Her name was Elektra

[Elektra]

The snow swirled around her, stinging what little was exposed of her face. Yet she stayed where she was, crouched in shadow, watching the illuminated chalet on the hill above her. She had left tracks, but knew the howling wind had long since covered them, as they would cover the footprints she had yet to leave. Her cloak was wrapped tight against her, offering enough warmth to keep her from freezing in the Swiss night.

It was getting late and she had been in the pine forest now for almost three hours, watching and waiting. She knew it was nearly time for a shift change among the guards at the chalet. It was then she would make her move, eliminating the guards currently on duty and their relievers, effectively limiting the amount of ‘surprises’ she would encounter once she was inside.

Deciding she had waited long enough, she set out for the chalet, a phantom in red moving stealthily through the windblown night. The global underworld uttered her name in whispers, fearful that if they spoke it aloud she would come and kill them. Very few actually saw her and the random survivor, who usually lived through sheer luck, described a flash of red and a flash of steel, nothing more. Even those few survivors never made it through a second visit from a killer they all believed was a ghost.

She used that belief to her advantage- fear was a bigger killer than the pair of sais she had sheathed at her lower back. On more than one occasion, she’d had to barely lay a hand on her target and they either died at the sight of her or did something stupid, like run off the roof of a building, just as her last target had. Every time, her clients were pleased and she had yet to miss a paycheck.

A black shadow moved across her vision, barely visible in the glow from the chalet’s window and she paused, staying well away from the light. The shadow stopped and she saw a tiny orange glow as the guard lit a cigarette. Another orange glow appeared and she couldn’t help but smile. This was the best DeMarco could find? It was even easier than Monte Carlo, when she had spared him to make him run to a more remote location. Monte Carlo was too crowded, too full of possible back-ups to the twenty guards she had killed.

Taking a deep breath, she began to move again.

[Elektra]

She made no sound as she moved over the ground. The guards did, the crunch of boots upon freshly fallen snow as they patrolled. Of course, the sound was barely audible to them, something felt more than heard. But she could hear them and she used it to hunt them.

The guard at the front gate was already dead. She was now moving toward the one flanking the west side of the house. Sticking to the shadows cast by the interior lights, she watched as a guard walked toward her. She caught the faint glint of night vision goggle lenses as he turned his head and she made her move.

The heel of her hand came up fast and strong, his nose shattering with a muted crack. She felt his face cave in under her hand and he dropped to the ground without a sound. Moving on to the next kill, she had already put that one out of her mind. Reaching behind her, she pulled one of her sais free, keeping it concealed in the folds of her cloak to avoid catching even a glimmer of light on the blade.

Inside, DeMarco sat before a roaring fire, drinking 25-year-old scotch as Jason Bauer, his head of security watched his monitors. She walked right past one of the cameras, knowing it was there. Bauer squinted at the black and white monitors and decided it was just the wind blowing snow. He glanced back at his employer, half listening to the drunk ass yammer on and on about a ghost in red. He had heard of her, had heard her real name and had laughed in the face of the man who had told him the story. She was a myth, nothing more. The real woman behind the legend had died three years before at the hands of Bullseye.

Advancing slowly, she crept up behind the last guard on the west side of the chalet. He was easily eight to ten inches taller than her and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. She struck quickly, driving the thirteen inch blade into his lower back and thrusting upward, bringing him to his knees. He grunted and before he could react, she pulled the blade free and in one swift movement, slit his throat. She covered his mouth to keep his death gurgles quiet as his blood spurted onto the snow. Once she was sure he was dead, she removed her hand and wiped her sai clean on the man’s jacket before letting the body drop.

The next guard was smaller and she came at him from behind, grabbing his head and giving a strong enough twist to snap his neck. Four were dead now and she had two more exterior guards. She wasn’t worried about the guards from the earlier shift; they were holed up in the guest house, getting some sleep. After that, it was on to Bauer and DeMarco. Breaking into a light jog, she rounded the massive chalet and crouched for a moment, surveying her next two targets. They were glancing around nervously and she readied her sais, gripping them tightly as she ran from her position. As she ran between them, she slammed the blades home in each man’s throat.

