Falling From Sainthood

Anyway, my current target is sitting in a business meeting, his head in clear view on the other side of the window. A few lines are all around his head, numbers popping up on both sides as my scope measures wind speed and angle. Lucky me; my back's to the wind and it's going to help carry the bullet.

The finger I have on the trigger twitches a few times as he stands up and gives a presentation. They had told me to wait until after said presentation to blow his brains out. Apparently it would send a message about the presentation topic to the people in the room. Well, whatever. So long as there's payment for dealing with my major fear of heights and risking everything I have to take this idiot down. Seriously, who gives a presentation on increasing sex slave production?

My codename is Saint, and for good reason, too.

He finally takes his seat and my finger immediately pulls the trigger, watching as his head snaps to the side and he falls from his seat.

"Good riddance," I mutter to myself, avoiding the thought of the target's current condition.

Quickly, I pack up my equipment, police my brass and head out. Another stroke of luck passes as cars pass at high speeds to get to the building my feet carry me away from. The police are probably arriving at the business's building, arresting person after person for illegal sex trafficking. Too bad their main target was just killed.

Well, whatever. I just saved a young woman's life, so the police will just have to get over it. And before you think 'you're crazy,' let me just point out that a half-naked woman was in the corner of the room, out of my sight, but clearly there. Several of the men kept turning to her and eyeing her. It's obvious she was there as a toy for when the meeting was over; a proverbial carrot on a stick.

Whatever happens to her, though, is up to the fools in blue. My job's done, so I'm going home and taking nice, long, hot bath! Yay! Bubbles!

"I feel so much better!" I cheer as I leave my bathroom with nothing on.

What? I live alone. It's not like someone's going to see me naked in my own house. Well, unless the blinds were 'accidentally' left open again… but that's just to tease my neighbor. It's hilarious when he passes out from a nosebleed. Fun fact, by the way; I always thought that was just some random thing they put in perverted adult cartoons to make people laugh.

Anyway, while standing in front of my dresser and going through my drawers, my sight catches the funniest thing happen once more from the corner of my eyes. The best part is, he was watering some flowers his sister has on the window sill. Man it's fun to mess with that guy!

Finally I decide on a white t-shirt and blue jeans, throwing on some white undies and a camisole over the white bra before pulling on my outer clothing. Taking some white socks from my drawer, my feet carry me downstairs to grab my tennis shoes; once again, white. With my socks and shoes on, my gaze turns to look at my reflection in my TV screen. My pale skin reminds me of my condition, and while walking out the door, my hands instinctively take hold of the gray jacket that always covers me when outside.

With my jacket slipped on, I start walking down the street. My neighbor is waiting in his front yard, leaning on his fence with an annoyed expression. Honestly, why does he always glare at me like that when this happens? The blind was, as said before, 'accidently' left open! Oh. And there's an entire tissue box in his hand, a ton of them in the other and held up to his nose.

"Seriously?" he asks, his blocked nose making it a little funnier.

With a bright smile, I nod my head, my white hair bobbing with it. "Yup!" Okay, maybe not so 'accidental.'

And then my feet continue walking onwards. After a few minutes, I pull an iPod from my jacket pocket, along with red ear buds, and start listening to a random playlist. When a successful kill is managed, this is my routine. But I make sure to do it a little more often than that, just so people don't get suspicious of me.

My eye twitches, and my instincts have warned me of an onlooker. And not just any onlooker, but the kind no assassin wants to have. With a frown, my eyes scan around, me moving my head like an idiot, acting like a normal civilian with a bad feeling. Scratching my head for a moment, my gaze turns back to my path, and making a face that looks like I'm thinking to myself, my feet start moving again.

In reality, that look around let me memorize a license plate number of a black Chevrolet a block down. Was my near perfect vision mentioned? My normally red eyes picked up the numbers almost instantaneously, and since the sun wasn't bothering me due to blue contacts, reading it was all too easy. Man, being albino sucks sometimes.

I pull my phone out and play with it for a few seconds, going into my messages and sending a random text message with the cryptic code we've always used. The mistakes that would be present in any text message give the license plate to a contact of mine. But we have to text back and forth a couple times to get the entire number across.

The last text she sends, to one that asked for a 'xake,' is 'I'm on it.' With a sweet smile on my face, I pick up my pace. Even though this person is doing as asked and checking the number out for me, that doesn't mean I don't want that cake. And the best part is, she lives nearby.

"You're not gonna like this, Sainty."

