Disclaimer: anything you recognize, I do not own


"There is no way this is her base." Natasha protested as she and Barton climbed up the stairs to the second story of the motel. Agents were circling around back to cut off any escape she would have through windows.

"She's been holed up here for a week." Barton replied. Natasha had to admit that was odd, but there was something about the whole situation that just rubbed her wrong. Barton took the lead as they approached the door with the letter '19' on it. He kicked it open and they rushed in, weapons drawn.

The room was empty, but had an odd aroma about it that stung their noses. But there was no one there. They lowered their weapons and Barton started speaking into his radio. Natasha went into the bathroom and picked up the note left on the counter to read it.

Nice try, suckers!

The tracking device, smaller than Natasha's thumbnail and covered in now dried blood, was sitting on the counter beneath the note. She seemed to have a sense of humor, for an assassin. Natasha called out to Barton and he poked his head in to examine what she'd left them.

"Well, she's smart." He noted.

"She's annoying." Natasha corrected. She threw the note into the trash and walked out in a huff, beginning to pace in the other room. "How are we supposed to track her now?"

"We don't. We only had one tracker in her and I doubt she'll be getting caught again."

"We didn't get any information out of her."

"You mean you didn't get to interrogate her."

"I wasn't that eager to serve her up a beating, Clint." Natasha protested, though her voice was less than sincere.

Thumps sounded from where their agents were stationed outside and, a second later, Shadow slipped through the window and smiled. She looked to be a great mood and healthy, if you could ignore the bandage on her neck from taking out the tracking device. She was wearing, of all things, a pair of mini shorts and a black lace top. It made her look quite nice; if only she could get something for her personality. Her blonde hair was pulled into a bouncy, perky ponytail. Natasha wanted it rip her hair right out.

Natasha and Barton aimed with gun and bow immediately. The girl just held up her hands, as if in surrender, and they both hesitated. Killing an unarmed target wanted for information was generally frowned upon. Shadow laced her fingers behind her head and looked very comfortable.

"I'll warn you, I was very well trained. I can kill people with my mind."

"You're insane." Natasha snarled, her finger twitching with the urge to just put this girl down.

"Am I?" Shadow looked appalled, like the thought had never crossed her mind before. "Alright. I can't. But I can with this." She pulled a barbeque lighter out of where it had, evidently, been strapped to her back. She flipped it on and a flame flickered to life at the end.

"You poured gasoline all over the room." Barton realized, the smell even more apparent. He had ignored it before; he was about to leave, the odd smell wasn't his problem. Shadow smiled.

"Atta boy." She cheered.

"You drop that, you burn too." Natasha reminded her.

"You shot me, I drop it for sure." Shadow shot right back.

"You'd have to hold the trigger down. You can't do that if you're dead." Shrugging, she pulled a very specifically cut piece of duck tape from the inside of her wrist and plastered it over the button. She took her finger off to show that the duck table did indeed hold it down and the flame continued to flicker atop it. Natasha glanced at Barton, who returned her look uneasily.

"How's that?" Shadow asked.

"You'll burn too." Natasha repeated.

"What makes you think I'm scared to die?" She said it with such seriousness it scared Natasha. The girl wasn't bluffing. She would drop that lighter if they so much as twitched. The girl looked like a cheerleader but acted like a psychopath.

Unimpressed with their lack of response, the girl dropped the lighter and Natasha and Barton jumped, but she snatched it with her other hand before it dropped more than a couple inches. Seeing their reaction, she laughed like this was the best joke in the world.

"What do you want?" Natasha asked, judging how fast she could make it across the room and grab that lighter after putting a bullet in the blonde's head.

"I just want two names. The names of my parents, to be exact." She shook the lighter in her hand threateningly. "And I'm not in a let's-make-a-deal kind of mood. Just fess up the names."

"Peggy Carter." Barton offered.

"I want both names, moron." She wasn't backing down, but she was kneeling down. She tipped the lighter towards the carpet, eyes on them. Natasha watched her. Burning to death was not the way she wanted to do. Barton had a family to get back to. They would have to live to fight another day. And that meant bowing down to a minor-league terrorist.

