That place being Forest Hills, Queens, New York. The question would probably be directed at my more immediate position, however. That being on the ground with a woven leather whip snaked about my neck and a stiletto heeled boot digging into the small of my back as the whip’s owner tries her best to strangle the life out of me. Given the circumstance, I’d probably ask the same question, with the obvious follow-up:

How the hell did I get into this mess?

It had been a lazy Sunday for me. Sleeping in and getting up late I had lolled about my condo, drinking coffee and eating Entenmann’s Cinnamon Pop’ems as I perused the weekend issues of the News, the Bugle and the Times. I’d probably regret the donuts later, but would work off the excess and unnecessary calories on the heavy bag Monday morning. Sunday was meant to indulge and rest, and I did.

Happily the world was not on the brink that morning. Oh, there were the usual stories. The various wars in the Middle East, another incursion in Genosha, the recession, and of course- at least according to the Daily Bugle- Spider-Man was still a menace. Some things never change it seems.

I could hear John McLaughlin bantering with someone on the television playing in the background as I sipped my coffee and folded the final newspaper closed, setting it aside. Lazy was of course shifting to boring by then. People in my line of work long for times like that, quiet and mundane, but it seems that whenever we get them, they do not last, nor do we appreciate them as much as we should. I was determined however as I reached for another donut, disappointed as my hand came up empty. The whole box gone. I would definitely pay for that.

I decided on a whim to check my e-mails. I had not heard from James in awhile, and had never received a reply from Clint. I hoped that he was all right, doing whatever he was doing with the Avengers West, as I picked up my mug and padded barefoot across the hardwood floors of my apartment; first to the kitchen to top off my coffee, then back to the living room and my computer station. The rotating and revolving three-dimensional ‘A’ on the screen flickered and disappeared as I sat in my computer chair and jiggled the mouse, the screen saver vanishing to be replaced with the desktop image of Ural’skiye Gory in my native Russia; the mountains looming high and white over a small farmstead in the foreground on a crisp clear day. It was one of those scenes that made me just a bit homesick, though I had spent the better part of my years in America. Having seen most of the world throughout my career I still missed the stark beauty of my homeland on occasion.

I clicked to bring up my browser and surfed to the bookmark that would lead to my mailbox, clicking that in turn. I logged in, then picked up my mug and settled back into my chair as the e-mails loaded. I sighed to see fifty-six in just the space of a few days.

I had decided to leave the website that William had set up for Widow’s Peak running until the money ran out. I really had no interest in keeping it, or our business going after his death, but figured it would be easier to just let it run its course. Eventually the domain would return to the public and the site itself would vanish into the Internet ether. The e-mail account associated with the site was convenient though, and I had used it to keep in touch with a few people and friends. I would have to create a new one eventually, but there was at least six months left on the account as I recalled.

The downside of the account was that I received e-mails from people worldwide that wanted me for one reason or another; autographs and images for fans, people trying to get me to invest in some scheme or other, and even one or two wanting me to sponsor them for membership in the Avengers. It was amusing, annoying and flattering all in one. Unfortunately without William to screen and run the site, the actual reason for the e-mails and purpose of the online website was lost in the shuffle. There were only a handful of legitimate requests for help, and of those, most were from people that did not have the money to pay. William would have sifted through those with no problem, businessman that he was. I on the other hand could only skim the requests and delete. I found it hard to say no, and even harder to reply, especially when the sender would plead for me to do the heroic thing. I wanted to help, each and every one, but there was just not enough time in the day.

After about a half-hour I had whittled the e-mails down to a baker’s dozen. Four were from friends, one was the weekly Avengers Newsletter for Reservists that rambled on about the week’s activities, one my monthly update from E-Trade, a Border’s E-coupon and the rest pleas for help from the Black Widow. Still no reply from Clint.

I clicked on the e-mail from Jimmy Woo, postmarked Saturday:

I will be in the Pacific Northwest for at least another week. Must cancel Sunday’s Lunch. Forgive me.

James

Straight and to the point, just like Jimmy. But I had expected as much. I liked James Woo- a lot- but I had to wonder at getting involved with a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, not to mention one of Fury’s elite upper echelon. I remembered all to well my various stints with that corporation. There was little time for a life, let alone a love life. Still, time would tell, LOL.

