The sense of suspicion bordering on paranoia doesn't go unnoticed. Natasha knows her own worried mind, and that this isn't it. She's also had enough of gods playing with her emotions not to question where it's coming from. This isn't her.

The thing is, knowing that doesn't do a whole lot to take the edge off. She can rationalize, talk herself through the motions like she's calm, but emotions can't always be reasoned with. Not like that. She can push them down. Try to ignore them. Focus on going about her day.

But when the scares pop out—a man in black without a face, a mangled robot soldier, a masked monster—reflexes kick in all the same. Natasha's left holding her gun on a puff of smoke or taking a defensive stance at a shower of glitter.

"Shit," she mutters as she relaxes.

All things considered, this could be a lot worse. It's still annoying though.