Natasha Romanoff climbed the last few steps without her breathing changing.
She wore a simple coat and a pair of jeans.
Nothing that screamed lethal international spy.
She looked like… just another neighbor.
Apartment 6B stood in front of her.
She knocked.
Inside, Eric was finishing up some chores when he heard it.
He walked over, opened the door—and his brain promptly shut down without warning.
Green eyes, wide.
Mouth slightly open.
Long red hair falling in soft waves.
There she was. Natural. Dangerously beautiful.
"Hi," Natasha said with a polite smile. "I'm new in the building. I live in 6C."
Eric blinked.
"I…" He swallowed. "You…"
An awkward silence followed.
Natasha tilted her head, curious.
"Everything okay?"
Eric opened his mouth—and his traitorous brain selected the worst possible file.
"Scarlett Johansson."
Silence.
Natasha blinked once.
"Excuse me?"
Eric felt his soul leave his body, come back just to laugh at him, and then leave again.
"I—" He dragged a hand down his face. "Sorry. That wasn't… I mean… hi. Neighbor."
Natasha raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a smile.
"Interesting name," she said. "Is it common around here?"
Eric shook his head far too vigorously.
"No. No. It's—actress. I mean—not you. I mean, you are, but not—"
He stopped.
"I'm making this worse, aren't I?"
Natasha smiled for real.
"A little."
Eric exhaled, defeated.
"Eric," he said, extending a hand. "Valerian. I've lived here since the building decided to give up on modern life."
Natasha shook his hand.
"Natasha," she replied. "Romanoff."
Eric was surprised she used her real name.
"The building is…" Natasha glanced around. "Charming."
"That's the diplomatic way of saying 'breathing here hurts,'" Eric replied. "But you get used to it. Or you develop superpowered lungs."
Natasha laughed softly.
"Thanks for the warning. I just wanted to introduce myself… and ask if the elevator works."
Eric burst out laughing.
"It works when it feels like it. Don't stare at it too hard or it gets offended."
Natasha nodded, memorizing the information.
"Perfect. Then I suppose we'll see each other often."
"Probably," Eric said. "This place doesn't give you many options."
She stepped back.
"Nice to meet you, Eric."
"Likewise," he said. "And… sorry again about the Scarlett thing."
Natasha looked at him for a second longer.
"Oh, don't worry."
She closed the hallway door and walked away.
Eric stood there.
Slowly closed his door.
Rested his forehead against it.
"…I'm an idiot," he whispered.
---
The next day, Natasha returned from a walk.
As she climbed the stairs, she found Eric carrying a box of things clearly meant for the trash.
"Hey," Eric said, scratching the back of his neck with genuine awkwardness. "If… if you want to come in for a minute, I actually have decent coffee."
Natasha Romanoff raised an eyebrow.
"Coffee?" she repeated. "I just moved in and I'm already being offered coffee. This building scores points."
"It's part of the welcome package," Eric replied.
She accepted with a light smile and stepped inside.
She was slightly sweaty, but if it meant finishing the mission quickly, she didn't care.
The apartment was simple.
Natasha looked around with genuine interest.
"Nice," she said. "It feels… lived in."
"That or resigned," Eric smiled. "Depends on the day."
He poured the coffee with steady hands.
Sat across from her without invading her space.
And that was the first disruption.
Natasha waited for the usual effect.
Nothing.
Eric didn't lean in. Didn't shift his tone to impress her.
He looked at her the way you look at someone interesting… but without hunger.
Curious.
After all, not many men could resist being alone with someone like her in their apartment.
That wasn't arrogance. It was experience.
"So," she said, crossing her legs with effortless elegance. "Have you lived here long?"
"All my life," Eric replied, ignoring the deliberately provocative posture. "The building and I grew up together. It got more fragile. I learned how to pay bills."
Natasha smiled, studying him with clinical focus.
"You look at me like you know me," she said softly. "Have we met before?"
Eric blinked.
"What? No. I mean… not that I remember." He paused a second longer than normal. "It's just… your face is very familiar."
There it was.
Natasha noticed instantly.
The microsecond of hesitation.
The delayed correction.
The effort to hide something that had already slipped.
"That must be it," she said gently. "People say I have a very… neighborly face."
Eric laughed, relieved.
"Yeah. Totally."
Internationally recognizable neighbor, he added silently.
She took a sip of coffee, letting the silence stretch just enough to see if he'd fill it.
He didn't.
Interesting.
"What do you do for work, Eric?" she asked.
"Project-based stuff," he replied. "Internet things. Nothing glamorous."
Natasha tilted her head, feigning interest.
"And are you good at it?"
"Good enough," he said. "To take care of my people."
After a few more minutes of conversation—Natasha working with a carefully constructed fake backstory—she stood up.
"Thanks for the coffee," she said. "It's nice to have a friendly neighbor."
"Anytime," Eric replied. "And if the elevator tries to kill you, scream. I'm used to it."
She laughed. A little more genuine this time.
At the door, she turned.
"Eric."
"Yeah?"
"We'll be seeing each other."
He nodded.
"Looks like it."
When the door closed, Natasha walked down the hallway calmly.
First contact complete.
Initial assessment:
– Target does not react as expected.
– Feigns ignorance with endearing clumsiness.
– Recognizes without acknowledging.
– High emotional control.
– Concealment ability… imperfect, but human.
She hadn't found signs of the ability.
But she'd found something better.
A crack.
And Natasha knew exactly what to do with cracks.
---
The days passed… and the fire didn't die down.
The internet was no longer surprised.
It was divided.
And nothing divides better than a simple, absurd, dangerously addictive question.
Who wins?
Forums.
Blogs.
Email chains.
YouTube replying to itself.
— Tony Stark is just an arms dealer with a superiority complex.
— "Just"? The guy flies and absorbs lightning, dude.
— Thor is a god. End of discussion.
— A god who couldn't lift his hammer.
The memes evolved.
Stark in a business suit:
"When you're human but refuse to accept your limits."
Thor with Mjolnir:
"When you're a god and still get humbled."
The debate turned personal.
— Tony Stark builds weapons that kill thousands of innocents.
— Thor fights wars for pride.
— Who's worse?
— Who's more dangerous?
Some went further.
— Tony Stark is the biggest weapons trafficker on the planet. Thor is a foreign invader with a war complex. Both should be detained.
Others were having far too much fun.
— Fair fight: tech vs magic.
— Unfair fight: ego vs ego.
It wasn't just fan versus fan anymore.
It was ideology.
— Humanity doesn't need gods.
— Do we want saviors or soldiers?
The Thor vs Iron Man short kept circulating as proof.
Every frame dissected. Every gesture analyzed.
— Look how Stark doesn't back down.
— Look how Thor isn't impressed by the armor.
— This isn't a fight. It's a clash of arrogance.
Eric didn't participate.
He watched the debates roll by while making coffee, while taking his parents and Susana to the hospital, while listening to her talk about Thor like he was a cartoon hero.
And for now…. that was enough.
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