There was an e-mail from Tyra asking again if I wanted to be a judge on her show, to which I declined again. A message from Jenny at NBC asking if I wanted to host SNL. I declined that as well, being a fan of Belushi’s group- thank you, Clint. The newer casts just never caught my interest. The final friend was a message from Warren, asking if I was interested in getting together and talking over old Champions times. Seems this year was an anniversary. Didn’t seem possible that all happened so long ago. I replied a definite ‘Maybe’.

I perused the Avengers Newsletter, but of course it was incredibly boring. If Steve does not write it, then Jarvis does, and in both cases it is so sterile and factual that it grates on my nerves. I expect that from Jarvis, bless him, but Steve is an artist and should have a better flare in his words. Nothing major there though, so Delete.

After filing the E-Trade and Border’s mailings I refilled my coffee and then settled in with the remaining requests for help. After the initial tag line that caught my eye they were fairly typical:

My husband is cheating on me, I just know it! I forwarded that one and two others similar to a Private Detective friend of William’s whom we had agreed to share cases with.

I could use your talents as a bodyguard. Check the Yellow pages. Delete!

My priceless family heirloom has been stolen! And probably fenced and sold and gone for good. Delete!

My daughter has been kidnapped, I just know it. The police won’t help me. They think she’s just run off, and it hasn’t been 48 hours yet, but they don’t know who I am. They say they’ll look, but I’m not naive. I know the crime in the city is staggering. They don’t have the time or manpower. Please… Please help me. I don’t know where else to turn.

Etta Janus
(718) 555-4873

The e-mail was marked late last night, and the name seemed naggingly familiar. I know the X-Men fought someone called Janus, though I don’t recall the specifics. Too there was something with the Fantastic Four years ago. I would have to check the Data Banks on that. A common enough name I supposed, Roman Mythology aside.

She seemed sincere though, and her daughter kidnapped? I wondered why.

‘they don’t know who I am’

Who are you, Etta Janus?

I spent a couple hours on the computer doing searches; Google, Ask Jeeves, whatever I could think of. Looking for any online info on Janus, Etta, and then just Janus. Of course with the latter there were hundreds of links redirecting me to sites that specialized in mythology and others that apparently thought the name was cool and capitalized on it in one form or another. I got the run-down on Janus the God off of Wikipedia:

In Roman mythology, Janus (or Ianus; "archway") was the god of gates, doors, doorways, beginnings and endings. His most prominent remnant in modern culture is his namesake, the month of January, which begins the new year. He is most often depicted as having two faces or heads, facing in opposite directions…

Janus was usually depicted with two heads facing in opposite directions. According to a legend, he had received the gift to see both future and past from the god Saturn in reward for the hospitality received.[citation needed] Janus-like heads of gods related to Hermes have been found in Greece, perhaps suggesting a compound god. These double-headed figures have precursors in Assyrian depictions of Oannes with a human head in front and a fish head behind.

Yadda-yadda…

At that point I decided to check into the FF Database to see if there was some connection. I called up the site of Fantastic Four Inc., then logged into the secure network as BW1825.

Like the Avenger files, the FF work was ungodly boring but straight to the point. Janus was a scientist that had a mad obsession with the energies in the Negative Zone and gave the FF some trouble years ago. He was also apparently schizophrenic, with at least one other personality. He is now crippled with some form of muscular dystrophy and a member of something called the Gideon Trust.

Looking them up in the database, they were listed as a group of power brokers seeking fame, money, and of course more power. They, like Janus are apparently interested in the untapped wealth of the Negative Zone.

All of that aside however, still no apparent link to Etta Janus. Coincidence in the name? I had my doubts.

I copied the info to my hard drive, then settled back in my chair, sipping the last of the cooling coffee. The next obvious step was to call Etta and see just what was up. But did I really want to do this; to commit to helping her? I was intrigued, obviously, and if her daughter really was kidnapped I did want to help, but I needed to pay the bills too. And she had not mentioned a word about the fee that William had posted on the site.

My monthly stipend as an Avenger’s Reservist was little too nothing towards paying my bills. The attached insurance helped of course, but that was just one less cost. I had my monthly maintenance on the condo, plus the fees to the plumbers, carpenters, electricians, etc. that I had hired over the last few weeks to set me up. They were all suggested by Tony and top-notch at an Avengers discount, but they still expected to be paid eventually. Not to mention the basics; Con Edison, Time Warner Cable, Manhattan Mini Storage, Verizon, and too many credit cards almost maxxed. God forbid I wanted to eat, or maybe see a movie.

