Chapter 6
Natasha allowed herself five seconds after Ross left to simply hang from the ceiling, eyes closed, and try to breathe.
Five… breathe in… four… exhale… three… breathe in… two… exhale… one.
She launched into action, squirming her wrists and picking at the thick ropes with her nails. She had loosened them slightly while waiting for Ross to return, but not nearly enough to slip out of them.
Her wrists were skinny but strong, and she twisted them around each other, pushing out against the ropes the whole time. In her efforts she was swinging back and forth, which made it slightly more difficult, but she kept going, grunting and sweating.
Her right arm was still throbbing horribly from the knife cut, making it significantly weaker than her left. She was technically left handed, but had been trained so much to use both that it barely made a difference anymore. The ropes and her hands were soaked through with the water that Ross had dumped on her, and she used the slipperiness to her advantage, edging her way out of the bonds.
Her left wrist was almost through. She pulled and pushed and twisted, and finally, finally, yanked it out. She gasped in relief. Her wrist was branded with the rope’s pattern, but she was halfway out. She then threw her left hand up to grab the rope around her right, and used it to pull, this time free of any constraints. Within seconds, she dropped to the ground, the rope swinging above her head. She almost smiled.
She walked over to the door, but really, there was no possible way for her to get out. She didn’t even know what had happened to set off those alarms. Hopefully it was Peter. Either way, she was sure Ross would send some guys to check on her, and they would have to open the door, leaving her free to beat them up and escape the cell.
Suddenly, she was hit with a wave of nausea. Her vision swam, the room spun around her. She stumbled on her feet, but put her hands on her knees to steady herself. Her stomach heaved and she retched, emptying her gut of the dinner from Peter’s apartment not long ago. The room slowed. She held her hand out for something to grab onto, but her fingertips only grazed the wall. Finally, after several moments, the nausea died down, and she was left standing still, her breath ragged, sweat dripping from her forehead.
She realized she still had that stupid taser thing on her neck. She pulled on it, wincing at the pain, but it would not budge. She sighed, frustrated, and waited for something— preferably something helpful— to happen.
Meanwhile, Peter zipped through the hallways as fast as he could, webbing up every security camera in sight with taser webs. Hopefully they would be disabled, or at least blocked in some way, leaving no hard evidence of his presence.
“Karen, can you see where Natasha is?”
“Yes, Peter. She is four floors below you and to your left.”
“Staircase anywhere?”
“Allow me to pull up a map for you to see.” Inside Peter’s mask, a schematic of the facility appeared. A tall staircase going down probably ten floors or so was highlighted in green.
“Thanks, Karen. Oh, here we go.” A group of six armed men had turned the corner in front of him, charging and shooting wildly.
Peter dodged the bullets, and jumped to slam the first guy into the ground. He stood up, webbing two rifles out of two men’s hands, tossed them behind him, then with a sharp twist kicked two more rifles away. Only one soldier had a gun left, and Peter dodged his fire, then used his momentum from swinging to launch him backwards into the wall.
Peter turned to the remaining four men, who were running at him. He webbed one to the wall, leaving him stuck completely, then slid and took out the legs of two more. He finished the fourth off by webbing him up, punching him in the crotch, and then elbowing him sharply in the nose. The other two were regaining their footing, and Peter swung over them, wrapping them in webbing and slamming them into the ground face-first.
More soldiers were approaching, and Peter webbed as many as he could up before simply swinging past them. He was getting closer to the staircase, but Karen had highlighted heat signatures in red, and he could see that there were more and more body armor-clad soldiers filing into the hallways from the rooms along and up the stairs. He definitely could not swing past all of them.
“Hey, Ned?” he called. “How’s it going in there?”
“Well, we have a slight problem with Natasha’s cell.”
“Crap, what happened?”
“It went on, like, extra-protected mode once we set off the alarms. Literally more protected than anything else in this complex. I don’t know if I can hack it completely anytime soon.”
“I hate Ross.”
“Me too, man. Just head down there, maybe she’ll find a way to get out. She’s Black Widow, she’s not completely hopeless.”
“Good point.”
