I started writing it script-style, but it felt pretty silly, so I just went back to doing it the way I always do.
Night Attack
Interior – Mansion – In front of the main office – Night
Owen and Natasha stopped in front of an imposing double door, adorned with carved wood and golden fittings.
"Too easy for my taste," Owen muttered, unsheathing a pair of knives he spun between his fingers like natural extensions of his hands.
Natasha didn't respond. She was focused, her head tilted slightly. A faint sound behind the door had caught her attention.
They exchanged a look and nodded. Without another word, they pushed the doors open with force.
Interior – Main Office
The figure inside reacted instantly, raising a weapon. But Owen was faster"he threw two knives. One deflected the barrel just in time; the other embedded itself directly into the man's hand.
A shot rang out toward the ceiling, triggered by reflex and pain. The gun clattered to the floor.
"That'll bring the guards. We don't have time," Natasha said coldly, crossing the room immediately. She grabbed the man by the arm, spun him around and slammed him against the desk, pinning him.
But the moment she looked into his eyes, she knew he wasn't their target.
"Where is the Purple Man?" she asked, her voice sharp as a blade.
"I… I don't know what you're talking about!" the man stammered, trembling with fear.
Owen didn't move closer. He stood still… sniffing the air.
Natasha noticed immediately. The tension on his face was unusual. His expression turned grim, like he had just solved a puzzle no one else could see.
"What is it?" she asked, alert.
Owen's eyes flew wide open.
"Get down!" he shouted.
In a single motion, he crossed the room, grabbed her by the waist and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Natasha barely had time to blink. Owen ran toward a window, stepped on the frame, and jumped.
Glass shattered in their wake.
Exterior – In the air – Night
An explosion roared behind them.
A fireball consumed the office in an instant. Owen shielded Natasha with his body as they fell from the third floor. The impact was brutal. They rolled across the ground, through broken branches and rocks.
When they finally stopped, Owen was still holding her, panting.
He opened his arms with difficulty, letting her go.
"Ugh… I should definitely charge you for this," he joked, staring up at the sky with a tired smile.
Natasha stood up immediately. She watched the mansion engulfed in flames. People had begun evacuating in a panic. Fortunately, the explosion hadn't spread beyond the office.
But their lead… had gone up in smoke.
"Damn it…" she whispered, furious.
She turned to look at Owen… who was still on the ground, unmoving.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah… it's just that…" he paused. "I don't think my clothes are."
Natasha frowned. Owen wasn't getting up. And then she understood: his clothes had been completely torn during the fall. His back"and a bit more"were exposed to the night breeze.
"Are you…?" A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
For a moment, the perfect spy, cold and unshakable… couldn't hold back her laughter.
"It's not funny! I just saved your life!" Owen protested, blushing, though he couldn't help but smile as he watched her laugh.
"You're right…" Natasha said, calming down and offering him her hand. "Thank you for that."
He took it, still wearing an amused grimace.
"Next time, I'm bringing a spare suit."
…
In the car, Natasha drove Owen back to his house. They traveled in silence, the atmosphere calm, barely broken by the soft music playing from the stereo. Finally, the vehicle stopped in front of the porch.
"Now that I think about it… our date only lasted fifty-five minutes. You still owe me five," said Owen suddenly, with a playful smile.
"It's just five minutes," Natasha replied with a calm, almost teasing tone.
"Hey, five minutes for a man… that's a long time," Owen raised an eyebrow. "For women, it's never enough."
"Alright," Natasha responded, turning slightly toward him. "Then I owe you a date… as payment for the clothes."
"Then it's a deal. But next time, let's make it a date that doesn't involve life or death," Owen added as he got out of the car, not looking back.
As he walked away, part of the clothing Natasha had lent him revealed a large tear in the back, exposing more than he probably wanted. Natasha couldn't help but let out a brief laugh before starting the car and driving off.
Owen entered his house, took a quick shower, and changed into something comfortable. He walked toward the kitchen while drying his hair with a towel.
