2013.08.28 - Message Received

It's been a long time.

Too long for some, not nearly long enough for others. For some, they've been looking around, searching for hints of a man that has been gone long enough that perhaps it's time to give up with the 'knowledge' that he's just not going to return. For others, they're the ones with something to lose should he return.

The 'he'?

Nathan Dayspring. He goes by other names, sure. What man who has done so much in various pasts, and some futures wouldn't come out with a couple of 'known by's or 'also known as's?

Now, he's back, and while he's in no way, shape or form needing to start from Square One, there is a little back building that needs to be done. Some quick tweaks of the 'time stream' needed to be fixed in order for things to move forward. Easy fixes, as opposed to the monster that is fast approaching.

And in the middle of it all stands a single, black armored mercenary. Why should Nate be the least bit surprised? He's not.

As he stands in his starched white lab (still haven't truly gotten the place completely fixed up), Nate watches the large screens as data scrolls down, his link to the satellites settled around the world assured. Around the room are the tables, cabinets filled with various bits of tech garnered from various places in the time-stream, and chairs.

All in all, it's more like an effeciency apartment. Fully lit. Stocked. Furnished. Both for his comfort and for any that he may bring here.

Sadly, one of his buddies was compromised. It happens, it does.. but the problem was, his eyes were elsewhere. In that span of time? Something happened, and Nate is working out exactly what that 'something' is. Was. Will be, if it's not stopped.

As a result, necessity means that black armoured, lovely albino mercenary needs to be called. Nate's gone back and forth on it so many times. Maybe she'll ignore the texts? (Not likely.) Maybe she'll fail and NOT find the clues? (Again, not likely.) Maybe she broke the conditioning he put there? (Not likely.) Maybe the conditioning took all too well, and she's a different-- no. Domino is who Domino is.

It's the one thing.

ABOVE GROUND:

Inside a crack house sits a happily getting stoned gang. Three for the lookout, one on the upper floor, one on the lower, and one outside on a corner. Young kids act as mules, selling to cars that slow down on the corners. It's a quick transaction- little nickel-bags (that cost more than a nickel!) for those greenbacks.

But the operation there is more than that. It's what the bigger, the heavier hitters are giving the no-bodies to keep them in line. To keep them fat and happy, and move when they're told.

It's there where Nick's lost his life as he managed to work his way deeper. It's where the real shadows have begun to fall. The ferocity and intelligence that was showed by the killing is what truly took Nathan's attention.

The drug trade. It's one of the few areas where Domino really doesn't want to be working. It's an ugly, dirty market where everyone's out for themselves. Money and addiction rule the day. 'Best friends' can turn around and draw weapons on one another, lifetimes of interaction drawn to a brutal, bloody end over a few grams of powder. There's money to be had in the field but she still doesn't see that it's ever worth the trouble. Drug busts are what keep the cop families fed.

This one's different. No money. No contract. No favors. Nick lost his life and she's got nothing but a cryptic message on his phone and some stupid golden coin to work with. For the obsessive planner, for the eternal control freak, not knowing what she's getting involved with is not sitting well with her.

That's why someone else has to pay. Or several others, in this case.

The illuminated mildot reticle falls upon one of those blitzed out kids through the grimy window of the crackhouse. A lone, cold blue eye zeroes in on the guy's forehead while a ghostly, half-gloved thumb ticks the safety free on a suppressed HK SL8 rifle. She's got a headcount on the building, the three nearest corners mapped out. The more recent cars have been visually tagged, make, model, year, color, and plate info all marked down. Modern technology is fantastic, with the press of a button the digital rifle scope takes a picture of whatever it's aimed at and stores it all on a Micro SD card.

She's done her homework.

Now it's time for the pop quiz.

Three spaced shots cut down the three guards posted outside of the adjacent building, falling like clockwork with a subsonic 5.56 hollowpoint through each of their heads. Outside by the steps, down. Lower floor, through the window, down. Upper floor, balcony, down. Each falls over without a sound, a splotch of crimson flashing across the space immediately behind the entry of each bullet.

Already her sights are readjusting to the next target, watching. Waiting.

(Make the call, assholes. Bring him out of hiding.)

Silent death.

Whomever said that arrows are the only silent but deadly killers never saw a rifle in the hands of a damned good merc.

The splattering of heads, and the exploding of grey matter out the back is certainly a sight. One dies without note, while the other two? One in the downstairs manages to spray everyone at one of the couch and table sets with the end of life's blood and soft, no longer spongy brain. Add a couple of bits of bone that bite into the bare flesh of one of the drug-addled 'kids', and it's a recipe for fun!

Immediately, those who are actually not too stoned stand up and blink as they try to process exactly what is going on. Screams emenate from the downstairs, and outside? At first, the sound of the squealing of tires makes it sound as if it was a drive-by, but there's no spray of bullets that usually accompany that!

Add more screams, and now, within, there's more movement. They're running around, a window shade is pulled down, but moreso, a couple pieces of random firepower are grabbed.

Pathetic, really, the way they're beginning to try to stave off what they believe to be an attack from a rival gang, maybe?

And, on the phone.. one kid begins the dialling.



Downstairs in the lab, Nate's eyes turn towards one of his instruments. Immediately, there's a tinny *ring* that sounds. He's tapped in.

"Hey man.." and the kid's voice sounds terrified. There is decided mayhem behind the voice, multiple voices shouting orders, but each and every one of them countermands the others.

"Why did you call?" It's a low, even toned male voice.

"We got hit! I swear. It must have been the-"

"How do you know?" It's interrupted.. the stream of consciousness that was threatening is shut down.

(Off Phone) "Check Evan! Is he-" Beat. "I heard the tires."

"Don't be stupid."

-Click-

''Thank you, Dom. I think I've found him now.''

Turning around, Nate begins to make his way out of his lab, and through the labrynthine tunnels to gain the surface.

There's more to the job than gunning down a couple of stoned idiots with Saturday Night Specials. This is just a part of the overall game, a slight rearranging of the board rather than the final takedown. Three guards hit the ground and a moment later the entire block is lit up like a blowtorch to a beehive. People scatter. Other people attempt to make a stand. Still more try to call in for reinforcements.

Domino stays right where she is, watching. Waiting. The last shot won't be fired today. First she wants to see what it is that they do once given some proper incentive.

The crosshairs sweep from one yet visible target to another, the albino woman idly offering her own commentary to the situation that unfolds. "Oh crap, I forgot to pick up my dry-cleaning," to one of the cars that peels out and launches itself down the street. "Dude, the TV's out, now we can't watch CSI!" to the kid that scrambles for the nearest phone. "I think that guy just stole my wallet," to another that goes sprinting for the nearest alley.

She finds ways to amuse herself.

Black-dipped nails idly tap a soft beat along the polymer stock of her rifle, her head lightly bobbing to a tune only she can hear. Taking another shot or two is tempting, maybe just to make them spaz out all the more, but she's played her current hand in this game and it's a winning combination. Patience, now, is key. Don't over-do it.