"Sainty?"

"Well, you're pastier than paste, and you've got one hell of a moral compass. Why not?"

This is a preplanned dialogue we made in case someone decided to follow me one day. And man, am I glad we did. As we go through the preplanned dialogue, my contact, named Carrie outside of work, hands me a plate with a two layer piece of triple chocolate cake… God I love when this woman's on her period. And, another fun fact, so glad mine never had the chance to occur.

Carrie, once we're done with our cake, takes the plates back to her kitchen, turning around to remind me about some random bet that we never made. The real reason she turned around was to look out her window for that Chevrolet. With a sigh, she nods to me. Immediately, I turn around in my seat and close the curtains that cover her living room's windows. A side note; they're an ugly shade of salmon.

"There's a car out there. But it doesn't look like it's got any equipment attached to it," she calls from the kitchen. "So I'm going to assume that they're just tailing you for your schedule right now."

With those closed, we move around the house, closing all the curtains and shades. We then head into the basement, flicking a switch that jams tech within a ten block radius. Any further and there'd be a real problem.

"Alright, Saint. Let's get started. Sit there."

I take a seat on a randomly placed chair, crossing my legs and placing clasped hands in my lap. My eyes stare straight forward as my body straightens. The only thing to look at is the picture on the wall; two shadowed people are holding hands as they stand in front of a background of a burning city. It's somewhat sobering, reminding me of the organization's mission.

"Now, the license plate number." I recite it from memory. "Good. Age."

"25"

"Rank?"

"Rising Controller."

"Number of successful missions."

"Classified."

"And finally, your codename and true name?"

"Codename: Saint. Identity: Evean Cole"

"Alright then. Voice recognition confirmed, all information is correct. You are who you are; big shocker," she scoffs. "Let's get this done, shall we?"

And Carrie drops herself into her world of computers and information. Honestly, I don't know how she does it; realistic me prefers reality to virtuality. Maybe that's why realistic me also prefers silent, ranged kills over seduction crap.

"Found you, bastard! …Crap."

I look at Carrie, giving her an intense stare. Slowly, I address her. "What happened?"

"You're not going to like this, Saint," she admits sheepishly. "We've caught the eye of a government agency. And one hell of a secret keeper, too."

My eyes widen and my already pale skin grows fainter. "Who?" I whisper.

"Um… I'm not quite sure who they are, but I found the acronym SHIELD," she mutters dejectedly. "We're officially caught, and I'm sure the half-ass equipment we use isn't gonna cut it."

My eyes narrow. "Why?"

"… Because they're trying to trace me."

I jump up from my seat and grab her wrist, dragging her from the basement and slamming a button at the top of the stairs. The sound of beeping in the basement alerts me that the button's working, and that the information on the hard drives is being erased completely. Just because we have amateurish equipment, doesn't mean we don't know how this works.

"We've got three minutes. Grab your Emerge Bag. Let's go!"

Carrie dashes off to her bedroom to retrieve said bag while I pull some flash drives out from under the couch cushions. Each has a letter, and there's one for every character of the alphabet. Those are stuffed into my coat pocket, replacing the iPod that gets moved to my jeans pocket. When Carrie runs back out to me, her bag in hand, I'm collecting a couple disks from her kitchen.

Bringing them back to her, they're stuffed into a backpack on her back and she grabs her keys. One minute left before everything's erased. Then a new timer starts. We're out the door before the final minute can end.

Calmly, with smiles on our faces, we walk to her car parked on the street. I'm well aware that there's a bug placed in it. These people know how to work, probably. So I snatch the keys from Carrie's hand and taunt her on the yard, letting her know the car is a dangerous place.

"Give them back!"

I roll my eyes with a smirk; just because it's a signal, doesn't mean it's not funny. "Fine! Fine."

And I toss them into her hand and walk to the passenger side door. The final minute has ended, and we have thirty minutes to get away from this house. In the corner of my eye, I see that Chevrolet, and it's about to make my day. The man in the front seat is leaned back, pretending to be waiting for something. Sucks to be him; used that ploy in Cancun. Carrie taps on the top of her car, gaining my attention.

"Something wrong?"

With a mischievous smile, my eyes shift to the Chevrolet, back to her and wink. "Not a thing."

She sighs, knowing exactly what's about to happen, and gets in the car, starting it up. I, though, reach down and pick up a stray rock, then chuck it at the Chevrolet, nailing the windshield. The man jerks up and stares at me. To which I return my own blank stare. After a minute of waiting, a smirk crosses my face, accompanied by a wink, and my figure enters the car.

