2013.07.31 - Blue Rover Turn Over

It's evening on the water, and the stars in the sky are bright, but hidden so completely by the city. The lights of the harbour are actually blazing. It's one of the first truly beautiful nights out, and there are several millionaires entertaining on their boats. As it is night, they're in their slips, but that doesn't seem to bother any of the party goers. Music is loud, the laughter is just as.. and the bikini-clad arm-candies are in full force.

It doesn't truly matter.

Never has.

Never will.

Collateral damage is more than acceptable. And, if it's during the 'delivery' of a message, or rather, in the course of a 'pick up' of a mutant of questionnable moral fiber? Well.. it's to be seen exactly how far one can push.

There are others quaiside that don't look -quite- right, but dressed well enough that perhaps they're looking to purchase?

Divers are in the water, their wetsuits dark in the murky waters of the Hudson. Quietly, three climb up, one after another, aft by the dinghy. Two more are on each side, port and starboard.

Domino hasn't been back all that long. She's got her bike parked on the boat, her trench balled up and tossed aside, a mixed drink on the tiny table for what passes as a kitchen, a StarkPad (she got a discount after working on that rifle design with Tony,) and, naturally, a minimum of two guns evenly spaced out and within easy reach of both of her hands.

Kurt would probably kill her if he realized she's already jumping back into contracts. There's a fair amount to choose from, the hesitation comes in figuring out who is offering what job and which one she could lean on the most to maximize her profit.

Some are too smart to dodge, though their prices tend to be fair. She's hunting for those jobs with a high probability of danger and lots of unknowns, both to push her own luck and to lend some strength to her argument that the going price isn't nearly enough to go on.

The only element which changes her plans comes in the form of an empty glass. And an empty bottle. With a tiny sigh the albino woman climbs out of her seat and goes to pick some other drink to break into. One small event leading into another, slightly less small, event. It's here that she'll end up in just the right place at just the right time to discover that she's no longer alone on this boat.

There's a soft *rssssssp* that sounds on the port side of the boat, followed by the same sort of *rssssssssp* on the starboard. It's fleeting; ten seconds at the most in duration.

The three that come aboard from the aft, move softly but swiftly, their weapons now out and ready for use. They're crippled in that the merc is wanted alive, but not so hobbled that she can't be.. hurt. Hospitalized. Even comatose. But breathing.

The moment movement is seen from their quarry, they're ready to engage rather than offering up the entire 'come with us' speech that so many fall into.

In the next moment too.. those on either side of the boats light their explosives and set the charges in the hole. Domino will be coming with them AND the boat won't be somewhere she'll be able to run to! T minus ten seconds and counting.

Off in the distance? The soft *thwupthwupthwup* of a helicopter. Most likely harbor police, right?

Right?

There she stands, bottle in hand, reading the label on the rich amber hued drink. (Not sure this fits my mood, but it'll still do the trick...)

It's turned one way then the other before she moves to set it down, right up until she catches the distorted reflection of something moving from across the kitchen.

Then the drop of grenades.

(Stupid, Domino! Never walk away from your guns, never! Haven't you learned this one by now?!)

The bottle is thrown aside as she lunges further into the boat for cover, already covering her head with her arms as she dives into a corner. Those are grenades. Grenades in an enclosed space are not good. Eyes are pinched shut, her mouth kept open. Anything to try and equalize some of the pressure that she's about to be caught in the middle of.

How quickly a situation can turn bad on someone like her... She's already got the location of every piece of gear she owns upon this boat mapped out, what condition everything is in, how useful each piece would be to her in any given moment.

The odds are all up in the air. Hopefully whatever one she happens to catch works out in her favor.

click

rollrollroll

There are ventilation hatches in the master bedroom, in the shower, and in the navigation room. Each one is utilized to the fullest. First, the one furthest comes in and explodes in a bright, fourth of July-ish FLASH before the resounding BOOM!! follows. There's no way to know if they're pushing their quarry fore', but the next comes midships.. with the same retort.. and the one furthest fore, after the stairs that lead to decks.

That's not to mention, now, the resounding *BOOM!* of the concentrated explosive to the side of the ship, and immediately, the boat begins to list, the water starting a trickle- but that's only a start!