Waiting until they had stopped twitching, she retrieved her Sais and eyed the box they had been guarding. It was the temporary security and communications kiosk Bauer had set up earlier in the day. She kicked the lock off the box and pulled all the cords loose, plunging Bauer’s bank of monitors into darkness. She took her time walking toward the chalet, knowing Bauer was lying in wait and DeMarco was probably cowering in a corner.

She knew little of Jason Bauer except that he was ex-Special Forces who had done quite well for himself in private security. He was a father of three and she forced the thought from her head. It was a job and it had to be completed at all costs. DeMarco was the goal and Bauer would be wise to stay out of her way.

Michael DeMarco had made his fortunes based on the misery of others. He had killed indiscriminately to get his money and had inflicted a great deal of pain on numerous others who had dared to challenge him. He had fathered four children from four different women, all of whom had been rich and had died mysterious deaths. His kids hated him and for all she knew, one of them was her employer. She didn’t care to know anything about the faceless individuals who employed her services. She only asked the questions she needed to in order to get the job done properly.

Inside the house, melted snow ran from her boots as she stood in the foyer, the hood of her cloak shadowing her face. Closing her eyes, she listened hard in the silence and heard a muffled curse come from a room down the hall to her right. She followed the hall, red boots making no sound on the hard wood. Stealth had been one of her strong points, even as a child, impressing the numerous sensei she had studied under.

Standing to the side, she jiggled the knob of the study door and listened to the heavy clomp of boots as Bauer moved into firing position. It’s almost too easy, she thought, using her fingertips to slowly turn the door knob. She drew her hand back at the exact moment Bauer opened fire with a machine gun, shredding the heavy wooden door.

As smoke drifted through the hallway, Bauer kicked the remains of the door open and was greeted by a pair of red boots in his chest. The blow knocked him across the room, where he crashed through a pair of French doors and lay unmoving on the balcony.

“I knew you’d find me,” DeMarco said and Elektra turned her head toward the figure seated in front of the fire. He watched her in the reflection of his scotch glass. She reached up and pulled back the hood of her cloak, her dark hair falling free.

He never heard her as she walked up behind him. “So I guess it’s time to die, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice low as he took the last swallow of scotch.

“Death isn’t so bad,” she whispered in his ear and her voice sent a chill down his back.

“How do you know?” DeMarco turned in his chair, but she was gone. “How do you know?” he asked again, turning in the other direction.

“Because I died once,” Elektra murmured in his ear seconds before she slit his throat.

[Daredevil]

Uniform rest in a crumpled heap upon the floor. The red face mask with small horns lie near by. Bruised and broken he fell into the soft bed. It had been a long night. Flesh carried scars from every fight. Every memory. Lids shut over his eyes as he gave way to sleep. His name was Daredevil. Though in the world people knew him as Matthew Murdock. Slumber came faster than he expected. The man without fear was released into a state of darkness. But darkness was nothing new to him. For you see he was blind. Had been since his youth. Yet it was in dreams that he could see.

Always the same one. Three years ago. High above the city on spanning rooftops. A cold wind blew. Secret had been reveled. She knew who he was. Elektra. Memories of her touch. Her smell. Her voice. How he fought, fought to save her. But in his arms she died. A man by the name of Bullseye had killed her, and proverbially he saw red. Sought revenge. Revenge never made the pain go away. The only people he’d ever loved were both dead.And he was alone.

Form shifted in the bed. That memory playing over and over in his mind while he slept. While body took the rest it needed. By day he fought against crime legally as a Lawyer. When that failed or the judicial system couldn’t get their hands on a criminal, he was there. As Daredevil. Fighting for the side of justice. Whether it was morally right or wrong was up to debate. He’d been responsible for the deaths of bad men. Scoundrels and villains. Yet he felt responsible for her death.
“There’s no place for me now.”
“Yes, there is. Stay. Stay with me, please.”

