[ Natasha rolls with the punches — or gunshots, in this case — and she's willing to slide around to fire over his twitching corpsepile, motions as smooth as if she's dancing. ]

Anything's better than this.

[ It's not actually the dire straits that gets to her. She's been in tighter spots than this, and those are the places where she lives. It's not that she's always gonna be more suited to espionage than a full-on long-haul firefight, because she's smart and skilled, she can improvise. No, the reason Natasha can see the cliff-edge of losing her cool rapidly approaching is because the fuckers don't always stay down. A headshot puts them out, but even if she takes out their frontal cortex ninety percent of the time, that's nine point nine percent who take mortal wounds and keep on shuffling. ]

[ She doesn't like it. She doesn't like anything she thinks she can't keep down. For all they know, the ones with the head wounds are just having a nap. ]

They're thinning out on the left side.

[ Probably because the zombies have to navigate the maze of buildings, while their right is open. But that poses the same problem for them; if they take the alleys, there's more risk of being ambushed. Can creatures like this even stage an ambush? She needs more data. ]

I could really use a cluster bomb right now!