Kill Me

April 09, 2016:

Elektra and Daredevil finally come face to face.

Hell's Kitchen


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

2:33 AM

The air is wet and dense, but warm. Spring time in Hell's Kitchen. Matt's standing in his red costumes with the horns and the lenses and he's trying to focus on individual conversations: someone is watching LexFlix and tap tap tapping on the face of their phone, presumably to text their friend or tweet or heavens knows what. Matt finds himself really wishing that the television was lower; it's getting in the way of his concentration toward a different part of the apartment building where Mr. and Mrs. Collins argue about money.

He tries to focus, to stretch out his awareness as far as his mutated genes will allow him, but he's distracted. No, not by the LexFlix or the tapping or the argument over whether or not the couple can afford to keep their college aged child on their health insurance, but because of the Hand and their recent attacks on his friends.

He's not been able to decipher a reason. And the notes left in the church have made him more concerned. Where to go, and what to do.

Matt Murdock doesn't know.

2:36 AM:

"Even Fisk wouldn't stay in a fucking place like this."

While the man held the same likeness, likeness only, he was a raging lunatic at the guards that surround the room, as well as the outside. In essence, he was a very, very good man. He helped reform a local school and pushed for the Arts Board to make a little bit of effort to keep the after school activities as they were. Funnelled money into the charities and gave more than he even had to the point he was bankrupt, but somehow made it on top with good investments to keep him afloat for a little while.

But only luck goes so far.

'Sir, you have to calm down. This is for your own protection.'
"Protection from a fucking rumor. That shit with Mrs. Moore was just a goddamned fluke. That's it! A fluke!"
'But Sir..'
"But nothing! Did you think I got to where the hell I am by just sheer luck and riding on the seat on my pants! I could'a asked for the world and four (INSERTRACIALEPITHETS) to work it but I didn't! I did it all my own! And you assholes got the nerv-.."

Just outside of the window, the highest point upon the Belvedere is where Elektra made her perch. It wasn't unusual for her to go alone with such an easy target, but the fact that she traipses alone in Hell's Kitchen could have been suspect. Could have been. There wasn't any worries that she could remember of why she shouldn't have come back…

Come back?

Was she ever here?

"…I've never even heard of this Elektra bitch! But you know what, let her come! Gimme that gun!"
'Sir, I can't allo—..'
"Shut up, ya' dick! I -PAY- you!"

Daredevil weaves in and out of the conversation going on at the Belvedere amidst others he's also paying attention to. He gets the general gist, but there it is. A name. Elektra.

Elektra was dead. And now she is back. And she's hurt Foggy.

A shiver runs down his spine as the memories of their time together, and her death still cause him great anguish in almost equal measures. As if on autopilot, his hand goes to his billy club. Mr. and Mrs. Collins and their argument, though it continues to intensify, and though Matt knows full well that Mr. Collins has been thrice accused of domestic violence, the name Elektra calls to him. He knows he must find out more, and as he swings through the night sky like an acrobat in the circus, he's intent on learning more.

One foot teeters over the edge as she tests the weight of the wind, her fingers drawn up to tighten the sash upon the back of her head, her hair a tickle upon bare shoulders that tense as a cold breeze cuts through. That foot remains outward and at a point, a dancers point that brings a memory that's long passed, one that has her fingers pinching the lobe of her ear as she steps off.

And there was a fall, a familiar feel as her hand lashes out to snatch upon the American Flag, the metal tensing and swinging her at the correct trajectory outside of the window but not in clear view of where the men were.

One man does turn, instinct calling towards him as hands press behind his back at a fold and a lean forward to glance left and right, then back again.

"How do you work this thing?"
'Like this..'

The shorter, more eager guard steps forward, his words a quiet murmur over Mr. Harris' hmms, and uh huhs. Belatedly named, Mr. Harris prides himself on being a quick study. How to shoot a gun should be just like childs play.


