Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, nor the Fantastic Four. Oh, how I wish...
The redheaded woman ran through the streets. She cursed silently as her boots, dry with the blood of her enemy, slapped against the road, her breath coming in gasps and pants that were too loud. Her lungs burned and her legs ached; she'd been running for what felt like hours, probably had been at least an hour. Her watch was broken, and the sun always seemed dim these days; telling the time was difficult. But the moon was making its way up into the sky, and the moon was always clear, an orb of light in the dark.
She ran pass an alley-you never hide in the alleyways unless you absolutely had to, too easy to get pinned in between two monsters-looking for a place to hide. Just because they weren't immediately on her tail anymore didn't mean they weren't still looking for her. Most of the buildings had some kind of wreckage to them, the King having little interest in repairing this part of the city, or even most of the city for that matter. She eyed one in a total state of chaos, with its windows cracked and shattered, a fraction of the door missing. She darted through it and squirmed her way under a bookshelf that had fallen diagonally, catching on the wall. It had once held little glass trinkets-she knew because the trinkets were broken and cutting into her exposed fingers. At least she had gloves over her palms.
There was a back door, thank god. If they did check in here, she had an escape. She hide herself best she could behind a check out desk and tried to calm her heart rate, finger on the trigger of her rifle. She was getting low on ammunition, and the only thing she had left was a handgun and a couple of knives.
This was bad. Bad, bad, bad.
"Iron Angel, report." the voice in her ear courtesy of her earpiece demanded. The feminine voice was only slightly breathy
"I think I lost them. 'Might lay low for a while." she answered.
"Same. No contact with Hawkeye. Zorro and Hansel confirmed dead."
Oh god, she knew Zorro and Hansel were too young, even if it had just been a food scavenging mission. They were barely old enough to be out of high school, why did she let them come? And please, not Hawkeye too. She had become so fond of the archer, and it would destroy the Black Widow if he died.
She was about to reply when she heard the door creak, followed by a low snarling.
A hell hound. Her heart plummeted before soaring, as if it could fly away from the horrific scene likely to occur.
All because of the blood on her boots. It was a horrible thing to only now remember, something that she, Iron damn Angel, should have thought about. Just because the blood was dry by now didn't mean they didn't leave a track. Maybe not a visible one, but one a hell hound could smell.
There was a shck shck sound as the beast at the door was encourage by its electrical master before BAM, it slammed its way through the fallen shelf.
"Angel?" Widow said. "Stay calm."
Well, at least she technically wasn't alone, not with someone in here ear. At least the rebellion would know what happened to the Iron Angel when she never returned.
She mentally berated herself for cowering behind the desk like a child. She'd killed dozens of hell hounds and fought, what, hundreds of their masters. She could handle it, she wasn't a simple business women anymore.
She listened for the monster and knew that she had to make her move before it got any closer.
For Tony, she thought. She launched out from behind the desk-aim, fire, aim, fire. She unloaded nearly half a dozen bullets into the hound as it roared and threw itself at her before it stumbled and fell over, purple liquid oozing from the wounds. Another three went into the reptilian alien, its wires circuiting at the assault.
She peeked out the back door and found the way clear. It was an alley, but going out the front door was akin to suicide-where here was one hell hound, it was usually accompanied but at least one other, and almost always near to it was a Lizard. She sprinted down the alley carefully, ducking behind a dumpster as a gray, scaly patrolmen peered down the way.
"Update, Iron Angel." the Black Widow demanded in her ear. She stayed silent, willing the monster away. After a few moments, she peered around the dumpster and saw nothing.
It was instinct that told her to look up, the hair on the back of her neck standing rigid and her spine burning, because she wasn't alone. So she looked up.
There were two of the Lizards scaling down the building. The closest one registered that it had been seen and practically dropped the rest of the way. She jumped and shot at it, the screech of fury it let out making her ears ring and probably bleed. She fled as the creature's friend scrambled down the wall, only slightly hampered by her efforts to put a bullet in it's body as it swerved and dodged her assault.
And this was why alleys were bad. You get a few aliens climbing down the walls, and another approaching from the nearest way out and you've practically signed your own death warrant. She retreated.
The wind was speeding up, making it near to impossible to hear the sounds behind her. She was nearing a dead end, and skidded to a stop. She'd have to climb the fence and there was not enough time, she didn't need to hear them to know.
She didn't let loose a battle cry-too overrated, a waste of her oxygen-but she did let loose a hell of a lot of bullets. There were a total of three Chitauri patrolmen, no hounds. Yet.
The wind was doing disastrous things to her aim, to her ability to move.
It seemed like an eternity that she was stuck there in that alley, in that vortex of wind. It ruffled her cloths, sent her short hair whipping across the back of her neck and her cheeks, trying to escape from it's pony tail. Her eyes watered and she blinked rapidly to try to clear them.
There was static in her ear.
The patrolmen were kept out, confused and angered by her windy barrier. One of them launched itself at her-she fired-and then...she was weightless.
# # #
Dr. Reed Richards stared at the space in the middle of his lab. Johnny and Ben froze from where they had been fighting, stupefied.
She was filthy and a bit bloody, but pretty in a sort of warrior kind of way (not Reed's way, he preferred, well, Susan). And, above all else, she was familiar. He knew her.
Then again, considering the nature of his latest project, he didn't know her at all.
The woman fought for control over her body and fingered the trigger of her rifle.
"Someone call Tony Stark."
# # # #
Just a little plot dino that wouldn't leave me alone. I should update in a day or two-the more reviews, the more motivated I'll be to write.