As morning broke he awoke with a start. Bare chest heaving with breath. Sightless orbs open wide. Mouth agape as he drew in long breaths. Damn that dream. Bare feet rested against the ground as he shifted. Hands running up against his face. The muscles in his back aching from the night before. Fingers pulled into his dark hair as he stood. It was time for him to face another day. Another chance. Another moment.

[Elektra]

Once Elektra was checked in for her flight to the States, she browsed through a book shop on the terminal. There was nothing in particular she was interested in; just a book to pretend to read. The tactic was one she had adopted once she had set out on her new 'career' to appear uninterested in those around her. In her old life, Elektra had been a solitary individual, mostly because her schooling and martial arts training had kept her isolated from her peers. As she grew older and her education changed, she had been selective of those allowed in her life. Now...

"Excuse me, miss? I think you dropped this." The young voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned to see a kid of about twelve holding her red wool scarf. Reflexively, she touched her throat and found that it was indeed gone.

Forcing a smile, she extended a hand for it. "Thank you."

Once the boy was gone, she watched as he joined up with his family and headed for their flight. A flicker of longing and a lingering sense of loneliness made her frown and she took the paperback in her hand to the register.

Somewhere between Geneva and London, Elektra fell asleep. When she woke, Matt was sitting beside her, his ever-present dark sunglasses on. He smiled at her, squeezing her hand. "I thought you were dead." Elektra stared at him for a long moment. "I am dead," she whispered.

Gasping, Elektra woke up and looked around the first class section of the cabin. Most all of the passengers around her were asleep and she looked at the empty seat beside her, half expecting to see Matt Murdock truly sitting there.

When her flight landed for a stopver in Washington D.C., Elektra bought a one-way ticket to New York. It was time to re-visit Hell's Kitchen.

[Daredevil]

Matthew Murdock paced back and fort. While the defendant testified. When he stopped Matt fired off a few questions and made his final appeal to the jury. If it wasn’t overly corrupt the man sitting accused would be locked away for thirty years for the crimes he committed. He could only hope that the jury would see it that way. See past the greed that held half of the judicial system. Of course he knew that if it failed, there would be someone there to right it. Seating himself once more, hands clasped upon the table. The jury was sent to deliberate. Twenty. Forty. An hour and ten minutes. Finally the group of twelve reemerged.
“We the jury, find the accused Guilty on all accounts.”

Matt gave a soft sigh of relief. And stood. Shaking hands with those around him. The case wasn’t on his mind. It couldn’t be. Not with that dream still lingering. And the day. It was the day he lost her. She was the only thing he could think about. Head nodded as he extended the red walking cane he used. Dark glasses covered sightless eyes. All the sounds of the court echoed in his ears. Like in any case where one losses a key sense the others become stronger. Matt’s was an elevated case. Due to how his injury was sustained his remaining olfactory sense heightened to an almost superhuman strength. By sound reverberations he was able to see. It was how he saw her. In the rain. Each drop making an echo of sound.

Face turned down as he felt the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun. Hand held to the railing as he made his way down the stairs. The smells of the city wafted forwards. Sometimes it wasn’t pleasant. Still he smiled. Justice had prevailed. Breath escaped him as an elbow hit his side.
“Hey watch it pal! What are ya…”
“…Blind? Yeah. Something like that.”
The man with the gruff voice turned. Because in all actuality it was he who hadn’t been paying attention. And in a city like this. Most people had an attitude if not a chip on their shoulder. Matthew was able to take it all in stride. Part of life. Dark brows arched over the frame of his glasses. As the man apologized and moved on. Counting his steps he came to a door.