When one of the kids trips himself up and smacks his face into a lamp post she hangs her head and starts laughing, "Idiot."

There's a little spot that is being used as a front. It wasn't there when the lab was originally set up by who knows whom 'back when', but it's there now. Cable uses it when he doesn't want to be seen just coming up from under the ground.

From the one accessway, it leads to another, and finally, a third before Nate walks out seeminly casually, catching the light of day. The sun glints off the bits of metal, and he puts a pair of sunglasses on as proof against the light.

The scene is remarkable. Car accidents threaten, and he has to move out of the way as a car does jump the curb, smacking into a lamp post. No real damage, other than the fact that an airbag deploys, doing considerable damage to the driver's face. (Damned first generation bags! Weren't there lawsuits about that?)

Now, Nate knows that he's not going to actually see Domino. Nope. She's good. So, ducking into an alleyway, he pulls up his phone.. and sends a text to hers.

It's one that he hopes she follows up on.

5th and E.

There.. there will be a car. It's not anywhere near as fancy, perhaps, as it could be? But it'll get the job done, and it'll move easily through areas where they have to go.

Maybe it's just dumb luck that Domino doesn't catch sight of sunlight on metal when another enters the scene. She just might have taken another shot, after all. As it is there's lots of other things for her to watch. It's such a mess down there that the only thing which seems to be missing is some music from Benny Hill.

Maybe she's a bad person.

"Nice tattoo there, buddy. You draw that on yourself?" she says to the still air while following another guy with a less than fabulous bit of ink on his bicep. He's sure to stand out in a crowd, not that she's one to talk there.

Before any more commentary can be given her phone hums quietly from its hiding spot, prompting a quick sigh as she pulls it out while keeping her other hand in place on the rifle, holding it up right beside the scope while unlocking the screen and glancing to the message.

"Well son of a bitch."

That can't be the Big Guy in this operation. There is no way. Maybe she's got an unknown friendly in the area..? How did they know she's here, though? Well, she's got mages, teleporters, and mind-readers for company so it's not completely unheard of.

Still.

Glance to the crosshairs. Glance to the phone. Frown. "If this causes me to miss something important..." she mutters while putting the phone away. Combat boots scrape across the roofline as she comes up to a crouch, slinging the rifle across her back as she sets into motion. 5th and E isn't that far away, she can be there in less than five.

(Great, it's an unassuming car. So long as I don't wind up riding in the trunk this time.)

Edging around into the alley, Dom quietly unholsters one of her compensated 10mm pistols, thumbing the hammer as she keeps it tucked low and tight behind her thigh. She doesn't like having her work interrupted, especially not by cryptic messages from unknown sources. So, she reaches for the door handle to try and shed some light onto this growing mystery.

Now he can see her.

There's a moment when Nate simply stops and stares at her, frozen in his tracks. He has to catch himself, and he takes a deep breath to control the emotions that begin to fly around his head. This is where knowledge and experience converge. He knew going in that he'd eventually -see- her, be next to her. And it's completely different than simply knowing her movements, and watching the hell that's left behind.

(Dammit. Gotta get myself together.)

As Domino reaches for the car door, that's the moment Nate chooses to step up behind her. He's not an easy man to miss, by any stretch of the imagination but he does have his tricks.

"Get in, but I'm driving," Nate says quietly. How's that for a 'Hi, how are you?'? Actually, for him, it's easier. It comes out less .. emotional. It's not as hard as everything else that could be said, or should for that matter.

It's the mission for now.

Twitch.

There's a familiar spasm in the back of Domino's shoulders, spinning around and ducking low while that lone pistol snaps out toward the man's face the instant that she realizes he's back there. Point to him, he did catch her off guard.

That's something else she doesn't like.

"Oh you have got to be shitting me," she nearly growls after seeing who it is. The man now standing before her should trigger a completely different level of emotion, a connection capable of running soul-deep. Yet, something blocks the path of these signals. Memories had been blacked out then severed, leaving her with only the most vague of recollections of the man known as Cable.

One evening out on the road in upstate New York. One afternoon in an abandoned warehouse. Two others that looked similar but weren't the same person.

And nothing more.

"Why is it that you feel the need to keep stepping back into my life, you cryptic bastard? If you want a 'thank you' for fixing the power drain on my rifle then I'll by you a damned coffee but this game that you insist on playing isn't doing it for me."

Even so, while verbally reaming the man from the future she's tossing her rifle into the footwell of the passenger seat, positively glaring as she sets one foot in, one arm resting across the roof of the car and the other draped across the top edge of her door, pistol still exposed and ready. She's not stepping in all the way until Mister Future's behind the wheel.

Her acknowledgment is enough for the time being, though there's a funny sort of expression that comes across his face. It's happy and sad all in one. A need to reach out, and that overwhelming need to not. Do. Anything. All expressed in a flicker, but then it's gone.

Not now.

(When? Ideally when she's not aiming a pistol at my face. It's the little things in life.)

Raising a hand to push the pistol away, Nate shakes his head. He doesn't have an answer for her very good question. A question that she deserves an answer to. "I'll take 'thank you' on that. But now, I'll be prepared to say 'thank you' if you get in."

He's moving, now, to get into the driver's die, and leaning over to pat the seat, the moment she's in completely, he'll spin the tires in his haste to get the hell on the road.

"We're getting closer to who killed Nick, and why."

Nate isn't anywhere near a lunatic on the road. He takes this quickly, however. Rolling through yellows, taking sideroads in order to get around clumps of traffic, and they're headed out of town towards the west.

"And you're right. It is bigger."

In, down, door closed. Sidearm in lap. Domino doesn't bother with a seatbelt, she's still trying to make up her mind as to whether she wants to stay here and hear all of this out or take a shot and bail. Both seem like perfectly valid options at this point.

"I probably shouldn't be surprised that Nick is the focal point here," she says with clear irritation in her voice. Then, with a forced laugh, she rhetorically says "When isn't it."

None of these pieces are making any sense. How did they both get caught up with all of this? With a drug trade, of all things? Nuclear weapons, rogue military AI, hell, even aliens would seem more appropriate. But a bunch of druggies? From plasma rifles and raids on AIM shipments to this. It seems vastly beneath both of them.

"For Nick's sake it had better be worth the trouble," she adds, this time with a subtle note of defeat. Though, now that she's alone with this guy there's an opportunity to try and get some answers. If she doesn't like the answers then she still has her options. "'Eight to three.. Primary site. Secondary access.' What were the targets?"

She doesn't bother to ask if the message had originated from Cable. There's no point in asking questions she already knows the answers to.

Given Nate's druthers, he's much rather not have to recouperate in an older sedan, having to answer questions why his blood was all over the apholstery but he's (mostly) okay now? Mutants are still viewed a little oddly. And one that is half-bionic?

Yeah.