"Steve Rogers!" Natasha cried. The girl jerked the lighter back up from the carpet, processing this new information. Then her face broke into a smile.

"You've been incredibly helpful." She dropped the lighter, turned and swan dived out the window. Natasha yelled out on instinct, jumped back. The carpet slowly caught fire, but not like it would've had the carpet actually been soaked in gasoline. Barton leapt forward and grabbed the lighter.

"What happened?" Natasha asked. Barton stomped out the part of the carpet that had been on fire, sniffed experimentally and then stooped down. He pulled the covers up from where they hung over the edge of the bed. Underneath the bed were open cans of gasoline. Barton held up the blanket and it sagged. It was wet with gasoline, but it hadn't been near the flame itself. Natasha let out a breath of relief and hated herself for believing the girls bluff. Barton just shook his head and let the blankets drop.

"That girl's crazy… But she knows how to play people."


A needle jabbed into her skin and the girl flinched, turning her head away, as if not seeing it would make it hurt less. They drew a vial full of her blood and then slapped a bandage to prevent excess bleeding. She drew her arm back against her chest. The girl was used to this, but it didn't mean she liked it.

They had been running experiments on her since she'd arrived three years ago. Why? She had no idea. She just knew to avoid drawing attention to herself until they came to take her back to her room.

"Well?" The Hydra commander was impatient, to say the least.

"There's not enough in her blood to make a new serum." The scientist said before the test was even done; he knew what the results would show.

Enough of what in my blood? She wondered, though they would never answer that. She was either completely ignored or pushed, prodded and forced into physical experiments. Tears stung at her eyes, so she tried to focus on anything else. Crying wasn't allowed at Hydra.

"What do we do with her, sir?" The scientist asked, jerking his head towards the girl.

"Maybe she'll still be useful…" The commander mused, as if she couldn't hear them. She closed her eyes and pretended she couldn't.

"What should we call her?" The scientist wondered.

"She doesn't need a name. She's going to be a soldier. One of our best."


Shadow jerked awake. She was lying in an alley, not the best place to sleep but it had felt safe. She sat up, resting her elbows on her knees. It made sense now, what they'd done to her. Steve Rogers. War hero. Super soldier. She wasn't completely oblivious to world events and she'd been studying up since her escape from Hydra. How could she be his daughter? Of course, the news of being anyone's daughters was relatively new to her. She'd begun to believe she'd been made like any other weapon. Created. Not born.

Alright. I have this information. What do I do now? She wondered. Steve Rogers was dead. If Peggy Carter wasn't already, she was probably halfway there. She wasn't going to have anything resembling a family. Hydra took that from her. Hydra took everything from her. And it hurt. It hurt like a knife to the gut.

She had always had one goal: take down Hydra. How was she supposed to take down Hydra if she couldn't tell them apart from this other secret organization? One organization wanted to kill her, one just wanted information. It was confusing and it made her head hurt. Or maybe that was just the lack of decent food.

Shadow stood up, shouldered her backpack and headed out of the alley. Whatever she did, wherever she went, she was going to need money. Thankfully, she knew how to get money very easily. There were drug deals, muggers and more professional thieves running about. And who were they going to tell if she stole their money? Excuse me, officer, but someone stole my money, can you help me? It'll be easy to track with the K-9 unit, it should smell like cocaine.

She let her backpack hang loose on one shoulder as she walked down the dark streets. It took an annoyingly long time before someone came running up behind her and tried to snatch the bag. Finally, a taker! She pulled the backpack forward and the man went stumbling in front of her, at the perfect angle for a foot to the face. While he was doubled over, she landed a kick in between his legs.

While he was red-faced on the ground, she kneeled down beside him and grabbed the money sticking out of his sweatshirt pocket. She counted it up. It wasn't as much as she was hoping for, but it was certainly enough money for a bus fare. She tucked into the front pocket of her backpack.