Once the door's closed, Carrie floors it away from the house. A check over my shoulder lets me see the man in the car fumbling, obviously caught off guard by my forwardness. This guy's life is about to be hell if he's the one hunting me.

We're about ten minutes away from the house when I pull out my phone. And not my ordinary one, either. The sleek white one with the self-destruct button. When my finger taps the touchscreen, a large cloud of dust forms in the rear view mirror of the car. Carrie looks at me like I'm crazy.

"You put a bomb in my house!?"

Another cloud forms a second later. "And mine," I reply coolly.

"Any casualties?"

"No, sir. We had only just gotten to the houses when the bombs went off."

Agent Clint Barton rests his forehead on the steering wheel of a black Chevrolet, cursing his own stupidity under his breath.

"Sir?"

"What?"

"Is everything alright?"

"No… No, it's not… Keep me posted. Try to salvage anything of possible value. We need to catch these people before they disappear."

"Yessir!"

Hanging up his phone, Agent Barton stares ahead of his parked car. The girls car is right in front of his own, with the words 'you suck at your job' written on the back window. Whoever these two are, they've got the jump on the SHIELD agents following them, a rather impressive thing in itself. They ditched their car, gave covert signals, and what's more, Agent Barton had been fooled about them all the way up to the moment when the albino girl winked at him.

"Dammit."

"What now, Sainty?"

"We go and visit Kale, of course."

Carrie looks at her companion skeptically. "You really think she'll help us out?"

Saint nods her head. "Yes. I'm rising, remember? She's officially stuck in one spot. Besides, she owes me one for the incident in Baku last year, plus the year before in Bangkok."

"What about Budapest? Did she ever pay you back for that one?"

"Yup," I reply with a grin. "I got five deep dish chocolate pies out of that one!"

Carrie chuckles at the mention of my chocolate obsession. Kale, another tech operator for the girl's organization, lives just outside New York City, a day's drive from the small diner the two girls are currently eating. This same techie had needed rescuing from government military when her partner's attempt on the dictator of the country of Azerbaijan failed miserably. Her partner's seduction tricks were easily avoided and she herself was manipulated into a compromised situation. Then there was a personal attempt the year before in Turkey, where what little assassination experience she had failed to keep her out of trouble during a recon mission.

As a result, Saint swooped in like an angel and saved her from an immediate death sentence… by helicopter… both times… and laughed. After a quick propel from the chopper, the albino girl, who'd had an assault rifle engraved with a prayer in hand, dealt with a great number of enemy forces. She's since been mentioned in several places around the world by the name 'Angel of Death.' Sad part is, the people who started that nickname are from the organization, too. Apparently everyday Joes can't come up with awesome nicknames. Bet they wouldn't be quite so cliché, though.

A credit card under an alias name is all they use when they finish their lunch. And the second they're outside the diner, they cut it up and drop it in the trash. Some of the people who see this stare at them like they're crazy, but leave them alone.

What's more, no one will remember the girls for themselves; their appearances have changed drastically. Although Saint can't change her pale skin, her hair has been dyed pitch black, her color contacts switched from the blue ones to the brown ones. Her outfit has changed from mostly white with a gray jacket to mostly purple with a blue sweater.

Carrie, whose hair is usually a dark brown and straightened, has bleached hair with pink and blue stripes following the locks that have been curled into waves. Her
makeup has been redone, since she actually knows how to use it, and her own outfit, which had been sweats and a tank top earlier, is now made up of a green t-shirt and black jeans. Her sandals have been replaced with a spare set of tennis shoes that had been in the car.

"Now then," Saint says as they climb into a stolen vehicle from a random parking garage; the idiot had left his spare key just in front of the front tire. "Let's get going. Kale should be expecting us soon."

"You got it, boss," Carrie replies obediently.

Saint rolls her eyes and watches the cars around her disappear as the stolen vehicle pulls away from the restaurant. While the car pulls out of the parking spot and onto the lot's ramp, a familiar Chevrolet appears and pulls in. Saint smirks happily.

"You know what, Carrie?"

"Yeah, Saint?" she sighs wearily after noticing the car as well, knowing very well where this is going.

"Leave me here."