Natasha was simply sitting on the ground, her back up against the door, breathing heavily. Blood, sweat, and water dripped from her forehead, her hair and clothes drenched. The cold was just starting to settle in, and she shivered slightly, squeezing as much water as she could out of her braid and clothes. She still felt woozy from the pain in… well, everywhere. And as far as she could tell, she was stuck in this cell until someone else opened the door.
Natasha had wrapped her chest tightly with fabric she had ripped from the lower half of her plain white shirt, knowing that one rib was cracked. It hurt like the devil, too, but there was absolutely nothing she could do about it except wrap it and try to breathe. Breathing, of course, made it hurt even worse, which was unfortunate considering she needed to breathe to stay alive.
Thaddeus Ross sprinted into his office, slamming and locking the door behind him. “What in the name of hell is going on?” he barked.
A desk officer turned to him, and gestured to the many screens on the wall, all of which showed only static. “Sir, someone’s broken in and shut down our security cameras. We have reports that Spider-Man is in the building. He seems to be working with someone outside.”
“How did he get in?” Ross demanded impatiently.
“We don’t know, sir. We’re trying to get the cameras back online now. We think it was through the vents somehow.”
“For Christ’s sake.” Ross paced the room. “What about Romanoff?”
“Her cell door remains locked. It went on high-security shutdown when we were alerted of the intruder, and has remained intact.”
“Send troops down to guard her. Leave the door locked, don’t go in under any circumstances.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now!”
“Yes, sir!” The officer said into a small walkie-talkie: “Commander, send troops to cell number twenty! Do not open the door under any circumstances. Do not let anyone in or out.”
Ross nodded, satisfied. “Get those cameras back online.”
“We’re working on it, sir.”
“Good. Call me if anything more comes up. I need to go.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ross turned on his heel and left the room.
Peter slammed a soldier into a wall, then spun around and kicked another round the face. He webbed two more into the wall, then sprinted down the hallway, webbing one more up and thrusting him into the floor. “Any update on Natasha’s cell?” he asked Ned, breathing heavily.
“Dude, it’s gonna be a while. Hopefully she can figure it out on her own. Just focus on getting down there.”
“So helpful.” Peter dodged a punch, and shot up to the wall, then ran upside down, webbing up rushing agents and soldiers as he went.
“Sorry. But for now, I can do this…” Ned paused. Then, music filled the loud speakers of the building.
One maca, two maca, three macarena. Four maca, five maca, six macarena!
Peter laughed out loud. “Nice!”
Natasha snorted to herself when the music started playing. Now there was no doubt that it was Peter who had breached the prison.
She stood up, deciding that sitting around feeling bad for herself wasn’t helping herself or Peter in any way at all. She circled the room, searching the walls for anything that could be triggered or messed with.
By now, she had figured out that Peter wasn’t going to be opening the door for her, and neither was Ross. But maybe, if the security camera in the corner of the room was working, and she made some commotion, maybe they would open the door just to see what was going on.
She tapped her fingers on the rope, pondering what she could do with it, and coming up empty. She stared up at the security camera. If she could break it in some way… She pulled on the rope, but it was stuck firmly in place. No vents, nothing to throw.
The cell was about ten feet by ten feet, the ceiling maybe eight feet high. The rope hung right in the middle, but was only about one foot long anyway. Useless.
Natasha stuck her hands in her pockets, searching for something hard and solid that she could throw. A knife would be perfect, or maybe a baton. Unfortunately, Ross hadn’t been kind enough to give her a knife or a baton. So inconsiderate of him.
On the other side of the wall, rows of Ross’s troops streamed down the halls towards her cell, loaded guns in their hands. They reached the large metal door that was the door to Natasha’s cell, and lined up in front of it, looking around as others rushed past them towards the upper levels.
Natasha ran her fingers along the wall as she paced, unsure exactly what she was looking for, but feeling like she had to at least look like she was making an effort. She rapped her knuckles on the wall, trying to hear if there was anything hollow behind the thick concrete, but to no avail. She stared back up at the camera, and was struck with a sudden inspiration.