Now, however, with the flash-bangs, it's easy enough to push the idea that fireworks is happening! But when the portholes flash with a blinding glare, well.. that does gain the attention of some of the boats nearby. On-lookers, those babes in rich-guy arms, pad to the sides of their boats to peer. Immediately, there's a brief spark of gunfire, and screams can be heard, followed by *splash!*.

THWUPTWUPTHWUP

The helo now, is coming in low, their red and green lights blinking.. and suddenly, their guns open fire with deadly scattered shot; their target those on either side of the boat, trying to climb aboard! Not their side, so must be foe!

(You never did half-ass anything, did you?)

One can only be so shielded against explosive charges while indoors. Domino can feel the concussion waves slamming against her already badly wounded body, scattering papers, breaking glass, and ..damaging the hull..?

She can barely hear the sound of the chopper on approach. What she can hear is its chaingun lighting up, amazingly not tearing into the cabin proper. The odds of two rival teams both coming after her on the same night..?

(At least my luck still works. So do something with it! Change the rules on these assholes!)

The flashbangs are gone. The initial assault team seems to be caught up with the gunship. She has a chance to move, but only briefly. She needs to turn the tables, do something no one's expecting, but what?

Kitchen fire.

(Semtex charges. Remote trigger. Go.)

It only takes her seconds. Seconds to retrieve the components, seconds to arm, seconds to place. Seconds she hopes like all hell that she has. The gas lines, engines, oven. Her pistols are swiped off of the table and tucked away. From there it's a mad sprint across the damaged interior to her bike, cranking the engine, opening the throttle.

Getting her phone out?

The high-pitched whine of a Japanese sport bike at full RPM might go amiss with the mayhem happening outside, though the sight of an all black Yamaha tearing out of the Blue Rover so quickly to go airborne and clear the deck is likely to earn some notice. The wheels don't have a chance to touch down upon the dock before she thumbs the detonator, the Blue Rover detonating into a violent storm of splintered wood and twisted metal mere feet behind her.

Click!

(Okay, Kurt's definitely gonna kill me for this one.)

The boat has started its listing, dark, murky water from the harbour coming in.. sloshing around feet, then ankles. The flash/bang grenades certainly do a job in the teaked interior of the luxury boat. Wood is ripped off the walls, off the cabinets, making little projectiles of their own as each concussion comes.

The trio on deck now pad towards the entrance, knowing that their quarry will have to emerge, very much like smoking out a little prairie dog from its hole. Non-lethal weapons are raised, and as the helo flies over, they look up, blinking.. but it's not until the guns begin to blare from the now identified gunship that they begin to dive for cover.

It's not the ones on deck that are targeted, however; that's for those in the water and oops? Bystanders!

The high-pitched whine of the bike brings the deck's 'personnel's attention around, and they aim for the hole.. and open fire the moment Domino emerges from belowdecks. Rapid fire, even as the gunship comes around for another strafing run.

Screams are heard now from everywhere; from the docks, the floating piers.. and some of those on board further down the line are trying desperately to cast off, only to find a failure in footing, and *splash*, they're in the drink.

The moment those tires of her bike hits quayside, those 'suits' pull their weapons, ready to give chase, at the very least. That is, until that helo makes their pass and sprays the area with a second round of gunfire, setting two neat lines in the hood of what was once a very nice dark, late model expensive sedan.

That insurance won't cover.

As for the boat?

The movies couldn't have done a better job. It absolutely explodes in a mass of wood, metal and fiberglass, pieces of all the aforementioned flying like giant, deadly darts in all directions. This, however, sets up a volley of explosions, and the pair of boats on either side of the slips begin to rumble.

The owners of said boats, however?

They're cut into pieces by the shrapnel of the boat, if not from the gunship that had done its first pass overhead.

As for the badguys.. the four in the water are hit with the concussion, as well as holes from the pieces of boat. Blood in the water now, and thankfully there aren't any sharks? They wouldn't have time to be eaten because they've started drowning.

From all appearances, Domino's doing okay while barreling through close quarters gunfire. It's sheer, stupid luck that she doesn't catch a facefull of slugs from an automatic rifle. The bike's still running fine, the tires aren't punctured...

The rear brakes are shot out.

In another moment the bike is screaming as it goes airborne once more, leaping across one dock to another, barely clearing the heads of frantic party-goers before the two wheeled monster drops down with a splash of brake fluid. The odds are only continuing to climb, now she doesn't have an effective means of stopping the bike and more speed seems like her only option!

