Strike at the belly of the beast. It was one of Logan’s favorite sayings; number 32 in a series of dozens. Still, in this case at least it had seemed apropos.

Natalia Alianovna Romanova watched from the recesses of the darkened corridor in the casino’s subbasement as one of the Casino’s sepulchres smoldered and burned. She knew of course that there were others; she had found two already deeper within the bowels of the building, but every disadvantage that she could create would cripple her adversaries all the more. Better, she had trapped two of the Undead within this last. Why they had been there she did not know nor care. Two less in a multitude of Santoni’s kindred was a difference.

The door to the sealed room vibrated for a bit, and even over the claxon of fire alarms she could hear the screams as the trapped Vampyr beat on the portal with their last, flickering erg of strength. Foam retardant started to spew from the building’s internal sprinkler system. Too much to ask of course that it would be a water system. Santoni was not stupid, after all.

Natasha scratched running water from the long mental list of ways to kill, or at least stop a vampire. It might have worked, but if the internal fire suppression system was not water, then there was no point. She both cursed and blessed Clint Barton for making her sit through those countless Hammer Horror Classics; most especially the Dracula movies starring Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee.

After awhile the screams and pounding coming from within the room stopped, and so too the alarm claxons echoing throughout the halls. She surmised that Santoni or his security had shut down the emergency. The firemen would return to their firehouse, the police would return to the streets to calm the milling crowd forced out into the night, logging the ‘false alarm’ to the already long list of complaints concerning Santoni’s Casino this wild night.

The Black Widow dropped lightly to the carpeted floor from the shadowy corner where she had been perched and swiftly and silently made her way down the corridor and to the nearest stairwell. She resisted the urge to check the safety and clip of the Kalashnikov AKM that she carried. A dozen checks seemed more than sufficient already.

She shifted the unwieldy messenger’s bag on her hip and shouldered through the fire door and into the stairwell, kicking the wedge that she had set to prop the door aside. Three floors cleared, she thought as she charged silently up the stone steps; her breathing regular, her footfalls barely registering. Still, she took a deep breath and paused at the door to the next level on the next landing.

Once the initial shock of the situation had subsided and her own determination had taken hold, her path had been clear. With a moment’s peace, her mind had shifted to professional mode, her brain racing as she considered plots and plans and contingencies. The old, familiar authority of the world’s most dangerous spy reasserted itself within her being, long submerged but never forgotten.

She had been to Vegas before, years before with Warren Worthington III, during her tenure with the Champions, and even before that with Matt, when she had lived in San Francisco and been a fashion model and jet setter. Happier times she mused, or at least simpler. She did not remember much beyond the Strip. Both the Avenging Angel and Matt Murdock moved in different circles than she; at least one portion of her life anyway.

Of course, like in any large city, beyond the tourist trappings, usually separated by a street, a line of building facades, lay the seedier, poorer, more dangerous areas. Granted, Las Vegas was not as bad as say Rio or even Manhattan lately, given its gangland origins, but for those who knew, the lower forms of life were there for the asking.

It was memories of Ivan actually and the countless hours of lecturing on trivialities that had led her to the fringes of the city, on the edge of the desert. Here the buildings were not so shiny, the streets not so polished and clean. Like any slum in any city there were tenements and abandoned buildings, men and women of lower caste dotting the streets and selling their wares, body and soul. There were hookers, even in a state where prostitution was considered legal. Older women, those that had lost their youth and curves and sensuality, whether to age or drugs or simple poverty and hard living. Too were the pimps and pushers, the youths from the streets, gangsters with aspirations. The tired , the poor, the huddled masses, gathered in the shadows of the neon glamour of the golden city and the American Dream made extreme.

Natasha Romanoff had ignored the trappings of the surroundings, driving the car, which she had commandeered after her own Alfa Romeo Spider had met its fiery end * as she scanned the buildings looking for a half remembered phrase, a weathered image etched into her brain by Ivan Petrovich.

* (last issue – Curt)

Finally…

Hatchet’s Sporting Go ds

Flickered in the distance, and the memories had returned in full.