"He's not," Nate answers easily, eyes flickering from the road to Domino and back. "He was bait, and he knew it. All the big boys use the drug trade for quick money. Mexico. Columbia. I wouldn't be surprised if half of Madripoor and Rheelesia are on drugs and the other half is selling." He pauses, and looks straight ahead, passing a couple of cars as they hit the highway out.

"They don't use, though. Smarter than that. Given one day, they can bring in 10-15 grand, depending upon how many kids they've got out. Day isn't bad for cash. Night? Dance clubs.."

Now, Nate stays quiet for a few miles down the road, but it's not because he doesn't have anything to say. Far, far from it. The 'normal' hand on the wheel is a little tighter, a little whiter around the knuckles. He's trying to relax, he is.. and it's not working.

"Nick was supposed to find what we're now looking for." Primary mission, locating the site. "His window of opportunity was from 8 pm to 3 am. I needed him to identify it. Being able to access it was of secondary importance." That was what Nate was for. Not undercovers.

"Now, we'll get there around 9. Give them the chance to filter out. Assuming they do. But that's doubtful, thanks to our stirring up that nest." Our.

"As for what it is, their second tier is money laundering. Putting money here and there.. hospitals. Political charities. But they're laundering so they can send money overseas to different anti-mutant concerns. And," Here, Nate smiles, but it's less than pleased, "organizations that promise to cause animosity between mutants."

Domino wastes little time in switching the gun to the other hand simply so she can hook her right into the windowsill and rest her forehead in an open palm, fingers slowly massaging the ghostly pale flesh. "I don't need a fucking history lesson, I know how this works. They're called 'pawns' for a reason, would you get to the point?"

Great, so that message about eight to three was for tonight? There's her timing at play, again. "To identify what, what the hell is it that you're looking for?" she suddenly cuts in, lifting her head away from that hand in order to pass a sidelong glare Cable's way while that hand splays outward in a 'what?' gesture.

Then he drops the plural tense. 'Our.' "Now you're dragging me into the middle of it, thanks a bunch," she reviles. "I really don't care what these guys are doing, I just need to see one man about a bullet to the face." (Way things are going that might still be you, kiddo.)

Blink. Money. Yeah, well no kidding there's going to be money involved. Drug trade! Until..the bit about anti-mutant concerns is dropped. One black outlined eyebrow hooks upward, the monochromatic merc glancing back to Cable with a slightly different expression than any of her previous attempts.

(Goddamnit, he's reeling you in, Domino.)

"Looking to bank some quick karma points, are we?"

"That's just it. Nick was no pawn. He was a good guy and didn't deserve to die." And for that? Nate will be sure that the one who pulled the trigger is going to pay.

We and Our.

It just feels right.

"I know you don't, Dom. I know," he repeats softly. "But you're the only person right now that I really care to trust." Looking to the side, he still guides the car, but his attention is more on the albino beside him. "After this is done, I'll fill you in, okay?" And, of course, he'll be handing over some money. The bad guy's money.

Nate snorts a laugh and looks back to the road, pulling the lever to put his headlights on. Dusk is coming. "I only go around once. But it's been a hell of a trip so far."

Domino climbed into this car hoping to get some answers. Now that she has them, why does it feel like she has even more open questions? It's business with this guy, always business, yet she can't shake this strange feeling that he somehow knows her, and more than the rest of the mercenary underworld. She's picking up this strained vibe of 'familiarness' from the guy.

It raises the hairs on the back of her neck.

That she's the only one he feels he can trust lingers on her mind. It's not just because she knew Nick, is it..? Where is this trust coming from? She still has a gun out and a faint reticle painted upon the temple of the partially bionic man seated beside her. And he trusts her?

"Something tells me you've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do," she says partially under her breath.

Dom wants her answers. (The money won't hurt, either.) She'll let this one play its course. For now.

The car ride takes a couple more hours, but they're out of the city. Well out of the city, and into something that is a little more rural than even suburbia. They're not half through the state, more midway, in a town that is spread out and boasts about 50,000 people.

Cable slows the car down to proper, in town limits, and he's looking down sideroads. There's no 'main street' per se. A main drag only means there's more shopping strip malls than residences, and soon enough they'll be through it again.

Finding a Sonic, Cable pulls in to the 'drive in' portion where waitresses on rollerskates take the orders. "You hungry?"

Why is she doing this..? Why is she still in the car, so far outside of the city limits with no transportation of her own?

For that matter, why is there something within the deepest shadows of her mind that suggests that this might all be okay for her to do?

Somewhere along the trip she's tucked her pistol back into hiding. The best she can do for the rifle is to tuck it into the back seat, it's dark enough outside that it's not likely going to be obvious to anyone that happens by. The name of the town is noted as they pass into it though for the most part she remains distant, seemingly distracted by her own thoughts.

Here lies a mind which is furiously trying to put so many fragmented little pieces together into a cohesive whole. She can't even process the odds of her current situation, there simply isn't enough hard data.

"Yeah," she replies in the world's most emotionally detached tone ever. It's just enough of a response to answer the question and not a sliver nor syllable more.

Times like this it's hard to beat a big, greasy cheeseburger.

Her mind still can't make itself up. It's beyond infuriating. She may well take a power drill to her temple if she thought it might do any good. Is she okay with all of this? Should she be? Why? Should she hate this man? Should she run away, disappear, vanish into the cover of night? It's okay, it's going to be alright, and yet it's not.

The most difficult thing of all is to feel this way and not show it. She wants to scream, wants to put her fist through the windshield, but she does nothing.

She only sits there in her silence.

Oddly enough, no one seems to blink an eye at either of them. Not the cute waitress in a short skirt and rollerskates. So, either the girl is hoping for big tips, or she's a closet 'mutants are okay' girl.. but there's NO reaction other than the usual, smiled, polite requests for their orders.

The chili cheese dog is what Nate gets, followed by a cherry limeade, complete with cherry. He's happy enough without the onions, thankfully, and manages to finish it long before the bits of grease on Domino's burger congeals. Tossing his papers into a ball, he works on his drink.

(Is it time to talk now? How about now?)

Looking at Domino, Nate looks as if he wants to say something, anything, but doesn't. Instead, he digs into his pocket to get his wallet to pay the bill, plus tip.

It bothers him, that lack of inflection in the 'yeah'. Now, he is reminded of those times when she was mad.. and he'd dream of one of those emotionless answers rather than the painful silence.

When it looks as if she's done, and the old clock on the dashboard is getting closer to the hour, Nate starts the car again, drops it into reverse, and pulls back out into traffic.

"Place is in a little side development. I'd like to avoid collateral damage." So, what he'll do is.. suggest that the neighbors go out to the movies. Isn't something good playing? Like 'Wolverine'?

The thoughts aren't that much different from the other seat. (Are you going to start talking now? I'm getting really friggin' impatient, here.)

Normally Domino is good enough at detaching herself from reality that things simply don't bother her. Assassination followed by a good meal followed by drinking and joking with colleagues. No weight on her mind.

