2013.05.06 - Excitebike

New York City. Regardless of the borough, it is a city that doesn't sleep. It stands to reason, then, that all facets of the city truly doesn't sleep. The good with the bad, or the bad with the good, depending upon one's view of the world.

Regardless of view, it's all too true. Cars rumble to life in the side-streets of the Bronx. Places where beat cops simply don't go anymore, and for good reason. Tags are spraypainted all over the old red-brick buildings, on the metal doors that cover the buildings that struggle to stay in business.

Groups of youths laugh loudly, jockeying for 'shotgun' in the cars, each brandishing their pistols, checking for the 'n'th time to see if their guns are 'hot', as it were.

It's initiation night tonight, and the target for the new guys? Well.. certainly they'll find some unlucky shmuck before the night is over.

New York may never sleep, but you know who does? That would be Domino. She's constantly getting torn between lives, between the eastern coast and Madripoor she spends more time in the air than she does sitting in bars getting hammered these days, which is a problem! Now, yet again, she's back in the Big Apple with things to do and money to claim. She's even got a disposable vehicle for her brief visit back to the area. She had been somewhat specific this time, she wanted a bike.

She got a bike, alright. One designed for dirt, knobby tires and all. After a few dark glares and choice words she went on her way, zipping around on the smaller, lighter bike. At least the shocks ate up the pock-marked city streets with ease. Even the mess that is the Bronx roadway proves no challenge for the thing. The worst part isn't the ride, it's the image. But, at least she's back to touring the city on two wheels instead of four.

From the rumble of engines to the sound of tires squealing, the cars with gang-bangers within begin to pull out without the proper turnsignals or yielding to traffic- not that there's much in this area. Other than the sound of the two-stroke, powerful though it may be!

As Dom works on her 'tour' of the Bronx, there may be some notice that headlights are turning off in cars around her, and those tinted windows, for the moment, are rolled up.

There's something..all too familiar about this... Domino -knows- the electric feeling that's in the air tonight. Trouble's brewing. She's experienced the same thing when she was a teenager, that first push toward what led to her becoming a mercenary in the first place. Back then her luck factor had proved to be enough to get through unharmed. This time she's got a lot more than luck riding the line.

The noisy bike engine is killed, momentum allowing her to quietly roll down the pitted street toward the gathering of cars nearby. Already she feels exposed out here, up against who knew what on this ratty cycle which offered nothing for protection.

But, that's okay. She didn't need the protection.

''You're off the clock, Domino. You're not getting paid for this. Yeah, call it community service. I'm such a damned hero.''

The lights are off, but the engines are on.. at least on the cars.. and as they roll, it's obvious that they slow at certain intersections, looking for street lights, lights over doorways.. people.

Windows are rolled down, and as they come towards her (on the opposite side of the street), luck has it that she's not yet noticed, so intent is their attention on targets.

Until, of course, they're almost passed.

Windows roll down on the other side of the cars now, and it looks as if a game is going to start.. a game of:

Pick the biker off her bike!

Some things Domino can't allow to stand. They just cannot be allowed to continue on their current course. One of those situations? When -she's- being targeted. And for what, a bunch of gun-happy idiots in modded cars?

In a flash she's got the bike's engine popping and clacking away with renewed life, sounding like a ticked off giant metal hornet as she opens the throttle and cuts a line through the intersection, into the other lane, right for the front of the lead car.

WHUMP!

The front wheel snaps up off of the pavement. The knobby rear tire finds purchase within the aftermarket bumper, ripping its way up onto the hood (thank goodness they had lowered the suspension on that car,) and with that loud brapping and the rattling of knobby tires drumming across the roof she runs clear over the top of their car and skips off from the trunk, zipping past the next car in line at full throttle.

Catch this, assholes!

As Domino comes towards them, there is the *whiz* of bullets coming from the cars, but the chances of them actually hitting her now that she's on the move? The chances are better that the lead car will catch friendly fire-

And it does.

There's a panicked sound of, 'Yo bitch, what the fuck?!' followed by, 'You fuckin' crazy!'

Bullet holes land in the rear window of the lead car, and as those within begin to come up from cover, Dom's onto the next car...

Now, the city is filled with eyes and ears. It's just a matter of for whom and why. Some are 'for the good' and others, 'not so much'. Tonight, in the streets, there is no Professor Xavier to pull a mutant aside and offer home and hearth. No..

Tonight, there is something of a collector on the streets, watching the gang-bangers (as there is someone within their ranks that he's interested in).. but what is this?

Know what really sucks? When the person you're trying to gang up on turns out to be armed as well. And a better shot.