The light tapping of the window causes the guard to turn, noticing a small little crack that slowly, slowly begins to spread. He follows the lines with his eyes, his features slowly contorting.. until the flash of a black glove and something silver takes precedence along with a shattering clash of the glass.

The man remains still. Shock laced upon his features.

The other guards begin to scramble and shout out swear words that would make a nun blush.

Even moreso when the man rocks foward, then back onto the floor, a sai planted right into the middle of his head, his eyes crossed soon after as if he was trying to see what his new decoration was.

Whatever is happening it's happening right now. And Daredevil is cursing himself that he was too slow. He can hear the man's pulse weakening as the taste of death begins to fill out the air in the room. He can smell the brain tissue and knows that he'll never arrive in time.


Daredevil enters through a side window, kicking it straight in and upon the floor. A guard runs up to him and sticks a gun in his face, not realizing that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen has come to rescue. The guard's hand twists uncomfortably, but Matt does not break it. Instead, the pistol falls innocently into his hand as he continues to stomp by. In one motion the clip comes out and the bullets are spilled onto the floor.

Matt's path takes him to the downed guard as he waits for her arrival. This has been a long time in coming.

The sick grin that held Elektra's lips soon were bitten back by a row of teeth as she starts to move. The glass was shattered, allowing her a clean entry, but the blast of the glass upon the other side of the room gives her pause.

The men squirrel around Harris, one already upon the door and ushering him out. There were no sounds, sounds that resemble words, anyways, save for the screaming and hollaring that would accompany such an attack. One that they never saw coming.

But the intended mark for tonight was getting away. And while she'd meet a harsh punishment at the end, there was a little bit of joy to it. To do battle, to fight. She was a junkie in that regard. With a quiet breath inhaled, she reveals herself, remaining outside of the window, calmness in the fact that she puts one leg inside, ducks and enters. Their path was the same as she walks to meet the fate that her current activities set upon her. And it was not met with recognition, not at first.


"You know I cannot do that, Elektra."

The voice is the same one she heard for years during her younger life, and though now it is twinged with some determination, it is not the normal tone of Daredevil. There's something unsure. Something giving him pause.

Matt takes a step to get himself in a more ready position as he draws out his billy club. With a snap of his wrists the baton comes apart into a pair of nunchucks held together by a metal cord.

"You will hurt no more of these men."

Daredevil looks over his shoulder at the remaining guards. "Call the police."

Elektra blinks. It was like a force of a movement, her head twitching just a little to the left just to catch that inflection within his voice. Her fingesr tighten around the handle of her sai, her gaze flitted downward towards the fallen guard, and up towards the back of the one who withdrawls his cell phone to place the call as intended.

Soon, her gaze flits back towards the Daredevil, one foot taking a slight step forward, the other in preparation to launch towards an attack as her lips curl with a slight sneer.

"You are not the one I want tonight." She takes a step closer. "You are being saved for last."

She lifts her sai, her free hand curling into a fist. She knows he could possibly track her intentions.. but how does she remember that? He was.. familiar.

"For when you are broken.." One last lean forward was all that was given, and then she strikes, first with a jab towards his middle and the next a leap into the air in attempts to bring her fist down to lash at his temple.

Daredevil is lucky to dodge the first strike as it comes right at him. Those seem like the hardest to avoid, for some reason, but he swings his body like a gate and can 'feel' the blade coming within half an inch of his chest. He knows she's going for the quick counter, it would be her style after all, but she's so quick. By the time the said makes contact with his cowl, he knows he's too slow. Prayers to St. Expedito for the luck, because the helm keeps Matt safe. It does not, however, hold firm, and cracks on the left side of the crown and along the middle of the eye.

A piece of red covering goes flying off in the corner.

It's Matt's turn to be quick. He uses the big arc of her follow through to step in and tries to pin the arm and sai against Elektra's leg where it can't do anymore damage. "Why are you doing this?!" The demand is a frantic one. And then, in a lower tone in order not to be heard, "And how could you hurt Foggy of all people?"