“I guess I’ll give them a show,” she mumbled to herself. Without another sound, she crumpled to the ground.
“Hey bro, Ross has got his security cameras back online.”
Peter grunted in response to Ned’s comment, taking a few moments to reply as he thought over his situation. “That’s alright, I’m sure they know it’s me anyway, I haven’t exactly been subtle.”
“No you have not,” Ned agreed.
“Thanks. But, like, it’s not a big deal. I’m almost to the staircase, and then it’s easy going from there. Hopefully.”
“We still have the issue of having no way to actually accomplish what we came here to do,” Ned pointed out.
“Natasha’ll find a way out, don’t worry,” Peter assured, expressing a confidence he didn’t really feel. “It’ll all turn out great in the end.”
“Yeah, yeah. We’re fine.”
The macarena song was still playing loudly in the background. Seven maca, eight maca, nine macarena… Ayyyy, macarena!
Peter had had a few moments of relative calm, but more soldiers were approaching fast, and from every direction. Peter threw a web bomb over his shoulder, setting off an explosion of the meshy substance, wrapping up half a dozen enemies with the stuff. Then he jumped down from the ceiling, right on the head of a soldier.
He was going for one of Natasha’s cool scissor-tackle moves, but the result was far from it. Instead of staying on the guy’s shoulders, Peter simply knocked him over. Nonetheless, he stood up, and fought off the rest of the soldiers easily. The staircase was in view, and he leapt toward it, arms windmilling.
But he was intercepted. He flew backwards, and his back hit the wall, hard. He collapsed to the ground. He stumbled to his feet, and his eyes focused on a huge man, wearing extra body armor.
“Woah, I think I leveled up!” Peter shouted.
He ran at him, dodged a punch, and slid, attempting to take the soldier’s legs out from under him. But his opponent simply swept him away with a backhand stroke. Peter tumbled on the ground, head spinning. Gasping for breath, he stood up, then webbed one of his opponent’s hands to the wall, then came in with a swinging kick. The soldier flew into the wall, which dented slightly. Peter webbed him up as much as he could, and then, grunting with exertion, jumped down the space in the middle of the staircase.
Secretary Ross jogged down an empty hallway, but slowed down when his walkie talkie buzzed. “What?” he growled.
“Sir, we have the security cameras back online-”
“About time,” he interrupted. “You can see Romanoff?”
“Yes, sir, we can, but-”
“She can't possibly have escaped from there, it’s the most secure cell in the complex!”
“No, sir, she hasn’t, but-”
“What’s the big deal then?” he spluttered.
The line was quiet for a few moments, as if the caller was heaving a deep sigh. “She appears to have passed out.”
“Motherfucker,” he grumbled to himself. “How are her vitals?”
“Getting worse, sir.”
Ross didn’t say anything.
The caller tried tentatively, “What’s your call, sir?”
“We have men down there?”
“Yes, sir, we have sixteen men guarding the cell door.”
Ross fished into his pocket, and pulled out a small metal gadget. He smirked at it. “Open the door, let’s bring her into the medical wing for now. She’ll be fine.”
“Open the door now?”
“Give me three minutes to get down there. Open the door in three minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Peter catapulted over the stair rail, propelling himself onto a new floor. “This the right floor?” he asked Karen.
“Yes, Peter. Now follow the map down the hallway to Ms. Romanoff’s cell. There are sixteen troops guarding the cell, and the door still isn’t open, so you should probably make a plan.”
“One sec, gotta deal with this.”
Three soldiers were sprinting at him. Peter webbed one of them up, then came down on him with a kick to the jaw and a punch to the gut. He spun around, elbowing another guy in the face. He kicked the kneecap of the third man, then capitalized on it with two quick punches to the face. Then, he jumped over the last soldier, webbing up his face, and slamming the back of his head into the floor.
Peter looked up, but for the moment he was alone. But suddenly, his spider-sense fired up, and he jumped to the side just as bullets whizzed by right where he had been standing. He turned, only to see Ross running down the hallway, from the stairs.
The secretary was holding a gun in one hand, and, Peter noticed curiously, a small silver device in the other.
