6742/Tokyo Drift

Tokyo Drift
Date of Scene:	29 June 2021
Location:	Tokyo, Japan - 2017
Synopsis:	In 2017, Sharon takes on a retrieval mission in Tokyo, Japan. Taskmaster had his own mission; both are suprisingly successful though Taskmaster wins with the upper hand and a defeated Sharon.
Cast of Characters:	Sharon Carter, Tony Masters

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Sharon Carter has posed:
TOKYO, JAPAN:

NIGHTTIME:

The mission was simple. Infiltrate Tokyo, locate the auditor to the CFO of the royal empire, extract him and return him home. It was a deep cover; one that lasted nearly a decade, the auditor having gained as much intel as he needed to due to orders on high. Through SHIELD, of course.

Most of his file to the public was redacted; only those with security clearance knew who he was. They knew his face, they knew his true name, and they knew the endgame of that mission.

For Sharon Carter, aka Agent 13, she didn't know of the mission.

She just knew the face and the codename Specialist.

Word is, the Specialist was waiting in an inconspicuous space in Tokyo's Red Light district. A place where bubblegum and chainsaws made their appearance with big fluffy Hello Kitties who wore tiny skirts and had thin legs. High pitched voices screamed Kawaii and gave the peace sign as they stuck their butts out to pose for pictures.

Men traveled the redlight district; their ties displaced, hung loosely around their necks. Bottles of sake or jim beam hung upon their fingers as they often sung songs in English, and often Korean.

The Specialist was almost one of them, until three young ladies drug him into a kareoke bar and tucked him right into the corner booth that was shaded in the dark. Who knows what had gone in within that booth, but the man looked tired and happy as all three women languished along his lap, drank his liquor, and smoked his cigarettes.

Sharon was watching from afar.

She wasn't dressed inappropriate to her culture; she wore a regular pair of jeans, sneakers, black t-shirt with her hair high in a bun. Where one would keep chopsticks to keep the hair pinned, she did not. A tight rubberband held it to with little strings that crowned her cheeks. She sat at that bar, monitoring the darkness, looking for something untoward. Where someone would think that she drank the sake of this fine establishment, where the drunkest of the drunks crooned 'Free Bird' on stage, her tumbler was filled with water.

"How long do I have to sit here.." Agent 13 said into her comms. "This is getting nuts."

"Lets let him have his last night of fun, he has been here for at least ten years." Agent Laurel Avila returns back. "We're at the extraction point though. Going dark for a moment, enjoy the sonnnnnng, 13!"

Tony Masters has posed:
Taskmaster's job was far simpler: the Specialist wasn't to get anywhere alive. The exact nature of the man's betrayal was unknown to the mercenary, nor would he have cared if he had known. He had been a member of SHIELD once upon a time, so he might have cared in a past life, but he didn't remember it. He didn't remember that man at all.

He affixes the skull mask into place and scouts the perimeter quickly with a pair of binoculars. It doesn't take much to spot Sharon's perch, at least if you knew how to look and Taskmaster did. He knew everything, after all.

His approach is silent and shockingly swift, crossing up behind Sharon until he hears the last of her sign-off with Avila. He quickly presses a device on his belt and disrupts any further signal. No calling for help tonight.

Then he casually draws a pistol and aims at the back of her head...

Sharon Carter has posed:
There was a little hiss from Sharon; left to suffer with the ranting and ravings of 'Free Bird' while she finishes off her water. Impatient as she was, the tumbler was dropped upon the counter top, finger pushing the edge of the glass so that it could remain at a tilt, her hand slowly moving as it gains a little hang-time before she smacks the bar-top to cause it to jump upon it's head. Topside down.

With the loud-sounds of the kareoke; Sharon couldn't hear that static of the comms shutting down, only the screeches and squeals of the drunken man as he reaches his climax.

Sharon turns upon her stool, facing the darkened booth, her back soon straight as she feels that chill..

Brows lower as her eyes dart from left and right, feeling that sense of.. dread. That's what it was.

"Alright jack-off.. enough if enough.." Sharon says to herself, approaching the darkened booth with purpose.

Tony Masters has posed:
Tony Masters remains in shadow, just out of sight, just out of mind. He'll let Sharon shake the man down. Better to have SHIELD implicated if something goes wrong, after all. No need to pretend they have clean hands. They do that so much, thinking themselves heroes, refusing to get dirty.

Taskmaster was nothing but dirty. Filthy as they came.

But Sharon intrigues him. He watches her move, absorbs her talents, a twitch in his cheek under the mask as her muscle-memory seeks into his.

Sharon Carter has posed:
"Awww c'mooon! Just one more rouunnnnnddd!" The man cries out.

"By the looks of it, you had about three." Sharon muses, reaching out to grip his arm by the elbow as well as pry the women gently off of his lap. The girls laugh, rolling upon their bellies to wave their little fingers in his direction, lifting cash from the wallet that he clearly didn't care about. "Bye Ladies.." Sharon says, pulling the man further.

What wasn't seen to the public eye, however.. was the way Sharon lifted what she needed from the man. He was -clearly- a liability.

That was due to the fact of his stumbles, Sharon's arms wrapping around him to lead him to the back exit, the exit that only had one way in and one way out, a straight corridor with no doors but one that leads outside.

There was nothing waiting for them on the other side of that door, no mode of transportation, that itself was three blocks over. "Agent Avila, I hav.. hello?"