There was always S.H.I.E.L.D. of course. Fury paid well, but I was not in the mood to be Mata Hari again. I could go full line Avengers, but after the last stint, well, it still tasted sour. I wanted- needed to be me, something I had not been in years it felt. I was going to be, with William’s help. Maybe I still could.

I snagged my cell phone off of the table and flipped it open. I dialed the number Etta posted, hoping for the best.

The drive to Forest Hills was not bad, it being a Sunday afternoon. Queens Boulevard was crowded but the traffic was flowing and not too much of the usual construction tie-ups that seemed to plague most every major thoroughfare in and around the city. It was chilly out, though I had the windows cracked a bit to get the mustiness out of the car that I had borrowed from the Avengers’ lot.

There was not much to choose from admittedly, and I had found myself missing my short-lived Alfa Romeo, trashed during my trip to Vegas several months’ back. I had wondered briefly if Steve had chosen the available cars, they were so standard and plain. I knew however that it was someone under Tony that handled the more mundane tasks. Old sedans of American make dully colored and probably gas efficient, the newest five years old. I chose a black one and signed it out, apparently making the bored attendant’s day. I got the feeling that he did not receive many visitors.

I pulled off of Queen’s Boulevard at the exit, which Etta Janus had indicated would direct me through the quickest route to her home. I had the car’s GPS map finder on as well, though it was not needed as I cruised through the tree-lined streets of the relatively quiet suburb of Manhattan. The blocks contained modest to upper-middle class homes, each set on their own plot of land and for the most part well maintained. Trees lined the sidewalks and most of the backyards as far as I could tell, and most homes had at least one car in their respective driveway.

I turned a corner and started scanning the numbers and quickly found Etta’s residence. Not unlike the rest, a modest two-story house with a front and back yard and a gold Impala sitting idle in the driveway. I pulled into an open parking space across the street, grabbed my bag and got out of the car.

I had worn my uniform beneath a hooded sweatshirt with the Avengers Logo emblazoned over the heart and a pair of Calvin Klein jeans that left little to the imagination. I had had no idea just what to expect; though I suspected Etta to be harmless enough. Still, after all the years and mileage I knew enough to come prepared. My purse was heavy with various implements that I thought might be handy; a hand GPS, my I-Touch, my Blackberry Curve, Avengers ID, et cetera, et cetera. The strap bit into my shoulder as I started across the street.

I was almost at the door when Etta, I presumed, opened the door and screen door and stood awaiting me. She appeared in her fifties, a bit plump, graying hair and glasses dipping down her nose. She was dressed in jeans, sneakers and a turtleneck sweater against the chill and trying to keep a smile on her face as I walked up and extended my hand.

“Etta Janus?”

“Yes. And you’re the Black Widow. I’d recognize you anywhere.” I nodded as we shook hands. “I followed your modeling career when I was younger. You don’t look like you’ve aged a day.”

“Thank you,” I replied, actually blushing a bit. I got that a lot.

She invited me in and played the congenial hostess for a minute or two, offering me something to drink and a seat. I settled on water, trying to put her at ease, and she brought out two small bottles of Poland Spring, handing one to me before we both sat. She popped her bottle top and took a long swallow and I could see that she was nervous and anxious.

“So, tell me what’s happened. You think your daughter’s been kidnapped?”

“I think so,” she said as she grabbed a pack of Pall-Malls from a side table and lit one, her hands jittering as she held her Bic to the tip. “I know she has,” she continued, blue smoke billowing out of her mouth and nose. She had recrossed her legs three times already since sitting and I could tell that she would rather be up and pacing the room.

“Why do you think so?” I asked settling back in my chair and opening my own water.

“I’m Etta Janus,” she said taking a long drag from her cigarette as though that explained everything. When she saw that I was waiting for more, she continued. “Richard Janus was my husband.”

I listened enraptured as Etta told her story, filling in many of the blanks that had not been included within the databanks of the Avengers or the Fantastic Four. Richard Janus had gone to State University, a peer of Reed Richards and Victor Von Doom. They had attended the same classes, but he, though a genius in his own right was simply not on a comparative level with Doom or Richards. He had become obsessed with the pair, and had struggled mightily to achieve their stature in his own right.