Saint's partner looks at her dubiously, but doesn't argue. With the press of a button, the doors are unlocked and Saint exits the vehicle and starts walking away. Carrie, on the other hand, continues onwards towards New York City and her coworker's home. She may be Saint's partner, but she's by no means an able fighter. Besides, Carrie is only barely associated with Saint's alias persona. And there are… things the techie wants to do.

While the car pulls past her, Saint waves goodbye to her partner with a bright and mischievous grin. When the car disappears, the grin shrinks to a sad and soft smile. A sigh escapes the girl's lips and she's rather glad she made her friend leave without her. If Saint- scratch that. If Evean had gone with her, there would have been hell to pay for it.

"Now then," she mutters to herself. "What am I going to do with you?"

She turns around and makes eye contact with a man climbing from a cheverolet, his eyes widening when their sights connect. With a knowing smirk and a wink, Evean breaks into a run down the street. Not long after, she can hear him calling for her to stop, along with rushing footsteps.

"Ha ha! This should be fun!" she calls into the wind.

Hidden behind a red, ugh, Prius, I look through the windows at a man who's out of breath. He's going slowly, a bow and arrow set and ready in his hands, as he silently slows his breathing. The thought of being hunted like that makes me squirm; it makes me feel like a white tailed deer. After a quick shiver, I ghost past a few cars. Somehow his ears pick up my movement and he pulls his arrow back, aiming at the spot where my presence had been.

His aim scans the cars quickly, and he slowly relaxes the draw. Still holding his arrow on the nock, he starts moving again. It's kind of enjoyable, playing cat and mouse with him. Although, I'm wondering whether Tom or Jerry will be winning this one. Hopefully it's Jerry; no one's too fond of being arrested, and I know that I don't want to go through useless torture.

One poke of my head around the front of the car, my gaze catches his back to me. Taking a deep and silent breath, my badass mode turns on; I'm no longer Saint, as personally decided, so assassin mode is no longer a good title. Stealthily, and with all the assassin gone badass skills that had been acquired over the years, I sneak up behind him. Every step he takes is one of my own.

When I'm finally behind him, and he's looking a certain way, my elbow of the opposite direction reaches up and slams into the back of his jaw, just below the ear. He's a bit taller than me, so it's not the easiest thing to do, but it stuns him perfectly. I then jam my heel into the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground. To make sure he doesn't fall on his face, he lets go of his arrow and his hand catches his weight.

Taking no pity, I jump up and land on his back, dropping him completely to the ground. There may be a few fractured ribs, not to mention an incapacitated knee and a fuzzy blindness for the next few hours.

"You know…" I mumble, crouching down on his back. "You're actually kind of cute… And I just realized that I can actually say that now!" I cheer with joy, clapping my hands and bouncing slightly.

His glazed eyes let me know he has no idea what I'm talking about. A small groan escapes his lips as I move my feet from his back and take his bow from him. The grip he has on it makes it a bit difficult, especially since he reflexively tightens it, but it's pried from his grasp anyway. Taking a close look at it, I decide it's perfect for a souvenir and slip it onto my shoulder. Next is to also take the quiver from his back and the keys from his pocket; easy, by the way.

"Thanks for the new toy," I whisper in his ear before kissing his temple teasingly. "Hope you get better~!" I sing over my shoulder.

And with that, I walk off towards the ground floor, where he'd left his Chevrolet behind. The keys are swinging on my finger as my feet carry me down and to the car. Before even thinking of driving away with it, I switch the license plate with another car. The bow's pretty useful already; there was a multi-tool that pops out in the handle.

Once the bow's put back the way it was, it and the awesome looking quiver get tossed into the passenger seat while their new owner climbs into the driver's. Starting the car, I leave the public parking garage and drive away. He's going to be pissed when he realizes what happened, and my conscience is currently applauding me for it.

"How the hell did you manage to lose not only her, but your equipment and car, too?" Nick Fury questions with annoyance clear on his face.

The man's got his hands on his desk, gripping the edge in frustration as he glares at the agent in front of him. Clint Barton, codenamed Hawkeye, had been outdone by a girl and relieved of his equipment. Only his arrow selector remained on his finger, which made her using his arrows impossible… Although, if she finds the spare on the bottom of the quiver, things could become problematic. But she'd run out of the specialized projectiles eventually.

"I'm sorry, sir," is all he can say.

"Gee, birdy. Maybe we should've gone with you?"

"Shut it, Stark!" Fury snaps.

The bearded man at the table behind Clint Barton raises his hands in submission. "Whatever you say, eye patch."

