Natasha looked at the man in front of her with a slightly cold expression.
Indeed. All men are big scoundrels with ill intentions.
Her fingers subtly brushed the pistol tucked at her waist.
If he dared to try anything, she would shoot him dead.
As for what Nick Fury had said earlier, she had already thrown it to the winds.
This kind of scum wanted to join S.H.I.E.L.D.?
A prison cell was more suitable for him.
Johnson would never have imagined that his hopeful gaze toward Natasha would be interpreted this way.
But he didn't dare think too much about it.
All he wanted was for the thing inside him to get out—enter that woman's body—and then he would willingly go to prison.
"Tell her to throw out her gun." Ren's voice echoed in Johnson's mind.
"Throw your gun on the ground!" Johnson shouted, raising the pistol and pointing it directly at Natasha's forehead.
Natasha stiffened.
She had concealed herself well. How had he noticed?
"I don't have a gun on me. You're welcome to search me." Natasha spread her arms calmly.
If he dared to approach, she was confident she could subdue him in seconds.
"I'll say it again. Throw out the gun you're carrying. Don't make me put a hole in your forehead." Johnson's expression remained steady.
Natasha's faint smile disappeared.
He wasn't bluffing.
"Alright." She shrugged and pulled the pistol from her waistband, tossing it aside. "There. It's gone."
Ren wasn't fooled.
Dual pistols were standard for Black Widow. Did she think he didn't know that?
"There's another one. Make her throw it out." Ren urged coldly.
He wouldn't allow even the slightest accident.
"You still have another gun! Throw it out now! Don't make me repeat myself!" Johnson barked.
Annoyance flickered across Natasha's face.
How did he know?
The muzzle was less than a few meters away. At this distance, she couldn't risk a direct dodge.
With a controlled motion, she lifted the hem of her skirt, revealing black tights beneath. A second pistol was strapped to her right thigh.
She pulled it free and tossed it to the ground.
"This time, it's really gone."
"Good. Make her walk over. Then you'll be free." Ren felt excitement rising.
Once she came within range, he could transfer hosts.
He had spent long enough inside a man.
A flicker of joy crossed Johnson's face.
"Walk over slowly," he ordered, keeping the gun trained on her. "No sudden moves. My bullet will definitely be faster than you."
Under Ren's influence, his physical ability had improved dramatically. His reaction speed and strength were several times greater than before—close to Natasha's level.
Natasha raised her hands and walked forward slowly.
A trace of confidence flashed in her eyes.
Even without firearms, she was one of the world's most dangerous operatives. Within a few meters, she could take him down instantly.
She had been worrying about how to close the distance.
And now, he had handed her the opportunity.
Should she call him recklessly bold? Or simply stupid?
The distance shrank.
Neither realized the other harbored their own hidden excitement.
Johnson believed that once she stepped close enough, the monster would finally leave him.
Natasha believed that once she was close enough, she would teach this reckless gangster a lesson he would never forget.
Ren, meanwhile, was practically trembling with anticipation.
With Natasha as his new host, what genes couldn't he replicate?
The genes of the Hulk. Spider-Man. Scarlet Witch. Quicksilver.
He would copy them all.
And then what of Thanos? Could the Mad Titan withstand a single punch from him?
And Natasha—Scarlett Johansson—how many people considered her a goddess?
If he possessed her, wouldn't that mean he could get close to her every day?
Ren's thoughts burned with ambition.
When they were only two meters apart, Natasha prepared to explode into motion—
Suddenly, Johnson stepped forward.
His body swayed awkwardly, as if he had tripped.
The unexpected movement gave Natasha no time to react.
Johnson fell forward instinctively, grabbing Natasha's skirt as he lost balance. The fabric tore under the force, exposing the black tights beneath.
Natasha stumbled and fell on top of him.
In that split second, Ren surged upward from Johnson's back, slid across the torn fabric, and flowed onto Natasha's tights—vanishing beneath her auburn hair.
Natasha reacted instantly.
She kicked Johnson's pistol away and flipped him over, pinning his arms behind his back and locking him down with precision.
Yet something felt wrong.
Too smooth.
Too perfectly timed.
As if everything had been arranged in advance.
And Johnson's expression…
Relief. Excitement. And even a trace of pity toward her.
Strange.
But Natasha suppressed the thought and dragged him outside.
The officers outside stared in stunned silence as Natasha emerged, pushing the young man forward.
They recognized him immediately—the ruthless gangster they had surrounded for hours.
And now he looked… happy.
"You'll hold him for now. Someone from above will take him later," Natasha said coolly, shoving Johnson toward a patrol car.
Internally, she was irritated.
Nick Fury claimed this man had powers?
With powers, could he be subdued this easily?
Disturbing her vacation for this?
She would definitely file a complaint when she returned.
"No problem, ma'am. Care for a drink sometime?" the slightly overweight police chief asked with a wide grin.
"No, thank you. I need to go home and rest." Natasha offered a polite smile.
"That's a shame." He sighed and turned to handle the aftermath.
Natasha walked down the street, brows slightly furrowed.
What had that final look in Johnson's eyes meant?
She had seen countless criminals in her lifetime. That man did not have the courage for something like this.
Was there someone else pulling the strings?
Then she shook her head faintly.
She wasn't a detective.
If there was something more, Nick Fury could worry about it.
She only needed to follow orders.
What she didn't know…
…was that a thin layer of black liquid was quietly spreading beneath her tights.