BLACK WIDOW

heinous

heinous
(adj)
(of a person or wrongful act, especially a crime) utterly odious or wicked.

•••

"i had to learn to fight for myself."

•••

"I'll go alone," Barton said in front of the planning board and Nick Fury. "I like to see things from a distance anyway. She won't get close enough to kill me. The Black Widow won't even know what hit her."

They were in an investigation based room. There were all type of technology and computers lining the walls, along with visuals. It was very bright. Good for concentration. The director's black leather clothing was a direct contrast.

Fury squinted at him. "Barton, she's got at least 60 years of experience under her belt. She's you, only she's 90 years old and jacked up with some kinda super soldier shit. There's no way in hell you could take her alone. Especially with men on her back."

Barton looked down, not being able to make eye contact with the director. Agent Clint Barton, a man of 27, was short, yet dangerous assassin hired by S.H.I.E.L.D. He had a square and pouty face with a full head of blonde hair that stuck uncontrollably ouf of his head like pricks. He wore a harness that supported his right shoulder and ran down to his elbow. His middle and pointed wore a finger tab and his thumb was protected by a thumb ring.

He was an archer. But no one understood.

"Agent Barton?"

"Fine. Back up. We'll storm in an they'll be damn battle. Is that what you want? Budapest is not a big city."

Fury gave him a death glare. "If that's what it takes to kill this woman."

"Give me 20 of the best men and I'll take off this afternoon," Barton agreed.

"Do you want a rifle? It might be easier."

A smile broke out across Barton's face as he removed an object from his back and snapped it forward, causing it to unfold, revealing a bow. He looked at it fondly. "That what they all say," he noted, shaking his head. "Don't people like a bit of a challenge?"

Fury pursed his lips. "No, Barton. I don't. I like, quick, easy, efficient."

Barton rolled his eyes. "Relax. I'll get the job done," he assured.

Fury rolled his eyes and looked over to a wall sized cork board with lines and leads and clues. In the center of it all was the Black Widow. "Goddamn better."

He turned to leave, but Fury spoke again. "Agent."

Barton turned to face him. "Yes, sir."

"Shoot on sight," he reminded. "I don't care who sees. She's too dangerous to be kept alive. The building she's targeting may be headquarters. But it is also a hospital. "

Barton left him with a nod and a promise.

He was an archer. And a good one. And that's only an understatement. Archery wasn't all. The assassin could use any type of gun he wanted, and he could to anything with it. He had a hawk's eye. He saw everything. Nothing could disrupt his aim. That was what people had came to call him: Hawkeye.

"Agent Barton," a secretary called, running after Barton. "I was hoping I'd catch you here."

He turned and focused his attention on her.

"Secretary Pierce wants to see you in his office," she notified him. His eyebrows creased together in confusion.

"Secretary Alexander Pierce?" he asked, wondering why he would call him to his office.