The Keepers of Onslaught (Avengers FF #4)

4 - Lost and Found

AN:  Dedicated to @syalala7 for all the votes! Thank you so much :)

The silence in the room screamed louder than those men ever did.

Blood painted the water stained walls. It dripped slowly, crossing paths on the way down. The lights in the room swayed back and forth, illuminating the room in certain areas and shadowing others. Bodies lined the floor, limbs twisted around as if they were rag dolls. Natasha stood in the middle of it all, blood splattered on her fierce expression. Her chest heaved as her eyes stared forward, focusing on nothing in particular. The sound of her heartbeat erratically thumped in her ears.

These bastards had nothing. No information. No money. Nothing even trade-able in value. They were gypped by their employer, who was clearly protecting Omega Red from her wrath. Whichever member of the Hellfire club protecting him will meet their long, torturous fate eventually.

A struggled inhale rose from one of the bodies. The man reached forward, latching onto the ground with his broken nails in an attempt to pull himself. Blood trailed down the front of his skull, dowsing in his face in crimson ravines. Natasha stepped on his leg, forcing him to stay put. He cried out in agony between ragged breaths. In a surge of urgency, he spurted out, "I will give you a name if you let me go! Please!"

The name of their employer? Is it someone in the Inner Circle? They're untouchable. This could be a breakthrough. Natasha didn't hesitate to jump at the offer. "Talk."

The man licked his lips sloppily, sucking in air when he could. He hesitated, indicating that he rethought about what he was doing. Before Natasha could put more pressure on his leg, he cracked, "Red Onslaught. His radical plans exceeded what the Hellfire Club originally wanted and they turned him away." The silence he received in response caused him to panic. "That's all I know, I swear!"

Then go.

Natasha stomped on the man's neck with a sickening crunch.

She wiped her face off with her dirty shirt and discarded it. The clean sweatshirt she had thrown aside earlier now came in handy. In order to ponder about the name, she needed to calm down. As she put the sweatshirt on, she remembered something Matthew Murdock once told her about steadying her heart rate.

Natasha walked out of the building and onto the cold street.

Walk through the motions. Listen to the city. See it through other senses. Your heart will calm down... A sigh escaped her lips. Matt might've been full of bullshit, but he did know a trick or two on how to tap through Natasha's mental walls.

The benefit of hunting so late became apparent almost instantly. Hardly any engines echoed against the buildings, meaning few cars traveled. Gasoline hung lowly in the air. Yelling in two houses ensued, but the rest remained in slumber. The constant buzzing of the street lights flickered in and out as the old bulbs struggled to keep up with the power. Glass broke somewhere in an alley. The crisp, chilly night air burned her nostrils until a horrid stench hit her in the face. Piss. Garbage. Rotten food. Body odor. The overpass housed the city's homeless. She didn't realize she was already halfway back home. Too bad she didn't have any money on her.

Natasha put her fingers on her other wrist to test her pulse. Back to normal. Thanks Murdock. A hint of a smile nearly blessed her lips, yet it disappeared when she heard His footsteps behind her.

"I see letting go of this grudge is going to be difficult," Clint, or whatever vague version of him Natasha's mind had created, spoke up. He waited for a minute, and was met with painful silence. He caught up to her in a half jog, the tone of his voice low, "They need you back home, you know."