2013-12-02 - SDR: Miss Russia vs Miss America: An Alternative Universe Showdown

The door to the private office closes behind the Black Widow and she steps out, hips swaying, in full seduction mode from her body language, and she starts down the hallway. Moments later, the door opens again, and Julian Keller departs, looking slightly overwhelmed, and leaves in the opposite direction.

"I really hope you're not messing with him. He's a friend of mine," America speaks up a moment later from around the corner when Nat steps out. For her part she'd just been out to grab a soda which she held in hand, and sipped at slowly, with her back leaned against the wall. She'd caught Natasha coming out... but Julian had surprised her. Still blue, still red-eyed, she lifts an eyebrow at the spy with a glance going down to her hips pointedly. Yeah that wasn't lost on her at all.

"You." Natasha's tone isn't exactly friendly. Nor does she answer any implied questions about what she was just doing in a private meeting with Keller.

"Me. Yes. Hi." America purses her lips together firmly as she frowns toward Natasha. Lightly she pushes off the wall to point her soda bottle at the woman. "You said you wanted to talk at some point. And you've been acting weird since this... stuff."

Natasha looks around. The Academy? Hell no. The walls have ears and eyes. Tony made sure of that. She is thankful she's in full tactical mode, though, in her bodysuit with her weapons and gear. "Not here."

"Pick a place, chica. I can get us where ever you'd like," America explains as she takes another gulp of soda nearly finishing the bottle. It was a glass bottle of the sort from Mexico, with the real sugar. God yes. "I'd suggest a few good restaurants I know but at the moment I stick out like a goddamn blueberry."

"Elsewhere. Pick a place. Pick a world." Natasha crosses her arms across her chest.

With as vehement as Natasha had been about not traveling it comes as a surprise to America that she asks this. She nods though, a single time, and finishes off her soda. Lifting her free hand she gives a 'come along' gesture over her shoulder as she walks down the hall just far enough to find a trash can to deposit the glass into. No sense in leaving it laying around to be broken accidentally. "If you're sure." With that she takes a breath, and cues up the star beneath her. Turning back to Natasha she flashes a grin of amusement. "One ticket to the multiverse express. No Loki this time. Already dealt with him enough for a few days." A quick stomp comes and that odd, eerie shatter occurs... and she hops through.

Natasha follows through the portal, holding the roiling in her stomach as she drops through reality, landing lightly in what looks to be a suburban backyard in an idyllic cityscape. She looks around, glancing at the house. "Looks like no one is home," she comments. "Does the falling always feel like rollercoaster?"

America glances back over at Natasha only to let the portal shut. "Mm. You have to remember to breathe, but otherwise... a little. Sometimes it's not even a fall. I've been keeping it one-directional for you." Just imagine falling then stepping out of a wall. Looking over the area her head shakes slowly. "Doesn't appear so. I tried to find one that has a good solid footing and hopefully no real issues like aliens, but..." Recalling her current appearance she reaches up to pull her hood up over her head.

"As good as any place." Natasha takes a seat at the table on the back patio of the house, adjusting the umbrella to keep the sun out of her eyes. "So. We talk." She pauses.

America moves over to the patio area looking a bit... off even now. As many times as she's traveled it has never been quite so QUIET even in an urban area. She sits down across from Natasha allowing the woman to adjust the umbrella just so before she nods toward her. "So. Yes. You were the one that wanted to know where I'm from. Not this dimension obviously. Or the other one. Or quite a few others." An indifferent shrug is given. "I've been traveling most of my life. I'm a long way from the home Mi Madres raised me in. And who knows, THAT might not have been their home dimension, either."

"Oh, I know /where/ you are from. What were you trying to discover?" Natasha asks simply, in a bored, conversational tone. "I mean, you come, you befriend Tony and you seduce Clint--arguably an easy task. But for what? Is it the arc reactor?" She flicks her wrists lightly, kicking the voltage on her wrist guns to maximum, lethal doses. "Or is it something else? If I do manage to find my way back home, chudovishche, I would like to be able to see how much damage you have done." She smiles thinly. "I recall your type. You came from the circle of ice in the Red Room. I do not have fire, but what I do have will work as well. I have killed your kind before. I am not afraid of your magics-- and I know I cannot allow you to walk our world. What is of the room stays in the room, or the world will end." Her eyes are cold and merciless. "It is nothing personal." And oddly... it truly does not seem it /is/ personal. No. This is the Black widow. The assassin.

Light laughter rings in the back of America's head.