Daniel Hatchec was a mole, a sleeper agent from the Cold War that had seen better days. When the USSR had closed up shop and broken apart, he had been left out in the cold, no pay, no pension and no country to return to. By then he had not truly cared. An old man, Hatchec had spent the better part of sixty years supplying weapons, information and forged papers to any and all that could pay the price. Communists of course, through most of that, but lately to anyone who could pay the price…

The Beauteous Black Widow, Hatchec had said, a strange longing in his voice, the old man recognizing her as soon as she stepped through the cracked and yellow stained door of his shop. If his sporting goods store appeared old and filthy, Hatchec was one hundred times worse. He seemed little more than a skeleton, save for the potbelly that overflowed his wide belt, a huge tarnished silver buckle proclaiming him CHAMP. He wore a ragged white tee shirt that was spotted with various multi-colored stains, over which he wore a brown pin striped suit vest that vaguely matched the greasy pants covering his lean legs. His head was shaved, nicked and scarred from too many mishaps with a dull razor, but his face sported a long, full white beard that trailed down to flow over his distended stomach. He peered at her sideways, around a milky left eye, the other a fiery, sparkling blue that seemed to penetrate the depth of her soul.

I met Vanko once, he had said, and thought that was it. Now I am honored again. The Crimson Dynamo AND the Black Widow. I die happy…

She had been amused, and glad that her reputation preceded her for once. It definitely made things easier when it came time to barter for those things that she would be needing. Not much, granted, but what she had in mind was definitely below the belt and needed to be kept below the radar as well. She needed weapons of various sort: guns and ammunition of course, as well as explosives, plastique and grenades. Hatchec had no problem with that; it was the untraceable that presented the problem, at least in Natasha’s mind.

Hatchec had set her up within minutes after leading her into the basement of his shop where he kept his true wares. If the upper floor was ragtag and dingy, the lower floor was dark and grimy. Natasha noted however that it was very well stocked and organized. In the end he had produced the Kalashnikov with the collapsible stock as well as enough clips to kill a small town. He also provided a Brazilian Taurus handgun with ammo of course, and a web belt bandoleer of grenades; fragmentary, incendiary and Flash-bang designed to blind and deafen. Natasha had presented her credit card and Hatchec’s eyes slitted as he stared dubiously at the thin piece of plastic.

He was used to dealing in cash, and in his business Natasha knew the reasons why. He also knew that she was desperate for the weapons, and that she was trustworthy. She was an Avenger after all, and that still meant something. In the end they agreed on twenty-four hours. In that time she might die. If not, she would cancel the card and report it stolen. He should remove whatever compensation he considered fair. He had smiled. On the way out of the shop she had taken one more item.

The entire trip to the fringes had taken just over an hour, including a slight side trip and one additional stop. By the time she had gotten back to Santoni’s hotel, the police had things under some semblance of control. Streets were cordoned around the ‘accident’ involving her Alfa Romeo, and they were combing the streets in and out of uniform trying to piece together just what had happened.

Which of course worked in the Widow’s favor. Santoni’s Vampires would be far too busy avoiding the probing police to be on the lookout for anyone trying to enter the hotel through means other than the gaping front, side or back doors. She was sure that Santoni had electronic measures set up, but she was the Black Widow after all…

Three levels of Parking Garage had netted nine of Santoni’s stags. They had been big, hulking grunts with bald heads and admittedly expensive suits, radios, guns; the whole nine yards. They were security and they were lax, bordering pathetic. The first two had died the final death without a clue. The third had managed to turn and give her a look of shock. The fourth however had managed to croak into his radio before he had ‘died’, just enough warning to put the others on edge.

She had cleared the second garage level with a bit more difficulty. The Vampyr had been alert for trouble, though they had not been expecting her. In that she still had surprise in her favor.

She knew of course that simple bullets would not do the job. Well, pump enough lead into the heart of any Undead she imagined that it would send the creature into Torpor as efficiently as any ash or oak stake. Hardly cost or supply efficient though. Vampires had a Healing Factor to rival Wolverine however, but she knew that enough bullets in the right places would incapacitate them as easily as any normal human. Shatter the spine, the knee caps, destroy the groin or head and recovery would take time. She kept that in mind as she cleared the second and third parking garages.

Which brought her to the street level again…

She ignored the Casino’s main floor, for the moment at least. Even in the middle of the night there were far too many innocents at the slots and tables for safety’s sake, despite the police investigation. Apparently the sudden emergence of vampires in their midst was not enough for the LVPD to shut down the Casino altogether. Natasha hoped that as she made her way up into the hotel part of the building again, that any of Santoni’s security would follow as she caused more mayhem. If not, then Plan B was that when (and if) she eliminated Santoni, any remaining Vampyr would die as well, or at least flee to wherever the others had.

She wondered about that as she made her way up to the next floor; the balcony that basically wrapped around the main floor and housed mainly hotel offices. Why had so many of the vampires, safe and secure here in Vegas simply up and left, deserting Santoni in his time of glory. It made no sense, with the feast that lay in store for them.