"This is serious, Tony," a red haired woman scolds. "This girl not only managed to off a man recorded as a sex offender and trafficker, who was also under protection close to Fort Knox standards, but she outdid a SHIELD agent. Stop making a joke of this."

Tony Stark shrugs his shoulder. The room is filled with people of different appearances and expressions. A man with glasses and unkempt brown hair is staring at a picture of an albino woman with bright blue eyes as she winks towards the camera. Said picture had been taken by a hidden camera in the rear view mirror of the missing car just before she got into her friend's car and drove away from a residence that exploded ten minutes later.

"Do we have any idea where she's gone?" he asks.

"No. Metro police in New York are keeping an eye out for the car, but I doubt they'll find it. This girl outdid Barton, remember? I think she'll be able to avoid a few men in blue uniforms," Fury remarks as he sits down in his chair and rubs his forehead. "What exactly did she do, anyway, Barton?"

"Well," the agent starts, trying to collect his thoughts. "Well, she definitely snuck up behind me somehow. And the only feeling I remember is being nailed in the jaw just below my ear. It was pretty precisely aimed, too. After that, a few generic pains and a crash into the ground. That's probably when she decided to take my things…"

His frown deepens as he tries to recall something else.

"Yes, Agent Barton?" Fury urges.

Clint Barton looks at the table, and the red headed woman could swear she sees a pink tinge to his face. "I think she said something about me being… cute."

Tony Stark bursts into laughter. The man in the glasses chuckles lightly as a smirk crosses his face. The red haired woman stares at him blankly, laughing hysterically in her head. Everyone else in the room has a similar expression, varying from absolute hilarity to simple amusement.

"Dr. Banner," Fury calls over the noise, the only person not feeling humored by the agent's words. "Think you can track Agent Barton's equipment?"

Banner, the man with glasses and unkempt hair, nods his head. "If it's got something on it to track."

Clint Barton looks at him. "There's a beacon on it that activates when I go unconscious. But the signal may or may not have been activated, since it probably wasn't on me when I finally blacked out."

The doctor nods his head and looks to Fury. "Can we activate the beacon remotely?"

Nick Fury sighs to himself. "I hope so. In the meantime, Agent Romanoff, assist Agent Barton with this one. Stick together. We can't afford her to get away again. Stark!"

Tony Stark, who'd been lightly banging his head on the table out of hilarity, sits up straight, trying to hide the grin wanting to break across his face. With a simple glare from Fury, it manages to be suppressed.

"Help Dr. Banner. Thor, Rogers," he addresses the final two people in the room. "I want you two to get ready to go out once the science geeks finally trace her. The agents may need some backup with this one."

"With all due respect, sir," says a blonde, short haired man, "isn't that a bit overkill for one single girl?"

Fury eyes the soldier carefully. "No, Rogers. No I don't. This girl managed to nail a man SHIELD couldn't nail for three years, and by evidence it only took her a few weeks. She managed to hide from SHIELD's radars for several years, only showing up long enough to fuel urban myths and legends. And she even managed to escape us a few times after nailing our own targets. I wouldn't be too surprised if this brat could outdo your super serum."

Rogers looks at his feet in contemplation, trying to imagine someone that could beat himself; being a super soldier makes him one tough customer. If this girl is as much as Fury makes her out to be, then the entire group in the room should be worried. Tony, though, sees no real reason to be.

"Well, then!" he claps. "Brucey, let's get to work!"

Bruce Banner stands up from his seat, taking the girl's picture with him, and follows Tony Stark out the door.

"Don't wait up for us!" comes the cocky remark that obviously marks Tony Stark's arrogant attitude.

The chill of being hunted like a deer has turned to a thrill, and is still running through me. I'm somewhat hoping that the guy manages to catch up to me again. A small sound, like beeping, reaches my ears, and my eyes narrow as my ears focus in on it. Pulling over to the side of the road, my gaze turns to the bow and quiver on the passenger's seat. A small flash of red hits the upholstery, and immediately I take hold of the quiver. Pulling it over to me, and flipping it upside down, my sight sees a black button-like object flashing red.

"A tracer? Really? Don't these people trust their own?" I sigh in annoyance while shaking my head.

It then occurs to me that it could probably be a beacon for letting an ally know that something's gone wrong. The organization does that sometimes, when large scale operations are necessary. With that in mind, I smirk and leave it there, those gears in my head turning mercilessly.

"This could be fun," I mutter to myself, replacing the quiver and pulling back out into the streets of New York City.