When Natasha starts to go all knowing on her about stuff, and jump the shark rapidly, America fixes her with the most confused look ever. And when she starts to go on about where she thinks she's from, and magic, and killing, her expression turns serious and quite honestly pissed. "What the hell, Natasha..." She begins only to jerk her head up at the laughter. "Fuck off, Loki!"

Looking back to Natasha she pushes to stand up from her seat at the table to shake her head at the woman with more annoyance than anything. "Forget you, chica. And for your information, I slept with Tony before I ever met Clint... It just wasn't sex. I don't know what this 'Red Room' is. I told you that before. I look like THIS," her hand lifts swinging a finger around to point at her face with a snarl of anger as her eyes snap upward again, "Because..." Augh. She pauses there with a look of revulsion. Saying it. SAYING it was so hard!

Natasha snorts. "Because you are demon from the hells, da?" She stands as well. "I do not care who you have fucked. I am having to protect the world from you-- you can move to different world, use your magics to bring back more chudovishche, turn world into ice and death." She grimaces. "Even if this means I am stuck here, where ever this is. I cannot let you do this." She has no idea... Loki, any of it. "I... I /am/ sorry. I had hoped this was not so. Better it is me than one of them. It would destroy them." She raises her hand, aiming Widow's Bite at America.

Two houses down, a black Iron Man suit lands in the backyard.

"" Natasha says. "Tony?"

"Because Loki's my goddamn father, apparently," America bites back in annoyance as she adds, "A frost giant." Sure, Loki had sworn he didn't remember, but she knew he was a liar... and he'd been trying to manipulate her even in that meeting, even with her old group watching. When the weapon is aimed toward her she narrows her eyes again and mutters, "Takes more than toys to kill me, chica," as she tenses preparing for the worst. Electricity was never pleasant but she could survive. It would just hurt, a lot.

Thankfully she doesn't have to find out just yet when the suit lands snapping her attention away with eyes narrowing. "... Shit. Shitshit... Wrong world." Why did she choose so quickly? She wasn't in a hurry!

"Bozhe moy..." Natasha replies. "You are Thor's... niece?" That has her drop her gun quickly. "Why did you not say--"

"Natasha!" a cheerful voice echoes across the yards as the sliding glass door of the house the suit landed at opens. "What a pleasant surprise. We weren't expecting you. Kids! Look, it's Auntie Nata--"

The suit fires-- normal bullets, not repulsors. The woman crumples to the ground in a spray of blood. Children scream, and from the other side of the house, more bullets can be heard. The screaming cuts off abruptly.

The Black Widow's head snaps at the sound of the bullets and the screams. "...children. We have to..." and she is already moving.

"I didn't KNOW," Is America's only response when Natasha seems to finally clue in on the matter. But for now her attention is away, and when the woman comes out she lets out a rush of breath. No. No no nonono. By the time Natasha speaks America is already running flat out toward the suit. It only takes a jump for her to launch into flight. It's too late for the woman--she hadn't expected that when she greeted her in such a way. She flies straight toward the suit hauling her arm back to punch it in the head using both the force of her own strength and of her momentum of her flight to try and send the suit and it's occupant flying.

The distance isn't too far, and Widow eats it up more quickly than the average person could, leaping the fences and bolting across the yards. Seeing America has already taken the flying suit-- and honestly, the girl--frost giant?-- is better equipped, Natasha dives in the back door, hoping that the silence was a silence driven by fear, but knowing...

The bodies. Three children, one barely more than an infant. The blood was everywhere. One of the older children had been sheared in half by the automatic gunfire.

Three men stood by the broken front door, all carrying automatic weapons. Their dress was familiar, military. Natasha did not care. She aimed and fired.

The suit fought back as it fell back, swinging to punch America, to drive her off. The repulsors in the suit's hands pushed, but America's blow cracked the helmet. Still, it fought back.

She didn't care. America didn't care. She saw the children... saw the blood, the gore, the... The stomach turning horror that had her currently red-eyes sparking with pure unbridled fury and rage. The hits from the suit are taken without so much as a grunt. It hurt. It even cut her cheek causing crimson blood to flow where the metal edge of the suit's fist had broken the skin from impact. Miss America follows the suit to the ground pummeling at the helmet. The crack was enough that she sinks her fingers in between wedging the metal apart trying to crack it further and literally PEEL the woman out of the suit.

"CHILDREN! CHILDREN! WHY THE ... WHY! YOU HEARTLESS ...!" Legs lock around the waist of the suit ensuring she was NOT about to be shaken off easily as she continues her assault in spite of being battered in turn.

The woman in the suit spits up at America, launching an electrical charge from the suit to throw her back. The woman looks familiar-- like the woman who had just run into the house to try and save the children inside-- close, at least, not as attractive, with shorter hair, darker skin, and a look of hate instead of ice. She doesn't respond, no, her entire effort is on throwing off the godling ripping her suit apart.