Any reprieve from gunfire doesn't last for long, the bike skidding and turning to a halt as the rider comes back with an arm held out at length, filled with the considerable maw of a ten millimeter pistol. Closely spaced shots slam out in rapid, expert succession toward the rear window of the car furthest back.

Maybe Domino will hit the people inside, maybe not. That's their problem, not hers. Either way, the hunted has now become the hunter.

Go on, try to make a run for it. She's not feeling all that forgiving anymore. They tried to kill her! It's personal. There's a message which needs to be sent. This isn't a professional hit to carry out then disappear, this one's all about how badly she can beat these idiots down. Real shock and awe stuff.

There'll be no escape for these kids tonight.

At the sound of return fire, the front car slams on the gas, and the tires go skidding, the back end fishtailing (at least they don't have the front-wheel drive crap!) in the attempt of the tires to gain purchase. The second, seeing the first trying to get the hell out of there at the sound of return fire, doesn't have quite the reactions as the driver in the first.

With the back window being completely shot out, the 'safety glass' being pulverized at the impact, there's some pathetic attempt at shooting, but it's a pretty miserable attempt. Shots go wild, ending up impacting buildings.

It's not a moment, however, before their tires squeal, but rather than anything that is even vaguely controlled, the car swings around and slams into the side of a building, running up the sidewalk, taking out a newsstand, the magazines and papers strewn everywhere.

Binoculars come out now, IR.. which makes the night seem like day. And there.. there she is.. guns blazing. The man smiles, and takes some photos.. just in case. He's waiting, patiently.. silently begging for one of the idiots to do.. something. Anything to her so he can get a sample. But, from the looks of it? Won't be necessary. Just a formality on his part.

With barely a chirp from the rear wheel Domino's bike snaps back up onto one wheel, rattling away as the engine revs higher and the bike launches forward. The car that's off the side of the road, conveniently missing its rear window, that's downright trivial. On a good night those guys would have been left alone as she ran down their friends.

Not tonight.

As the bike and dark-clad rider fly past it might be possible to miss the clunk of something heavy and metal bouncing off of the trunk before dropping neat as can be between the two kids in the back seat.

A primed hand grenade.

Madripoor might really be starting to change that woman.

The results aren't witnessed. By the time anyone could find it or try to do something about it they would be out of time. A proper survival instinct would have them throwing themselves out of the doors and flat onto the sidewalk. Even then the odds of their survival aren't that great, but they have a chance. 1 in 85,206, to be precise. Easy odds for her, she's merely extending the favor.

The other car, that'll be an interesting chase. The bike accelerates faster and maneuvers better but will never keep up with speed. She's gotta cut them to the chase, on an open road they'll be gone and that will be the end of it. Full throttle ahead, all she has to do is watch for her opening...

There's no chance that the occupants are going to make it out of the car, even with the added impetus of a grenade.

Fire in the hole!


 * WHOOMP*BANG*

The car's interior explodes with a bit of light, and fire.. and sound. There's a concussion sound as it goes off, rocking the nearby area, and filling it with more than a few fragments. There will be skull fragments, and brain bits.. and muscle.. all mixed in with metal.

That is four fewer gang-bangers in the city. If it weren't for the grenade, someone out there might actually give the albino merc a key to the city.

Or a room in a cage. With no key.

The other two cars, well.. the first was getting the hell out of there, and the second--

What is it that they say about running from zombies? You don't have to be fast. Just be faster than the slowest person.

The second car isn't all that quick off the line, but finally, with wheels spinning, it's getting the hell out of Dodge itself.

The first car's run its red light, and is making a left hand turn to get the hell away from the wing-ding on steriods of the dirtbike driven by the maniac. The driver skirts in and out around cars, their own 'shotgun' replaced by someone not quite so injured from the back seat. Leaning out of the window, the pistol held flat/sideways, he's looking for the crazy bitch.

The opening, well.. Domino is nothing if not lucky. Alleys dot the city, some long forgotten, boarded with wood long now rotten. Strange that the albino's been studying up on maps of old NYC. Sometimes? Stuff like that comes in handy!

And the eyes watch from their vantage point, though the water is in danger of losing Domino. Somehow, however, he'll find her again. There's that distinct feeling that a woman like that can't stay down, silent for long. Not before she is forced to surface once again...

''Can I catch those guys? Yeah, I can catch those guys.''

The bike shoots down an alley, the racket from the engine even louder within the confined space as Domino rolls through shallow pools of putrid water and loose bits of rotting trash, cutting through to intercept at least one of the cars.

Odds of one taking a left at the next intersection and--whoa!

Two weeks ago Trevor broke up with his latest girlfriend. Got so mad that he put his fist through the door. It took him up until three nights ago to afford a replacement. The ruined one got thrown out back in the alley, toward the giant green dumpster.