"Thank you, you've been very helpful." With a final kick to the face to knock him unconscious, she tossed her hair and smiled to herself.

The nearest bus station wasn't far away. She jogged up to the ticket booth and tapped on the window. The tired looking woman behind the glass looked up at her.

"Where to?"

"Where's the furthest place from here?"

"You got someone I should call?" Yes, because I would tell you that if I was a teenage runaway for sure! Shadow thought sarcastically.

"Going across country to visit Gramps. Want to limit my bus switching." It wasn't her best lie, but in her defense, she hadn't slept well. She added a dazzling, manipulative smile and the woman let it go.

"We got one going to New York City, leaving in two minutes. Sure that's the direction you want to go?"

"Positive." She stuck some money through the slot in the window and received a ticket in return. The woman pointed her towards the bus and Shadow headed off.


"After this, I'm cutting you off." Shadow's head jerked up as the waitress provided her with her requested refill. The café was infamous for it's free refills after nine p.m, but she was really only there for the free Wi-Fi and lack of other people.

"I can pay for them." She'd just taken out a few muggers two blocks back; she was practically rolling in money, at least by her standards.

"That's not what I'm worried about. If there's such a thing as caffeine poisoning, you're about to be admitted to a hospital."

"I'm fine." The waitress rolled her eyes and walked away. Shadow turned her eyes back to the screen, but soon, she had to leave anyway. She had hit a dead end with her research. What she knew now was all she was going to get. It was more than she'd ever thought she would get, for sure. But not enough to satisfy her. Her name had been Sarah Rogers, named after her paternal grandmother. Her father disappeared and was presumed dead in early 1945. She was born November 4th, 1945. She was reported missing mid 1947. That was all she knew. She didn't even have memories of this time at all. That was what ticked her off more than anything.

So she drained her coffee, grabbed her laptop and backpack, then headed out. New York streets were usually crowded, but it was late enough that there were few people out. Just the way Shadow liked it. For the first time in the life, she'd managed to get her own place. It was an apartment five stories up, two bedrooms, nice and cozy. And under a false name.

Footsteps sounded behind her, but Shadow didn't react. She went down for another block, listening as the footsteps followed her, and then crossed the street. When the footsteps still followed her, she rolled her eyes. Idiots, idiots everywhere, she thought. Either this was a mugger, some kind of gang she'd pissed off or someone else equally as easy to take down. She let her backpack slip down her arm and slipped her hand into it. Once she got a grip on what she wanted, she slowed down, letting the footsteps catch up to her. She whirled, swinging her knife towards the man's throat. A foot impacted with her gut and she had to stumble backwards, grabbing at a second knife in her backpack. She focused in on the man in front of her. Six feet tall, muscular, a total idiot if he thought he could take her. She twirled her knives around her hands.

"You don't seem familiar. Are you sure I've angered you before?" Shadow questioned. He didn't answer and, in the silence, she heard more footsteps behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Two guys were coming up behind her. Three men total, nothing she couldn't handle and maybe they had money on them, which she could always use.

"You got sloppy. You thought we wouldn't find you!" The first man asked with grin, like he was actually confident. Maybe he was actually stupid enough to think he could handle her… More footsteps were coming from the alley to her right. Hydra agents were surrounding her, though they were carefully avoiding her knives.

Shadow leapt forward and slashed out with a knife, slitting a throat open. She stabbed behind her and got another man in his abdomen. The other guys backed up a step, trying to surround her again, but giving her a wider berth.

"Well?" She asked impatiently, shaking blood off her knives. "Are we going to do this or what?" The men all exchanged looks and then charged.


"Seven guys, all dead. Some kind of sharp instrument, there's a lot of blood." Natasha handed the binoculars over to Barton so he could take a look. They were lying on their stomachs on a rooftop, watching the police examine the crime scene across the street.

"Like a physco with knives?" Barton asked.

"Exactly." Natasha agreed dryly; this assassin was giving them more trouble than any other target they'd had in the past. Barton studied the scene below them. His radio crackled as it turned on in his ear and he set the binoculars down.