Oh, it was madness of course. When word got out of what had happened – and it would when so many tourists simply up and disappeared at once – the Fantastic Four or the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. would have swooped down on the city so fast that Santoni would have been calling on God for help. Something was happening elsewhere, she surmised, and she hated being out of the loop.

As she eased onto the stairwell landing, she also ran through the mental list of what she knew to work against Vampyr, Lycanthrope, and Undead in general. The Avengers’ Files were thick and thorough concerning vampires, starting with Captain America’s reports on Baron Blood from his stint with the Invaders in World War Two, and again years later when he had visited Britain and supposedly ended that curse forever. Thor too has had run-ins with vampires, though his accounts in the Avenger Logs were far less detailed than the Captain’s. Thor alleged to having fought Dracula himself, over the soul of Sif. Natasha knew that Thor did not lie. Brag perhaps. To verify Thor’s accounts though, a full compliment of Avengers went up against the Lord of the Vampires, with the aid of Doctor Strange no less. The end result of that particular encounter was supposedly to have ended the Vampyr threat forever. Apparently that assessment was a bit premature.

Regardless, the various encounters over the years related several defenses against the vampire kith and kin. Wooden stakes (preferably of ash or oak) piercing the heart would result in Torpor; making the vampire immobile and mostly unconscious. When such a state was achieved it was recommended that the head be removed, the two consequent openings be stuffed with garlic, and finally the two body halves burned separately, the ashes scattered to the four winds. Various blessings and dousing with Holy Water were also advised. That was the ultimate end under proper conditions. There were other things that would stop a vampire though, according to both account and legend.

Simple decapitation would work, some said, though others purported that the Vampyr Healing Factor was generally strong enough to regrow the missing lump. Some said too that silver was anathema, as it was for werewolves. There was garlic, crosses (though whether one had to believe in faith or not was questionable), running water, fire of course, along with several things that would simply slow the undead down. In the latter, she hoped that she was well prepared.

Natasha peered out the slit in the doorway, scanning the balcony for potential threat or innocents. She knew that under the circumstances of being within the enemy’s base, everyone had to be a potential threat. The balcony was not as deserted as she had hoped, unfortunately. The police investigation was still underway, and there were people out and about, curious no doubt as to the new alarms that had sprang to vocal life albeit momentarily.

The Casino floor was still raucous with activity, even though it was well after midnight. Those trapped within the hotel apparently disbelieved the rumors of vampires and continued to throw their money away. There were several people lining the balcony’s rail, onlookers wondering why their vacations to Sin City had been so rudely interrupted. Some looked disheveled, dressed in white terrycloth bathrobes over pajamas and flip-flops. Others appeared in traditional tourist garb, loud shirts, shorts and hats to guard against the desert sun. There were two however, that were obviously hotel staff.

They were big, bald and pale from lack of sunlight, a condition in stark contrast to the expensive black suits that they wore. Natasha could see their radio links; Blue-tooth like clips in their ears and wired to the sleek black sunglasses they wore. They seemed intent on watching the floor below, and apparently had not noticed her as yet, due to the noise and general sense numbing confusion of the casino. That was good, as she needed to eliminate them in order to reach her next destination.

The Widow sighed, biting her lip. She knew that her standing as an Avenger was about to be thrown out the window, but there was little to be done about it. When word got out that she had apparently ‘killed’ in cold blood, her reputation in the public’s eye would be shattered. The Avengers would back her of course, after they learned the true story, but she could pretty much kiss her latest business venture good bye. Nothing for it though. Santoni had to be stopped.

The Black Widow eased out through the doorway and lightly ran along the wall. She hoped that surprise would remain on her side, at least until she got past the bystanders, hoping to close the distance with her targets before they sensed her approach. Too soon however, the closer of the pair turned.

Natasha raised her Kalashnikov and fired, the AKM jerking in her hand as it erupted in a stream of bullets that ripped into the snarling vampire. The force of the hail shredded his Armani suit and sent his body sprawling backwards, tumbling over the railing. Natasha barely afforded a glance as she swept the gun to the right even as the other’s body faded and dispersed into a misty cloud.

“Dammit,” she cursed under her breath, charging forward now as the cloud swirled towards her. She glanced at the bystanders who stared at her passing wide-eyed and frozen in place. “Run!” she shouted, even as she let the gun dangle over her shoulder, her hand dipping into the depths of her messenger bag.