The crack to his temple made her knuckles hurt. Bruising down to the bone, her hand slacking yet intensifying with the grasp of the fist she holds in order to swing down as she lands, sai nearly lifting to take that open shot where she could but she's pinned.

"The Hand demands it." Where one would hear fortitude, it was spoken half-heartedly. She remembers his voice with her eyes closed, even the way he leans against her just so. She could remember the laughter during those days when school was skipped to spar. Even the visits to the movie theater when he'd quietly asks, 'What happened?'

It hurt. Not like the pain upon her knuckles but something deep within her chest she was sure she had forgotten. It hurt.

"Is he dead?"

It seemed the air grows still in that moment, curiosity. Foggy actually made her cry. Hurting him made her cry. She didn't like it, but it was done.

Without waiting for a reply, she immediately lurches forward, dragging her leg away from the pin with a somersaulted roll, her hand reaching out to snatch her sai from the middle of the man's head with a sickening crack-squelch. This puts her in front of the exit, one that she wasn't going to take. Not just yet.

"He's not. But not for a lack of trying."

Daredevil takes Elektra's movements as an opportunity to try and apprehend her. The billy club comes out again, quick as a cobra, this time in an attempt to hook up on her heel and, if lucky, he can yank her down to the ground.

"Get out of here!" He screams at the guards as if their lives depend on the instruction. Because they do.

"The Hand wills it. But what do you want?"

Good. Foggy wasn't dead. Matt could almost hear the sigh of relief from her, save for the trip up that causes her to stumble to the ground.

The guards don't take any mess, nor do they take Matt's words lightly. They were gone, their footsteps beating down the hallway and possibly to the stairs, the sounds of their voices collectively calling 9-1-1 even though the call was placed minutes before. The police would be on their way soon.

Sai plants hard into the ground as she lifts herself up with a quick scramble, turning to place them in front of her in defense, nearly crouching like a tiger ready to pounce. His words catch her off guard, her features crumbling into confusion.

What -did- she want?

"Wh.." She couldn't answer. She couldn't say whatever the Hand wanted. It really, truly wasn't what she wanted. So she does the only thing she does best.

"I want you gone!"

A flicker-flash movement that only Matt could keep up with has her nearing him, twisting in a twirl to aim for a backended kick aimed towards his side. She doesn't strike with the sai, he was skilled with his weaponry just like she was, and his had nearly a far better reach than she'd ever hope for.

Daredevil rushes the half dozen steps between them as she hits the tiling. But, as he approaches, he's unready for her wild kick that catches him straight in the ribs. He staggers backwards, desperate to keep his footing, but still at the defensive. "I've done nothing to you," he spits out as he catches his breath.

Broken. At least one rib. Stupid, Matthew, stupid. In your zeal you put yourself at risk again. When will you learn?

She didn't want to leave an opening. She rushed him even as he fired back at her words, leaping just high enough to try to plant both knees into his chest to try to bring him to the ground. She wasn't using her hands for this. The risk at killing him was great, but there was something else that.. that held her back. Maybe it was those memories that were seeping forward with every kill. It started with Foggy.

All because of Foggy, things were coming back and -hearing- him wasn't helping any better.

She said nothing, nothing at all.

There's a half grunt as Daredevil loses the air in his lungs, right as her two knees collide into his chest. The pair go down in a heap, and the follow through has her land on top of him, driving those knees in further. Perhaps normally it might not have been a big deal.

With a broken rib, it's a very big deal.

Matt goes down, in a great deal of pain, and lets out a yell of anguish. But even as he loses his bearings he knows that sai might be coming. And next time, rather than a glancing blow on his head, it might be straight through the heart. With the energy he has left, he attempts to buck her off, and do the side, right into the wall.

He would have been right. As soon as she feels the impact of his back against the ground her hands twirl the sai within her fingers, gripping them by the handle, blades facing downward as she lifts them high into the sky. Where one who was facing victory would have a few parting words, she hesitates.

