41/One ticket to hell please.

One ticket to hell please.
Date of Scene:	20 February 2020
Location:	New York City streets
Synopsis:	Elektra finds complications when infiltrating Roxxon. Calls the Driver. Pursuit ensues and she is driven to Hell's Kitchen.
Cast of Characters:	Elektra Natchios, Driver

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Elektra Natchios has posed:
Roxxon Corporation.

A skyscraper in New York that houses the powerful organization. One which Elektra, curiously, has a participation in. But she is back in New York for many reasons, and this is one of them. Entering was easy, her credentials holding and she took a tour up to the top floors, making her way through the empty corridors this late at night. Wrist watch marks the stroke of midnight just as she comes to her target. A set of documents that relates to an ongoing investigation of hers. Labeled 'Black Sky'.

Now on her way out she knows something isn't right, a silent alarm? They must have upgraded security, or the contact who gave her the layout was flaky. No matter.

She sends a message out. She has heard of this one. Someone who gets people out. Heroes? Well, not her. But it's not as if they need to know that just yet.

The message is simple: Roxxon Corporation parking lots. 10 minutes. One client.

Driver has posed:
    The reply comes all but immediately "Roxxon Parking Lot, 9:59 confirmed. Black ford Mustang."The Driver tucks that cellphone back into it's jacket, and reaches over to flip the cover over that ignition switch out've the way and crank the beast over. A moment spent waiting for oil and hydraulic pressure to build, fuel pressure to stabilize, the belts to warm up. Casually it flicks the radio back to the police band, snags first and eases the big black Mustang out of the alley and into traffic.

    You can hear the thing before it gets there, a V8 that built is anything but subtle. The Big Ford slides to a stop at a stoplight across the way and waits. Eyes reading the parking lot for a moment, before the revvs come up and the clutch drops. Theres the squeel of tires, and the honk of an irritated motorist as the V8 rockets across the intersection. Theres no slowing down at the gate, not a moment's hesitation spent as it knocks down first the wooden stop arm and then the slightly sturdier metal gate behind. A headlight flickers and goes out, only for another light beside it to flicker on in it's place.

    It hurtles across the pavement, before grabbing the hand brake and a tug of the wheel sends it sliding sideways. Rotating to a stop, just as the passenger door clicks and swings open ever so conviently. From inside, face masked with a bandana, shades and that baseball cap? "I'm your ride, get in and put your seatbelt on."Inside well aside from the rollcage, and the police radio in the center dash it looks normal enough. Well and the armored glass, and the kevlar door skins but hey! Neatly stitched leather seats!

Elektra Natchios has posed:
The way down wasn't without incident. Not the usual fat, lazy security officers roaming the halls as she encountered on her way up but proficient men. Killers. Though where it comes to killing, she is one of the best ...

The woman stepping out to the parking lots is a knockout. long dark-red dress, hair pinned up in a japanese fashion, italian shoes worth more than many people's year worth of salary and a briefcase on one hand. She checks her wristwatch. 9:58..., click to 9:59. She hears the V8 and looks across to the other side of the street, beginning to walk at a slow pace but then ....

The wooden arm is blown up, no more subtlety though it's not as if there was a lot of room left for it any longer. The woman's gaze rest on the masked Driver for just a split of a second, an assessment perhaps but then she is getting into the car.

Leather seats? What more could a woman dream for? "Hell's Kitchen." she states after closing the door. Not exactly close to where they are. Should take them a while to get there.

Driver has posed:
    "Keep your seatbelt fastened, and don't touch the radio."Comes the automatic reply, gaze sweeping back across that acre of shaker hood. The dash lights dim for a moment, before switching from red to green. The driver smashes that throttle, dumps the clutch and the whole world just sort've slows down for a moment. On launch the front end slides up, threatening to lift the front tires off the ground. Enough raw mechanical violence is shunted down to the ground the whole car's frame bends to soak up the load. Front end dropping down with the flash of a tech-light as the Driver grabs second.

    Whoosh the security gate is hurtled past in a blur, and shoots the gap on four lanes of traffic with the slightest adjustment of the wheel. It slices through the gap between two cars and hurtles down a sidestreet, and everything finally begins to somewhat normalize. Casually the driver swings the big Ford first left, then right as it lays on the throttle. A drift started early, that shoots down another sidestreet.
    Calmly the Driver lifts a hand from the gearshift to adjust their shades, before glancing back in the mirror. "Nothing on the police band yet, I don't expect they have any idea what just happened."And casually she grabs for third, surging the ford into the triple digits without a hint of concern.

Elektra Natchios has posed:
The answer comes smoothly as well, Elektra speaking in an accented english, refined and clear. "Mmmm, so possessive. What is it with men and their radios..?" but even if the words may sound amused her tone is anything but. She fastens the seatbelt, sliding the briefcase down just before the car gets going. Sharp nails dig on the kevlar filled door. She is used to going fast, and even violence but this is perhaps a touch above of what she expected. But then again, she did hire him.

A gate guard still comes out, waving their arms and pointing a gun. But they are too fast to let the man take a shot. He returns to the radio to most likely report the situation.