She had tried to anticipate every contingency, and a vampire’s ability to change to bat, wolf and mist depending on their ancestry did not escape her. On the way back from Hatchec’s, she had made a brief stop at a Roman Catholic Church, oddly hard to find in a city dotted with wedding chapels and allegedly ordained priests. With a brief apology she had dipped into the church’s baptismal bowl, transferring their supply of Holy Water into a common spray bottle, which was now in hand.

In the midst of the cloud, she squeezed the trigger releasing a misty spray that intermingled with the sentient cloud. She heard an animalistic scream even as she continued her charge forward. She heard a wet thump as she reached the Tee intersection that was her destination and chanced a quick glance back. She saw the second vampire writhing about on the balcony floor. Steam rose as his flesh sizzled and melted away. His yowls of agony had spurred the hotel guests finally into motion as well, as she saw the last of them heading for the grand stairs that led to the casino floor.

Unfortunately the shrieks had also alerted more of Santoni’s kindred. Just a few steps away a heavily reinforced fire door swung open, another hulking security guard stepping in the doorway. He snarled when he saw her rushing forward, but she had expected the opposition and was already grabbing a grenade from her web belt.

“Bitch!” he hissed, moving to intercept her, certain that he could take her simply with his undead strength. Overconfident she knew as he did not bother to alter form, underestimating her in his arrogance. “You thought we didn’t see you coming?”

She knew that they knew, but knew also that they were not certain of her exact location. She had been using her Widow’s Bite to take out every security camera that she had spotted, knowing that the hotel had probably thousands dotting every hall (and probably room) to guard against theft and from potential threat of professional gamblers intent on breaking the bank and bringing down Vegas like that MIT group from a few years back. Actually she was hoping that one of the guards within the monitor room would be foolish enough to open the heavily fortified door. Even better, the fool was posing for her.

With a slight snap, Natasha pulled the grenade from its place on her belt, the pin dangling as she tossed it at the swaggering vampire. He stared dumbly as the small, metal projectile bounced off of his puffed out chest and ricocheted into the monitor room. The Black Widow dove forward even as a sudden chorus of shouts emerged from the room. Hitting the carpeting she rolled up against the wall and curled into a defensive, fetal position; fingers in her ears and her eyelids clenched shut.

She heard the WHUMP of the Flash-bang grenade, followed by the agonized screams. Even guarding against the effects, her own ears were ringing as she sprung to her feet and swung her AKM up, ready to fire. She had been protected against the concussive force of the blast by the fire door, though the vampire that had stood in the door’s frame had not been so lucky.

The big man lay slumped against the far wall, which was cracked from his impact. He was dazed, but not out, a testament to his own strength, but dazed was all that the Widow needed. Dashing forward as she dipped her hand into her bag again, she produced a wood stake and promptly drove the pointed stick through the vampire’s back and heart.

The big man screamed and convulsed, his stupor suddenly vanished as he groped at the wood driven through his back. As expected however, he was quickly losing control of his limbs and digits as his arms and legs spasmed and flailed. His fingers opened and closed, scratching the wood but unable to get a grip as Torpor set in. Then, before the Widow's intent gaze, his body started to decay. His flesh started to wither and fall away in flakes at first, then clumps. His body seemed to sizzle where the wood protruded from his back, and a sickening smell rose from him as he began to catch up with his proper age. Natasha knew that some newer vampires would not crumble away to dust as this one was doing. The ultimate death was age relative according to the writings of Doctor Strange and the Scarlet Witch in the Avengers’ Logs. As long as it worked, Natasha thought as she sprayed the decaying corpse with a shot of Holy Water, just to be sure.

She stepped to the doorway of the monitor room then and quickly glanced inside. The sealed, windowless room was lit in a dull red from emergency lighting, that flashing sporadically from the flickering monitors, their insides sparking and exposed from their shattered screens. Smoke wafted on the air conditioning from the electrical fires, which resulted from her Flash-bang. As she had hoped, every screen was ruined, either shattered or dark. Santoni and his men were now blind to her whereabouts within their hive.

There were five people lying on the floor in various voice between moaning and screaming. Three women and two men, all deaf, blind and stunned, but conscious. Again, with spray bottle in hand Natasha stepped up to each and gave each a spritz of Holy Water. She quickly and easily staked four out of five, dragging the fifth that was apparently a legitimate security guard out into the hall and away from the fires and smoke. Natasha hoped that she would either be found or recover before the fires might spread, but she did not have time to wait. Surprise was on her side once more, and she needed to take full advantage of that.