It was more part of memory now. It was the small café he always went to. Had his usual seat and knew every item on the menu. Form shifted through the door. While he carefully stepped through the isles. Hand moving over the curve of the chair as he pulled it out. There was the smell of coffee and the rustle of a newspaper. His closest friend was there waiting.
“Won another one, huh?”
“What gave it away? The twinkle in my eyes or my smile?”
“I don’t know how you can kid like that. And it’s been all over the news.”
As the waitress neared Matt raised his coffee mug to her. Once it was full he added a little cream and took a sip. Setting the mug back on the table he listened to the sounds of the café.
“So Matt, I know this blonde…and was think-“
“No thanks.”
“Matt you haven’t been on a date in years. Come on. Go out with us tonight.”
“I’m fine. Besides. I’ve somewhere else to be tonight.” the rooftops.

[Elektra]

Standing alone in the park, Elektra kept her eyes on the distant steps of the courthouse. She had been in New York since the previous night and that moment was the first time she wondered if she had made a mistake coming back. The city had been familiar, but it felt more like a case of deja vu than a re-visiting.

Disjointed memories and feelings would surface in her mind and disappear, leaving her frustrated. Elektra had been warned that it would happen, that her past life would be a shadow over this one.

A familiar figure stepped out onto the courthouse steps and Elektra shook herself. Matt's frame was easy to pick out, even from where she was standing. She stayed where she was, carefully upwind of him. If he stuck to routine, he would head to the coffee house where they had first met, when she had been so incredibly rude to him before realizing he was blind.

Matt headed off in the direction of the coffee house, which kept her upwind of him. Elektra followed, taking care to stay as far back as possible. One thing she had carried over from her first life was her love of rosewood oil. He would know the scent and realize that she wasn't dead. When he went through the door, Elektra crossed the street three blocks up and doubled back, pausing at a New York Times dispenser.

From where she stood, she could see Matt as he talked to his friend- Frank, Franklin, Froggy- or something like that. His name didn't matter to Elektra, only the huge smile on Matt's face that meant he had been victorious in the court room. Maybe that day's victory would keep him home, keep him safe even if only for that night.

Elektra shook herself, realizing that Matt and his friend were standing and getting ready to leave. Stepping back, she merged with the stream of pedestrians, gone from sight before they even opened the coffee house door.

Later that afternoon, Elektra was locked in her hotel room, meditating. The small, silver cell phone on the bedside table gave a distinctive chirp and she knew it was McCabe, her 'agent'.

"Yes."

"Hey, E. How'd the job go?" McCabe asked, his tone casual.

"The job went fine. What do you have for me?"

McCabe chuckled. "Something has come up in New York City. I can have you on a plane tonight, if you don't mind the red eye, and-"

"Don't bother. I'm already here."

[Daredevil]

“Aw come on man. Just this one night.”
“I can’t.”
The men stood from the table. Matt fished in his pocket for the wallet and a few bills. His sense of touch was heightened enough he could tell the patters. Like being able to feel the printed letters of a normal newspaper. The lawyer by day still held the smile on his lips. Perhaps part of it was just for show. Exiting the café he could hear Franklin whistle for a cab.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you.”
“Goodbye Frank. Enjoy you’re night for me.”
“You’re loss Matt.”

He could smell the exhaust of the cab as it pulled away. Then there was something more. As if something he hadn’t smelt in a long while. No. Head shook as he pushed the thought away. Convincing himself that it was nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him. Trying to will her into existence. Bring her back to life. Matt tried not to think about it on his long walk home. He enjoyed walking. Even though some of the streets had gotten rougher. Hell’s Kitchen. It was his home. Had been for years. He’d grown up there with his father. Until the day his father was murdered. Matthew didn’t grieve as normal people too. He took up vengeance. Took up the mask. Took upon him Daredevil.

In some ways it fit him better than the face he showed the world. Night was falling in New York which meant that the scum was starting to awake. The nocturnal nightlife of crime. Trying to hide from the law. But they couldn’t hide from him. Flesh still carried the scars of last night. Deep black, blue and green bruise went nearly the length of his back. Muscular form shifted from the suit. Folding it neatly for the dry cleaning. As another suit was put on. Zipping up to his neck. Fingers gripped the cowl pulling it over his skull. Neath red lenses, blind eyes opened to the darkness.