Tony Masters has posed:
When Sharon opens that door, there's a sudden flicker as a blade flies through the air and lodges directly in the man's throat. The Specialist stumbles, blood and gore rushing from the punch blade in his neck, withdrawn rapidly and left in the grip of a skull-clad figure, the massive wound leading to almost instantaneous and irreparable death, slashed wide open from chin to chest.

"Tag, you're it," a fuzzy voice laughs, the Taskmaster's digitized words escaping through the filter of the mask as he steps back into the alley.

She's going to attack him. Of course she would. He was curious to see what she had to offer.

Sharon Carter has posed:
Fresh air. It was almost too easy. The feeling of victory was cut short by something that makes her flinch. The thudding and ripping sound of the blade, the way the blood splatters upon her arm and chest, little flecks of it landing upon her cheek like paint as she stares forward in shock. The Specialist falls to the ground in a heap, more blood pooling over Sharon's sneakers, in which, they were looked at as if she couldn't believe that -it- happened.

Not the death, but the stains to her shoes.

Sharon looks up towards the man, her gaze near vacant, her features soon crumbling into something unreadable as she retrieves her glock from the band of her pants to give chase. No need to keep the safety on; all bets were off.

Tony Masters has posed:
Tony Masters had already sheathed his knife, but if he was afraid of the gun, it didn't show. He doesn't flee far, taking the edge of a corner and whirling, his cloak slinging out to wrap around the gun and her fist, a sharp blow to her wrist sending a shock of nerve pain down to the root of her shoulder. Odds were, she'd drop the gun.

Then he pushes at her shoulders with his hands, giving her a quick knockback and sizing up to her in martial arts style. His cape might seem incongruent with his martial skills but, in truth, you had to be a true master to fight in a cape. Amateurs would get tangled in it or find it a burden. Not so for Taskmaster.

Sharon Carter has posed:
He was quick; it takes someone -very- skilled to get the drop on Sharon as she is now, the blow was hard and she does indeed drop the gun. The gamble was made and he struck with luck. But quick thinking causes her to reach out and grab that little bit of cloak, snapping it around her hand as he pushes her at her shoulders, using that fabric as a bungie to bounce right back into close quarters without ever letting go.

She does the most american thing she could forsee in the moment; and the fight was just that. In the heat of the moment, her head rearing back to try to crack the middle of that mask with the hardest point on her forehead. She'll have a banging headache, but he'd probably have a broken nose and watery eyes to cloud his vision.

Tony Masters has posed:
Tony Masters grunts at the impact to his mask. He hadn't expected that, which is rare. She'd surprised him. It wasn't broken, but he'd be bleeding from the nostrils for a bit. Still, he wasn't about to let a bit of pain take him that much off-guard.

He follows up with a rapid flicker of palm strikes, aiming at center mass, not requiring much vision but enough to hopefully steal her breath, a flex of his shoulder pushing the cloak back as he tries to finish with a chop to the throat.

Sharon Carter has posed:
The palm strikes hit her center mass, Sharon near doubling over, her feet pacing backwards away from Taskmaster whilst she still held onto his cloak. The flex of his shoulder steals the fabric, but it was cue for Sharon to immediately throw her hands up and turn sideways, catching the chop to the forearm.

And she could feel the first cracks of the bone soon to break, the muscle flattening, blood vessels breaking to form a major bruise. She was used to the pain, but it's been -years-, reacquaintence is a bitch.

Sharon drops low into a pivot, sweeping her leg out to try to slam into the back of his, and if she was successful in knocking him back, she'd try to launch from that low point to land all of her weight atop of his chest.

Tony Masters has posed:
Tony Masters maneuvers to block the sweep, not leaping over it, but flicking out his own foot in a stomp, pinning her leg to the ground and nearly breaking her leg in the process. He switches to muay thai, a hard elbow cracking across her face hard enough to spin her head, then grasping to grapple at her body, pivoting and leveraging her over his hip to smash into the wall of the alley.

He steps back and rolls his neck, the blood from his busted nose trickling down out of the bottom of the mask and over his throat.

"You hurt me. A little," he says. "Impressive."

Sharon Carter has posed:
There was no winning this fight; Sharon was already looking for a way out seconds before her leg was pinned. She lets out a yelp, which was cut short with the hard blow to her jaw, and the grab that smashes her into the wall nearly off her feet, and has her sliding.

She crumples to her knees, her hand holding onto her chest, the other upon the ground, fingers curling into the dirt as she tries to breathe, her head lifting as she stares up towards the bloody mask with as much painful ire that she could muster.

"Yeah?" She heaves out.. "Just wait til I catch my fucking breath.."

Tony Masters has posed:
Tony Masters cocks his head, "No need to be suicidal, Agent," he says.

"I accomplished what I was contracted to do. I have no grudge against you. You're no one of note. Just another bullet in the chamber of Nick Fury's gun," he says.

"You have potential. Train up. Get better. You'll never be worthy - but you might be entertaining," he says. Then he moves with a swiftness and lashes out with a kick, the point of his boot catching her in the chin and snapping her head back.

"I'm the Taskmaster. Look up my file. I'll be in touch."

Sharon Carter has posed:
Sharon felt it. The pain. Her eyes squeeze shut as his speech, mechanical, was garbled. She glances up towards him, one hand reaching out to try to grip ahold of that cloak to never let go. She needed to bring him in..

..and how did he kno..

*CRACK*

The name echoes through her brain along with the sharp smack of the kick, her head snapping back, neck cracking it's ligaments as if she were properly adjusted. She falls forward onto the ground, unconscious.