Tonight's different. A burger with this many calories packed into it should have way more flavor than anyone could ignore, yet this time it comes across as being slimy and bland. This is one of those very rare moments where she can't distance herself from a problem, can't simply pull the plug and let her memory go off the air.

Finally having a chance to talk about the job is more of a blessing than it has any right to be. "If you want anyone kept alive, now's the time to speak out on their behalf." Collateral damage should be easy enough to avoid, she didn't pack any explosive ordnance with her loadout of the day. Grenades are usually more unnecessary bulk than boon for a sniper run.

"Let's get one thing straight, though," she continues while turning to pass an ice cold stare at the mysterious man next to her. "I'm treating this like a contract. By helping you wipe out these assholes you owe me information, and I mean all of it. If I feel that you're holding out on me then you'll be the next idiot I put down."

"I know, and I don't particularly need anyone kept alive. I assume there's something in phone records and documents. I want the computers. The phones." Nate offers a smile, "Money would be nice, too. And they'll have a lot of it there." How's that for a dangling carrot? "And the next steps may not have quite as much money, but lots more to blow up." Promises for the future?

It's a few more minutes of driving, and Nate pulls into a small side development. Lots of McMansions with groomed lawns and little trees that aren't anywhere near the description 'mature landscaping'. Houses staked out in the middle of nothing but pathetic bush and sapling with pretensions of being a shade tree.

Slowing down, Nate looks at the houses, and within the next ten minutes, there are two dwellings that begin to empty out, wife and kids out to dinner and a movie not to return until.. who knows? He turns his attention to the house that is their target, or the one that he nods at in gesture, his voice is low. "Eight in there. Two are in the basement, readying a shipment out to Russia. Four are in the kitchen, having a beer." Surface thoughts are easy! "Two are upstairs." Beat. "With whores." Hooray for quiet neighborhoods!

Never know who your neighbors are!

Nate looks beside him, and his gaze lingers for a long moment. "I promise I'll tell you all I can."

Promise of money, and future work. With explosions. Damnitall if this guy seems to know just what to say in order to keep Dom's interest. Filling her mind with images of murder and explosions may not be the best of ideas while rolling through suburbia. Good thing she doesn't have a grenade launcher handy or at least one of these cookie-cutter houses would likely be toast.

When the house in question is pointed out she checks it over from the relative safety of his car, eyeballing potential points of entry and exit, open areas, covered areas, and distances. It only takes her a moment. In the next moment she's got a 10mm in either hand, rolling them around her fingers once to catch and cock the hammers with the tips of her thumbs. "One takes front, one takes back. Hit the kitchen first, basement second. Kids upstairs will be too busy tripping over their pants and hormones to put up an orchestrated defense. I'll give it thirty-two seconds from breach to end as a conservative estimate, less if you're coming with."

The promise isn't acknowledged so much as noted for later. She would be cashing that check at her first opportunity, alright.

Cable knows that that isn't all that Domino looks for in a contract, in a job. But, it's the one that he has, the one that he--

Nate nods his head a little distractedly as he looks at the house, and it's an easy enough double-check via IR. Heat is off in the house, so there's no residual signatures there. Lights on, lightbulbs burning. (Heh.. they're not using the environmentally safe flourescents!)

It's no time to get lost in his thoughts, but when she offers the rundown of the best points of entry, time on targets? He can't help but smile. "While we're headed for the kitchen, I'll toss a flashbang into the basement." That should keep them busy until the merchants of death can come and visit. "Shouldn't even mess up too much of the cash." Some bills may fray, but them's the breaks?

Nathan opens the car door and steps out before he opens the back door to grab his own weapons of choice. Shot gun. Something of a streetsweeper. Nothing exotic about it, but very, very deadly. And he'll easily be in close range.

This is going to get messy.

His comments are tacit approval of her tactics, and pulling some shells to put in his hands (he only needs a few!), he begins to make his way towards the front door. "I've got front." No one will see a thing. Large man that is half machine? Naaaaaah.

Thank goodness for his particular abilities.

"I'll give you five to get into place before I start." From the time he's in place, that is. He'll be a hell of a distraction!

A twelve gauge. Someone's looking to leave a lasting impression. A solid hit on any of these kids is going to leave nothing but hamburger behind (thank goodness for having a strong stomach.) Between that and the call for a flashbang? "Are you trying to impress me? They're just a bunch of ignorant idiots, this problem could be solved with a twenty-two."

Not that Domino will deny the man his fun if that's how he wants to play it. It's his gear, not hers. Won't cost her a thing!

Five is awfully generous, unless he means five seconds. "Not planning to use the bushes before we start this dance," she nonchalantly replies while stepping past Cable, guns held low to her sides. On the resistance scale she's rating this run at a flat zero, is there anything here beyond each other that could hope to test their abilities? It's going to be a massacre, plain and simple.

Fortunately, she's gotten to be quite familiar with those of late.

Now, here is a woman who has had her entire evening interrupted. Her previous op was interrupted. Her very routine has been interrupted. She wants her answers and a house full of eight low-lifes is all that's standing in her way. She could wait for Cable to go first, being his operation and all. Or, she could just go around to the back door, kick it open, and start shooting.

Let's hear it for poor impulse control.

That's just it. These aren't little punks. These are headed up the ladder of dangerous thugs. Trusted operatives, as it were. Capo, if it were mob, but it's not. These are the men who are trusted with the millions of dollars that move through the house. These are those men who will go out and kill someone, dumping their bodies in a sewer somewhere.

Okay, maybe Nate didn't mention it...?

"Keep sharp, Dom. They've done this dance before. Remember Nick."

Nate begins his moves towards the front door. The big man can move, quickly and effeciently. He keeps away from the windows, but he's ready to reach out and monitor, just to be sure they're not going to have too many surprises.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Looking at the door, Nate is ready to kick it in. Impulse control?

Two.

One!

There is that second that lingers before he takes a trunk-sized leg and bashes the door in. Like most things in a McMansion, lowest price for contractors is the deal of the day. The door virtually flies off the hinges, the locks exploding as they break. It gets the attention of those in the back kitchen, and as he begins to run in, down the hallway, he's got his flash/bang ready to cook off.. and he tosses it into the basement.

At the burst, the four in the kitchen are rising, reaching for their guns.

How's that for leaving out critical intel? It's a good thing that Domino's lucky, and in this case that she has a timely distraction or two. If there was only one person arriving then the four in the kitchen might have stood a chance. Instead they've got two mutants, born and raised to be the best possible weapon that they could be, coming in from two directions at once.

The back door doesn't explode off of its hinges but does fly open with enough force for splintered wood to fly out across the hall and the inset glass to break as the door strikes the wall. Training or no, she doesn't move like anyone else on the planet. She never got a floorplan for the house, could never see the heat signatures to know where everyone is hiding.