Widow dodges the weapons fire aimed towards her, drawing on every bit of training and agility she has in such close quarters. She manages to dodge most, not all, her bodysuit deflecting the energy from two, but two more ripping into her flesh as the suit's kinetic blocker is overextended. She whirls, trickles of blood spraying as she shoots two of the men with a full lethal dose of her stings, and kicks the gun out of the hands of the third.

Her fist follows up, slamming into the man's cheekbone with a sickening crunch.

"You." America glares down though there's no hate--It's starting to get there. Her hand slams down catching the woman by the throat and pressing her thumb up beneath her chin to force her jaw shut. Leaning down closer she murmurs, "I usually don't get involved in shit in other dimensions... but you've just earned a special place in hell, Natasha. ... I should let her deal with you." She sits up again releasing her grip. Bruising though it was she hadn't been attempting to kill her. Just hold her there and ensure she wasn't spat at again. The electrical charge however sends her shivering with a cry of anguish as it rockets through her, ripping along her and sending every nerve alight. Not deadly, not by far, but it HURT...

Somewhere in the back of her mind it finally seems to click as to why this is the case. It was Loki's fault, clearly. Just as Thor's lightning was an issue for him now she knew why electricity hurt so VERY much and seemed to sap her strength.

It works though. America is thrown back and off sizzling and gasping for breath as she twitches involuntarily fighting off those lingering spasms of discomfort.

Iron Maiden stands shakily, lifting her and and flexing her wrist, a small rocket popping out and locking on America. "I don't know who you are," she snarls in a heavy Russian accent, "but your interference is /done/."

A sharp cry of anguish is heard within the house, and Natasha comes out holding a framed picture. "This isn't-- this..." She sees her doppelganger, standing there in the damaged Iron Man-esque suit. The cry and the words were enough to draw Iron Maiden's attention, and a look of confusion crosses her face.

"Vy?!" both Natashas explode at once. The framed picture falls to the ground, shattering on the concrete of the patio as Widow raises her wristguns. Iron Maiden brings her wrist rocket to bear on Nat.

America clenched her jaw and eyes a moment when the weapon is aimed at her again. She would survive. She always survived... right? Even with some of her power gone... she wasn't sure how much... Bracing herself for the weapon she prepares to spring knowing it will get her hit at the same time. At least until Natasha distracts the other Natasha.

It's all she needs, that extra moment, and she lunges back up at the suit driving a knee up to crunch against the stomach area of the suit. Her arms though caught up beneath the suit's arms locking back to hold her there. With a grimace of anger she strives to hold Iron Maiden down, on her knees if possible, and she flashes a look past her shoulders toward Natasha. "Your double, chica, you get to choose. I could toss her to the sun or drop her in limbo." Or she could... hold her while... Yeah.

The word 'Limbo' only brings a smug look to Iron Maiden's face, even as she struggles against America's grip.

But Widow isn't going to make the choice. She launches herself forward, her fist connecting with her double's, landing with a satisfying crack and thud. She pulls her fist back for another hit, the knuckles broken and bleeding. "" Widow snarls as she lands the second blow. ""

The pounding sounds of footsteps. A familiar voice. "Oh god. LAURA! No... no no no, Cal... Lewis... Nicky... LAURA..." And he steps out, bow in hand, arrow already nocked and aiming... at Widow and America, tears streaming down his face, hate in his eyes. He looked older, somehow, harder, his head shaved, his arms covered in tattoos. But it was Clint. Neither America nor Natasha could deny that.

Iron Maiden takes her chance. "Barton! They did it! I tried to--"

Natasha's fist slams into her face again. ""

Clint. Oh god, Clint. Wait. Clint? Crying over... The look of realization on America's face causes her to snap her attention over with a look of horror. Still she holds onto Iron Maiden, and when she begins to lie... Her face contorts and she pulls the grip tighter.

"WE DON'T HAVE GUNS!" she shouts hoping that the fact that Laura--his wife?--was shot would sink through. Tightening her grip on the Iron Maiden's arms she just looks down at the woman with disgust. "They called you 'Auntie Natasha' and you just GUNNED them down... You..." It was too much. Tears stream down her own face. As alien and unnatural as she may look the tears could not be hidden. They glistened as they stream down her cheeks turning into frozen drops of ice as they fall off to the ground. Quieter she responds, "Nat. Widow. I was wrong, it's not your choice what happens to this bitch. It's his."