The rear tire grabs the pier and throws the front end back up into the air for much of the length of the next dock over. She's got that feeling of having crosshairs on the back of her shoulders again, knowing that she's outnumbered and outgunned. (And against a gunship, lucky you.)

Another squeak of tires and whine of the engine and the Yamaha tears up a flight of concrete stairs normally reserved for pedestrians, leaving a black crescent moon at the top as she weaves to the side and pushes the bike for whatever it can do. It puts her at a halfway decent angle to try and do something about that chopper, filling her off-hand with the weight and bulk of a matte black .44 Desert Eagle. Eight in the mag, one in the tube, hopefully enough power to leave a lasting impression.

Dom's left to dodge people, other vehicles, and dock-side obstacles while trying to escape and return fire. The odds of a miracle shot with only nine rounds at her disposal: 1 in 840,227.

Game on.

Those screaming-goers are also gushing blood from the various points of bodily entry from shrapnel. It looks like a warzone, to be sure, what with the fires that are beginning to rage on the water. Oil burns, boat fuel burns, and the harbor is slowly being turned into an inferno. The moment fires reach the filled gastanks of the next boat down the line, there's a low rumble, then a remarkable explosion, very much like the Blue Rover's, only moreso in that it hadn't been taking on water at the time. Teak, metal shards and more fiberglass fly, and those that actually survived the first 'salvo', aren't long for the world as pieces of boat tear into soft, vulnerable flesh.

The screaming of the bike can actually be heard above the din of the screams, the shouts, the crying for help- though the explosions do drown out the shriek of an over-revved engine. If only for that moment.

The wild ride of Paul Revere.. or rather, of one called Domino certain gains the attention of the gunship, and it flies straight up in order to shift in place, swinging its tail end around for a good shot. Off again goes the guns, the flashes of exiting shot now rivalling the fires and mini-explosions on down the docks. There's no pretending now as to who the target is.

Now, it's a battle between two opposing forces for the same mercenary.

At the top of the stairs, there are a couple more black sedans parked, though, as luck would have it? Something larger than small arms fire is available there.

As the albino merc *whiiiiiiings* up the stairs on a vehicle that was never truly meant for off-roading, there's a gunship that is flying very close behind, the bullets flying on either side of her.

Sirens wail in backdrop, though because of the lovliness of the evening?

Traffic is a bitch.

Up and up the stairs the merc comes, bumpbumping.. and the moment she crests the rise?

WHUMP

WHSSSSSSSSHHH

In the next couple of heartbeats, there's a trail left behind from a small rocket launched from one of the sedans. It's not, remarkably, aimed at her, but rather, at the gunship. It's the rest of the weapons that are aimed at her, or rather, her bike.

Take out the horse, and the rider is screwed.

(Rocket--RocketROCKET!)

A flash and contrail of smoke tears past the bike, the air searing Domino's unprotected face as she comes so very close to being face to face with a launcher. The rocket is long gone but the effects of its passing linger well after she leaps the bike clear over those sedans with a "Thanks!" and keeps blitzing across the docks. New York traffic is terrible under the best of conditions, but for someone like her on an itty bitty rocket of her own the odds are ever so slightly balanced back in her favor. That, and she knows a little trick around the gridlock system. Some of the one way avenues are left completely empty, as if the rest of the city forgot that they exist. If she can hit one of those she'll be able to devour miles and be deep inside of the city in no time.

On the upside: No more chopper! Downside: Now there's only one group to worry about. Her easy distractions are going to start to cost her.

Entering dense evening traffic with a 1,000cc engine and no rear brake is, to put it mildly, terrifying. Most of her approach is handled on the sidewalk, the bike's tiny horn almost melodious compared to the howling engine. There's a lot more screaming as people leap out of her way, almost immediately transforming into the blaring of other horns as she darts through an intersection just after a light change, that instant window of time when New Yorkers stop running the red and decide to give the other guys a turn.

(Heavy concentration down at the docks, they probably didn't circulate this far out. Get in a straight line and haul, get a mile or two inland before going to ground. Man, this is gonna cost me a lot in hardware...)