Several shots slam out toward one side of the hallway, punching through drywall and lumber, cleaving through a flatscreen TV and destroying a poster before they shatter through the ceramic tile lining the kitchen countertop. One of the four shots hits one of the four thugs inside, the already mangled hollowpoint ripping a large chunk out of his throat. He'd be out for good in fifteen seconds just from the blood loss.

Heavy combat boots continue to sprint at an angle for the opposite wall until the albino sweeps out into the kitchen in a mid-air roll, pistol shots taking out the kitchen lights, a couple of beer bottles, the Hot Pocket in the microwave, and two more of the guys as they scurry about.

The fourth has himself backed into a corner with an AKS, the cut down automatic rifle shredding the house directly behind her right up until he's managed to lead the sights up to his seemingly faster than life target.

When the gun jams.

Bah, who needs critical intel? Certainly not Domino! (Uh huh..) Nate is pretty sure he'll hear about that, too, along with everything else. But he did give positioning! He did!

Bull in a china shop, that is Nathan Dayspring. The man makes normal furniture look small, and as he barrels down the hallway, and the grenade is tossed, he has to flatten against the wall to keep from being shot from friendly fire. As it is, the glass flying, the drywall pocking?

Messy!

Then, there's the moment of silence. Everyone knows it. That second where the entire world seems to take a breath as a trigger is pulled. It seems unearthly slow, remarkably deliberate, but it is pulled, and the silence is shattered in the instant the shotgun goes off.

It's not only the report of the gun, however. There's a sick, gooey sound that arises as the man with the AKS is no longer recognizable. Even by his mother. Mixed with the drywall, the glass, the bits of microwave with the guts of a Hot Pocket oozing (was that Meatball and Mozzerella? My favourite!), comes now grey matter, bits of skull, and an eye that still is somewhat attached to the optic nerve as it went flying.

There's more than a little commotion going on downstairs, as well as upstairs, and Nate looks at Domino for a long moment. "You go low, I'll go high." Downstairs already has the benefit of the flash/bang, and upstairs? Who knows? Could be the whores are armed too!

One pistol on the last kitchen baddie. One pistol on the lumbering hulk that's closing the distance.

Dom never needs to pull the trigger.

The last of the four goes down in a mashed spray of gore, not unlike Gallagher with a watermelon.

"I had him fine."

Yeah, and 'thanks.'

She'll take one of the unopened beers on her way out the door, they're not quite through leaving their message in this place. When the direction is given she doesn't waste time debating it, merely inclining her head a few degrees then leveling one of her sidearms to put the kid with half of a throat out of his misery before storming through the rest of the house.

It's a good thing that they work quickly. The flashbang's effects are immediate but they do taper off sooner rather than later. It's never a long-term solution. She doesn't descend the stairs so much as jump straight to the bottom, landing low with her pistols out, questing for targets.

One of the guys has an older model M16 rifle, half-blindly hosing the stairs with fifty-five grain jacketed slugs. For Dom time doesn't slow so much as her perception momentarily blips out then struggles to catch up, diving for the side and leaping behind cover as one of those bullets ends up missing her face by less than an inch. It is possible for her to dodge bullets, when she can see them coming.

A moment later the Armalite gets ripped from his hands, the barrel bent and the flash hider a mangled mess from where a hot loaded pistol round catches it.

"OW, fu--!"

Two pistols orchestrating a Mozambique drill end him in a heartbeat.

"I know. You'll still be up on me." On the body counts, that is.

Nate watches the way Domino dispatches the glaring throat-wounded one. It's both dispassionate and.. oddly compassionate to him. Not as if he'll be calling a warning. Not that it's needed, anyway.

Now to find the stairway. The time for jumping around in pants is probably well over, and Nate doesn't have the benefit of that flash bang that he'd tossed into the basement. Instead?

Taking the stairs two at a time, he's sure that they've stagger camped; one on the landing, the other further down a hall. He's at distinct disadvantage, but he'll be using that. A smile creeps across his face, and he tosses a shotgun shell up the stairs and yells convincingly (as if there are others with him!) "Fire in the hole!"

Instead of hunkering down, however, Nate barrels up the rest of the stairs even as the guy at the top is looking at the shot gun shell, it slowly registering that he's not going to have to take co-- er-BLAM!-

--ver.

There is a now a giant, gaping hole where there had been a chest, the heart and lungs filled with so much shot that a sieve would be jealous of all the holes through which to allow water (and blood) to pass.

There is a moment of silence upstairs before a second gun on burst shatters the air- the guy at the end of the corridor also figured it out and is endeavoring to fill Cable full of holes.

Compassionate? There's guns in that kitchen and Dom still counts five seconds on the kid's clock before he passes out. She didn't speed things along out of sympathy so much as she didn't feel like taking a bullet to the spine. If her acts of self preservation happen to also be compassionate then she may well be the savior of mankind.

Go her!

(Why does this feel so familiar?)

It's perhaps an odd time for the question to cross her mind, hiding out behind a furnished wetbar in the basement while the last guy on her list causes booze, glass, and splinters of wood to rain down around her from the 9mm SMG he's cutting loose with.

(Is it because I've worked in the company of mercs before and this guy knows how to hold his own and be a team player?)

One of her sidearms angles up and backward, squeezing off a shot that ricochets twice and causes the other guy to jump back with a sharp swear.

(I've done that before... This is different somehow. But how?)

With the SMG ruined he pulls out a .45 and starts blasting away all over again, yelling incoherent nonsense as he dumps the mag in her direction.

(I've barely worked with the guy, that upstate hit on AIM was barely nothing at a--that bastard just ruined a bottle of Gold Miner Agave. Okay, that's it.)

The .45 goes silent, its last round spent. Before he can think to reload, figuring that he must have capped that albino bitch by now, Dom's up and over the bullet-riddled counter and back on her feet with a large, compensated black pistol leveled square at his head.

"You suck."

BLAM!

There's something unsettling about a large man with a shotgun that is walking forward towards a somewhat smaller guy who is more than willing to burst. One is down, and the other?

The bursts look as if they'll catch him in the chest, they do! But there's no blood.

There is torn clothing, sure.

No blood.

Cable levels the shotgun, but before he shoots, he asks a question, "Where's the boss?" Yes, it was deliberate that they'd come when the man was out. Sending a message, as it were. Making the man scurry so he can be tracked. It worked with the roaches in the city, and Nate is pretty damned sure it'll work now. That was the plan.

Why isn't he going down? It can be seen in the man's eyes as his finger squeezes out another burst, the muzzle flashing, and the barrel dances up. Before it can hit his head, however, the bullets stop. And fall.

"Where is he?"

Nate is slowly walking towards him, the shotgun levelled.

"Fuck you!" is sneered as the sounds of bullets become something more sustained, if only for a second.

A smile creases the mutant's face, however, as there comes a single blast. The wall behind him becomes a work of art in pointillism; and a little finer as it's made with a different bodily fluid than shit or piss. The man looks stunned, and the gun falls from his hand in a slow motion effect.

