The Head, The Hand, and the Cure

March 25, 2016:

He who holds the head rules the world. Elektra vs Deadshot. (Sort of. NSFW for language)

New York


NPCs: Targets and assassins

Mentions: Batman


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…


To the spoils goes to the one who can catch them first.

Hitomari Nakamura, up and coming in the farthest reaches of the technical world, who's creating a new strain of a virus to be sold on the black market to his highest bidder. The strain is rumored to cause a five day deadly spree that would wreak havoc on the nervous system, and once the infected dies, the spores bloom and float through the air to infect it's next target, whomever the target is its notwithstanding. Projected rate of infection starts at two percent, then ten, then fifty, then thirty. Cure held by Nakamura. Viral load held by Nakamura. Retrieve cure and viral load and deliver it to the drop post haste.

Along with his severed head wrapped up in a bow.

He will arrive in New York at 0500 hours. There he will be accompanied by three cars full of bodyguards to assist him in the sale. He'll arrive at the top floor of the Chrystler building in which the supposed sale is to take place. Take him out and all of his guards. Leave no one standing.

Deliver the physical head of Hitomari Nakamura. At whatever cost.

He who holds the head rules the world.


When not running with the Hand Elektra has to make her own money some kind of way. And the mentioning of this virus and the cure has her already gearing up with not much but a sword and her two sai's and an onsemble of weaponry. He who holds the head rules the world, or so they say. But they never said anything about the woman. The woman in red will hold the head. As well as the virus and cure and will make off with both. This is for the Hand. For what the Hand wants, the Hand will get.

So it's no wonder as to her being next to the building that Nakamura was to meet. Standing upon that certain high rise, dressed in all black with few hints of red and mask covering her nose. She could see him there, with all of his guards. Shaking hands and waiting for the buyer to show.

Deadshot missed freelancing. Killing for hire was one of the great pleasures of his life - he was damn good at it and it paid way better than being a criminal on his own ever had. Running a gang, hiring thugs, planning heists - that shit got so god damn old. He was good at one thing - shooting people. No one in the world better at that. He was a specialist.

At the moment, that specialist lays on a rooftop not very far away, casually looking down his scope and through the crosshairs at the meeting. Planning to pop that head Elektra is taking as a trophy like a ripe watermelon. The reasons? Because he was told to do so. Boss gets what she wants. Sometimes he asks the reason, just for shits and giggles, but the truth is? He really doesn't care. He'll kill pretty much anybody and he doesn't need a reason. Reasons are just the way he gets paid.

He hasn't detected the ninja woman yet because he isn't a fucking ninja and hiding is what they do. But trust he'll notice when she makes her presence known.

Elektra wasn't alone. Just because this wasn't a job for the Hand doesn't mean that she wouldn't have two or three of them at her side. Okay, so it was a job for the Hand. But this was personal. The money would be all hers and the virus and cure would belong to the head of the Hand. Easy. Peasy.

With a gesturing motion, the shadows begin to rush forward, black blurs running down the side of the building to latch upon a bridge that connects the two, racing across the sky bridge and latching upon that building as well. The middle floors were housing most of the guards, and from Floyd's spot, he could hear the tiny splashes of glass that the ninjas go through, and see the lights in the building go dark.

If Floyd looks at the position from where the Ninja's come from? He'd see Elektra watching him, mask tugged down to give him a sly sort of smile, two fingers held up which soon cant and gesture towards their supposed.. likeminded target.

And then nothing. She was gone.

Floyd Lawton does, indeed, lay his scope upon Elektra for a moment before she disappears. Huh. There's a wrinkle he wasn't given to expect. He knew about the Hand - he was a professional assassin, it was just common courtesy. This particular one seemed a lot better looking than the ones he was used to.

He slides his scope back, though, returning to the task at hand. It wasn't that he actually gave a shit about the soon-to-be dead guy. But he had a simple rule - when he took a job, he fulfilled it. She could have Nakamura's head. With a nice hole in it.

He draws his rifle into position and locks in, even as the nervous fella starts to panic and get twitchy. Good, makes it more interesting. Floyd's steady hands guide him right along, getting the rhythm of the Japanese man's movements until…


If one were watching this on television, the view of the camera would be panned to the bullet.

It would streak through the nights sky; passing through the lights that give illumination through the darkness, the first cracks hitting the window and a flash of black that marks Elektra's hair. It passes through those locks, straight into the head of the first bodyguard who attempts to walk past, his hand still in his jacket as the bullet creates a gaping hole through the side of his temple.

But there was a line that was drawn through the mans neck, a thin red one that spills almost immediately.

The bullet continues to travel, right through the second guards mouth, that same line created right through the front of his adams apple, unclear of who struck first.

Another flash of black, the long winding hair that breaks off from the speed of it all, the camera.. if this were a movie.. panned upon the way her hair floats slowly to the ground, resting into a pool of blood as the bullet finally makes it's way home.

Once the dust itself settles, Elektra remains in a sea of bodies, holding the head of Nakamura, a bullet straight through the middle of his head.

A perfect shot, no less.

Elektra cranes her head to look into the eyes of Nakamura, one of which was rolled up deep within it's socket, the other forward facing, his mouth hung open and teeth itself shown nearly chitter-chattering until it stops completely. With a slight 'hah' sound drawn from her lips, she turns her head slightly to look over her shoulder and out the window to where the shot came from, right towards Floyd.

Three fingers were soon lifted from her free hand, pointing downwards. More guards were coming, and the contract stated to leave no one alive.

This was turning out to be a game. Who could get there first.

