Nights in a big city were lively, especially in Hell's Kitchen.
Rat-a-tat-tat-
Suddenly, intense gunfire erupted from the Wilson Building, where the renowned philanthropist Wilson Fisk worked!
Many ordinary passersby had been strolling happily down the street when the nearby gunfire startled them.
Did that make sense? Perfect sense.
That was just how friendly and down-to-earth the people of Hell's Kitchen were.
A few groups even crept out with guns, hoping to see if there was anything they could cash in on.
Beneath the soft lights, brutal gunfire rang out.
Crimson blood gushed like a fountain across the shattered, cracked ground.
Inside her tight black leather suit, blood surged from Natasha's body.
Dark, bruised blood stained the corners of her mouth.
A faint hint of death filled her beautiful eyes, and the rise and fall of her chest was almost imperceptible.
Her breathing was so slow that she seemed likely to lose her life at any moment.
The sounds around her began to fade, while her vision dimmed little by little.
She felt she really was dying, because she saw the slain Nick Fury suddenly turn into a green corpse.
The stillness and silence around her were like the whispers of the grim reaper. Natasha vaguely saw departed souls beckoning to her.
Am I dead? Am I dying?
As Natasha lay dying, she began to look back on her life.
A failed, dull life.
Natasha suddenly felt her life had been pathetic.
Even on the brink of death, she could not conjure up a single familiar face.
Perhaps there truly was no one and nothing that mattered to her.
At the moment of her death.
She questioned herself: had her life been a success?
As a top agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., as a superhero, as a member of the Avengers Squad.