Stretching out on the hood of yet another stolen car, my stare goes up to the sky. Out in the countryside in some random burned field I wait for my knights in shining armor, just hoping to get the chance to humiliate them. Let's be honest, I really want to make their lives miserable. Unfortunately, though, the day goes by slowly and they never show up. How sad for me.

With a deep and disappointed sigh, I force myself up from the car hood and climb into the driver's seat. The dark hair color Carrie had chosen for me is starting to bug me, and my albinoness coming back would be a wonderful blessing right about now. It made me, me.

As 'my' car speeds down the road, this niggling feeling starts up in my tummy. The sun is falling behind the horizon I drive towards, and my eyes are having a slight problem seeing in front of me. Man; should've bought sunglasses earlier. Anyway, squinting my eyes, what little my sight can make out is a slight variation in the heat shimmers rising from the road. Not something to worry about too terribly, but yeah, something to worry about terribly. Stretching and stiffening my entire body, several bones pop.

"Come on, you guys. I'm not gonna wait all day," I mutter under my breath, focusing on the variation.

That's when I noticed it from the corner of my eye. My foot slams on the break, the car going into a power slide down the road, turning 180 degrees and slamming my foot on the accelerator. Never actually done that one before. Whatever was coming at me flies by the car about 20 feet further in the direction I had been going. It then proceeds to explode and leave a crater in the road and burned field. Kind of makes me feel a little bad for the farmer who owns that land; sort of my fault.

Driving with my knees, I pull the quiver from that cute guy I beat the crap out of onto my right shoulder. Then snatch the stolen bow and slide it on with it. Watching the jet in the distance, doing my best to time my escape precisely, my body dives from the car, just before another missile nails it. Of course they fly forward, knowing full well that someone like me survived it; it'd be anticlimactic not to at this point.

What they don't expect is the arrow sent towards them. Funny thing is, me and boredom don't mix. So I inspected the arrows and quiver carefully, finding this nice little gadget on the bottom of the quiver. Each time the button on it gets pressed, it switches the type of arrow head used. Yeah, this thing is pretty freaking sweet; so glad my brain thought to 'borrow' it from the fool who thought he could take me. Side note: I used an explosive arrowhead.

As the arrow hits the hovering jet's windshield, it explodes, no doubt cracking the windshield as the jet crashes to the ground. And finally, one mock yawn in their direction, and then covering my mouth as it turns into a real one. After rubbing my eyes for a moment, my eyes stare at the lit up jet; still happy I have those contacts in.

"Hums... I don't have a way to write 'you suck at your job' for this. And it's definitely rude to not leave a calling card at this point… Well, crap."

Readjusting the quiver so its strap crosses my torso from bottom left to top right, my feet carry a disappointed me away from the wreckage. Is it so much to ask for a little challenge? That's when my ears catch the sound of the jet's door bursting open.

When my attention turns me to face the jet, I see the one and only Iron Man climbing out, two people into black jumpsuits under his arms. Mine cross and that saying 'patience is a virtue' passes through my head. Time to wait patiently for him to set them down. In my head, a childlike version of myself is skipping through a field of burning flowers singing the Smurf's theme.

As he sets those people down, a second person, dressed up in red, white, and blue spandex, comes out next, helping an injured red head out as well. It looks like her head is bleeding, which makes me shiver. Despite being an assassin (former), I still can't handle the sight of my own handiwork. That was one thing the organization could never train me for; it just looks horrible, no matter what.

So, with a scowl on my face, I load another arrow onto the bow I'm holding.

"I'd drop that if I were you," comes a low and growling voice from behind me.

"Aw. But it's so much fun to play with!" I whine back.

With a smirk on my face, I turn to see the agent of cuteness, who was completely humiliated, a few feet away with a drawn bow. There's a cut on his forehead, his knee is wrapped up and the bandages are barely visible, plus his arms are shaking. Raising an eyebrow at him, I swiftly cover my ears as a thunderclap and lightning screw with my senses.

"Okay," I mutter. "Ow."

The man holding an arrow aimed for me looks past me at someone else. And quite frankly, no one should be stupid enough to not know it was Thor landing.

"Let's see," I say quietly holding up one finger at a time. "That just leaves Mr. Green."

I'm surrounded by the avengers, one of whom is indisposed at the moment. And the best part? They're all boys who I get to personally humiliate completely. Placing my hands on my hips, my gaze scans from each one to the next, turning slowly.