Spinning around, Nate looks around for any more. The whores will probably be..

The process of kicking down doors begins.

As the second body drops to the floor in the basement Domino flicks the decockers on her pistols, spinning them both around crooked index fingers as they're brought upward to shoulder level.

(Alright. I feel better.)

As the shotgun slams out once more with a door and window rattling thunder she brushes some of the broken glass aside on the bar counter and sets both of her sidearms down, reaching for a yet unscathed bottle and twisting the cap off. The screaming, the sound of doors getting kicked open...

She'll just kick back and have herself a drink.

(The guy knows what he's doing. I can finally take the training wheels off. Jesus, it's been too long.)

The commotion from upstairs continues to fall on deaf ears, the albino lowering her head and releasing a long sigh as her eyes go unfocused toward the mouth of the bottle.

(This stuff ain't half bad.)

Pale blue eyes dart back to the thug with a large caliber hole perforating his skull, blood steadily pooling out beneath his body. The bottle gets lifted in his direction. "Cheers."

The second door that Nate kicks open reveals the two 'ladies', and they're obviously hiding in the master bathroom. He's got the gun out, but looking at them for a long moment, he waves the gun with a growled, "Get out. Go home."

The girls look absolutely terrified, not trusting for a second that they're not going to get shot in the back or something. After all, that's what -they- would do. -They- that are lying broken, bloody and dead on the floor outside.

"You don't want to be here."

Turning around, Nate begins digging around, looking for exactly what it is he wanted. Phones. Hard drives. External drives. USBs. Searching, he does find a few things; cell phones, and before he makes his way downstairs, he sets a tiny charge. The place is going to go up, and soon.

Once he takes the stairs two by two, he calls out, "Dom! Take it or leave it, but there should be some money down there!" That is met with a lopsided grin. The first he's allowing. Which will she take? The good booze, or start digging for the cash that'll allow her to buy good booze- if she allows herself the luxury, that is?

"Rigging to blow in 30." Beat. "That would be seconds."

Time enough for everything, right? It'll also give him time to pull the laptop and make a run out to the car.. and hopefully get some distance.

Pistols re-holstered and bottle still in hand Domino goes back to whistling an idle tune while nosing around the basement, as if she had never been interrupted earlier in the day. Both of the bodies are checked over, as are their weapons, the next note from her lips quickly pitching downward as she sees the mangled mess that the SMG is now in.

(Eh. It's obsolete, anyway. How about over here, what's for sale?)

A loose chain hangs from a metal door, unlocked and cracked open. As the albino nudges the door open with the tip of a finger her pale eyes slowly grow wider. As does the lopsided grin that starts to edge its way across blacked out lips.

"Well hellooo, girlfriend."

Guns. Guns. Cash! A whole vault just full of the shit!

Then Cable yells out that he's going to blow the joint.

"Thought you didn't want any collateral damage!" she shouts back in a sudden flash of outrage. It's quickly followed with a frustrated sigh as she flings the bottle aside, breaking open against the concrete foundation. "This is so not cool..." gets muttered under her breath as she grabs a nearby bag, upturns it to clear it out, then starts shoveling arms and cash into it by the handful.

By the time she comes sprinting up the stairs (also two at a time) she nearly brushes shoulders with the bigger, half-metal man on his own way out the door. (Timing.)

"You're an asshole!"

If there is anything that will actually get Nate to laugh is the sound of outrage in Domino's voice as she questions him while offers her opinion on the matter at hand in those tones. "I'm not blowing it sky high," comes from the kitchen, and footsteps move to the living room, or whats left of the downstairs. The girls are running out the back door, and soon enough, running down the road. Not a chance in hell that they'll be calling the police.

"Setting it on fire. Arson, so there won't be any insurance."

"You done yet?"

Looking up from his handiwork, Nate is looking for her. He can hear her heading up the stairs, and that grin is plastered on his face for a moment. No, really! He's not laughing at her!

"Made your decisions?"

Straightening, he holds his hand out for the bag so the pair can make a clean run for the car. "Time to go." And, it is.

Out the door now, Nate's at a run towards the car, pulling the door open and almost OFF the hinges. Oops?

Is he offering to carry the bag? Fine, so long as he doesn't try to cut into Domino's earnings of the evening. She practically shoves the bag against his sternum.

"Yeah, I've made my decision. You're an asshole!"

(Did we not just go over this?)

Back outside, back to the car, Dom's through the door, in her seat, door closed..and with a battle-warmed ten millimeter sidearm back into one of her palms. Aimed right for the driver that's dumping himself in behind the wheel.

With his hands full of loot bag.

(Gotcha.)

The blazing inferno that the house behind them is about to become will be a lovely bit of ambience for what's to follow. Nothing like a fire-side interrogation on a brisk evening night.

"This concludes the formal part of our date. Now we move onto Truth or Dare."

Nate watches the grace in which Domino leaps into the car; all one seemingly fluid motion to him. He's in his seat, the bag tossed into the back seat. Not that anyone will see it, mind, and he pulls out from the house.

The residence goes up like a flash inferno. It begins in three sections of the house. Upstairs and two spots downstairs. The fire will take on all that flammable, cut-rate, cheap contractor crap, and the pressboard McMansion will be in cinders long before the fire department can get there.

Putting some distance between them and the house, Nate doesn't even have to look at the gun to know that there's one levelled at him. Does he look the least bit shocked?

Nope.

Alarmed?

Nopers.

"Date? Oh. I guess it was. Bought you dinner, but sorry I didn't get us out to the movies." Nate looks at Domino now even as he's making the turn out of the development. "We could catch a late showing?"

Though, the game 'Truth or Dare', he's not quite familiar with, and he scowls at his gap of knowledge. "I assume that is pretty much self explanatory? I choose one or the other?"

Sigh. "You're ruining my sarcasm," Domino replies with a flat tone. "In case you haven't noticed I've just put my entire life on hold because you decided to send me another one of your mystery messages, again. Job's done. That place will never be the same. Now, you owe me some answers."

And by gods, where to start...

"We've got a lot of territory to cover, 'Cable,' such as what the big deal is with that gold coin you somehow knew would be in the same room I was about to raid. We didn't tell anyone about that op, so how the fuck did you know about it?"

Yep. That comes before the nagging feeling that she somehow knows this man. Way, way before. Her privacy. Her life. Both had been completely disregarded.

Now she knows the man that had been behind it.

Now she's got the drop on him.

She'll just take that control back now, thank you.

Nate rolls his head back in a soft, "Ah" sound at the correction, and he looks back at the road, turning onto the major road through town. It's going to be a long ride, home, but perhaps a ride that will keep his mind off other things.

"Sorry." No, actually he's not.

Whistling actually begins as if this is a Sunday drive on their way home to the City, and Nate nods his head slowly. "I suppose you deserve an answer there. That gold coin is going to be key later." How's that for a non-answer? "Beyond that? Well, I can't really say. I just knew?"

