𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡 | 𝗡. 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗙𝗙

»»» 𝔳𝔦𝔦𝔦.𝔦𝔦

trigger warnings : blood, violence

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧

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A sleek Corvette pulled up to the curb of the garage, the driver's window sliding down to reveal a stunning woman with pretty eyes and a sly smile.

"What's your name, angel?" she called out to the gorgeous redhead in a low-cut, skintight black dress. Not revealing enough to be labeled "inappropriate," but enough to be more than a little distracting.

Glancing up from her phone, her incisive eyes met that of her admirer. She wore an all black, kevlar suit that hugged her curves as much as it served to protect them, giving her unique lilac-blue eyes, now more of a darkened violet in the shadows of the garage, a much stronger effect, if that was even possible.

The question had the redhead blushing, which was a very new sensation. She didn't get flustered very easily.

"Cassie Flores," she replied, sauntering up to the vehicle to lean through the open window, her arms crossed against the window frame. "What's yours, stranger?"

Truth didn't dare look away from her eyes, well aware that it'd be that much harder to abstain from openly admiring the woman before her. Not that that was very difficult because Natasha's eyes were just as captivating as the rest of her.

"I'm afraid I'm not giving out any names tonight, darling," she drawled out. "But, in an act of good faith, how about I give you a ride instead?"

Natasha couldn't hold back her smile.

"You drive a hard bargain, princess."

Once Natasha was settled, Truth started the drive to Alexandria, Virginia, a short thirty-minute commute from the Triskelion. As planned, they used the time to go over the parameters of the mission.

Natasha would be going undercover as a waitress, acting as Truth's eyes and ears. Her one goal was to identify their target and plant a bug on him, which would hopefully give them some clue as to what he was up to.

"Can I ask how the whole 'monitoring' thing is supposed to work?" Natasha had asked at one point. "We don't have any facial recognition software, no comms, and no recording devices other than the bug."

"Don't need comms when you have telepathy," Truth reminded, "and the same goes with FRS and recordings. Monitoring means I'll be following you mentally—I'll see and hear what you see and hear. I also have hyperthymesia—a perfect memory. I already took a look at the official guest list, which I'll use as a cross-reference, and anyone I don't recognize I can upload into the system."

Natasha blinked.

"That sounds...complicated."

Truth smirked.

"Not really. Despite how it sounds, it actually takes little to no effort for me to do. I'm used to processing a lot of information at once."