An explosion of glass and trinkets scatters across the industrial grade carpet filling a good third of the store with difficult and dangerous terrain as the larger thugs Natasha had been determinedly choking out manages to get a solid hold on her coat and heaves the woman up and over his shoulder, slamming her into the glass encased counter near the register with all of his weight.

Her many layers provide a bit of protection from the blow. The only lacerations she takes are shallow and hidden beneath her gear but the force of the maneuver still forces the air out of her lungs in a ragged bark of breath she's struggling to draw back in.

Instinct takes over long enough for Natasha to weakly roll herself away and onto the floor with another loud Fwump! before the very metal bar she'd been using as a weapon crashes into the spot she'd been laying only half a second before. The spy is getting her feet underneath her but it's slow. Dangerous. Making her a target.

If Prometheus spends time looking inside at the commotion and turn of the fight's tide he might find himself missing how the not-concussed thug is slowly reaching for the gun his buddy dropped into the snow.