A deep red rosebud was taken from a vase upon his entry table. And out the window he went. Ready for the night. In the shadows he moved. Sounds, smells and touch moving him along. As well as the sixth gift. Much like a bats or aquatic mammals sonar. Giving him images of what was before him. Pulling himself on to the darkened rooftop he paused. The rose hit the ground softly. Matthew turned away. Twenty rooftops down was the one above a club. Where a man would be. The man he was hunting tonight. Juan DeMarco. Trying to make his way up in the underworld. Killing and robbing. Before he got to the nights work the man always had a drink in his half owned club.

With agility Daredevil dove forwards. Hands splaying out as he tucked into a roll on the next roof over. Even against slightly sore muscles he moved effortlessly. As he neared, hand gripped his belt pulling out a modified walking cane. It came apart in two pieces much like nun-chucks. But the cording between much longer and stronger. It flew forwards over the large space between roofs. Circling around some piping. Form swung forwards to the roof. Boots crunching gravel as he landed. There was someone on the rooftop with him. Pulling the weapon back he shifted. Kicking a pipe, causing it to burst. Steam and fog rushing into the cold night sky. Eliminating visibility of a normal person. He didn’t need it anyway. Fist punched forwards to where he sensed the figure.

[Elektra]

After getting the specifics of her job from McCabe, Elektra went shopping for a black cloak. It was another DeMarco, this one the rat bastard's eldest son. He often went to a shady club at the edge of Hell's Kitchen for a pre-work cocktail. The red cloak she had worn in Sweden would be too obvious for the club and her new black one was wrapped tightly around her. Elektra strode purposefully across the roof top, her red, knee-high jackboots barely making a sound. She could use the front entrance of the club, walk right in and back out again without a problem. However, she always liked to make sure she had more than one way out.

A shadow moved across the roof from her and she stopped, listening hard for any movement. Moments later, she heard the scrape of a boot and Elektra moved cautiously in that direction, pulling her sais free. Suddenly, she heard the crunch of metal and found herself enveloped in a cloud of steam, momentarily blinding her. Feeling rather than seeing the fist that came toward her face, she twisted to her left and slashed at the air with a sai.

Elektra rolled and sprang to her feet right in front of a shadowy figure. Dodging another punch, she gasped in surprise as her arm was grabbed and she found herself airborne. Elektra hit the ground hard and slid. Using the momentum of her slide, Elektra pushed to her feet and lunged for her attacker.

The shadowy figure grabbed her by the wrists and she snarled, getting ready to ram her knee into his groin. The steam cleared and she suddenly found herself face to face with a bewildered looking devil.

[Daredevil]

Daredevil shifted his weight. The gravel against the rooftops giving away not only his location but, who ever was on the roof with him. There was a reverberation of sound and he moved. The sia barely missing his forearm. Matt was on the move again. The shadow he was fighting rolled as he spun into a kick. The red devil threw another punch forwards as he pinpointed the location. Gloved hand opening to grip the arm of his opponent. With ease Daredevil flipped the form over his shoulder.

Who ever it was, they knew how to fight and were prepared. But also much lighter than any man he’d faced. There was almost something familiar about the fight. The way the pair danced against each other in the dark. It was like he’d done it before. However now wasn’t the time for him to get caught up with his thoughts. The figure he spared against was on the move. Shifting up from the ground and straight his direction. Matthew braced for what was coming. As she neared he ceased the opportunity. Gripping tender wrists he turned pulling the figure almost against him. Reading to head butt the person he held. Have them sleeping the night through.

As the steam and fog dwindled down he was able to register the mixed smell. Feminine. It was a woman he held in his grips. All but more. Elektra. It couldn’t have been. Grip remained but it was clear he was at a loss. Was he dreaming? Did he finally give in to the mental darkness he sometimes wanted. Mouth opened as he exhaled. This wasn’t a dream. If it was it was far more vivid that he’d ever had. The smells of Hell’s Kitchen hung in the air. The dull ache in his muscles. Feel of fresh perspiration against the cowl and leather suit he wore. One hand released her wrist reaching forwards to her cheek.
“…Elektra?”

