The Worst Form of Travel (Open/Kyte)

It had been hours on the couped up jet, and frankly, Elisabeth was sick of it in the first thirty minutes. A private jet was much better than flying coach ever could be, but even still it seemed like such a... waste of time, to be confined on a tube in the air for the ten hours it took to fly over that ocean. It was so annoying to the genius that she had spent the entire trip drawing up plans for her next invention. In front of her was a blueprint for a machine with "SLING" written at the top.

"I get that the problem would be putting them back together, but there's always a way GIR. Always." She told her naive AI, glancing at the dark wall. She shined the flashlight on it, then off, then back on. "This is going to bug the Hell out of me though."

It didn't help that she was on her 27th hour awake and her fourth energy drink of the last two hours. She glanced at her watch and realized they would be landing soon. As if on queue, the plane started it's descent. She was already strapped in, so she wasn't worried about falling over. The first few flights she was on, her pilot would always warn her when they would turn downwards. She told him not to bother. She always knew.

"Steel City." She looked out the window, the lights of the city polluting the night sky. "Here we come."

It felt like no time at all passed before the plane had landed on the runway. Had she fallen asleep for a second there? Maybe. When the stairs were lowered, and she stood in her pink sweat shirt and black shorts in front of many bright lights. Way too many lights. "What the Hell..?"

Surrounding the plane were people with cameras and lights, apparently tracking the billionaire on her trip to America. She didn't understand why. It was annoying.

Before she could tell them to leave, though, a loud explosion rang out from the end of the runway! What was that?

It felt like, for the first time in an intense few months, that he was finally going to be able to achieve some much-needed rest. Everything was still so confusing. And it had all gone by in a blur. Awakening in the middle of some wreckage, with broken bones and loss of blood. All he remembered before that was a bright light, and... heat. And a thunderous noise. An explosion? Yes... entirely likely. Then, he was stepping out of the wreckage, and there were people there to detain him. He had to resist. He had to kill them. He carried a reinforced blade that he knew for a fact he had never touched before that moment, and yet... it felt so familiar in his hands. He had fought for months to get back to some semblance of civilization, in a land he knew nothing about. But when he spoke to people, he understood them. And what's more, he was able to respond in kind. Phrases came to mind the likes of which he never knew. Things such as "passport," "cell phone," "terminal," and "pretzels." Wounded as he was, everyone on the "flight" that gazed at him was curious. But as soon as he sat in those uncomfortable seats, exhaustion overtook him. He fell into a deep slumber.

When he woke, he blinked. He looked around at the cabin, and at first, nothing appeared wrong. But then he realized that the area was empty, cleared of all occupants. As he stood to leave the plane, a man came through the curtain that separated each area of passengers, smiling at him. He saw a firearm in his hand. "Kuro... come peacefully. We need to debrief you at headquarters." Suzaku grit his teeth and made a move for something in the seat, but the headhunter shot towards the wall next to him. [color:d420=#white]"You're being erratic, Kuro... your memories have been tampered with. I'm going to take you back and we'll get this all sorted out."

Suzaku leveled his eyes at the man. The Sharingan spun into them as he began thinking. The flight had given him plenty of time to restore his chakra reserves... but his body was still broken and exhausted from the constant fighting. "And if I refuse? Or do I have a choice?" The man smiled knowingly. Suzaku flipped onto the seat as he was fired at, grabbing the suitcase he carried with him. He then put it in front of him and charged the man. The suitcase absorbed or deflected all of the bullets before Suzaku sent him flying to the other side of the cabin with a strike.

He took the hit well, but his gun was empty. He smirked and tossed it away. "The hard way it is." To Suzaku's surprise, the man began forming hand seals. And this was a technique for... "Bastard!"

The explosion sent Suzaku rolling across the tarmac, but he managed to hold onto his suitcase. Everything hurt. He formed a few hand seals and erected an earthen wall to buy himself some time. He opened the suitcase and went into its hidden compartment, beginning to assemble his sword. He could care less who was watching, he needed to survive and escape. Why did he come to America in the first place? No sooner than he had the sword assembled would an arm shatter through the earthen wall and grab his face. "Tch!" He flicked his wrist and cut the man's arm open, rolling and standing as the man looked at his new wound. Suzaku took the moment to run before he began dodging numerous water dragon and fire blasts.