Elektra's gaze goes out to the window, allowing a brief moment of relaxing just before another tight turn is made, making her wince and reach up to her side but just for the split of a second. she simply rests her hand casually across her waist. "It's not the police I am worried about." she replies.

And true enough there are some SUVs prowling about, visible on the rearview mirror. Along with sound of some powerful motobikes. "They won't be happy that I got out."

Driver has posed:
    "Women too sweetheart"And hey it's -hard- to tell, the cabin's -dark-. Tonight though, well the Driver's no man not that it ever -really- is. "It would seem that yes indeed you've made some friends, we're going to have to go the long way."Onto the brakes, and a short downshift into second as the car starts to unsettle. It crabs to the right just a touch, and for all the world it seems like there just isn't enough space for the car to begin it's turn until..it bursts back onto a surface street in the very nick of time.

    The Big ford bounces as it dismounts the curb, before the throttle rolls back in and it slides wide, cutting through traffic without missing a beat and onto the straight towards the freeway. Casually grabbing for third again, as it slides past traffic as if it's at a stand still. "Incidentally they call me the driver, a pleasure to meet you."And as it shoots a gap between two cars that definitely doesn't seem big enough for the big ford, well the driver casually hands over a sharpie before pointing towards the headliner.

    Theres -all- sorts of signatures up there, some names one's likely to recognize. "Iron Fist" in particular looks fresh, but most seem to be autographs from C and D listers. "Do me a favor, for luck?"

Elektra Natchios has posed:
For this time of the night the activity about the streets is a lot higher than one would expect. And there's still those lingering SUVs visible sometimes on the rearview mirror. Prowling the side streets. Searching for one Ford Mustang. But so far the driving appears to have evaded being located by them. But there's always that threat poking it's head out.

"I am sure it must be." Elektra says with that casual tone of someone that expects it always to be a pleasure meeting her. But then she allows a very brief smile to come to her lips. Not that it reaches her eyes. Perhaps she is still assessing on who this driver is. But just as it seems she wouldn't be returning her name she says. "Elektra."

She can't help but roll her eyes at the name Iron Fist present. Yes, at least that one she has heard about, even if it's only by reputation. The Defenders. "Luck? Or for recognition?" she asks of the figure, taking up the sharpie. Not that she signs just yet, her eyes turning to the Driver.

Just as she speaks a motobike starts getting closer, very close. And ..., are they reaching for a handgun?

Driver has posed:
    "If I wanted recognition I'd be filming this. Luck is not scientically quantifiable, but it's always at play never the less. Luck can rule the day, if your courage holds."Theres a glance in the mirror, before the big V8 hurtles foreward. It cuts into opposing traffic, sliding between a pair of taxis before hopping on the brakes and sliding sideways the wrong way up an onramp. Theres much flashing of lights and honking of horns now, before the Big ford gets back on the brakes. Another flick of the wheel and the Driver touches the handbrake to rotate the car, sliding ot into highway traffic as it cranks around.

    The Driver dumps the clutch and feathers it out, sending the big Mustang into traffic but at least now it's headed with traffic! Second, third, fourth grabbed in rapid sequence as it hurtles foreward. A flash of the tach and up into fifth as the Mustang clears one fourty in the blink of an eye.

    "Figures last run of the night would be the one with the most motivated goons, never fails. Wouldn't be the first time tonight somone takes a shot at me though, city's not nearly as bad as Detroit you know."

Elektra Natchios has posed:
"You give it too much importance." Elektra goes to say more but then they are running through opposing traffic. The motobike driver still takes a shot, it heard zooming past but without hitting the car, then another, though at the speed and turns there is very little chance of being hit. Not that it doesn't cause chaos in traffic, screeching tires heard, some cars coming to a stop on the road. Some might say motobikes are unfair, so small and maneuverable. That particular driver zooms past the oncoming taxis and follows through, but now at a distance. Motivated indeed! And skilled.

"I prefer to call it skill. One you seem to hold much of. But very well." She elegantly raises the sharpie up to the writing place and signs over. 'Elektra' it says. And yes, she is so 'nice' that the end of the 'a' cuts a bit over Iron Fist. Maybe it's all the car trepidation making her hand juggle a bit!

"Comes a time when we get used to this life. Everyone taking shots at you, trying to kill you. Until you have had enough." She muses, perhaps almost to herself. And indeed her voice is rather steady even as her eyes peek through the side mirror to look out for further pursuers.

Driver has posed:
    "I've been doing this for awhile, and I have to confess it never gets old. Makes relationships difficult, of course but this is the way of things."And up into sixth, that blower whirring as the Mustang continues to gain speed at a prodigious rate. Wind noise finally begins to pick up, as the aero begins pushing the car subtly lower.

    One seventy, one ninety, two hundred and still accelerating like a bullet. It winds all the way out to two twenty, before it just runs out of gearing. The big Mustang slices through traffic in gentle arcs, touching the rumble strip just once before it slings back across to rocket down the offramp. On the brakes hard finally, as that wing and the rear louvers swing up to create as much drag as possible. Still the car bottoms out fairly hard at the bottom of the offramp, sending a shower of sparks in it's wake as the driver grabs a gear and gets back into the throttle. Finally headed towards Hell's Kitchen.