It was in college that he had met Etta. She had been a Business major and underclassman, but there had been a spark and they had become lovers none the less. They had dated, become engaged, and after university had married. They had had one child, a daughter they had named Jenna.

It was a short marriage. Janus’ obsession had grown over the years. He had pictured Doom and Richards as flip sides of the same coin, a dark and light version of the same person. Janus had become fixated on finding his own dark persona, which led inevitably to his schizophrenic instabilities. He created the Nega-Man, which in turn led to his encountering Richards again and his confrontations with the Fantastic Four. That led to his fascination with the Negative Zone, to create his own access point and to tap its resources.

“The mythological God of Portals,” I said, and Etta nodded.

“He was enamored with his link to Roman mythology,” she explained. “It was horrible to watch as he slipped deeper and deeper into his psychosis. The man that I had loved and admired was slipping away from me and there wasn’t a blessed thing that I could do about it.”

I watched as Etta chained another cigarette, coughing raggedly in the process. When her jag ended, she continued. “Richard vanished for a time. Nothing unusual by then as he would be gone for days at a time some times. I knew he was pursuing his research, and he always came back, usually defeated and stymied. This time however the days turned to weeks, then months. I finally got a call from Susan Richards. She was very sweet and sorrowful when she told me that Richard had died. Oddly, I accepted it without a tear. I had almost been expecting it, he had been so out of sorts. I cried later when I told Jenna.

“I was doing well enough at my job, and Day Trading was just coming en vogue. Over the next few years I dedicated myself to making enough money to live somewhat well, and to secret away enough to put Jenna through college too. I had created a nice little nest egg before I saw the signs that the bubble was about to burst and got out. It was about that time that I learned that Richard had resurfaced, and died again”

“Again?”

Etta nodded. “He had apparently somehow split his dark half from himself- don’t even ask me how- and it was the Nega-Man that died that first death in the Negative Zone. That separation left Richard crippled though, weakened with a form of muscular dystrophy. Susan Richards had called again to tell me that he had died a second time trying to exploit the Zone. I was through with him by then. I didn’t tell Jenna.”

“I don’t understand,” I said truthfully. “What has all that to do with you thinking that your daughter has been kidnapped?”

“I’m well off,” she said, taking another sip of her water, “not rich. Push come to shove I could probably scrape together half a million if I sold off some stock at a moment’s notice. There’s others far more wealthy to target. It’s my connection to Richard, I just know it. They’ve taken Jenna to get something from Richard through me.”

As I was considering that, the phone rang…

I took a sip of my water trying to digest all that she had told me as Etta stepped off to answer the telephone. She had filled in a lot of the blanks, at least concerning her husband- ex-husband I corrected myself. There was still a lot that I did not know however. Oh, I could move the dominoes about and connect the matching dots, but why kidnap Etta’s daughter?

To get to Janus? That seemed to be what Etta thought. She had said it herself that she was not rich, so it had to be the connection to Janus. But he was hardly wealthy himself, as was evident in his joining the Gideon Trust for his funding. So it had to be the Negative Zone, and his research there in. Someone else wanted something from the Zone; minerals, power, energy…

Something in that sparked a thought that quickly flickered and died as I heard the telephone receiver slam back into its cradle. Etta came rushing past, her face drained of blood and a look of frantic desperation twisting her features. “Etta?” I said standing as she dashed past me and into another room, a study by the look of it as I followed. She was hovering over her computer, clicking her mouse, her gaze intent on the monitor.

I watched as she opened an e-mail account, then clicked open a message with the subject header, Jenna. Etta scrolled down through the text of the message:

I have your daughter. If you want to see her alive again, you will get your husband to hand over all of his research on the Negative Zone. I will contact you again in one hour with instructions.

Etta scrolled down further and gasped, collapsing into her chair with a sob. There was an inline grainy image of her daughter beneath the message, tied to a chair, gagged and a copy of this morning’s Bugle in her lap.

“Oh, God…” Etta sobbed again and I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as I leaned in to get a closer look at the image. A clock on the wall in the background read just twenty minutes prior, though whether that was planned or not I had no idea. The rest of the room’s décor seemed rather plain and generic. Pale walls and dark drapes, a round table just visible at the edge of the frame and a ‘Starving Artist’ painting on the wall led me to suspect a hotel room.

