Run for it!

Situation Analysis: Hopeless.

There was no way she was going to try to storm this place with every inch of her on display! The mission was over. The best course of action was to just get out, get back to the rendezvous point, take a long shower, and sleep this whole affair off like a bad hangover.

Natasha shot up into a crouch, her body still wet with perspiration. A few yards in front of her lay the empty suit. Could it possibly still be worn? Had the electricity worn off? Even if it couldn’t shield her from damage, it could still shield her nakedness. She exhaled heavily and inched her way toward the seemingly harmless suit like a cautious cat. With the suit at arm’s length, she reached out timidly. A tiny electric bolt shot from the suit and caught her extended index finger.

“Nyah!”

Natasha drew her hand back and massaged her tender finger.

“Der'mo.”

She looked up from her hand and at the suit in fury. Looks like she’d be pulling off this escape just as she was. She shook the last of the pain out her hand and started down the way she came with an infuriated grunt, crawling away on her hands and knees. Her now unsecured curves jiggled with every movement. She felt her breasts rock back forth, dancing beneath her. She felt her thighs shake and shiver as they slid across the smooth steel.

As she shuffled her way forward, Natasha stared ahead looking forlorn, her eyebrows slightly ruffled, her lips pouted.

There was no point in ignoring it, she felt completely mortified. She started this mission as an ace spy, ready to add another success to her not inconsiderable record. She was ending it scurrying away like some scared, naked animal. No matter if she got away, no matter if she returned to finish her objective, this feeling would always be with her. The sting of failure. The helplessness of being unable to move forward. The raw shame of wiggling around naked to save herself. The metal rubbing the skin on her knees. The stale air blanketing her, sinking into every inch and crevice. The sweat sliding down her back and dripping off her forehead landing in heavy drops.

Natasha stopped and sat back on her aching knees. She arched her back and pulled her hair away from her face with both hands, taking a deep breath that raised her voluptuous bosom. She pulled her hands away. They were soaked.

Was it getting warmer?

A red light filled the shaft. Far behind her, Natasha heard mechanical churning. She twisted her head around. A rush of wind blasted her body from all directions, coating her in unbearable heat. They were trying to cook her! Falling forward and sucking in **** breaths of scorching air, she pressed forward.

The heat continued to rise. As she plowed her way through her sweaty, naked misery, Natasha reassessed the situation. This was worse than embarrassing, this was ****!

She pressed on, her head tilted down, biting her tongue. The metal at her hands and knees grew hotter and hotter to the touch. A glaze of sweat coated her. She moved slower and slower as her strength left her body. Her arms and thighs tingled with pain. Her skin craved cool air. She no longer had any idea where she was or where she was going. She just needed to get out. She couldn’t stand it any longer!

Just as her elbows began to give way beneath her weight, she felt something. A breath of cold wind, icy and chilled.

Impossible! Natasha snapped her head up. Frozen air blasted across her cheeks. Her eyelids closed and she relished in it. She opened her eyes and placed her hand on the vent, relieving them from the heat of the shaft. Peering through the slits of the vent, she saw the night sky dotted with light snowfall. She was not imagining it. This was her ticket out of this hellhole.

Natasha leaned forward and pressed against the vent. It didn’t budge. Natasha let out an annoyed sigh. Summoning her remaining strength, she put all of her body weight against the vent. She pushed off of her knees, grunting and groaning to **** the vent loose. Slipping on the puddle of sweat that had gather beneath her, she fell forward in a heap with her face smashed against the grating of the vent. She let out a defeated cry and fell on her back. She pounded the vent with wild kicks. The heels of her feet struck the hard metal, giving off thundering claps. Her breasts shook violently. The muscles in her neck pulsed. Her face twisted into a frantic grimace. She was as pathetic and **** as a child throwing a tantrum. The vent didn’t budge.

Natasha’s legs flopped to the ground, unable to operate any longer. Natasha’s body baked on the hot steel. Her head bolted up, eyes looking possessed. In one last burst, she pressed her back up against the grate. She let out a gasp as the outside cold chilled her spin and freezing air snaked between her legs. With new strength, she pushed off her legs and slammed her weight into the vent once, then again. Natasha spat and with a growl threw herself with all her might back.

Cold. Everything went cold. She was dangling in cold space. There was no more heat. No more strain. She closed her eyes. No more pain. She was now free and crisp. Hard earth rushed to meet her. There was pain again. Not unbearable though. It was like landing on a giant balloon filled with sand. She took in tiny, tepid sips of air that went down her throat like ice water. She rolled to her left onto hard ground and lay on her back, spreading her arms and legs like she was ready to make a snow angel. She let the cold soak into every bore. She bathed in it. She let a languid sigh come from her smiling, exalted lips in a steaming breath. She could stay like this forever, relieved from that boiling prison of the vents.

“Chel’ow?”

Natasha’s eyes shot open. She lifted her head up. She saw her naked, heaving chest sprinkled with flakes of snow. She saw her pulsating abs rising and falling to bring life to her beaten body. She saw a tiny puff of blazing red hair against her pale, porcelain skin. Beyond that, witnessing every tiny detail of her, was a Sokovian private. His mouth hung wide open.

Natasha sucked in a breath. Her eyes went wide. She had to do something. She just couldn’t lay on the ground baring all of herself to this…this boy. He couldn’t be more than 20. He still had spots! She had to take action. She needed to be professional. She was a spy, right? Yeah, a great spy. A great, naked spy.

“Do’ah khuun?” A voice blared from the radio mounted on the private’s shoulder. He stared down at Natasha deafly.

She chewed on her lip with trepidation. She just had to follow instinct, training.

So she…