The target isn't exactly what Clint had been expecting.

When Fury had been describing the threat, his words were laced with disgust: "rampant with darkness", "a danger to herself and anothers", "like a mortal Loki". Clint had allowed his mind to conjure up the worst possibilities - perhaps a madman in a cape with a crown of bones around his head, or a woman who can shoot fire out of her eyes. Instead, when him and Nat make their way into the compound in Ukraine, they both find themselves taken by surprise. Still as a rock in the corner of the cell is a woman no older than twenty-five. At first glance, she reminds him a bit of Natasha: her hair, though an icey blonde instead of red, is cut bluntly at her shoulders and falls in loose waves, and she seems to have a petite figure. When they enter, guns and arrow pointing in her direction, she doesn't make a move, but chooses to speak.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she says, not looking up. Her hands are resting on her lap, gloved fingers laced together. When noticing the gloves, Clint takes a second to look at the rest of her outfit. Though the compound can't be warmer than 50 degrees inside, she sits in a loose hanging gray tunic that teases her knees. She wears no trousers or socks, and while others with powers may be resistant to the cold, it looks as if she is shivering. Clearly, who ever had her locked in there would realize that she wasn't comfortable, but that certaintly wasn't their main concern. "Just don't take off my gloves and you'll be fine." She speaks with an accent that is hard to place.

"You know you're coming with us?" Natasha speaks and her tone isn't the slightest bit gentle. Without lowering her weapon, she steps further into the room until she is nearly standing above the girl on her cot. "Get up."

"They'll try to kill you if you take me." Finally looking up, they could see that her face was even younger than previously thought. Her eyes were a steely shade of blue that was nearly gray.

Natasha laughed in response, barely hiding her eye roll. "How do you think we got to you? They're already taken care of." Despite the security that the compound boasted about, she and Clint had made quick work to clear the halls in the wing that she was being held in. The girl looked surprised to hear Natasha's words.

"Really?" Her eyes widened, making her look even younger than she probably was. "I'm going to stand up - don't shoot me, please. It'll hurt me and you." Clint raised an eyebrow but gave a nod, signaling an okay to her and a don't shoot her to Natasha. As of the moment, she didn't seem like a mortal Loki, but perhaps that was the trick. Maybe she was a trickster herself who could hide her true intentions.

"You're not going to put up a fight?" Natasha frowned, distrust snaking through her veins. Like Clint, she had sensed a bit of herself in the girl: it's not as if she wouldn't try the same trick back in her dark days.

The girl, now standing, shrugged. A gloved finger came up to brush a piece of her hair out of her face. "Wherever you take me, I doubt it can be worse than here."

They got on the plane with only a small issue: despite protocol, she remained uncuffed. Natasha had attempted to place them on her as they were leaving the room, but for the first time since they had found her, she showed resistance.

"I can't put them over these," she wiggled her fingers in front of their faces, black gloves the focus. They seemed to be made of cloth or some thick material that almost resembled that of a towel, but that was unlikely. The SHIELD cuffs that they were equipped with were meant to encase the entire hand almost like a glove on their own - it was unlikely that they would fit over her gloves without pulling the material off or ripping it. "I know it doesn't mean much, but I give you my word I won't try anything."

When Natasha goes to argue, Clint gives her a look to stop the words from falling off her tongue. She complies, but when it comes to loading the plane, she leads the girl up with a rough hand on the center of her back. The aircraft they have used is small for SHIELD standards, but it was built with a cell in the hold that was large enough to hold an occupant or two. In this case, the girl found herself being led into a nearly identical space to the one she had been in the compound. Gray walls, gray floor, but lacking the cot that her old one had. When she shuffled in, her small frame found itself gravitating towards the back corner where her cot would have been. Once there, she wordlessly sat on the ground and allowed herself to be shut in. Though the door was made of a bulletproof glass, it was made so that one could have a conversation from either side.

"Why can't you take off the gloves?" It's the obvious question, the one that has been begging to be asked since they encountered her. Clint could only resist asking for so long. Whatever powers or abilities she had must be dangerous for Fury to talk about her the way he had, but up to this point, she seemed relatively harmless. From her spot in the corner, the girl frowned.

"Look," she said, almost too quiet to hear. Tentatively, one finger grabbed the top of the glove that went past her wrist; time seemed to freeze as she just barely tugged it down, revealing the skin underneath. She didn't pull it past the base of her palm, but it revealed enough. Clint found himself shocked at what he saw. While the rest of her skin was a light beige, as her forearm neared her wrist, the color seemed to gradient and deepen until it was pitch black at the base of her wrists. He imagined that the rest of her hand from the palm to her finger tips would look much of the same. When she looked up and saw he had indeed saw, she quickly pulled the gloves back up to their starting position. All traces of the black skin were now covered.

"And what do you do?"

"Kill."

It was blunt and she looked almost ashamed to say the word. Her hands were intertwined again, like they were when him and Natasha had found her. She looked too much like a child for his liking:clearly, she was an adult capable of holding her own, of killing, as she had said, but her appearance played on his weaknesses. She didn't look dangerous, but rather like a victim they might find themselves helping in any other situation.

"How do you kill?"

She swallowed hard and shut her eyes, leaning her head back against the cool wall of the cell. "I don't know what they did to me, but I can kill things - kill people - with a touch. And my blood - it's like a poison, I think. I would tell you more if I knew, but I really don't. I haven't been this way for long."

"Why did they do it to you?"

She seemed to squeeze her eyes harder, keeping them closed. "I don't know."

"There had to be a reason."

"Let me know when you figure it out, I'd love to know." Her voice sarcastic, pained. Clint imagined that SHIELD likely would be able to figure it out once they got more information from her, although the means for acquiring it from her would vary in their civility based on her cooperation. For her own sake, he found himself hoping she was as compliant with them as she had been with him and Natasha.