“What am I gonna do?” Etta moaned, her voice choked with tears. “Richard doesn’t give a damn about us, about anything but his Zone. He’s not going to help,” she whimpered and I could feel her body trembling as she tried not to full out cry. I sighed, trying to think, looking at the image on the screen. I was missing something, a thought or memory that was just out of reach.

“We have an hour, Etta,” I said trying to sound reassuring. “You contacted me for help, and I’m going to. Just try to relax as best you can.” It was her turn to take a deep breath and sigh, but she nodded as I patted her shoulder.

I went back to the other room first and checked the telephone. I had serious doubts that it would be so easy as to find a phone number logged onto the caller ID box, but I had to check. As expected the caller was ‘Unavailable’, which could mean any number of things; unlisted, blocked, a Tracphone, or even a pay phone. There were however ways around that, and I somehow doubted that the kidnapper was of a mind to hide his phone and e-mail signal through a satellite relay.

I went back to the study and leaned past Etta who was staring at the image of her daughter. Jenna did not look terrified, but her eyes were red and puffy over the strips of silver duct tape gagging her. Beyond the uncomfortable position of being tied to a chair she did not look abused, which was good. I took the mouse in hand and scrolled back up to the top of the message.

A Hotmail address of course; a dime a dozen and easily available. OM1987@hotmail.com. Still, there might be something there. I knew too that there were ways to trace where a message was sent from, but I could not do it myself, at least from Etta’s house. I would need help, but luckily I had connections and a lot of owed favors. I pulled my Blackberry from its pouch on my belt and keyed in the contact list, scrolling down to ‘S’, then thumbing SEND…

It was getting dark as I sped along Junction Boulevard heading towards La Guardia. There were clouds thickening overhead, adding to the gloomy sunset and threatening a coming storm. The traffic was heavier as I approached the airport, as expected, La Guardia being one of the busiest airports in the world. Luckily though it kept moving at a good pace, and we were making good time.

Beside me in the passenger seat Etta tried to put on a good front, but I could see the worry in her face and the tension in her body. Against my better judgement I let her come along, expressing that she had to stay back and out of the way once I went to work. She had agreed, though I knew that once things started to come to a head she would become a problem. One that I hoped I could work around, if not deal with.

It had taken only one phone call to get the information I had needed. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m no detective. I was a spy, and a damn good one for more years than I will ever care to admit, and I was trained by some of the best in the business. I was a field agent however, and relied on others to do the actual legwork of digging through reams of paperwork to get whatever information was pertinent to whatever case I was involved with. Once upon a time that was the KGB and all of its assets. Later it was S.H.I.E.L.D., and later still the Avengers.

Unlike that guy in the comic books, I did not have a super computer or a mobile crime lab in the trunk of my car. Hell, I did not even have a lackey kid sidekick to do my grunt work. What I did have however was connections, and a list of favors owed a mile long.

I had called S.H.I.E.L.D., and given up my priority codes, which shunted me through the red tape protocol and in less than a minute I had been talking with Clay Quartermain, one of Fury’s upper crust and apparently the computer ‘go to’ man of the hour. I explained my problem and he had talked me through the process of extracting the info, both from the phone and Etta’s PC.

The telephone was easy enough. I gave him Etta’s number and he checked the S.H.I.E.L.D. database, quickly finding the logged call by tapping Verizon’s records. Within a few short minutes he returned with the blocked phone number registered to an Olivia Sadim.

“And if that’s not an alias, I’ll eat my sidearm,” he had said with a laugh. Still, Sadim; visions of terrorists flashed through my head.

Better though, he had given me the coordinates of the call’s origin. Apparently a cell phone, ‘Olivia’ had not bothered to turn off the GPS locator, or perhaps did not know about it. S.H.I.E.L.D. tracked the call to the La Guardia Hilton, which I knew was just on the edge of the airport’s property. Quartermain even gave me the room number of MZ Sadim. He had been thorough though, and had talked me through a few computer installations so he could track the e-mail just to be certain.

Clay had me install PC Anywhere with a generic log in so that he could look at the source of the e-mail. The Hotmail account was useless of course, however after a few minutes of digging he found the ISP and the WiFi coordinates, the DNS information and even a secondary e-mail account that Olivia had used to send the picture of Jenna to her Hotmail account. Either Olivia was way overconfident and did not care, or else she was simply ignorant of computer protocol. Either way I did not care. I knew where she, and hopefully Jenna Janus were, and now had a goal. I had thanked Clay and flipped my phone closed to tell Etta.