"Oh, dear," I say in mock worry, dramatically cupping my cheek with my free hand. "What a predicament."

"Ma'am," Cappy says. "Just come quietly. None of us want to hurt you."

"Then you're obviously underestimating me," I hiss. That's one thing I can't stand; chauvinists. "So I suggest you drop your pathetic ideals of a weak-willed young woman."

He stares at me, a small amount of shock on his face, and I finally decide it's time to get started. Whenever I deal with big groups there's always this list of things I have to do before engaging and a set of rules I feel I must follow. My friends that have commented on it over the years have said it's OCD… not quite sure myself. First rule and objective, insult and injury are always a good kick start.

"So, then, mister World War II patriot. I've got a question for you." I can see the wariness in his eyes as I address him. "How does it feel to be completely out of touch with those around you?"

His eyes flinch, and the pain and sorrow behind it are clear. Looks like I hit a nerve, and the right one, at that. Truthfully, that particular question had been there since he came out of the ice; kind of hoping he'd actually answer me on that one.

"Watch it, snow white," Iron Man warns. "You've no idea what you're trying to get into here."

"Do you?" I ask blandly, turning to him. No one has to see his face to know he thinks he does. "Last time I checked, I plan on humiliating each and every one of you. I've already done so to Robin Hood, so he'll be easy. Especially with his anger rising," I comment, looking over my shoulder as the agent's glare darkens.

"Heed her not, Brother Barton. She cannot escape us, no matter what she-"

"Oh, but I can!" I clap happily, interrupting Thor. "You see, oh ignorant one, I have a foolproof plan that none of you could possibly interfere with."

"Oh really?" Cappy asks.

Rule number two: reveal your plan in something of a monologue, to get them to think you're a crackpot and a fool yourself. Hello, false sense of security! Nice to meet you! I'm the person that's about to completely obliterate you… This is the fun leading up to the adrenaline.

"Yuppers!"

"Yuppers?" Iron Man scoffs.

"Yes! Yuppers. Let's see, first off," I point towards Cappy, "I'll knock you flat on your ass and steal your toy! Then," I look over my shoulder, "I'll be stealing a few more arrows from Robin Hood. After that, Thor here gets a face full of my foot and possibly an arrow to the back of his leg; not too sure if the arrow will be necessary... Leaving Roboman all by himself."

I turn to Iron Man and grin evilly. "And all I have to do to knock you out of the sky is lift up my shirt."

"Oh, sweetie, please. I've got a girlfriend, and she takes plenty good care of me."

Yeah, right. All that comment needs is my shrug, but who wouldn't want the last word? "You're the idiot here."

I stare at him for a moment, then blink, and so do they. Rule number three: wait for the blink. As with all of my attacks and strategies, I wait until that moment when their eyes are just about to close before making a move. Since Cappy's first on my list, it's him that's watched from the corner of my eye.

Taking only a moment, I dive tackle him in the gut, knocking him flat on his ass and slipping his shield from his arm. That same shield protects me as soon as I roll into a crouch from an oncoming arrow, which bounces off harmlessly. While Cappy catches his breath, I charge Agent Cuteness and shield bash him in the shoulder before doing so one more time to the jaw.

Slipping around him, I avoid a flying hammer and glowing blast, taking the arrows from his quiver as I do so and tossing them quite the distance. Holding Cappy's shield back up blocks a returning hammer, sending it a great deal out of the way, and jarring my shoulder while it's at it. With another turn, a glowing blast hits the shield and knocks into Thor, who I immediately rush and slam my foot into his face, using him as a spring board and backflipping. Honestly, no time for an arrow here, so I'm a little disappointed by that, but oh well.

Iron Man is currently in the sky as I take the shield off my arm and throw it, sending it like a Frisbee and slamming it into Cappy's head. When it returns, I block another arrow with it from Robin Hood before doing the same to him that I did to Cappy. All three of the boys I've dealt with so far are down. Thor is a little surprising, since I didn't actually kick him that hard, but hey, I'm not complaining. And as predicted by my monologue, I started to lift my shirt.

"I told you," Iron Man says confidently, "that I already have a very good girlfriend. That's not gonna work." And with that he crosses his arms and drops back to the ground.

"I told you you're the idiot," I mutter as I reach my under the side of my bra, grabbing something from there, and drop my shirt back down.

"So. Give up?"

"Hmm… Nope!"

And like I'd tossed the shield, I flick my wrist, sending a two sided black pin that attaches to his armor. He stares at it for a second, then looks back up at me, chuckling.