"I need clothes that are easy to destroy… Maybe I should talk to Tony," he murmured, opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
But just before he could drink, he stopped. His expression changed. Something was off. He set the bottle on the table without saying a word and began walking slowly, every sense on high alert.
Tzzzz!
An arrow whistled from the shadows, aimed straight at his head.
With superhuman reflexes, Owen stepped back, raised his hand, and caught the arrow mid-flight. Without wasting a second, he threw it back with incredible force, but…
BOOM!
The arrow exploded before it could hit, sending out a wave of smoke.
Tzzzz! Tzzzz! Tzzzz!
Three new arrows shot out through the gray cloud, each heading in a different direction. One aimed straight for Owen, the others near his feet.
"Shit," he whispered.
He flipped backward through the air, executing a perfectly timed kick to the arrow flying at him, deflecting it before it detonated.
The other two arrows struck the ground and emitted an electric hum that surged across the floor like a web of lightning spreading from the impact points. Luckily, Owen was still airborne.
Then, mid-flip, a fourth arrow appeared. This one wasn't ordinary"its tip blinked with flashing lights, like a countdown…
"Explosive," he recognized instantly.
Without hesitation, he hurled the bottle cap still in his hand"the one he had just opened"aiming with surgical precision.
CLANG!
The cap hit the arrow, deflecting it just half a meter away. It exploded instantly, blasting him violently into one of his couches.
The impact was brutal, but Owen used the momentum to roll backward and, with a quick maneuver, flipped the couch over himself to use it as a shield. From the floor, he tore open one of the cushions and pulled out a hidden pistol.
At that moment, another arrow hit nearby"also timed. Without delay, he pushed the couch toward it.
BOOOOM!
The explosion tore everything apart, but Owen was already rolling to the other side, gun in hand.
Tzzzz! Tzzzz! Tzzzz!
Three more arrows attacked. Owen, now more focused than ever, fired three precise shots.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Each bullet hit its target mid-air, triggering a dance of explosions through the smoky haze and fire that had begun to consume part of the kitchen.
Owen moved forward with his weapon raised, eyes sharp as a hawk's. Every arrow that emerged was instantly destroyed.
Tzzzz! " PUM!
He didn't miss. Each shot was perfect. Through the smoke, the silhouette of the attacker shifted.
The enemy, seeing the arrows were useless, charged. His bow reconfigured mid-motion, transforming into a combat staff.
Owen sensed the attack coming. He didn't see it"he felt it, like pressure in the air. He turned his head just in time to avoid having his skull crushed and fired.
But a quick hand knocked the barrel off target at the last second. Still, the shot grazed the attacker, making him recoil.
"Take this!" Owen growled, slamming his knee upward with full force.
The blow struck the attacker's chest. He tried to guard, but the impact was so strong it sent him flying several meters, his arms trembling from the shock.
Owen advanced decisively. He fired four more shots"two to the arms, two to the legs. The attacker dropped to his knees, wounded but alive. Owen had been precise, aiming to disable, not to kill.
Finally, the figure collapsed to the floor. Owen approached, gun still raised. The smoke slowly cleared. When he saw the face, his brow furrowed.
"Hawkeye…" he muttered.
Clint Barton didn't reply. He was trying to get up, but the gunshots had trapped him in his own body. Even so, his eyes showed a will to keep fighting.
But Owen wasn't fooled. He stepped forward and knocked him out with a clean punch to the face.
The scent of gunpowder and explosives still hung in the air… but beneath it, Owen sensed something else. That twisted, unnatural, purple stench.
"So you're the lost agent…" he whispered, sitting on Barton's unconscious back.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he'd been saving for a long time. The number Coulson had given him when they tried to recruit him.
"Mr. Colt? What a surprise! Have you finally reconsidered our offe"?"
"I've got your lost agent," Owen interrupted coldly. "The guy with the arrows. He's being controlled."
He looked back at his utterly destroyed living room. Part of the kitchen was still sparking with flames, and the walls were blackened with smoke.
"Oh… and by the way," he added, annoyed. "Bring your company's checkbook, because this… is going to cost you."