And now we were pulling into the parking lot of the La Guardia Hilton. It was a typical hotel; six stories situated just a stone’s throw from the airport and frequented by those folk that had extra long layovers mainly. The lot was fairly full, but I found a spot and parked, shutting off the engine of my Avengers’ rental.

“You need to stay here, Etta,” I said to the woman even as she was reaching for the door handle. She turned to look at me, puffy red eyes just like her daughter.

“No! Jenna needs me!” she said frantically, desperation in her voice.

“Yes, she will,” I tried to say calmly, reassuring. “But she needs me first. I need to see just who has her; how many, where, whatever. You need to let me do the job you called me for.” Etta stared at me long and hard, tears welling in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, but finally she nodded.

“I will do my best to get your daughter out,” I said as I opened the door and slid out of the car. I leaned back in and took my bracelets from my bag, slid them over my wrists; my Widow’s Bite and Line. “Stay here… please.” I shut the door and headed towards the hotel.

Clay had told me Room 28, so I stood in the parking lot and spotted it, second floor and mid-building. The lights were on, and I could see a slight crack in the dark curtains. I checked the time on my cell and saw there was still five minutes before the appointed hour was up when the kidnapper would contact Etta again. I jogged across the tarmac and up the outer stairs, then along the landing until I stood at the room in question. I got on my hands and knees and crept up to the window to peer in through the convenient crack.

I saw Jenna tied to her chair, her arms behind her back with ropes about her wrist, wrapped about her midsection and her ankles tied off to the legs. She was awake, the duct tape still plastered over her mouth and she was watching the television set against the far wall, along with her kidnapper.

Olivia was lying on the Queen sized bed, resting against the headboard with pillows propped behind, with her long legs crossed at the ankles. She was dressed in purple leathers; a bustier corset that amplified her already ample breasts, stiletto-heeled boots up to her thighs, opera gloves and leather panties, and I could see the cowl of a helmet wadded beneath her long, blond hair that was tied up in a high pony tail. She was pretty, with a short defining scar on her left cheek. She seemed naggingly familiar…

“I wanna buy a vowel, Pat!” she shouted out, laughing and kicking her legs and I glanced at the TV to see that she was watching Wheel of Fortune. “I want to buy an E,” the television echoed and the woman laughed again.

“Mmmmnn… Mmmnnn-mmm… Mnn.”

I saw Jenna squirming in her bonds, and the captor glanced her way. “Crater Lake?” the captor asked, looking incredulous. “Ya think?” Jenna nodded.

This was way too bizarre. I eased back from the window and stood at the door. I did not have to try the knob to know it would be locked. Not that that was a problem. I leaned back, shifting my weight and bringing my leg up, folded then snapping out. My heel slammed into the knob and the door shattered inwards. I rolled forwards, tumbling over the shoulder and coming up in a crouch, my Widow’s Bite firing and striking the headboard of the bed. I saw a flash of purple and the woman was on her feet and dancing off to the side, one hand sliding her helmet in place, the other unfurling a whip. My eyes went wide as all the pieces fell into place even as the helm slid over her cheeks.

OM1987… Olivia Sadim… Oubliette Midas!

And everything fell into place.

I remembered the Avenger Files from months back. They had been caught up in some kind of extra dimensional struggle with another band of heroes from some alternate Earth. Doctor Midas had been one of the main antagonists and he had gone to great lengths to secure the power of the Negative Zone, hoping to become omnipotent. It had been a long and encumbered battle involving Annhilus, Count Nefaria and countless others including his daughter, Oubliette. Apparently he was still after the Zone’s power, thinking that a quick way to greatness. Steal Jenna Janus and get the info he needed, one way or the other.

“I know you,” Oubliette had said as she flicked the whip at her side, angling to strike, shifting her stance and hips. “You’re the Black Widow! Too cool!”

I danced back even as the long length of leather snaked out and cracked, snapping the sound barrier just inches from my face. I brought my arms up, firing my Bite again as Oubliette skipped to the side, drawing in the whip and rolling her arm overhead to coil and strike again. Paint sizzled on the wall behind her as she crouched, the whip arcing out and I leaping up and over its length. I heard Jenna’s muffled screams as I dropped and skittered off to the side again, Oubliette circling in rhythm with my movements.