Widow looks over at America, tears spilling down her own face as well. "I could never do this... not..." Even the stone-cold assassin had limits. And the infant children of Clint Barton were so far beyond those limits...

TWANG.

Natasha staggers, the sharp point of the jagged, armor-piercing arrow sticking out through her chest. Her eyes widen.

Iron Maiden smiles, and her suit beeps. Her shockwave has recharged, and she hits it.

"NO!" This was out of hand, this was so far out of hand and... beep. The recharge beep. America's eyes snap over toward the woman she grappled with in the suit and just as the volts start to surge through her she moves one hand up. The force of the electricity this close caused her head to throw back with a scream of agony but she fought it to reach up and clamp her hand over Iron Maiden's face to share in the pain.

And then she drops like so many bricks, rolling to the side to reach for HER Natasha. Forcing herself up she crawls over to shield the other woman with her own body if necessary before just catching herself on an arm, head falling forward and gasping in pain.

"Don't.. trust her... Don't..." She pleads of Clint though she knew it would fall on deaf ears.

Widow coughs, spitting out blood. The arrow missed the heart.

Missed the heart... she could hear the echo of a gunshot in her head. Hawkeye doesn't miss. He hits...what he aims for. And either he wanted her to suffer, or something stayed his hand.

"Clint..." she coughs. It wasn't her Clint. This was some other Clint, one that got married, had children. This was not the one she knew better at times than he knew himself. But she had to try. "Clint... please... she..." her hand reaches out first towards him, then it retracts.

"Mer..ca. Go. Port." Widow's eyes narrow. "Go." And she moves. If she survived the Red Room, and so many more worse things... she could survive long enough to kill her double. She crawls the bare step towards the prone, electrocuted form.

Grief and rage twist Clint's features. Another arrow is drawn and nocked. "...why?" his voice cracks slightly. "Tasha..."

The Iron Maiden twitches, smoke and the acrid smell of burnt circuitry coming up from the suit. Widow looks back at Clint, her face obviously tear-streaked. Then she collapses, blood trickling from her mouth.

Barton stands there, bow drawn taut for a moment, and then he releases it.

TWANG! The arrow slams into America, but bounces off.

"Ow." It didn't do damage, but it did hurt. America's nerves were on fire right now. She had no idea if she'd killed the other Natasha, or just gave her a good painful zap. It was entirely dependant on what level SHE had set the suit to. Right now her nerves were still on fire, and her muscles felt like jelly. The arrow was just another stab of pain even if it falls off. She rolls onto her back gazing upward at the grief-stricken man. "I'm sorry," is all she can offer with a shake of her head. "We weren't quick enough." To... to what. Her eyes shut, and her lower lip pulls into her mouth being bitten as her head shakes. "We were just visiting, passing through, and we saw... I'm sorry." Several deep breaths are taken, and her arm stretches out to grab Natasha by the leg. The light beneath them ignites into the blazing star that was symbolic of her teleportation. Again her eyes open, shaking her head at him. "The bullets in the woman will match what's in her suit. Don't trust her." Reason. Why was she even trying. Again her eyes squeeze shut as she draws her free arm up to slam her elbow down against the ground tearing through the fabric of dimensions and she just falls through dragging Natasha with her.

Falling. With America so worn, the sensation of falling pulls as if all ways and no ways are up and down and all at once. America and Natasha spin, and fall, and float...

And land. Hard. Warning sirens go off-- security breach, dimensional shifting within the Avenger's Academy Medlab isn't exactly looked well upon. Dr. Pym comes out immediately to see what is going on.

"...oh... America, Natasha?" He looks at them, in a blood-splattered pile on the floor. Natasha is no longer conscious-- probably for the best, as the landing snapped the arrow in her chest.

"Shit," America utters as she lands, hard, on her back. She was bloodied on one cheek which was bruising a peculiar purple-red and the rest of her smelt of ozone. As if she'd been fed more volts than might be safe to handle, usually. With a groan she rolls to her side reaching out toward Natasha to check, and wince, when she sees the broken arrow lodged in her chest. Just in time for Pym to come out. Looking over she states simply, "Skrulls. Get... Natasha needs help." Nothing about herself. She was moving at least. Sore, but moving, at least until she slumps back to the floor with a groan.

Security breach? Security breach!? Not a day goes by at this rate. Wisdom set the Academy's security systems on active, proto-lockdown. Down he went - or up. It even took vaulting a staircase to get down, rolling and hurrying down to meet Pym where...

"Oh, hell." Whatever was enough to make America bruise, let alone bleed, must have been terrible indeed. Wisdom's demeanor went from action-packed to almost quiet, and immediately went to assist Pym in a silent medical assist. He may not be a doctor of medicine, but emergency triage and first aid? Better than nothing. If necessary he'd haul over equipment.

