story planned out, but i cant promise anything. Thanks for reading.)