The morning sunlight shone obliquely on the glass curtain wall of Stark Tower, making the entire building look as if it were wrapped in a layer of amber-colored sugar coating.
A red-haired woman walked into the building. The revolving door cut the morning light into scattered fragments, which danced in the spots of light along with her footsteps.
She was a remarkably tall woman with a mixed-race face so exquisite it was dangerous. With a nose bridge like a Greek sculpture, sharp cheekbones, and above the tight waistline of her black suit skirt, the buttons of her white shirt could barely contain her full curves.
Below were two long legs wrapped in shiny stockings. Her high heels clicked against the marble floor, making a crisp sound. The security guards in the lobby were involuntarily attracted by this beautiful scenery and smiled at her.
Her name was Natalie Rushman, working in the company's legal department.
Of course, she also had the real name Natasha Romanoff, and the even deadlier codename Black Widow. It was just that for these few days, she had to temporarily forget this name and devote herself wholeheartedly to this new identity, Natalie, and her new mission.
Natasha took the elevator, went upstairs, greeted passing colleagues familiarly, and went straight to her workstation.
However, before she could even take her first sip of coffee for the day, her direct supervisor came up to her.
"Good morning, Natalie," the supervisor greeted her.
Natasha looked up and gave a sweet smile: "Good morning, Perry."
"You did a great job last week, keep it up. I have some new tasks for you today," Perry said. "Didn't we have a contract review a couple of days ago?"
Natasha nodded: "I remember."
"Orders from above, a lightning review, get it done within today," Perry instructed. "Also, regarding the in-depth analysis of the patent infringement issue with Hammer Industries, we need results by tomorrow."
Natasha: "?"
By when did you just say?
Perry slapped his forehead: "One more thing... oh right, the ESG promotional copy for that fund, three days."
Natasha: "???"
In that instant, she almost blurted out, "Do you want to listen to what you are saying?"
Three days? How much work?
What am I? A mule?
Then the pot-bellied supervisor added with a chuckle: "It's okay, I believe in your ability. I have high hopes for you."
Natasha: "..."
She swore, if she weren't a spy, she would have probably quit and run away by now.
And as the big-bellied supervisor walked away sipping his coffee, he kept shaking his head.
What a poor girl.
She must have offended some big shot upstairs.
"..."
After a whole day of high-intensity corporate slavery, in the early hours of the morning, the super agent Black Widow walked through the long-empty streets and returned to her—or more accurately, Natalie Rushman's—apartment.
During the day, for a moment, the thought of "maybe I should just apply for a transfer with Fury" really flashed through her mind.
But she dismissed it in an instant.
She was Black Widow, a top-tier agent. Since joining S.H.I.E.L.D., there had been no precedent of mission failure on her resume so far.
If this splendid resume were terminated because of a reason like "working like a horse in a big factory," it would be too ridiculous.
And even back at the apartment, today's work wasn't even over.
Because she still had to write a report for Fury tonight...
The apartment elevator stopped. Natasha walked out of the elevator and arrived at her room. She pushed the door open a crack, almost silently, and then her movements froze.
The strand of hair she had placed on the handle when she left was gone.
Someone had been inside.
Quickly coming to this conclusion, Natasha held her breath. She pushed the door open just enough for one person to pass through, entered sticking to the wall, holding her breath and advancing slowly.
Passing by the living room bar counter, a stemmed wine glass appeared in her hand.
Natasha lowered her center of gravity and crouched by the bar counter, quickly went over a plan in her mind, and then threw the wine glass with a flick of her hand.
Clang!
The wine glass was hit by a bullet mid-air and shattered into pieces in the dining room.
In the same second, Natasha had already leaped out from her hiding spot, a Glock 26 pistol already in her hand.
The killer lurking in the room exposed their position the moment they fired. Natasha locked onto the target while in mid-air. She pulled the trigger, the muzzle flash pushing out the spinning bullet, a precise headshot. Blood instantly sprayed from the forehead of the dark figure hiding behind the dining table.
One down, one left.
There was still one target in the room.
The second killer fired from behind a wall, but Natasha had already rolled on the ground and hid behind the other side of that wall. The two were separated by the wall, back to back, both knowing the other was right behind them.
The killer made a prompt decision, turned around and fired, predicting the headshot line, aiming at Natasha's head position through the wall.
But Natasha predicted the opponent's prediction. She crouched down low and fired three shots backhanded. The bullets penetrated the wall, thwack thwack thwack, piercing through the opponent's torso.
The person staggered back after being shot. Natasha took the opportunity to flash out from cover. The opponent raised their right hand with the gun, still trying to fight back, but was hit on the wrist by a flying kick from Natasha. The pistol flew in an arc and fell into the living room.
The person immediately drew a dagger with their left hand. The moonlight through the window reflected a cold, sharp silver light on the dagger. But having been shot three times, the killer's movements were already impaired, and the force and speed of the dagger swing were slightly lacking.
Natasha used a grappling move to lock the wrist, used leverage to push back, and the sharp blade held by the person instantly plunged into their own chest, killing them instantly.
These few moves were as fast as lightning; from the first shot to the end, it took less than ten seconds in total.
Both killers were masked. Natasha removed their masks and found one black and one white, but both were female.
At this moment, an ominous premonition rose in Natasha's heart.
She searched their bodies for a moment and quickly found two dedicated terminal devices.
In that instant, Natasha felt her heart seem to skip a beat.
She recognized this kind of device. It was a terminal device dedicated to a certain assassin organization, used to issue real-time missions to organization members and communicate through the organization's internal lines.
It was an organization she thought should have been destroyed long ago, forgotten by history.
The Red Room.
The organization that made her Black Widow, and left her with a past she couldn't bear to look back on for the rest of her life.
Dust-laden memories surged into her heart, accompanied by countless pains, endless blood, a past she had spent half her life trying to forget and make up for.
Suddenly, this past she had put behind her seemed to catch up again, following her like a shadow, as if reminding her that she could never truly get rid of these things in this lifetime.
She held one of the devices, thought for a moment, bent down, and pressed the finger of one of the corpses on the floor against the side of the terminal.
Luckily, the Red Room devices still used fingerprint locks, unchanged from when she was still there. It seemed the Red Room's technology updates weren't that fast over the years.
The device unlocked, and the first thing Natasha saw on the screen was that handsome headshot, which was displayed as the Red Room's current assassination target.
Tony Stark.