Chapter Two

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A/N: I suck at writing the Avengers, just FYI. Unfortunately they're kind of crucial to the story so....

Also I haven't seen Age of Ultron yet, and I don't know when I'm going to see it! Hopefully soon. Though I'm not gonna incorporate the Scarlet Witch or QuickSilver or Ultron into this since it's already being written. And I don't edit this, not really. I just type it up real quick and upload it. So what you read is what I wrote. Comments, criticisms, anything helps.


Chapter Two

Okay, so I am definitely dead. Why else would she be seeing Scar Jo in her motel room dressed as Black Widow and also knowing her name?

Scarlet Johanson/Black Widow A.K.A Natasha Freaking Romanoff took purposeful strides forward and knelt down beside the body.

"Careful!" Charlie shouted, earning her an exasperated look from one of her biggest fictional heroes and crushes. Romanoff grabbed the Stein boy's wrist, checked his eyes and flipped him onto his back.

Cold black eyes stared up into nothing, the murderous glint missing from them.

Charlie couldn't take her eyes off the S.H.I.E.L.D agent's pale, heartshaped face as Natasha stood and brought her wrist up to her mouth. "Assailant is down, target acquired, bring in the body."

Suddenly the door of the motel room burst open with a loud bang, letting in the cold and wet and roar of rain and thunder. Charlie jumped when it hit the wall and almost slipped into the bathtub. The bathroom floor was slick with blood.

A group of at least three people stood in the doorway, nothing more than silhouettes in the downpour and dim light. They seemed to be carrying something between them.

"God, someone turn a light on, would ya?" one of them grunted.

"Hagmen, how are we looking on those lights?" Natasha asked the tiny mic concealed in the cuff of her uniform.

"Almost done, Miss Romanoff," a female's voice crackled on the other end. Then the lights burst on, murderous white, and Charlie's brain got kickstarted again.

Her knees turned to jelly and she collapsed onto the toilet seat. She felt cold and her hands wouldn't stop shaking. The dagger clattered to the floor. The noise it made made Natasha look over at her and sigh.

"We'll probably need a shock blanket for her," she told the three men as they entered the bathroom. One of them grabbed the feet of the Stein boy and drag him away, leaving a trail of blood. Charlie couldn't look anywhere else but the blood. She wrapped her arms around her torso. Deep, sticky red blood against white floor.

That's gonna stain. One of the men said something, earned a glare from Agent Romanoff, who marched off out of sight. Charlie didn't hear nor understand. There was blood on the floor. On the walls. On the mirrors. There should be blood on her too. She should be dead. Why wasn't she dead?

The men were also in black. They carried something between them. Charlie's eyes flicked up from the pool of blood to see her own pale face staring back at her. Accept it wasn't her. But it was.

The body they carried had her face, her hair, her clothes. But it was limp and not breathing. It was dead. A corpse. Her corpse.

Am I a ghost? No. No, I don't think so. Charlie slowly got to her feet. She took careful steps. She felt cold, maybe she was dead.

She slipped past the three men as they carefully placed the body in the tub and proceeded to stab it repeatedly with the dagger she had dropped. One of them took out a pack of blood from inside his jacket and began to decorate the scene as carefully as a florist would arrange an arrangement of flowers.

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