The small arms take on the motorcycle, with rapid fire even as Domino jumps them. Opening fire, and there's the occasional *ping* of the sound of small arms ricocheting off bits of motor or body. There's yelled Chinese that sounds, rapid and angry. One driver gets into his sedan, and pulls on a radio, virtually screaming into the mic.

This is the moment the rotor begins to counter-rotate and the gunship begins it's fall out of the sky, skipping across the docks, taking out cars before flipping into the drink, setting fire to more boats in their moorings. It's an inferno at the docks that just keeps giving!

Now, the sirens are getting closer and from so many different directions in so many different pitches. Police. Ambulances. Firetrucks.

(And that's not to leave reporters out of it all. Oh the humanity!)

Domino's wild ride along the sidewalk gains a great deal of attention. Screams come, and people are pulled from those deadly wheels. There are a couple of *thumpthumps* as there are a couple of people visiting from Iowa that simply can't get out of the way of the roaring streetbike.

Sliding those police cars, they block traffic in an attempt to contain- but how? How can one contain such a mission gone so incredibly pear-shaped?

Yet a couple more sedans pull out from the outer dock area, careening around the emergency vehicles in their chase. Now, things have gone from 'non-lethal' to 'oh jeez, shoot her and we'll pull the bullets out later' as far as the Chinese gents are concerned, and one leans out with a carbine in hand.. and shots are fired.

Ping!!

Bullets rip up the walls as Domino passes, and more screams come from the huddled masses that have actually managed to get out of the mad biker's path.

Odds of random shot hitting a tire: 1 in 93,806.

Odds of getting sideswiped by a squad car: 1 in 1,270.

Odds of someone not getting out of the way on the sidewalk in time: 1 in 43. Sorry, guys.

(Shots are getting close, move it Dom!)

The myriad of sirens echo throughout the urban canyons in tune to the banshee wail of her bike, having to throw all caution into the wind as she pushes the throttle. If she has to stop short, just once, her bike is gone, and gods know what will become of her. At a hundred and forty she can still lean on the accelerator, another gear change, another burst of speed. Faster, faster... Here is a motorcycle meant for ludicrous speed, shooting down the avenue and across intersections like a pitch black cannonball detailed with a mostly white face. Cars screech, spin out and crash behind her as she darts through lights both red and green, perilously close to clipping other vehicles. Good obstacle courses for anyone still giving chase.

(There's one mile, Domino. Time to gamble with your chances.)

This time it's the rear wheel that skips away from the pavement as she works the front brakes with surgical precision, the slightest shift of balance or change of pressure to the disc being all that's needed for a fatal wipeout. It takes more distance to shed that momentum, timing it until she's back down to a more sane pace right as she reaches another intersection.

With a squad car coming up to her right.

One quick jerk on the front brake nudges the rear end further into the air, sweeping around and dropping down with the bike facing the opposite direction.

The squad car stops short, angled to try and block off the street. Two officers are already piling out of the car.


 * BLAM!*

One .44 hollowpoint shreds a front tire on their car, the albino kissing the air in their direction before the bike hops into another brief wheelie, leaning and ducking down another street.

She's making good time, the odds of running into one of those sedans out here is 1 in 75,670 and counting.

The screams of the injured follow the bike as it careens around the sidewalk as Domino tries to dodge the pedestrian traffic. That couple from Iowa who'd come to the City to be able to say they walked down Broadway? An ambulance will be arriving shortly- if it can get through the rapidly rising roadblocks in a timely fashion.

Which is doubtful.

Now, as Domino takes to the road again, the taxicabs are the things that are the biggest difficulty that the rogue biker may have. Them... and busses. They're big, cumbersome, and don't particularly care who or what is behind them- or beside them.

The shrieking of sirens wail, and the cops are starting to do the bootlegger sliding stops in order to get the biggest area of coverage to bar any traffic. And there..

"Stop or we'll shoot!"

Well, that pretty much goes unheeded, and the shredding of their tire pretty much is a response. Again, in true New York City cop fashion, they begin to open fire- and some of the rounds don't actually hit their intended targets.

Ambulances will be busy tonight!

It's the sedans, however, that have been shadowing. They know their quarry. They know where she'll end up and how. (In the back seat of one of the black sedans, a Frenchman sits, smiling.)