For the most part, though, Pete said nothing. Debriefing and reports could come later, if they'd come at all.

"...she has a military grade armor piercing arrow through her chest and lungs-- and it broke off. Pleasant..." Pym says, "Two bullet wounds-- oh, it looks like one of the bullets is still in her torso-- hmm." He looks at the diagnostics with a detached, scientific air, but the slight furrow in his brow belies his worry. He punches a few buttons, and nods to Pete. "Slips the intravenous cuff on her arm, would you? Good man, good man..." and he turns to America. "You too. Up on a diagnostic bed. Skrulls, you say? Damn. I had thought..." he shakes his head, frustrated.

America pushes herself back with heels digging into the floor till she can sit with her back against one of the beds. Her arm rests over her stomach aching now that she has time to feel where she'd taken a few punches to the shoulder. Pete is watched with a nod, and her gaze follows after watching them tend to Pym until Pym turns to her. "Mfine, just tired," she assures with a wave of her hand at Pym stubbornly.

"They pop up now and then. Always a few. Wouldn't worry about it..." She murmurs as she finally stands wobbly on her feet. Okay maybe laying down was a good idea. She crawls over to the bed and flops down face first with a groan. If someone tried to roll her over though she wouldn't fuss.

"As long as it's plugging up the holes, it's entirely salvageable," Wisdom said. "Here's hoping the arrowhead isn't barbed." Is it? His poker face was on; really, here he was out of his element. Far more used to being on a hospital bed than treating others on them. But he'd happily take orders from Pym, and he wouldn't touch either woman, considering injuries or conditions.

"Over you get..." Pym says, helping roll America over, then punches up the diagnostic. "...Did Widow /shoot/ you?" he asks finally, his eyebrows almost climbing into his hairline. "You've taken multiple extremely high electroshocks-- I can see where the voltage escaped your body. Good God."

The diagnostic bed Natasha is laying on beeps angrily, and Pym moves to it, tapping on the controls. "Yes, yes, blood..." he mumbles a bit, tapping at the datapad. "Surgical program... yes, there we go, there we..."

And he moves back to America while the bed is doing whatever it is doing with Natasha. "She had an arrow /through/ her chest. And bullets. And you've got... wow. Fourteen medium to large size contusions... plus the shocks." Pym looks very concerned. "And the Skrulls? In custody, or did they get away?"

"Mmf. Line of fire," America mutters simply though it's quite possibly a fib as well. "They found it worked and..." Yeah well. America goes quiet again as she listens to the list of injuries. Now was that odd? Getting such things reported to her when normally she just dealt with it. "I dumped them in another dimension," she informs simply. "Had to focus on getting Natasha here." Her eyes shut and she locks her jaw reeeally hoping that more questions weren't asked.

"You did the right thing," Pym assures her. "If you hadn't gotten Natasha back here..." he moves back over, muttering under his breath again. "Dammit. Her left lung is filling with blood," he says, calmly. "I can't put a temporary seal on any of this until I get the arrow out-- forgive me, America, I'll be back with you in a moment. Mr. Wisdom, if you would please?"

And whatever repulsor tech or crazy stuff Tony has built into the med labs, Natasha is lifts straight up into the air. Blood steadily drips off her body and begins pooling on the diagnostic bed. "The laser scalpel, please-- on the table there. And the forceps.

As a surgeon? Wisdom was only good with killing people or doing emergency cauterization. Which may have to happen. But he's been in hospitals enough times to recognize equipment, and as an assistant he wasn't half bad. He was quick, precise, and best of all, he stayed out of the way. Forceps and laser scalpel were given over.

"Just worry about her," America urges as she lets her eyes slide shut planning to rest some. After a moment she murmurs, "Make sure he fixes her first, Pete." It's all she can do before her own exhaustion takes over and she nods off into a sleepless rest.

Pym's expression is intent as he uses the laser scalpel to cut away a chunk of Widow's bodysuit around the entry point in her back and the exit point in her front-- she had been shot in the back. Never a good sign.

He does much the same around the two bullet holes, then punches a couple buttons, the air around Natasha thickening. He slowly pulls the broken shaft out from the front, the back having snapped off when she fell out of the dimensional rift. Blood wells up, and he quickly begins the surgery, using the laser scalpel expertly as both cutting tool and laser to seal.

The gory, jagged-bladed arrow was tossed haphazardly onto a nearby tray. The bullet still lodged inside her was also removed, and Pym hurriedly dresses the wounds, cleans the bed back off and settles her back on it.

By the time he's done, America had fallen asleep.