Guiseppi Santoni stared at Gordon, one of his oldest and most trusted kith. The tall vampire stood by the wide floor to ceiling windows that looked out on a glorious view of the Strip, though the undead man ignored the sparkling city beyond, intent on what he was listening to, rather than seeing.

Santoni had two more guards within his apartment, another small force patrolling the hallways beyond and on the floor above and below. He had been getting sporadic reports ever since his monitors had gone dead over an hour ago. The black Widow was moving slowly and methodically up through the building, and killing every vampire that crossed her path.

Mentally he kicked himself for his own lust. His longings were quickly bringing his empire crumbling down around him. Having lost the bulk of his community to the Call from the West, his own family was dwindling rapidly before the efficiency of the beauteous Black Widow.

“What a woman,” he mumbled under his breath, trying to suppress a smile even as Gordon gave him an odd look. “Well?” he asked, his face going blank and cold again.

“She’s vanished again,” Gordon said. “Billings found the remains of Celia and Betty on Fourteen, both staked and doused with Holy water like the rest.”

Santoni cursed, shaking his head. How many had she slain? She had already destroyed the sepulchres in the basements, and had found several of the ‘safe rooms’ that were scattered throughout the building. It was as though she knew exactly where they were located, and where his troops had been deployed. But how? Was she that good?

“Orders?” Gordon asked, expectantly, but Santoni remained silent. He truly had no idea as to what to do at the moment. He had dispersed his ‘children’ throughout the building expecting an easy kill the moment that he had learned that the Widow was still alive. But as the reports of her kills came in, he had started to worry. He immediately fortified his apartment, then started transferring his accounts into safe guarded overseas banks, just in case a hasty exit was needed. The wise move would be to run and rebuild. There were places to go where he had already established safe houses in Europe, Asia and South America.

But there was pride to consider. To run before this woman, this human, no matter who she was or how good was to lose face. That was something that his heritage and ancestry rebelled against. The Sicilian in his cold blood, not to mention his manhood and Vampiric Royalty would not allow. He would not be able to live with himself, so to speak.

“Find her, you fool!” he shouted, his anger rising again. He slammed his fist down onto the desktop, cracking the polished rosewood and sending the contents sailing to the floor.

“Find her and bring her to me!”

The Black Widow pressed against the wall as the body silently fell past. She watched as the dark-suited undead tumbled through the night, finally splattering on the street twenty-odd floors below. She holstered the suppressed Taurus and continued her climb.

There was a chill breeze blowing in off the desert, the city heat that had been stored up during the day doing little to ease her of an occasional shiver. Natasha Romanoff gritted her teeth, now watching intently for another random guard to pop his head over the edge of the rooftop.

It had been sheer luck that she had been looking upwards when the white shaved head had peered over. She had been quick, drawing the Taurus with the suppressor and taking a quick shot that had pierced the vampire between the eyes, shattering his sunglasses. Luckier still that the body had tumbled forward after lurching skyward with the bullet’s impact. If her luck continued to hold, the others no doubt guarding the roof would be awhile before they missed their comrade. Long enough for her to scamper the rest of the way to the floor of Santoni’s apartments.

She had wanted to continue her floor by floor purge of the building, but finally realized that there were just too many rooms to do the job in the time allowed her before sunrise. She had done her best on the first three floors above the balcony level, kicking in every door she passed but doing nothing but finding either empty rooms or frightening human guests. She had found three of the windowless rooms containing simple pine coffins, which she torched, but of course they were void of life, or lack there of. Santoni had his people up and looking for her apparently as intently as she was searching for them. Natasha had a flash of Abbot and Costello running in circles with Dracula chasing them always on the far side of a wall.

It was after she had slain two female Vampyr dressed as maids that she decided to take a more direct route. She considered simply taking the stairs, but imagined that they would be heavily guarded by now and probably barricaded at the Penthouse level as most hotels did. She thought about the elevator shaft, but if the cars were stopped at his apartments she would be stymied again. There was probably a maintenance ladder, but again that would be heavily guarded. Santoni was brash and arrogant, but he had not survived the centuries by being stupid.

That left running up the outer wall. She could only imagine that the roof was probably teeming with guards too, but she hoped that her dark costume and hair would keep her hidden. She knew that vampires saw in a special light, but was not certain if that was automatic or if they needed to concentrate and focus. She thought their sunglasses might negate that as well, and wondered briefly why they wore the hindrances. Simple fashion sake? Was Santoni that vane, or was it something else?