“Spider-Man! Stop where you are and put your hands up!” Ross stood stock-still, gun raised, pointed directly at Peter.
“Karen,” Peter muttered quietly, “Turn on interrogation mode, please.”
“Of course,” Karen replied.
When Peter spoke, his voice came out much deeper, making it impossible for anyone listening to discern his real voice. “‘Sup, Ross?”
“Stay there,” Ross warned. “I’m not afraid to shoot!”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re not!” Peter hopped out of the way, and stuck to the side of the wall. A bullet flew past where he had just been standing. “But see, I don’t plan to get shot.”
“I think you’re a little arrogant, considering the position you’re in,” Ross said sharply.
“Peter made a show of looking around at the empty hallway. “Um, what position?”
“You’re in my facility, and I have full power over who enters and exits. My troops are guarding every possible exit. You’re stuck here.”
“You know that I, like, got in here. Without you stopping me. Right? And I can probably do the same getting out?”
“Spider-Man, just turn yourself in. We just need you to sign the Sokovia Accords, then we’ll set you free. You have nothing to fear.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s great. And you know, this has been exciting,” Peter told him, “But I really need to get going. So…” He webbed up Ross’s gun hand, then shot his web at whatever Ross was holding in his hand, and yanked it into his palm. Ross spun around angrily, cursing. Peter glanced at the small, silver rectangular thing in his hand. If Ross was holding it, it was probably worth keeping. He quickly webbed it up completely, and slipped it into a pocket in his suit that he sometimes used to hold his phone.
Peter weighed his options one last time. He could fight, but that would probably get him in huge trouble, especially if Tony found out. If he ran, he could find Natasha and get out of there. He decided leaving was his top priority right now. Just to be safe, he casually webbed Ross up to the point that he would not be able to use his arms until it wore off in a few minutes. Then he swung off down the hallway. “Karen, turn off interrogation mode.”
Meanwhile, Natasha was still lying motionless on the floor. Her breathing was slow, her eyes closed. But then, without warning, the noise of metal sliding on concrete filled her ears. She still didn’t move, but she opened her eyes. The sound of footsteps approached her, and she allowed herself a small smirk before jumping to her feet.
Peter nearly whooped in triumph as he saw the door to Natasha’s cell opened by a group of guards. This was their chance to get her out! He swung as fast as he could.
Natasha punched the first guy in the face before he could even process that she had stood up. She finished him with a kick to the gut, then with her other leg swept the legs out from under another.
More guards filed through the doorway, yelling for backup. Natasha stepped over her fallen opponent, then artfully kicked the rifles from the grips of two more. With that, she jumped onto the shoulders of an unarmed opponent, and tackled him to the ground. Bullets bounced around her, and she socked the second unarmed guard in the face, then grabbed his shirt to stand him up, keeping him between her and the door.
She propped him up like a shield, and he yelped as several bullets hit him in the back. Natasha drove him into the shooter, knocking them both to the ground.
Outside the cell, Peter used his webs to stick one guard to the wall, then entangled two more in the webs. As they struggled to escape, Peter got one with a kick to the stomach and head, and the other with an uppercut that launched him a few feet in the air before crashing to the ground in a heap.
Peter jumped into the air, using his webs to yank up another guy with him, then took him out with a kick that hurled him into the wall. He could hear Natasha fighting inside the cell, and tried to work even harder, webbing one more to the ground, and taking out another with a quick sequence of punches.
Natasha twirled like a ballerina to dodge incoming bullets, then swiftly picked up a rifle, and threw it at a soldier. It hit him square on the forehead. Natasha allowed herself to mutter, “That is not how a rifle is used,” to herself as she kneed him in the stomach, then punched him in the throat.
Two more approached her, and she leapt onto the shoulders of one them, resisting his bucking as she brought her elbows down on the top of his head until he collapsed. Then, she ducked under fire from the second enemy, stomped hard on his toes, and yanked his rifle away, then hit him in the face with it.