"Hill, what've you got for us?"

"I tracked down your assassin." Barton wasn't sure when she became 'their assassin', but that was how everyone referred to her now, "She has an apartment five blocks away; I'll get you the address."

"You sure it's her?"

"All other apartments were in the renovation stages; she bought an unfinished one. The name on the lease is 'Shay Doe' and it was bought in cash, sight unseen. Also, we've got security camera footage with her on it." Using security cameras and checking out leases was below SHIELD, but they had to find her some way. There had been some vigilante work in this part of New York, muggers, drug dealers, crime lords, all found without money, usually left in the middle of the street for easy sightings. They didn't know their assassin's MO, but it was interesting enough to check out and, apparently, they'd made the right call since it led them right to her.

"We're on it." Barton's phone beeped with an incoming message, most likely the address for their assassin.

"She never leaves bodies. Either she's getting crazier-" Natasha started, still watching the crime scene as the bodies were hauled away.

"She's left bodies before."

"People dying from injuries later at the hospital and being found impaled are two different things." Natasha protested as they got up and headed for the stairs to go down to the street. "Are you sure we're dealing with the same person? We might have two vigilantes running around. These guys had wallets on them, money still inside, it looked like." She continued as they jogged down the stairs.

"She needed money before, these guys… I think they came at her and she defended herself."

"Are you defending her?" Natasha looked appalled. And angry.

"I'm saying, this girl has some enemies. This wasn't something she'd planned on."

"The girl collects knives; she always plans to kill someone!" Natasha pushed open the door on the street-level and walked out in a huff. Barton rolled his eyes and followed.

"Nat, I think you're still bent out of shape."

"She threw a knife into my shoulder! A couple inches down and to the right, she would've killed me!"

"To be fair, she was aiming for me, you got in the way."

"I can't believe you!" Natasha snarled.

"Nat, hey, slow down. And I'm not defending her. I'm saying there's a lot more to this than we know and if you rush in all half-cocked and ready to beat her to death, we're not going to get anything."

"She'll talk given the right motivation and SHIELD won't motivate her by locking her in a room and waiting for her to escape. She threw a chair through a window. Imagine if there were agents on the other side."

"She knew there wasn't." Off her look, Barton hurried to add: "Not defending her, just stating the obvious."

"Which is why I have a plan." Natasha assured her partner.

"Which involves what?"

"Not giving the girl any time to bluff her way out."


Barton stared at the window of the apartment he knew their assassins must've been inside. The curtains were drawn, but he saw a large shadow he assumed was the brother. He had abandoned his bow in favor of a sniper rifle and now he aimed for the shadow.

"Natasha, move, now!" He ordered through his radio. He fired and the shadow collapsed with a bullet embedded in its shoulder, no doubt. Natasha's heavy breathing and groan of annoyance was loud and clear in his ear.

"She's not here."

"What do you mean she's not there?"

"I mean… she's not here!"

"What did I just shoot?"

"A life size cut-out of Ronald McDonald."

"Well, she sure likes clowning around."

"I'll shoot you." Natasha snarled and Barton decided this was no time for jokes.

"Where could she be?" He asked, talking more to himself than to her. There was a tap on his shoulder. He grimaced and turned around, knowing he was completely vulnerable on his stomach on the edge of a roof top. The girl stood over him, smiling.

"Hey, buddy!" She kicked him between the legs and, once he had turned an interesting shade of purple, kicked him off the roof. He dropped the rifle and grabbed onto the edge, holding on by his fingertips. Before he could pull himself up, a rope was tied securely around his wrists, binding them together.

"Bye, buddy." She stomped on his fingers and he fell, only to stop when the rope went taut. He banged against the side of the building and hung there, grinding his teeth together in anger and pain.

"Clint! Clint, what is going on?!" Natasha demanded through the radio, her quick, labored breathing telling him she was sprinting down the stairway of the apartment building.

"Uh, Nat… I could use some assistance."