She imagined that she would learn soon enough. Natasha paused, crouching on the side of the wall just beneath Santoni’s windows. Light poured from the apartments and she could see flashes of shadow and reflection as people moved about within. She watched the movements as she checked her weapons and the remaining contents of her bag. She had used all of her stakes, the last two on the maids. Her spray bottle still had a few squirts left, though she doubted enough to take on a small army that might appear at Santoni’s summons. Of her grenades, she only had Frags left, having used the incendiary on the ‘safe rooms’ and the Flash-bangs on the tenth floor when she surprised three of Santoni’s men. She was on the last clip for the Kalashnikov, one good burst left, but had three clips for the Taurus. She doubted she would have the chance to change clips once the final fight started, so she slammed a fresh one in now, then removed the suppressor from the barrel.

She saw fire trucks pulling up amidst a glare of flashing red and a muffled blare of siren drifting up from the street. They must have discovered the body as well, she thought, but were probably responding to a call from within the hotel or the police still on the streets that saw or smelled smoke. Or heard explosions. Or found bodies dissolving to dust.

Natasha tried not to giggle, but it was just too bizarre. She was trembling from the chill as well as adrenaline, wanting this to finally end, craving the excitement that continued to draw her into the life of a spy/ adventurer/ Avenger/ Champion/ Defender/ etc. She almost felt giddy, and had to draw deep breaths to calm once again, trying to consider her next move.

Three men – probably vampires – at least, all behind safety glass no doubt. She knew from experience that she was not strong enough to break the reinforced glass. A grenade would shatter it of course, but the Frag would most likely damage her as well, which was why she had not used them. She smiled then, looking upwards at the building’s roof’s edge.

“Bless you, Clint,” she whispered as she unslung her empty bag from over her shoulder and let it drop. She then removed the strap of the AKM from her shoulder as well, knowing that it would be an unneeded encumbrance when its final clip was empty. She slid the water bottle into her web belt, hoping that it would survive as she checked her three grenades to make certain they remained safely in place. She reached up then and fired her Swing Line into the bottom of the roof’s edge. Checking the line’s security with a tug, she crouched against the side of the building and then kicked off.

She had hated Die Hard when Clint Barton had insisted they go see it. He had called it a ‘true’ super-hero movie. She had thought that it was ridiculous, and way too Hollywood. Bruce Willis should have died a dozen times over.

Natasha smiled as she aimed the AKM at the window as her swing reached its limit. As she started back she pressed the trigger and fired, almost laughing as she unloaded the clip into the safety glass and the startled vampire directly on the opposite side. She watched as the glass cracked and splintered, riddled with holes, some of the bullets not quite passing through but weakening the huge pane enough. She extended her legs and braced…

The glass shattered when she hit, punching through, her momentum carrying her into the tall vampire security guard. He flew backwards as her heels slammed into his chest. Even over the sound of breaking glass she heard the distinctive crack of bone. He slammed into the far wall as the three remaining occupants of the room dove for cover.

Natasha released the line as she tossed the empty Kalashnikov aside. Landing in a crouch, she quickly rolled to the far side of Santoni’s huge desk, drawing the Taurus as she finally propped to a halt. One quick shot caught another guard in the open mouth, the bullet pounding through the back side of his skull. The big man crumpled in a heap.

Natasha turned to face the third guard only to have the handgun batted from her grip. It bounced off a wall and clattered behind the couch on the other side of the room. Natasha turned back in time to see the vampire’s foot as it slammed into her ribs, sending her sprawling across the expensive carpet littered with broken glass. She winced as she skidded, jagged shards cutting into her skin.

The vampire was leering over her in an instant as she struggled to regain some sense of balance. She hissed as pain burned from broken bones grinding together. She looked up to see the vampire holding the computers’ CPU overhead, ready to smash it down on her head.

The Black Widow shot her foot out, her heel impacting the brute’s knee cap with a side snap kick. She felt the impact race up her body, but satisfyingly heard the crunch of his bones shattering. The tall man screamed as he leaned into the break, losing his grip on the CPU. It fell to the floor and smashed open even as he staggered into her leg sweep. He slammed to the floor onto his ass with a thud, and Natasha grimaced, ignoring her own pain as she scrambled forward to straddle his stomach. He looked up with a face full of stupidity as she gripped his face in both hands. She twisted his head sharply to the left.

On a normal human, the quick movement would snap vertebrae and clip into the arteries that ran through them like a pair of garden shears. An artery severed that close to the brain would incapacitate at least, and more likely kill instantly. On a vampire, Natasha knew there was no flowing blood, so she hoped for paralysis. Again, luck was on her side. She released the head and it bounced off the floor, the neck shattered and useless.