Peter faced three more opponents. He ran at the middle guy, webbing up the hands of all three of them as he went. He ducked under a hopeless two-handed punch, then put him down with a quick succession of punches. The other two converged on him, and he covered his face as they rained blows down on him. But Peter was quick, and he quickly finished one of them with an elbow to the head and a satisfying kick that sent him flying.
Breathing heavily, Peter turned to face the final soldier, who looked wary. Peter didn’t blame him. But before either could make a move, the sound of a gunshot filled the corridor, and the guard dropped to the ground, blood pooling out of a bullet hole in his neck. Peter relaxed.
He waited a few moments, and then sure enough, Natasha exited the cell gracefully, holding a rifle stolen from a fallen guard. “About fucking time,” she said loftily.
Peter shrugged dramatically. “What can I say? Spider-Man to the rescue.”
“Oh, please.”
“Not gonna lie, you look like a vampire and it’s low-key freaking me out.”
“Thanks, that’s the look I was going for.” Natasha flashed him a short grin, displaying her bloody teeth.
“Also, why did you turn your shirt into a crop top?”
“Is today, like, fucking National Criticize Natasha Day? I was just wrapping my ribs!”
Peter blushed under his mask. “Oh, by the way, kinda random, but that Ross guy I think was holding this silver thing…” Peter rummaged into his pocket and pulled out the small web-covered device he had recovered from the secretary. He shrugged. “Thought it might be useful, I dunno.”
Natasha swiped it from his hand, and pulled the mesh off of it. “Thank fucking god, Peter.”
Peter stared at her blankly, though he knew his expression was hidden by his mask. “I guess it’s helpful then.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” Natasha clicked the gadget, then, with a sly smile, pulled a small circular pin, which, Peter realized just then, had been fastened to her neck. Natasha dropped it on the ground, then smashed it to teeny tiny bits with her shoe.
“What was-” Peter began, but Natasha interrupted him.
“That asshole kept tasering me with this bullshit. Don’t know when he got so fucking fancy. Anyway, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Peter swallowed back a snort. Apparently, Natasha’s mouth got dirtier in times of crisis. After a moment of silence, Peter realized Natasha had actually asked a question. He replied hastily, “We came here to save you, duh.” Then he smiled, and sang along with the new song blaring in the background. “I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie wwoorrlldd!”
“Why this song?” Natasha muttered.
“Not my idea,” Peter remarked.
Natasha tilted her head quizzically. “Who-”
“Behind you!” Peter yelped.
Natasha spun around, the rifle in her hands flying into the jaw of one of ten incoming troops. Peter raced past her, sliding, then popping up right in the middle of the group, fists swinging. In just a few seconds, all ten soldiers were on the ground, and not getting up any time soon.
Peter turned to face Natasha, bouncing up and down on his toes. “I can’t believe all this crazy stuff is happening, and you look like you’re about to pass out-”
“Thanks.”
“-And we have to get out of here as soon as possible!”
“Yeah, I got that,” Natasha assured him. “I have to get back my gear, though. For some reason you don’t seem to own any fucking guns, and that’s kind of a problem, so I need to find mine. Also, I want to see if I can find anything that might tell me what Ross is up to.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, good idea. Oh, here, take this.” Peter handed her a small earpiece, which she stuck into her ear. “Now we can talk. Also, I always keep a spare hard drive in case I need to download super secret files the bad guys don’t want me to have.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He handed her a small silver drive.
Natasha flashed a smile, gripping her stolen rifle. “You came prepared. Maybe I underestimated you.” Then she sprinted off down the hallway.
Peter watched her go with a hint of a grin on his face, then added one more stomp to the broken pieces of the taser device, just for good measure. He didn’t know the background of it, but it had clearly caused Natasha some grief, and he didn’t like that at all. Then he ran off in the opposite direction.
The hallway was still relatively clear, so, after quickly taking care of a lone soldier, then shooting a security camera, Natasha asked Peter, “So, how did you find me?”
“Uh, mostly that tracker that you put on yourself. And Karen helped, too. Why are you asking now?”
“Because I need to figure out if you can help me find my shit, and any other important files that I can find, dummy.”
“Dummy,” Peter repeated.
