A rifle barrel in your face.

"Tellement typique..." a soft voice says. Your eyes follow up the barrel until they reach the woman wielding it. She has purple skin and long, blue hair bound in a ponytail. She is dressed in a skin-tight bodysuit. Angela gasps beside you. "Widowmaker," she says, fear dripping from her voice. "Bonjour, Angela," the purple-skinned woman replies. "I see you have brought me a gift," she says, gesturing towards you. Her left hand gently cradles your cheek. "And who might this mignonne be?"

Your swiftly reach for your sidearm, but are halted by a bright flash and searing pain as the French woman's foot connects with your face, sending you sprawling. "Non non non, ma petite chérie," she says. "I'll take that," she says, extending a hand. You begrudgingly pass the weapon over. She turns to Angela. "You too, mon petit amour."

"Now strip," she orders.

"You've can't be serious," you say.

"I assure you I very much am, chérie," she replies, chuckling slightly. Her features suddenly get very serious again. "Don't make me repeat myself."

And that's the story of how you and Angela found yourselves in the frozen air, naked, tied to a pole on the roof. Your back is against the pole and Angela's chest is pressed against your own. Your hands are tied behind her back, as are hers behind the pole. For good measure, rope also binds your torsos to the pole, and prevents you from moving your heads more than a few inches apart. The air is cold as ice, making you glad for the additional body heat. Your purple-skinned captor gives you a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll be back for you, chérie," she says, "but first I must deal with the rest of your pesky teammates and get what we came for. If they're anywhere close to as foolish as you two, it shouldn't take long," she chuckles. Firing a grappling hook toward a distant pipe she swings off, leaving the two of you alone.

Tears begin to flow down Angela's cheeks. "Mein Gott," she sobs, "how could we have let this happen?"