[Elektra]

Elektra took a step back, lowering her sais to her side. A myriad of hazy memories moved through her mind and she took another step back, frowning in confusion. Seeing the devil's visage had started a firestorm, one she had thought wasn't possible anymore.

Things from her past life started to become more clear, her memories of Matt's smile and his gentle laugh sharper than they had ever been. Before, things like that had only been like an echo, a distant ache. Now, it was a full-blown image. Her last memory suddenly came back and the weight of it dropped her to her knees.

Elektra was dying, her lungs filling with blood from the wound Bullseye had inflicted with her own weapon. Matt was holding her, having pushed back his cowl from his face. His sightless eyes roved over her face as he held a gloved hand against the wound in her chest. There had been pleading, murmured prayers, curses. All of it had faded to oblivion.

Whatever Stick had done when he had resurrected her had virtually wiped out her old memories. Or so he had thought. Quelling the emotional storm inside of her, Elektra closed her eyes and focused on the task at hand. She had an obligation to fulfill, an unseen employer to make happy.

Standing, Elektra sheathed her sais and stepped back from Daredevil. "I have to go. I have a job to do," she said softly.

[Daredevil]

She moved away from him slowly. If he hadn’t been blind he wouldn’t have believed his eyes. But the smell of her skin, the hint of rosewood. Under the cowl he wore lids fluttered close as images danced across the sightless eyes. Memories of her. He swallowed. Hoping his dreams hadn’t escalated to this. That always thinking of her, hadn’t brought him down into a state which he couldn’t wake from. No, it was all very real.

Matthew wanted to believe in it so much. Loosing her the first time had been hard enough. And if this all was an elaborate dream, it might just push him over the edge. Listening to the sounds he shifted as the sound of gravel echoed to his ears. Moving forwards Daredevil found her, where she’d landed on her knees. Glove hand touched her shoulder he didn’t want to lose her again. Mouth parted but there were no words, no sounds. Whatever she was going through she had to go it her own.

Matt had tried to save her the first time. Tried to bring her back. Did anything he could, but it hadn’t been enough. Stick took Elektra and both vanished. As Matthew tried to live his life under another mask. Hiding the pain. Hiding his loss. As Daredevil he took out more vengeance. Become more aggressive in his fights against crime. Weight shifted as Elektra moved to stand, Daredevil did the same.

“I have to go. I have a job to do.”
He didn’t know she’d come back to life. A second chance, or that she’d become an assassin. He’d read the news, the death of DeMarco sr. He could only put two and two together. She and he were after the same mark. The red cane came back together as he stood. Sightless eyes training up under cowl as he did.
“So do I. This is still my town Elektra. Hell’s Kitchen is my domain…I don’t want to have to stop you. Please.”

[Elektra]

Elektra felt a twinge when she saw the grim set of Matt's mouth below his mask. Sadness and confusion radiated from him, making her stomach knot. Perhaps he had put two and two together, connecting her with the death of DeMarco, Sr. His shoulders had slumped as they faced each other and she felt an ache in her chest, a longing to step forward and kiss that grim mouth, to make the sadness lining his face go away. Closing her eyes, Elektra bowed her head, surprised to feel the burn of tears against her eyelids.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and squared herself to the devil, making ready for a fight. Steel flashed in the starlight as Elektra unsheathed her sais again, twirling the one in her right hand. Pushing aside her emotions, she let herself fall into the dark, quiet place she went to before completing a kill. "I have a job to do, an employer to please. I'm not the girl you loved anymore, so please stay out of my way or I will hurt you, Matt. This is the only warning I'm giving you."

[The Punisher]

Tampa, Florida
6:43 PM

Like Elektra, he also had a job to do.