Floyd Lawton grins. Technically, he only had orders to kill Nakamura himself. That said - he hadn't been told NOT to kill other people either. And he was definitely in the mood for some fun.

He shifts quickly, moving to stand and holding the rifle up to his shoulder. He's not in his armor tonight, just wearing black blazer, black pants, white shirt. He tries to find a few on the corners, as if trying deliberately to pick a few off before she can get to them, farther away.

He starts to fire, one, two, three shots in a row. Each of them dead-on accurate, so true that he doesn't even check to m ake sure they hit. He knows they will.

Just as Elektra indicated there were three more on the floor below, she was gone from his sight in that instant.


She bashes through the stairwell door and immediately makes her way down with a jump, landing at a crouch as her sais were drawn from her hips, drawn back and tossed to hit the two men approaching up the stairs in the chest. They topple to the ground as Elektra kicks into gear, shuffling down the stairs with footwork that doesn't stop even as she passes the two fallen men with a rip of sais from their person.

She could hear the glass shattering, Floyd was doing his due dilligence, and the death in the air drew out the lingering laughter of the beast that echoed at the back of her mind. Sai's were twisted and twirled within her fingers as she grips the railing, bringing herself around at a slight sailing arch that plants crotch-to-face upon the next man, a twist of her upper body has her swingin him to the side and a quick lean back plants hands upon the stairwell, legs launching backwards to throw the man head first into another that approaches. And she still moves.

Down the stairs to land upon them both, twisting and kneeling down, blade end of the sides right into their eye-sockets with a quick stab motion and up.

It was the gauntlet. Because there was more for Floyd.

Floyd Lawton is starting to grin, getting into it, enjoying himself, "Gonna need a cigarette after this," he says with a smirk. He's almost reckless now, going down the line, shooting one after another. He angles it through reflections, working from different perspectives, making a game out of it . One guy he deliberately turns into a shooting gallery duck, shooting on either side to make him duck back and forth until he finally has a little mercy and pops him in the mouth with a hollow point.

He takes a moment to rack his weapon, reloading and humming to himself. "Bad Company". Good song.

The Hand ninjas were in a melee of their own, but none of them were as skilled as Elektra.

Elektra who's continuing with her own gauntlet with a throw of her sais and a well placed kick here and there to send a few tumbling like bowling balls. Especially once she reaches the ground floor, the lobby soon cleared as a million of shadows at play all at once, Elektra in full view of the shooter as she walks calmly and casually with a grasp of the box within one hand, a briefcase in the other.

The building goes dark soon after, and it would remain that way for a time.. though nothing can be seen even if Floyd decides to wise up and check with infrared.

The cars that the guards and Nakamura arrived in were soon acquisitioned, the ninjas soon jumping into and fleeing the scene, their wheels screeching among the pavement as the lights slowly flicker on in the building one by one.

And there was Elektra, standing upon the same roof as Floyd, one foot pressed against the edge and an elbow placed upon it to look down to see the other car off.


Floyd Lawton sets down his rifle and looks over at the ninja. He has no doubt that she could probably kill him before he could get to her - he was a killer shot, but he wasn't a gunslinger, necessarily - he could draw pretty fast, but not so fast as he'd already seen her move. As the Outlaw says, a man's got to know his limitations.

"Damn straight," he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of smokes, lipping out a Marlboro and going to light it. "Some pretty nifty moves ya got there yourself, hot stuff. Does a body good to see the blood flyin' out there. I haven't had a good, ol' fashioned slaughter in way too damn long," he says.

"You got a name, code or otherwise? Or you just gonna be all mysterious an' shit?"

"Elektra." She finally states, drawing her foot down from the roof.

"Clearly, you are in the wrong line of work." She steps away from him then, not keeping her distance, but she detests the smell of cigarette smoke, something that easy would make her violent. "And you are?" Her british accent was heard for miles, clearly not someone who is a ninja, even though her eyes do not carry the trait but her moves bespoke of something else entirely. "And who sent you?"

Floyd Lawton takes a drag on his cigarette, "Well, you know I ain't gonna tell ya the last bit. Just professional ethics. An' I'm in the right line o' work, I just usually am there to do my kill an' get out. Murder everything that moves jobs come few and far between," he says.

He doesn't see any need to lie about who he is, though, "Deadshot," he says. "But you can call me Floyd, if ya like. I ain't wearin' the fancy outfit today. Easier to blend in."

Elektra would pout, but it was something that couldn't be seen in her mask, but the inflection was clear. "Aw.. afraid that the big bad would come down on you in a hail of bullets and fury?" Surely, she could make him talk. With just one pressure point he'd be a babbling brook. Maybe. She wasn't sure about this measure of a man. Not at all. Especially not a good a shot as him.

Deadshot, Floyd, one brow flicks upright. She's heard of him. That was for certain, anyone who's in this type of business has. But as she steps up upon the rooftops edge, she crouches, hand touching upon the ledge as she looks back towards him, fingers reaching to tug her mask down to offer a wry grin.

"Thanks for the assist, lov'."

And with a launch forward into the night, she was off the ledge and out of sight.

Floyd Lawton snorts, "Nah, jus' privacy's part o' the price. If I go babblin' off to every hot, well-armed chick I come across…well, you might have the means t'persuade me, but it ain't the kinda persuasion that…"

And then she's gone, leaping off into the night. He goes up to the ledge and, of course, she's gone, completely disappeared just like the friggin' Bat always used to do to him.

"Next time I'm gonna buy you a drink an' then I'm gonna do some stabbin' o' my own. Right up yer pooper, that's a fact," he snorts to himself, taking a drag on his smoke and going back to pick up his brass.

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