It's a leisurely pace, then, that a turn is taken, and there.. right in front of the wailing motorcycle, is a small cadre of sedans. There, a large bored weapon peeks from the window, and a careful aim is taken...

WHOOOOOSH!

(Cops, black sedans, gunships, Christ it's a party tonight!)

Domino's bike has seen better days. She's definitely seen better days. Hell, this corner of Manhattan's seen much better days! Taxis and city busses fly past in a blur, city lights dancing over the slippery sheen of her exposed armor, the tiny albino hunkered low to the handlebars as though trying to absorb herself into the fuel tank.

(Steady pulse, even breaths, concentrate, girl. You've got this.)

Roadblocks work best against bigger vehicles. Girls on bikes go wherever the hell they please. The incoming fire from those officers is easy enough to evade by ducking around a semi trailer, shots pelting the white sheet steel then falling still somewhere within the cargo area.

(Stop, he says. Does that ever work?)

Out from around the truck she goes, opening the throttle to dive into an open gap in traffic, coming up to another intersection--

(SHIT.)

The bike dips and weaves, the tires chirping across the rough, uneven surface of a typical Manhattan street. Another rocket streaks past the albino, striking the radiator grill on the truck she had just used for cover. Another explosion rocks the city streets, busting out dozens of windows as the destroyed truck twists and slams down onto its side.

Much like the uncontrollable motorcycle in Domino's grasp.

There's a lucid instant of time where she can feel her backside lifting away from the seat, the bike yanking away from her hands to sweep off in one direction while she continues to go in an orderly forward trajectory.

Merc strikes pavement, her armor and its careful application of reinforced joints keeping the worse of the damage at bay.

Odds of a broken vertebrae, fibula, humerus: 1 in 30, 47, and 52, respectively.

WHAP!

"Damnit!"

The back of Dom's shoulders slam against the door of a black sedan, denting the bodywork inward as she lands in a twisted heap upon her side.

The City has seen better days. This? This is a bigger mess than most evenings, and New York's Finest is out in full force in emergency response at the docks. Wailing sirens continue on their path to the harbor, passing the accidents here and there in order to start pulling bodies out of the water. The police boats are also on scene now, and hospitals in the area have been notified that a disaster has pretty much been called by the Mayor.

The road now, with the roads cordoned off, the traffic on those streets upon which Domino flies are slow, each driver trying to figure out a way to get to where they need to go. Trucks.. the ever present trucks now serve as savior and devil for the lucky merc.

Now, with everything happening, is it truly her luck that saves her?

The small group of black sedans block a road, and the shot flies true enough. As they say? Close enough is good enough for horseshoes and handgrenades. Now, add rocket launchers.

And there.. truly is the best shot of the evening. The bike finally gives its last, and the hard-fought for mercenary is finally delivered to their feet. Worse for wear, but not dead.

Immediately, small arms weapons are leveled (without the theatric chambering of rounds!), and silently, they reach to dump Domino into the back seat of a sedan. Right next to a smiling European.

"Bon soir, mademoiselle.." is murmured.

Somewhere off to the side there's the sound of a heavy impact followed by the shattering of glass and the screaming of yet more people as Domino's out of control bike careens over another stopped car and smashes through the front of a bistro.

She's barely aware of it happening.

Cold blue eyes slowly open to stare down the barrels of several different weapons leveled right down at her. It would appear that her armed escort of the evening has just arrived. Or rather, she ended up throwing herself right in front of them all.

(Well fuck me running.)

There, standing outside a little restaurant in the Village waiting for his take-out, Kurt can hear the sirens blaring in the distance. Televisions in the local bars flash the news, a rather lovely reporter is set out near the docks. Behind her, it is truly still a conflagration where pumper ships throw water over the boats that have managed to avoid being burned to the waterline. It is a true disaster.

Staring with ever widening glowing yellow eyes, Thai is forgotten as the blue, fuzzy teleporter suddenly disappears from his spot with a distinct *bamf* only to reappear on the docks. He's aimed for his boat, and with a loud *splash*, he's in the murky, oil-slicked water. "Was...?" Another *bamf* brings him to a burned dock, and he stares for a long moment into that nothingness where he boat once was moored. "Where is it?"

He's stunned.. but in the next thought?

"Wo ist Domino?" is murmured before he yells, "Domino!? Wo bist du!?"