“So you’re sure you can do this?”
Frank didn’t bother with a response. His cold hard stare was more than enough to satisfy. Already the twinge of a new job was eating at his temper. Just knowing that there was someone malevolent and vindictive enough for a man of his caliber to be called in made his blood boil. He’d heard and read rumors of the mark, but it had been years since his last visit to New York. The Punisher wasn’t a man of sentiment, regardless of his strong faith system. Catholic, but far from devout. Frank had his own dogmatic ethics, slanted as they might seem at times, he understood them well… his own rules let him retain the little fragments of himself that he still considered human. Christ on the other hand might have a thing or two to say on the contrary.

Teeth grit as he looked over the splash of images that were laid out on the desk. The suitcase of money he’d left untouched. Financials really didn’t matter to him on the greater scale. They were just a means to re-supply; like food or water to the body. Tapping one of them with his middle and index finger, Frank questioned.
“You got anything more to go on other than the red costume?”
“I’ll make sure you get a full dossier on the target, but my suggestion, start in Hell’s Kitchen.”
Again he nodded, leaning forward to procure the case and the photos.


New York, NY
72 hours later

It was their nature. In part he understood that. Evil men vying for the soul of Hell's Kitchen; men like Wilson Fisk, Leander Natchios, and The Hand. But the list was virtually endless. The Underworld’s was like a mythological creature. Cut off one head and two more grew back in its place. It was his nature to weed them out. He knew all too well about the ethos of evil men. Even before he’d buried his old life it was what he did best.
Get inside their heads, take down their infrastructure, and burn them out at the source without straying beyond his moral fiber.
Back then he’d had a reason… someone to save him from falling into the chasm.
Maria.

His eyes closed. Aside from a few faded photos, memories were all he had. Bright images fuzzed with time flashed across his mind’s eye.
. o O (His wife, standing with the sun at her back, the way the sun shone though her dress outlining the shape that God gave her. - Lisa, at four, blonde hair in her face, the endearing way she would raspberry her tongue and brush away the ticklish wisps. – Will finding his face in the bleachers just before he pitched a baseball.) O o .
Frank's eyes snapped opened, reactionary to the blaring horn behind him.
‘Damned NYC drivers… always thinking they own the god damned road.’

He parked the faded primer black 1969 Pontiac GTO behind a late model Buell, and cut the engine. The motor was loud; he’d replaced the stock with a 400, and now the Judge’s exhaust did little to dampen the thundering pistons. His eyes took note of the brunette exiting the apartment building’s small courtyard. Eyes that should have lingered on her softer features came to study the bulge at her ankle, a second at her side. She was packing heat.
He tore his glance away, looking instead to his surroundings, remaining casual. The fountain was dry, moss had taken up permanent residence in the eaves and from the grayed cracked surface of the concrete bottom it gave a perfect preamble to the state of the rest of the place.

The apartment was less than inviting. A solitary fan buzzed in the high window, lazily rotating as the motor struggled and squeaked. The walls held yellowed nicotine stained paper that curled at the seams, occasionally peeled away to reveal a revolting lime green of equal putridity. His boot kicked open the bathroom door, calculating blues taking inventory - chipped tiles, seat-less toilet, bathtub stained with greenish black slime. The pipes visibly shaking with a shuddering groan as he turned on the faucet, only to produce orange rust filled water.
‘Home sweet home…’

[Vendetta]

The room was set up, her ice blue orbs stared down the lady as she moved through the doorway. “Quite the artillery dear…” the old woman stated softly-of course talking about other things, not the fact that she had many knifes and two guns on her possession as they spoke. A snorted laugh exited her lips before she moved herself through the exit. Once more her face became stoic as she eyed the building she remembers so well from her childhood.