Natasha froze to hear the click of a gun’s hammer. Slowly she turned, looking up to see Santoni pointing a .357 Magnum at her head. It seemed absurd that a Vampire Lord would resort to a handgun, but she knew that at that range she would never get out of the way in time.

“I am so sorry that it came to this,” Santoni said as he stared at her past the site on the end of the long gray barrel. “I truly did want to make you immortal; to taste the warmth and richness of your blood. God, what a queen you would have made. You are magnificent.”

“Thank you,” the Widow said, trying to stall, to think of a way out of this. She bit her lip. “I guess I lost,” she said, lowering her voice in submission. She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, exposing her bare throat to Santoni. He stared lustfully for a moment, then laughed.

“I would be the greatest fool reborn to turn you. I realize that now. You’re far too resourceful to obey me, and would find some way to rebel. You would kill me eventually, even if it meant your own final death in the end.” He smiled, flashing his long, sharp canines. “No, my dear Natasha. It ends here.”

She saw the flicker of movement. She saw the spark in his eyes, the flinch as his muscles tensed, the slightest waver in his hand as his finger squeezed on the trigger of the handgun. In a second it would be over.

Natasha gritted her teeth as her ribs ground against one another as she rolled to the side – towards Santoni. She braced, kicking out with her leg and forcing her body up into a handstand (or elbow stand on the right). She lost sight of Santoni, but felt something hot and heavy slam into her right thigh as she continued into a cart wheel that quickly shifted into a scissors-kick as she reached the apex of her sideways flip.

Her left leg slammed into Santoni’s arm, knocking it to the side, spoiling his aim for another shot. She spun with momentum on her elbows and her right leg followed suit, thumping into Santoni’s arm with enough force to make him stagger. He shot again, but the bullet drilled into the floor.

She managed a third kick before she lost momentum. Her foot slammed squarely into Santoni’s chest and sent him stumbling back, firing a third shot out of the shattered window. Briefly Natasha hoped that that stray bullet did not hit an innocent as she rolled to her feet.

She almost fell again as pain lanced through her right thigh like a fiery branding iron. She glanced down at the ragged hole in her costume, seeing the charred flesh and pooling blood where the Magnum’s huge bullet had burrowed into her flesh. Not spurting she noted absent-mindedly.

She barely noted Santoni’s fist as it swiped through her near vision. Her head spun and she saw drops of blood spewing, arching up and away as though in slow motion. She felt the pain as she staggered, his backhanded blow had split her lip. She hit her right foot and toppled, her broken ribs screaming defiance as she slammed her arm down to absorb the impact of the fall. Her vision swam in a sea of crimson. She tried to right herself, one hand fumbling at her belt for the spray bottle, her other arm trying to rise to fire her Widow’s Bite. A vice clamped down on her wrist and she screamed.

Through tearing, bleary eyes she saw Guiseppi Santoni gripping her wrist and squeezing. Her Widow’s bite was mangled and crushed in his fleshy hand as he continued to apply pressure, jerking her to her feet. He leaned in, pulling her close. Oddly she smelled garlic as he fumed.

“You task me,” he hissed, his face in hers, spittle flying. He was near rabid with rage as he squeezed her wrist, shattering the bone. “You have cost me my lifestyle, which can be forgiven. That can be regained elsewhere, and I blame my own urges as much as you. However, you have slain my children, and that I cannot abide.”

Natasha watched as though in a dream as Santoni’s skin darkened from pale, Sicilian flesh to gray sprouting fur. Long sharp ears ripped through his flesh. His brow extended, then smoothed back as his nose receded. She felt his grip change on her wrist and looked to see the man’s arms extending, thin, flabby flesh ripping through his Armani suit as wings sprouted. His legs bent, becoming bandy and bowled as his feet grew, exploding from his Italian loafers. She wanted to vomit as she watched the muscles rippling and shifting under his graying skin. His bowels vacated in the process, and he screamed a harsh and animalistic scream as his mutated body gave a final, convulsive lurch.

The Black Widow wretched to see the monstrosity that held her in its grip. It stood upright like a man, and had some of the musculature, but that was where the similarities ended. It was like some prehistoric monster, or better, a demon from hell with its huge ears and massive leathery wings. It stank of decay and feces, its tail lashing as though with a will of its own. Yet even in its perversion of human guise, she could see Santoni as it leaned even closer.

“Time to die,” it squealed and she felt a new pain as its clawed feet clamped about her breasts. The Santoni-thing squeezed and began to flap its massive wings, gaining flight and easing through the shattered remains of the window’s gaping hole. In seconds Natasha was screaming in pain as she dangled in the grip of the huge bat-man, his arms flailing as he beat, trying to gain altitude on the heat rising from the blacktop far below.