Heh. That'll go over well.

"If this is how the rest of the conversation is going to go then things aren't going to end well for you," Domino warns in a low, even tone.

A key. For something. Somewhere. At some point in time. Offering cryptic responses is her forte, damnitall!

(Alright. Fine. Let's just go over to the giant fucking elephant in the room and kill it with its own ivory next.)

The real question isn't what she wants to ask so much as how the hell is she supposed to ask it? 'You make me feel funny?' Yeah, no.

"Three jobs, now. Three. Totaling seven hours and twenty six minutes." Here she pauses, her frown growing deeper as she fights with herself to find the right words to follow up with.

"Why does it seem like you know me?"

God help him, Nate can't help but smirk in the face of the warning. He can't. He's trying, but he simply can't.

Nate looks from the road to Dom and back again, trying all the world not to second guess her. He's not reading surface thoughts- wouldn't do any good anyway, what with the fact that he's guessing that she's pretty confused and is looking for answers, if her posture, her manner and mien are any indications. He'd never get a coherent thought out of her!

"Yes, three jobs."

The turn signal is turned on as Nate merges onto the highway, and he accelerates to match the traffic. No flooring it. This is a time for her, for them.. but the question that follows does cause something of a slump of his shoulders.

"We've worked together before," Nate begins slowly and carefully. "Have you been having those moments where it just seems familiar, but you don't know why?" He looks beside him again, keeping an eye on the road. "I'm sorry, Neena. I don't know if you'll forgive me or not."

Maybe if she knew better... If only she knew better. This guy's a psychic. He could find out things about her without her realizing it. He's a mercenary, he has money and connections. He's..what, from the future? There's no telling what might be the deal there.

What Domino does know is what she hears. What she hears is her first name. Spoken so casually. With that hint of familiarity to it. Before she has a chance to respond to the observation he makes right before it, perfectly summing up what's been lurking within her mind.

He just..nailed it. Without trying. Drove the tack with an ultra-precise shot.

She never saw it coming.

"What the fuck's going on..." she demands next, though the fight, the very soul has escaped her tone until there's nothing left but the weakened voice of someone who has just found themselves feeling so hopelessly lost. It's one of those exceedingly rare moments where her entire life has been turned completely upside down.

Nate has absolutely no idea what it is that she remembers of him, if anything. Does she know he's a psi? Does she know that he's from the future, and what that truly means for him? That he is there to protect the timestream, or what he believes to be protecting it?

A thousand questions all vie for his voice, to be asked. And he simply can't find it in himself to ask. Not if it will cause her more pain.

He can hear it in her voice now, however. The sound of a lost soul that is discovering exactly how lost she really is. It's the understanding of the lack of understanding, and it's killing him.

After a few seconds, Nate looks away again, at the road fully now. "We've worked together quite a few times. And, we came upon a mission." It wasn't good. "After, I needed to give you some peace." Nate couldn't watch as his friend, his confidante and then lover had seemed to lose her way after it. And he needed to go. "And part of that peace was to leave. Though, I did have things that I eventually had to attend."

Looking back at her, it sounds as if the world itself simply doesn't exist beyond the scope of the car. "You're not a cold killer, Dom. That's not you. Everything is for a reason, and it's your own." He offers a weak smile, and turns his attention back to the road, "Even if it seems at the time you may be doing things for the wrong reason, it's right."

Exhaling softly in a sigh, Nate shakes his head, and drops his natural arm to the seat, driving with the one bionic arm. "I've been checking up on you lately, and... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you in Latveria. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you after."

There's silence in the car as he turns his head back to watch Dom, and the emotion is plain in that good eye of his. "That's what I mean about the fact that I'm not sure you'll forgive me." Well, for being absent AND playing with her mind a little!

Dom might be inclined to suggest starting from the beginning though she really has no understanding of how tall of an order that would be when dealing with this man, not to mention jumping back and forth in the timeline would probably make her lose what little self control she still retains. Regardless, she's a woman that likes to have control of her life and what happens within it. With just a few words spoken, she's lost every sliver of it. The very gun in her hand practically feels foreign and unusual.

It's the same set of pistols she's favored for over eight years.

Each sentence that follows hits with even more weight, causing that rock solid foundation which she had built the last decade of her life upon (or had it been much less than that..?) to crumble all the more.

A mission.

Not a cold killer

Been checking up on her.

Latveria.

"Shut up," she suddenly cuts in, falling into her natural defensive reflex.

Anger.

"If we had been on a mission then why the hell don't I remember it!" she nearly spits out, tension flashing through her muscles until she becomes that rock solid foundation while the world around her falls to dust. "I would remember it, I would remember you, I would remember something, goddamnit!"

There's almost a note of hysteria skipping into her voice as she gestures wildly with the pistol yet in hand, "How do you even know me, Cable? I don't know you!"

"You do remember me. Or, at least part of you does. That's why you answered those texts. Not by texting me back, but by listening to them. Believing them to be important," Nate reminds gently. "The way we worked together tonight is the way we always have. A team. Sure, there were times when I stayed back and you went with others, but..." A team.

He doesn't speak to the fact that she doesn't recall the mission. Even now, Nate doesn't want it to crop up. Though now, he's not sure it all can be avoided. In the least.

Traveling the highway, there aren't many 'rest stops', but there is the occasional gas station along the way, and it's one of those that Nate pulls into. Off the road, the car is parked off to the side of the station, out by the air pump, and its sign that declares that one has to pay $.25 for AIR.

Now, Nate turns the car off, and shifts such that he can see her. "I'm a psi. Not as strong as I should be, but I'm a telepath. And a telekenetic. That means that I can modify people's perceptions of me, of what they're seeing," See? No guns in the back seat, nope! Nor is there a bag of money and arms! "And I can modify memories."

Reaching up, Nate obviously wants to stroke the side of Dom's cheek with the fingers of his non-bionic hand. "I wanted to give you peace from me. From what you thought you'd done. I had hoped that you'd realize that it wasn't as bad as you'd thought, but..." A sad smile rises, "I wanted to take away your pain and your self-loathing."

"Those messages weren't signed," Domino carefully replies. "There was no way to trace them. Should I have ignored them rather than try to get to the bottom of it?"

The team interaction, though. That was something she had felt. Even on the ride to the location. Uncomfortable silence, and..something more.

To Cable's credit it's good that he pulls over for the next bit. She's starting to feel closed in. The thought of stealing a car and going her own way is more than just on the table, it's looking more promising by the minute.

When she didn't think it could get any worse? It does. She can't recall when it had started but for the last year she had an inherent distrust for any psychic. If anyone attempted to prod about within her mind she had immediately turned hostile. She nearly got into it with Psylocke just for talking to her through thought, alone.

Where had that fear originated from..? Certainly not from Project Armageddon.

Now, here, being told that this man had been messing with her memories, had been tampering with something that he had no right to mess about with... Beneath that ghostly white skin the lines of her jaw tighten, that razored edge returning to a glacier-cold stare.