.oO(A young girl stood in a green halter and skin tight black pants. Her breasts are voluptuous for her age, but they don’t care, they only drool and fondle her. She is dressed this way as snow falls upon her pale uncovered skin. A shudder runs down her spine at the same time he grabs her arm and drags her across the road, not caring if either get hit by traffic. “No stop I don’t want to go back in there! I promise I’ll be a good girl master, I promise.” But she knew it was already too late, she had already done damage and already the consequences were in place. They walked to the back and he shoved her into an elevator of sorts, her body running to the quickly closing door before it shuts all the way and all is left is her pounding on it….)Oo.

“Hey lady, move it, I have some place to be. It’s kinda important.” Her stare turns on him, eyes narrow as she memorizes his face and his features before nodding and stepping out of the way. A deep breath inhales into her body as she watches for the second day in a row, this building with supposed angel wings surrounding it.

Then she sees it, the odd one go in and stay for quite some time. Odd, he wasn’t in a suit and or scientist robe. Weird, strange, however one might call it. All he wore was a black trenchcoat much like herself and a black shirt with a skull upon it. Then she realized-it was the Punisher. The Punisher was working for him.

She suddenly felt her blood boil as time went on, it got worse. All she wanted to do was to show the Punisher what Niles van Roekel did to financially support his Alchemax project. As she watched, she suddenly saw him exit and enter his primer colored car. “Alright, Punisher… you want to claim to be good but work for the bad… you are just like every other male.” She grunted before jumping from her post on top of the building.

Landing roughly she found herself inside the small taxi as she slipped the driver a fifty and mumbled something. “Sorry ma’am.. .Cannot hear you.” he spoke with a separate dialect.

Her voice grew louder as she snapped his head in the direction of the primer colored car. “Follow that car. NOW.” She sat back and felt her pockets, her latches, everything that she knew she had and even places she wasn’t sure.

As she passed the building called Alchemax she shuddered again, eyes growing distant as she began to think. Think about the needles, the pins, the computers he stuck her on. .oO(”Don’t worry my child, you shall be good as new in the morning! Stupid brat.” She hated being called stupid, and pulled her restraints off. He saw her coming at him but tried to flip the switch. That was his first mistake as he wound up making her quite the opposite of slow, stupid, and weak. She was now 200 and growing times stronger than anyone in the room as she found her smirk she had been waiting 17 years to let out.)Oo.

Eyes snapped up as she found herself at a half assed apartment and the car already cooled. Either that cab knew what he was driving for, or he just got lost along the way. All she knew was she was grateful she was more than likely not seen. “Alright Castle… show time.” She mumbled as she pulled her gun from behind her trench, not just a normal gun, but a her specialty gun-a napalm gun. Her body slowly moved inside and up the stairs to the appartment.

[Daredevil]

“I have to give Justice a chance. Elektra…”
This was one of the more difficult things to face, to have her back so close, and yet so very far away from him. It only served to deepen the scar he already held. As Daredevil he was the man without fear, but under that mask, he was Matthew. He didn’t want to loose her again. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wasn’t seeing any other options. They stood in each others way. Not even the slightest hints of backing down. Sightless eyes closed underneath the mask. How he longed to hold her close, run his fingers through her hair; kiss her as he had before.

Sound from her getting ready to fight rang in his ears. While slow breath drew from his lips. Muscular red clad form shifted, gloves gripping the cane.
“I have a job to do, an employer to please. I’m not that girl you loved anymore, so please stay out of my way or I will hurt you, Matt. This is the only warning I’m giving you.”
“I’m sorry, forgive me…”
Daredevil knew she would be ready for a fight and he calculated his move. The cane swung forwards with a chink against her sais. Booted feet moved kicking up gravel as he shifted his weight for a punch her direction.

Every hit she took, Matt felt the pain of it. Inside it killed him to fight so hard against her. To hurt the one he loved. She made it clear there was no other way. Hell’s Kitchen was still his realm. Spinning he sent a kick towards her abdomen. What had changed in her life he couldn’t know, of one thing he was sure, deep down there was still the woman he loved. Faith was what he had to hold him steady. There was still a chance of redemption, for her, for him and for them. The sound of the fight echoed into the night. Crunch of gravel, sounds of a hit, and quickened breathing.