More or less.

A slightly warped door with a large dent in the center happens to make for a perfect speeding dirtbike-sized ramp. When Domino comes out of the alley she does so airborne, the bike laterally rolling over both lanes beyond, -right as one of the cars comes along.- There's plenty of altitude to clear the modified car, the bike giving a *BRAPP!* in triumph as its lone occupant sweeps her left hand back around, once more filled with four pounds of pistol. As the bike twists about, as open sights start to align with the speeding car's front windshield...

Blam-Blam-Blam-Blam-Blam-Blam!

With another abrupt chirp from the tires the dirtbike touches back down in the alley on the other side of the street, rattling away as it takes off like a loosed arrow in pursuit of the last car. The odds of anyone having survived in car number two, well...

That would be 1 in 94,257.

Gone.. she's gone. Crazy bitch is gone. Now, they can breathe a little easier. ''Take a deep breath, and lets find a target. Turn this mother fuckin' night around and get some blood..''

The first car is down the road, lights out, and the second begins its cruise. Spots are switched out. Backseat lookout is now up front, and the slightly injured former 'shotgun' is now lookout.

Too bad Domino is seen a little too late.

As if there was a hope in hell?

Odds against them? 94,257 to 1.

The sound of the two-stroke reverberating in the concrete canyon brings lookout around, and all the occupants in the car seem to attempt to bring their guns to bear at the same time. Not a chance.

The destruction of the windshield is even more remarkable than the blowing out of the other car's back window in that not only were bullets flying in, there were bullets flying out as well. One set a great deal more deadly than the other.

As to which was which?

The car veers off and smashes into a busstop park bench, riding up, and the dead foot still is fully down on the gas pedal, though the tires don't have the purchase to push the car forward anymore.

Now, the first car.. down the city streets. Bullet holes pock the metal, but so far, those occupants are still alive within their chosen vehicle.

There's more than one way to catch something that can move faster than Domino can.

Chunky bike tires chatter in protest as the lightweight cycle is brought to another quick stop, the third car heading out into the distance. The city streets are narrow but largely straight, it makes city planning so much easier when it's all laid out in a giant grid. Distance from car to bike is approximately six hundred feet and growing. Velocity is ..well, honestly she can't tell from here but it looks pretty damned quick. She'd be real lucky to break triple digits with the dirtbike and by that point the ride isn't what one would consider comfortable.

Velocity of a two hundred grain bullet fired from a 10mm Auto: Around 1,300 feet per second out of a four and a half inch barrel.

Dom has a pistol in hand once more, resting the top of the warmed slide against her forehead as she collects her breath. Out, up, adjust for windage, elevation--

To Hell with it.

Blam!

Odds of striking a tire, of pegging the driver, of hitting one of his buddies and having -him- shoot the driver, she's got the whole range of immediately likely, and unlikely, possibilities figured out. Simply striking the car at this range, that'd be 1 in 615,422. They only go up from there.

It's her kind of gamble.

They're convinced, absolutely convinced that the insane bitch is gone. Lost. Though, the sound of a cellphone's ringtone can faintly be heard in the wreckage.

And it goes to voicemail.

Those in that first car- they're out again. Deep breath, and some bitch is gonna die. Time to get blood, and now's the time to--


 * splatter*

Brains. All over the windshield.

There's a shout that rises from inside the car, and the sound of tires squealing comes again, though there's no visibility, thanks to the red and grey splatter all over the interior of the car. (That won't detail out easily! Harder to clean than vomit!)

The car lurches forward, though there's no real control. The 'shotgun' jumps out and is dragged a full 25' before he rolls and slams into a lightpole...

Interesting...

The watcher watches from a distance, his attention upon that fascinating .. mutant. Has to be. And a smile curls upon his face as he begins to work out his trap.. and how he can hold one such as her.

Intriguing beast that she is.

A car at speed without any control is an unpredictable thing. One which continues to accelerate as the driver's foot drops down onto the pedal won't keep going in a straight line for long. All it takes is a little veer to either side, whether it hits a parked car, curb, or lamp post. Domino watches it violently spin out to the side and start to roll down both lanes before the initial Crunch! reaches her ears, throwing debris all over creation before it lands in a mangled wreck upon its roof.

Ain't nothing that's going to survive that without some sort of ace up their sleeve.

A thin smirk crosses blackened lips as the albino rolls the pistol around upon her finger, tucks it away, then goes back to the handlebars.

Another Chirp! from the rear wheel and she's got the bike turned about, rattling off in another direction.

Let the cops deal with the rest. That's their job.