(He messed with my head...)

Like a viper lashing out at a vole the gun drops into her lap, mercifully freeing up her fist before it comes sailing right for the non-metallic portion of Cable's face.

"You recognized the format. How often, in the last year, have you received unsigned texts telling you what you should do?"

He deserves it. He does. Nate knows it in his heart of hearts that he deserves it. And there's something in there that is painful. His name. She doesn't remember it. The bits and pieces she remembers, that she's putting together, and his name isn't part of it.

Still, he allows the blow to land. His head rocks back at the blow, and there's a hint of blood that shows at the corner of his mouth, and he shakes his head as if his brain's rattling in his head. The cut's not there long, however. One of the tricks of the organism that inhabits his body, that he does have some control over. Healing.

"Let me take it off," he asks. "I haven't touched anything else. All I can think of is something happened that would cause you--" Nate would have to run tests. To fix her.

Did she recognize the format..? Did she really? A subconscious trigger, at least in part remembering how to react to those messages? There hadn't been a lot of text to format, but what would he stand to gain by lying about it?

It's a moot point, anyway. In another moment Domino damn near breaks her own hand against his face. Unlike Cable, she doesn't heal quite so quickly. It hurts. There's an immediate throbbing within her knuckles with every pulse of her heart. It's something which she will wake up feeling tomorrow. Something that she cannot possibly forget. A reminder of what happened here.

It's not over yet.

Her reaction isn't that much different from a cat that suddenly finds itself backed into a corner, carefully debating whether fighting or fleeing is the best option. When the offer to undo the damage is made she twists about in her seat, pushing away until her back is pressed up tight against the door. Allowing herself as much room as she can possibly afford for when she points that fallen gun at his face next, hammer cocked, finger on the trigger.

She knows exactly how much further that trigger needs to travel. Another quarter millimeter drops the sear, releases the hammer, strikes the firing pin, sets off the primer, ends her problems.

Stops her pain.

She could do this. The power is hers to command, the control grasped within the palm of her hand. Every fiber in her being is telling her that it would be a good idea, a tactical decision, an act of self preservation. She should do this.

She can do this.

She will...

Nate doesn't look all that concerned with the fact that her hand will be throbbing by tomorrow. Some ibuprofin, or perhaps her drink of choice courtesy of the house they'd just departed, and things should be fine there. And, there was the decided need to lash out at him. At least it wasn't--

--the gun. Yes.

He watches the fight or flight, he can -feel- it in her, causing those muscles to tense, those nerve endings ready to take her far, far away from here. And Nate knows that she can, and will leave.

The gun, as it rises, is given a look, and his expression hasn't truly changed from that sad, apologetic one that he'd fashioned when the whole conversation began. She asked, and he told.

"I'm Nathan," he begins again, and his voice is quiet. He's not going to believe that she can't pull that trigger. She's the only one that he simply wouldn't stop. "Nate."

Now, however, he looks into her eyes, trying to lock his gaze with hers as he searches the depths. A presence.. a lingering, almost familiar presence that she's undoubtedly felt there before. Certainly during moments of intimacy. He wants to free her, to undo the work that he'd done, fully believing it was the 'right' thing to do.

How many times, again, has he screwed up? Or at least been perceived to have failed?

This one counts, thank you.

But, the touch is there. Gentle. And he feels for that spot that he knew he'd been in what seems like an eternity ago. There, the block is lifted. Or rather, the wall begins to come down, slowly but surely so the rush isn't quite as dibilitating as it could be. There is some things in there that he simply can't reach.. and that? That's for another day.

The introduction should do something. There should be some spark of recognition in there. If there is, Dom's not showing it. Set jaw. Piercing glare. Silent. Unmoving.

Willing herself to pull that one finger closer into her palm.

The eye contact... Somehow her jaw only tenses further, her head turning slightly to the side as if she's suddenly afraid of blood splashing across her face, but her eyes remain locked in place when she warns "Don't..." in a clipped, abrupt voice.

Shoulders square further. Muscles tense until she practically grows to become more imposing, the armor-wrapped cords within that outstretched arm showing in greater relief. She would repeat that one word again if she thought it would do any good.

If she thought that she'd be able to say it.

There's a point where the internal struggle looks like it may well destroy her from the stress, alone. Willing all of her feelings into tempered anger, struggling within a failing battle to keep that control for herself. Then that tension begins to soften. Anger begins to bleed away into an unidentifiable mix of released emotions. The albino's jaw relaxes, looking for a moment like she's struggling to say something else, possibly even to repeat that name. Nate.

Suddenly the gun comes away, hiding half of her face against the warmed metal of the slide. Eyes close as she goes deathly still. Fight failed. Time to flee. She can't make eye contact any longer as she reaches back for the door handle, quickly trying to escape the confines of the car.

It's done. Nate can feel the softening, and he wants to move in, to reach for her to hold her, but that's not the kind of person he is. Though he can hear his name lingering, or fully believes that it's there, waiting to be spoken, he doesn't move.

What he wouldn't give to hear it.

In the next second, and yes, he's out of her head, Domino has moved to that second part of the reflex, and looks all the world to him as if she's about ready to claw her way out of the car, and away from him. "Dom.. don't go." He doesn't want to keep his voice low. He wants to be sure he's heard, and his tones sound very closer to a plead. "Don't go. We'll drive back to the city, and I'll drop you off where ever you want me to."

Just don't go. It's been too long.

But is that him being selfish?

Nate's voice drops again to something just barely above a whisper, but he doesn't dare touch her. "Tell me what you want me to do." Just don't leave. Please.

What does she want him to do..?

It's like she's just had her reality ripped in half and she's left hanging over the ravine. One side holds a hardened assassin that needs no one but herself. The other side holds a woman that believes in doing the right thing, and who is very much not alone. Which one is real? Which one is she supposed to be?

Pale fingertips grip the handle to open the door but fall short of fully opening it. The mental struggle has now fully manifested in a physical sense. Freedom in one hand. A gun in the other. Caught within the great divide that is her own memory. Those things that she's worked so hard for so many years to completely bury, to erase until nothing but darkness remained. Cable, Nathan, had just uncovered years' worth of her history that she had thought never existed. Things which should have disappeared and never returned.

(Never get emotionally involved with anyone. Ever.)

She never could stay true to her third rule.

He came into her life. He shut himself out of her life so she could go on her own. He came back into her life and undid it all, and now he wants her to stay? As if it's anything that he deserves! The feeling of having been used, manipulated all of this time...

No.

Nathan used to be someone she could trust. He used to be a partner, a friend, a lover. Never before has she felt so betrayed.

When her pale stare falls back upon Cable's face there's a sadness to it, that felt betrayal visible within her soul. For a moment she does nothing more than look at him, still and silent once more. When she looks away it isn't off to the side but straight down then away, opening the door behind herself then stepping out into the cool night air.