Scorpio

TWENTY FIVE - Hit Me

It was just before dawn when Estella rose to a warm weight on her shoulder, shaking her awake. Blearily, she opened her eyes to find Wanda's tell-tale aura illuminating the otherwise hazy room, beckoning to her. A small pile of new, sleek black clothing floated towards her, surrounded by a ruby glow.

Training had commenced.

Natasha was waiting for her in the chute, though, unlike Wanda, she simply nodded in acknowledgement and walked off. Estella trailed groggily behind her, too drowsy to question the ex-assassin.

After tapping a code into a holographic keypad, Natasha stood by as a section of the wall slid open to reveal a picturesque plain of dried earth, wayward tufts of grass, and the occasional, haggard tree. A little while away, a pond sprawled for several acres, surrounded by rocks and shrubbery. One would probably think a building as technologically advanced as the vigilante Avengers facility to stick out like a sore thumb in the otherwise natural environment - except, it didn't.

The Avengers facility was, in fact, a massive treehouse.

"Welcome to Wakanda," Natasha stated, her voice sounding distant to Estella's divided focus. Estella shook herself slightly, looking back at the ex-assassin.

"Wakanda?" she echoed.

"Leading technological city in Africa," Nat explained, lowering herself to her heels in a leg stretch. "Probably the whole world, too."

Nat rose, twisting her back a few times, before turning to face Estella. "Show me what you've got," the ex-assassin announced, rolling her sleeves up.

"What- what I've got?" Estella echoed, still a little befuddled. They were in Africa?

"Yes," Nat said, before rephrasing, "like, what would you do if you're trying to fight me?"

Promptly, Estella dissolved into a puddle of fluorescent purple goo.

From below, Estella watched Nat stare blankly at the ground where her body mass had collapsed onto, then turned away slowly, as if in disbelief that that violet amoeba on the ground was actually Estella. Estella saw that as her opportunity and reformed as quickly as she could, trying to punch the ex-assassin.

As if she had eyes on the back of her head, Nat immediately grabbed her wrist and flipped her over, sending Estella back to the ground with an 'oof'.

"Not bad, with the ambush tactic," Nat commented, extending a hand to help Estella to her feet. "But if you want to punch, you've got to mean the punch."

*******

"You want to aim with a straight arm; keep your wrists level." Natasha demonstrated. She had rolled up her sleeves, one foot in front of the other, and kept one fist by her temples as her other executed the movement. Her form was practically the epitome of an expert. "Remember, the power of your punch comes from the swing of your hip, not your elbow or shoulder."

Estella nodded, imitating the ex-assassin's movements - albeit a little clumsily. Nevertheless, Nat grinned proudly at the progress.

"Great! Now, punch me." The ex-assassin raised her hands, and Estella couldn't help but notice the tip of a puckered line peeking out from the base of her index finger just above the fabric of her fingerless gloves; an identical line protruded from Nat's wrist and continued for about a decimeter onto her forearm.

Without a doubt, the ex-assassin had even more scars equal in severity coating her hands, differing only in size and the memories they carried. Estella wondered what it would be like - fighting under orders, on one's own free will, or perhaps with a group, or simply alone. Did she fight for her beliefs, her friends? Maybe with the Avengers, or with her - with her... what was that word again?