"Is that really the best you can do?"

"Is it?"

I can hear him whispering to someone and he stares back down at my pin. Instantly he tries to pull it off, but to no avail.

"Good night, Roboman." I say with a sultry tone and a menacing grin.

And with that an electrical current runs through the suit, locking it up and freezing him in place. Lucky for him, though, he can still talk.

"What the hell!?"

"It's an electric current dispenser. When dropped or attached to something, it releases an electric current, which in this case disrupted your suit's current and immobilized you. No matter how amazing your tech is, Stark," I smile sweetly, "there's always a simple way to deal with it!"

Winking at him, I move towards Robin Hood. Crouching down, I check his pulse. Next, I poke at his arm a couple times, gaining a moan when I poke a little ways below his shoulder at the spot the shield had connected with. Nodding in satisfaction that I did my job, I pull a thin rod from under the back of my shirt. Bet you didn't know I had that there, did you? Removing my jacket, I tear it into strips.

Taking his arm gingerly in hand, I forcefully snap the bone back into place, gaining a yelp in protest. I can tell he's trying to wake up as his eyelids flutter. Rolling my eyes, I slip the torn fabric under his arm and place the rod next to it. Then I tie the fabric securely, hoping to keep the upper part of his arm straight.

Checking his pulse one more time, I then remove his quiver and replace the arrows that I'd taken from it. That makes two sets of arrows. While I walk towards Cappy next, I can hear dear little Iron Man yelling at someone to get his suit back up and operational. Checking Captain America's pulse, I pull his suit's helmet… mask… thing off and mess with his hair, looking for a bleeding part of the head. Luckily, I find none.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Stark yells at me as I move again. "Leave them alone!"

"Don't get your metal panties in a bunch. That's got to be uncomfortable," I calmly say back.

Crouching next to Thor, I check his pulse and poke him a couple times. There's no real damage to him, lucky bastard. But there is this nice scorched part on his bright silver armor, along with a dirt footprint on his face; it's kind of cool knowing I knocked him down.

"Now then," I sigh as I stand up and turn towards Stark. "Your turn."

Walking over to him, I can hear multiple threats being thrown at me, each one involving the destruction of my reputation and freezing of my assets. Quite hilarious, really, considering I have nothing of any true value to be destroyed. My reputation is as an assassin, which I've left behind to protect my friends and coworkers. Any assets I had were in my house, which I blew to pieces when SHIELD first caught up to me and Carrie.

"Calm down, Tin Man."

"First off, I have a heart. Second, this isn't a tin suit, nor iron, for that matter. It's an alloy composed of-"

"I don't care!" I snap at him, making him stop ranting. "Now, do you want out of that thing or not?"

I can sense his hesitation. "… Sure."

"Good. Now hold still."

I pull the pin-like object from the suit and take ahold of the face plate. Pulling at it, I finally get it off after wiggling it a few times. He makes his suit pretty dame fitted; I put a lot of muscle into that. Once the plate is off, I see Tony Stark smirking in all his arrogant glory.

"Now then," he says calmly. "Why don't you come quietly?"

"Because I'm not going to be tortured by you people. Your ideals are faulty and your treatment of other human beings is sick."

"And yours isn't?"

"No, it's not," I reply decisively. "When my people capture someone, we treat them with respect," I explain as I move around to the back of the suit and study it. "We take care of them and earn their trust. When we've done that, then we interrogate them and get the information we want from them. And they always do so willingly. Hell, quite a few people we've captured have become moles for us."

"So what are you, then? A decoy?"

"No," is my flat reply as I slide my finger along a crease in the metal to a panel on the left of the small of his back.

"A lackey?'

"Hell no," I sigh as I pull the multi-tool from the bow on my shoulder.

"Oh! You're the leader!"

"Not even close."

"Damn."

"Aren't you supposed to be smart?"

"Hey, I'm working with limited information right now. And my info collector is currently offline thanks to your little toy."

I roll my eyes as I play with the wires in the panel. The suit's backups kick in and the back opens as I step away. Tony Stark backs out of his suit, leaving it open as he stares at it in wonder. Finally, he looks at me critically.

"How'd you do that?"

I smile softly and place my finger to my lips. "That's a secret!

And with that, I walk away from him, two quivers on my back and a compound bow in hand. But I turn around real quickly, knowing Stark's still watching and wave goodbye.

"Tell Robin Hood 'Yes! I did say he's cute!'"