“Let the girl go,” I said, as expected though I knew that was not going to happen. My mind sifted through the countless files logged in my head and pulled up the info on Oubliette Midas. Psycho, pain slut, adventuress, mercenary and devoted to her father, Doctor Midas, there was little there to reason with. I needed to take her down and fast. I watched as she drew back, the whip wriggling at her command and too late realized my mistake.

The bullet struck me square in the chest, knocking me off my feet and slamming me to the floor. I was gasping for breath as Oubliette stepped up and the whip cracked, wrapping about my throat. She jerked, pulling the lead tight and I yelped, grimacing as the leather slid along my throat, burning. Oubliette tugged and pulled and flipped me over, slamming a heel into my back as she gained leverage, trying to strangle me. This is where I came in…

“Daddy will be so proud,” she hissed and I heard the glee in her voice as she pulled the whip tighter. I could not breathe and was clawing, one hand at the floor, the other at the leather constricting my throat. “I killed Black Widow, Daddy!” she shouted, grinding the heel of her boot into my back, trampling me. I was starting to believe her as I heard the sound of something slamming, metal on bone…

WHUMP!

The whip laxxed and unfurled a bit and I quickly tugged it away. I rolled over to see Oubliette hovering over me, wavering on her stiletto heels. She was shaking her head, and behind her stood Etta, the hotel room’s table lamp in hand and bent almost in half.

“Oy,” Oubliette said as she staggered to one side. I spun about, my legs flailing as I caught hers in a scissors and flexed, dropping her on her ass. She hit the ground like a sack of wet cement, her ass plopping on the carpet. She looked at me with dazed blue eyes, blinking as my fist slammed into her nose. Blood spurted as her head cocked back, and she finally toppled over, sprawling on the floor. I heard Jenna screaming into her gag and her mother’s raspy breathing.

“It’s okay,” I said as I gathered myself, turning to look. “We won…” I stopped short, my eyes growing wide at the sight of the figure standing in the doorway.

He appeared huge, bigger than he actually was wearing the golden armor that he had bought that once belonged to Tony Stark years ago. His head shifted and I could see his eyes glinting in the slits of the helmet’s eye holes as he surveyed the scene. He wore an over-sized trench coat over the tarnished armor, soaked and dripping, a soggy cigarette dangling from the mouth slit. Smoke roiled as he breathed and shook his head.

“The Black Widow,” he said as his gaze fell upon his unconscious daughter. I heard the sound of grinding servos as he lumbered into the hotel room, his armor jerking slightly with his stride. “Pray she is not hurt,” he said as he passed, standing over her. I heard Oubliette moan.

“Doctor Midas,” I said, twisting my legs under me to stand. He stared at his daughter, sprawled on the floor at his feet, ignoring me. Etta shambled backward still gripping the lamp. Jenna was squirming in her bonds and whimpering. Midas looked my way and plucked the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a billowing cloud of blue smoke.

“My daughter always has the best intentions at heart,” he said, crushing the butt in golden fingertips. He flicked it away and bent down and scooped Oubliette up into his arms. “She doesn’t always ask first though. So like her mother. Head strong and… void.” He looked at me. “I’ll take her. You take yours. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

I stared at Doctor Midas, his golden armor glistening in the garish light of the hotel room. He stared back at me. Having fought the Golden Avenger armor before, I knew that I did not stand a chance, so I nodded and stepped back, hoping this was over but having no idea what was going on. Midas carried Oubliette from the hotel room and I heard the sound of boot jets powering. By the time I got to the door he was streaking off into the night.

I turned back and saw Etta untying her daughter. When she had removed the gag and the ropes binding her wrists the two women collapsed in each other’s arms, weeping. I had won, sort of. Midas and Oubliette had gotten away scott free, but I had saved the girl and that was all that mattered in the long run. I breathed a sigh of relief, looking back to see Midas’ boot jets burning in the distance, dwindling...

“Thank you,” Etta Janus said around her sobs, her daughter held close and wrapped in her arms. I stared at them, feeling somehow complete. In a weird and roundabout way I had won. I could get used to this.

“You're welcome,” I said, cringing as a plane roared in overhead, drowning out my words as it came to land at La Guardia…  

No, not really, but she will be taking on another underused Marvel in a wild battle for truth, justice and the American Dream; the almighty dollar!

A girl’s gotta eat.