She was near blind in pain, her eyes watering as she struggled and flailed. Her leg was dead. Her right arm hung limply, her wrist shattered. Blood mingled with tears from the dozens of scrapes and cuts received from sliding along the glass-laced carpet. She ached in places that she had forgotten she had, and hurt all the more with every labored beat of Santoni’s wide wings. He was hurting too, she could tell.

She saw the lights of Vegas as the city sprawled beneath her. The Strip was aglow in bright white and multi-colored neon. Far in the distance she could see a giant cowboy waving. In another direction, a pyramid sparkled on the horizon. Below, the Statue of Liberty raised its torch in defiance. She was delirious from the pain, obviously. She flailed helplessly, one leg kicking, one hand groping blindly.

Natasha gasped as he drew his legs up, her breasts aflame with agony as he brought her face close to his. He opened his mouth to speak, some final farewell or parting shot that she would never hear as the blood raced through her ears…

She slammed a Frag grenade into the gaping, rasping maw of his mouth.

She laughed as she saw his eyes widen in surprise.

She cried as the pain eased, his clawed talons opening as he released her. She started to fall…

She saw the fiery flare of light as she tumbled limply through space. It was just so Hollywood, the Frag grenade blowing the villain to bits. Whatever…

She had won. His children would die. Vegas was free again and it did not even know, nor care.

Thankfully the neon glow faded away to dark before she hit…

Natalia Alianovna Romanova lay in inebriated bliss, her body pumped full of antibiotics and pain killers. It took a major amount of focus, but slowly she managed to access her situation:

Her body was almost immobilized, strapped to an ambulance gurney. She had an IV stuck in her left arm. Her right leg was bandaged at the thigh. There was plaster and bandages encompassing her ribs. Her right wrist was in a temporary cast and immobilized at her side with Velcro straps. She could feel many places where stitches had been employed, there was a tightness to the skin. Put simply, she was a mess, but apparently not terminal.

She looked up and saw the flickering image of Forge hovering over her, projected from a small device attached to the gurney. The image smiled, wavered, then came into focus.

“We almost lost you,” the hollow voice sounded far away. Natasha shrugged, immediately regretting it.

“I… could say… the same… “ she winced.

The image of SHIELD’s current Director grinned.

“You should take it easy,” Forge said. “From what we’ve pieced together, you’ve had a rough night.”

“Santoni?”

“If you mean the ‘bat-thing’, several eye witnesses report seeing it carrying an unidentifiable woman skyward before it exploded. Said witnesses report the resulting fireball followed by the raining down of either charred or decaying flesh. I can gather by the number of decayed remains that the hotel was infested with vampires?”

Natasha nodded, barely able to keep her eyes open. She vaguely saw Forge frown.

“The Avengers are dealing with vampires even as we speak. Like you, they don’t want help.” Forge shrugged. “We’ll be there, in the background, like always…

“As for you, young lady, the Medics prescribe rest. Your government owes you a debt of gratitude for cleaning up one of its major money making cities. Sleep easy and recover, Ms. Romanoff. No strings attached. You have my word.”

And oddly, that was enough.

Natalia Alianovna Romanova closed her eyes and slept…

A Word From the Author:

Hey all,

Curt here. I was a little hesitant when David asked if I wanted to take over the Black Widow here at M2K. My last work here was a collaboration with Chris Munn years ago, when the Avengers squared off against the JLA. Too, there was my Dracula series that was lost in the ether when Servers died. On top of that, things were said, but of course, life goes on…

I always liked the Black Widow. She has a nice past and history, and as a heroine she just looks hot in her leather jumpsuit. No real powers to speak of, but she is THE spy supreme. I wrote her once already, in SHIELD maxi-series over at Avengers Reborn that got good reviews, and figured that it had been awhile, so why not give her another try.

I read all the M2K issues by Jason Eberly and liked most of what he was trying to do. I am sorry that he did not get a chance to finish, and am sorry too that I am called upon to tie up his ideas as what I do is probably not what he had in mind. Still, I was asked, so sally forth.

I will be doing at least three more issues, as I tie up loose ends and bring Natasha up to date for the next author. Whether I carry on after that, I dunno. Guess it depends on your feedback. Let me or the M2K staff know if you want me to stay on. We’ll abide by your decision.

Enjoy!

-Curt F

Story © Curt F 2008 – based on ideas started by Jason Eberly