    "I appreciate the compliment of course, pretty sure theres nobody around with my -particular- skillset. There was some guy in Arizona, but last I heard he'd retired. So I have an excellent opportunity for plenty of practice."Mutely reaching over to retake that sharpie.

Elektra Natchios has posed:
"Word of advice, relationships are overrated." Elektra says while handing over the sharpie to the figure. She is still curious, in the way she inspects the masked driver. Such mystery! But the prodigious skill is there. She shifts a touch on the seat, getting more comfortable. Or at least as comfortable one can be at 200. Not a lot. But she seems one of those nerves of steel women, not -too- phased, but her breathing seems a bit faster. There are limits to her cold-heartedness!

"What do you do this for? The rush of it?" The tone displays curiosity, she then ummming. "No, not just the rush. Something else.." not that she can pinpoint it just yet, but it has sparked her curiosity.

As they cut through traffic at such high speeds not even the motobike is able to keep up, eventually losing out their pursuers while they head towards Hell's Kitchen.

Driver has posed:
    "Relationships are complicated."She agrees. The accent is, well midwestern and nothing special there. She sounds young at least, twenties or so? Average height, seemingly average buid. Black hair, short ponytail. It's not a particularly complicated disguise but it's far from a bad one, all things considered. Nevermind the fact that she's wearing sunglasses at night mind you.

    "There is an element of challenge to it certainly. Building the right cars, taking the right routes, driving the right way for the conditions. It's all a very rewarding challenge."And a pause as she finally gets out of the throttle, melting into traffic with a glance in the mirror. "Humanity needs to see people like me aren't to be feared, because you're not likely to survive the long term on your own. To steal a line from Genesis, theres too many people making too many problems."

Elektra Natchios has posed:
"You work very hard to look normal, don't you?" That much she can assess out of the 'woman', Elektra's scrutinizing glare now more and more on the Driver while they rush through traffic and then are suddenly into a more normal pace. "But you need to lose the sunglasses. That's a dead givewaway that you don't want to have your face seen. And driving with those at night ...." she clicks her tongue, clearly in disapproval. Apparently she has some strong ideas on what is a good disguise or not. Damn those sneaky assassins.

"It tells a lot more than you want to keep hidden. Just a caution for the future." With the rush of adrenaline gone she exhales, then grits her teeth again, body motioning on the seat and the hand up to wrap around her side again.

"People like you?" she arches a brow in question.

Driver has posed:
    "Artificial intelligence is the popular term, though personally I feel it suggests my intelligence is somehow false. My old mentor liked the term "Digital person", and that seems a better fit I think."A glance in the mirror. "The shades help keep my vision from washing out at night, I don't usually wear them during the day."And well they casually reach up to tug down that bandana and pluck those shades free just so she can shoot a wink towards Elektra.

    She's a little pale but, well she's beautiful under all that. That done, well the shades are replaced and bandana pulled back up. "When I'm an unknown to the bad guys, they figure I'm more trackable because of the car. They focus on me, not my passenger. I'd rather they focused on me, because I can change faces and vanish again when I need to. The disguise is meant to attract attention."

Elektra Natchios has posed:
Elektra was perhaps expecting a mutant, or someone looking so peculiar or different they'd want to keep hidden all the time. But then again that driving was perhaps a bit too perfect, and the answers very precise. Still, surprise runs over Elektra's expression when AI is mentioned. "A digital person." she echoes, with a mix of wonder and curiosity. She is at an age that not much surprises her anymore, but this one does.

The exotic eyes settle on the Driver's when they wink, amusement coming to Elektra's expression and half-smirk popping up. "Well, you seem more selfless than many I have met over the years. Not many that would put themselves in the line for those they have barely met. Do you believe it can make the difference though?"

Driver has posed:
    "People back in Detroit liked me plenty, nobody was afraid of me."Theres a little shrug there, as it slips around slower traffic. Another turn, and another glance in the mirror. "I can't control everything, and it's not like I think this is going to be over with anytime soon. All I can do is try to keep as many heroes on their feet as I can, and give them an opportunity to meet a robot that isn't looking to kill Sarah Connor."

    And finally it swings up to the curb, and slows to a stop. Dash lights flash from Green back to red, and the revvs fall flat. "This is your stop, be safe out there alright Elektra? It was a pleasure to drive for you tonight."

Elektra Natchios has posed:
"You have heart, but you are naive still." Elektra states, not the type to pull back on saying what she thinks. The Driver that saved her behind tonight deserves at least that. Honesty. "People will take and squeeze all out of you if you let them. It's part of our nature to take advantage and dry everyone up until there's nothing left." maybe she having close experience with such. But whether she doing so or having suffered such. Who knows?

But then she breaks out a faint smile when they reach the curb and slow down. She takes out a small card out the briefcase and places it on the dashboard. "Regardless, in case you need me call. I always pay my debts."

The door opens and she steps out, those italian heels carrying her away from the street. She has soon disappeared in the night.

Something seems to have dirtied that nice leather seat though? Blood? But just a very small trickle.