“Yes. That is what you are.”
“That is a world-class insult.”
“I know. I specialize in world-class insults.” Natasha paused as a group of soldiers approached her. She held up her stolen rifle, and shot them down in a matter of seconds before they even got within five feet of her. She smirked to herself, reveling in the easiness of simply shooting them instead of punching them over and over again.
“Anyway,” Natasha continued, “I have no idea who the fuck Karen is, but could she possibly inform me where Ross’s office is?”
Peter was silent for a few moments, and Natasha assumed he was talking to this mystery person. Then, “I think I can make it so that you can hear her.”
A few more seconds passed, but then Natasha heard a robotic female voice in her ear. “Hello, Ms. Romanoff.”
“Hey, Karen.” More shots rang out in the corridor as Natasha fired at another group of soldiers, taking them down in a matter of seconds. She hefted her rifle as she continued to jog, and turned a corner. “Can you see where Ross’s office is in this building, by any chance?”
“Yes, I can. Thaddeus Ross’s office is two floors above you, and to your right. His heat signature, which I identified when Peter ran into him earlier, is approaching the stairs as we speak. A different staircase than the one you are closest to, I might add.”
“Will he get there first?”
“At the pace you are going, you will reach his office about three minutes before he does.”
“Am I headed in the right direction?”
“Yes. Turn right at the next fork, and the staircase will be there. I count twenty-four of Ross’s men on their way down the stairs to your level.”
“Great,” Natasha muttered. “Where’s Peter?”
Peter’s voice came back on the line. “I’m on the top level. Just beating up a bunch of guys. Chilling.”
“Oh, by the way, what time is it?”
“Eleven forty-eight at night,” Peter responded promptly.
“Do you have a good place to exit?”
“Well, I came in through the vents. Ned says that’s probably the best place to leave, also.”
“Firstly, is that the only option? Secondly, who the hell is Ned?”
Peter snorted. “Dude, did you really think I’ve done all of this hacking myself? While also fighting all these idiots?”
Natasha hesitated. “I guess I just assumed…?”
“Ned’s my guy in the chair. Ned, say hi.”
“Hi, Ms. Romanoff,” said a cheerful voice that had previously been muted.
“Hello, Ned.”
“Yeah, anyway,” Peter continued. “I can do some hacking and stuff, but Ned’s much better. It’s his thing.”
“Got it. But… ‘guy in the chair’?”
“Ned’s words, not mine,” Peter clarified.
“But you still use it,” Ned retorted smugly.
“Whatever. Anyway, Natasha,” Peter continued, “Karen says the only other entrance is right through a government building.”
“That’s the only one?”
“C’mon, we’re underground, what did you expect?” said Peter defensively.
“Uh, how was I supposed to know that we’re underground?”
Silence.
Then finally, Ned put in, “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know.”
“That’s an amazing observation, Ned,” Natasha said dryly.
“But, like, doesn’t underground have sort of… I don’t know, a vibe?” Peter argued.
“A vibe?” Natasha asked incredulously.
“Like, you can kind of tell when you’re underground?” Peter’s voice was getting more and more tentative by the second.
“Boy, I’ve been punched like a billion times in the face today, do you really think that all of my senses that tell me where I am relative to ground level are in working condition?”
“Ok, we’re done with this conversation,” Ned insisted, clearly trying not to laugh. “You guys can argue about special underground senses when you leave this place. In fact, I want to be there to hear. But for now, maybe focus on not dying?”
“Dude, I’m just hanging out up here. Natasha’s the slow one,” Peter said with a grin.
“I’m climbing the stairs right now,” Natasha informed them. “Unlike Peter, I do not swing by webs, so I’m stuck here actually using my legs to move, like a peasant-”
“Ooh, self-burn. Those are rare,” Peter interrupted.
“-And I don’t have a map of this place in front of me. So you guys have to wait as I struggle to hold on to my will to live.”
Peter replied cheerfully, “I guess we’ll leave you to it!”
“I appreciate your support. Now, turn off fucking Shake it Off by Taylor Swift, or I’m going to lose my shit.”