Maybe it was something about the way he cringed in pain, or the closeness in which she really sees him. Or it could be blamed that the angle had something to do with one sai dropping to the ground in a loud clattering clang and the other lowering just in time for his harsh thrashes to throw her off and smack dab right into the wall.

There was a shock of a crunch that meets with the back of her head, her body curling as her hands immediately grasps the knot that would soon begin to form in a painful lump. She hisses quietly, her foot lashing out in a fit of untapped rage. Rage at.. everything. Just what in the hell did she want?!

"I want peace..!" She finally cries out, "..I just want it all to end! To just.. stop! Make it stop!"

"I'm trying! Dammit, Elektra let me help you!"

He's on his feet now, whirling around, and still holding his chest as the crack in his helmet has exposed one of his vacant eyes. "What have they done to you?"

Matt focuses on the air vibrations in hopes the men have gotten out of there in one piece. The police should be coming soon, and when that happens, he needs to be out here.

Her head still hurt. Her hand hurt, everything just.. hurt.

She slowly rolls onto her hands and knees, crawling, her dark hair hung like curtains around her shoulders, even snagging a little as she tries to approach his feet. A fallen gun remains upon the ground, which she grasps, turning to hold the muzzle as she slowly draws up, leaning back to rest her bottom upon the balls of her feet. She was tired.

"Then help me.." She quietly pleads, reaching up to press the gun into his hands, fixing it so that he holds it properly, the click of the safety gone off lets him know what she wanted.


"No," Matt starts with a slow shake of his head and then it increases in speed. "Elektra, no, you know I can't. I've already lost you twice."

The clip comes out and he throws it across the room before opening the chamber to eject the one in the gun. He drops it.

Again, he asks. "What have they done to you?"

Elektra heaves out a heavy sigh as her arms hang slack, her eyes flitting towards the gun and down again, the burn building behind the back of her now closed lids as she lifts her chin towards the ceiling. Her head shakes as she draws back, rocking upon the balls of her feet to stand.. dejected, hurt.. tired.

"I can't remember." She can barely remember him. But she wasn't going to admit that. Her words were enough. The sounds of the sirens were nearly welcome. She could get out. She could run. Far, far away from Hell's Kitchen and never return. But they would find her. -It- would find her. Her only way out was death.

"Matt, I'm begging you. I want my peace back.. kill me. That's the only way this will stop." She rises slowly to her feet, relaxed. There was no tenseness, nothing that state that she would fight back. "If you've ever loved me.."

"Elektra," Matt says, the heartbreak coming through in his voice. "You can fight this. We can fight this together. You have to tell me. You have to tell me who they are, what they've done, and how to get them to release you."

He exhales, "Look, we can band together, we can find stick and we can fight these people."

"You can't fight it when it calls to you. When he calls to you. He's always going to be there.."

She remembers those words. Those words she remembers, there was even a time she considered doing the right thing. And she did. Right at his side. How could she forget that? How could anyone forget it? Two parts of the same souls walking the path of the righteous and saving those who needed to be saved. Long before the first hints of blood touched her fingers and she watched as the life is snuffed out. How could she forget?

"Stick.. he.." She shakes her head, then turns away from him, the flourish of her hair possibly whipping against his chest as she heads towards the window. As she crawls atop of the ledge, she hangs onto the wood, her fingers clenching hard against the seal.

"You should have killed me, Matt.. you should have given me peace. The next time we meet, I hope.." She'd hope he'd listen. Or didn't.

The screech below and the shouts of men gave way to their arrival. Help was on the way and they both needed to be gone. Elektra was the first, making her escape by sticking to the shadows just as the kuonichi would.. but perhaps if Matthew continued to listen to her, tried to follow her, the scent of her tears would be on the wind before the trail itself falls.


'Elektra, do you pray?'
'No, Matt. I don't.'
'Tears are prayers too. They travel to God when we can't speak..'

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