The room is coated in what appears to be a thin layer of dust, as Evie finishes off her last victim. She turns back to Natasha, the iron of blood puncturing the air. Damn, that smells good. Evie traces her elongated teeth with her tongue, willing herself to focus. Natasha will heal quickly, thank goodness.

"Cherry?" Evie's at the foot of the chair the dancer is tied to. "It's alright," the girl's terrified, from what she's just witnessed, but Evie's making quick work of her bonds. "My name's Evie Frye- this is Natasha Romanoff. We're here to help. Are you hurt?"