Devil's Advocate... or some similarly witty sounding name

Nick's jaws gaped and a flush went to his cheeks as he heard what she said, before he shook it off and the streams of gravity canceling EM particles from the trailing edge of his wings turned into torrents, making his wings appear bigger than they were as he ascended to her height just as she started moving forward. "Where are we raci--" he began, before he changed the angle of his wings and directed the equivalent of a small explosion of energy behind him to catch up to her, still a foot or two behind. This was called an 'impulse' or specific amount of energy released for a specific amount of time for a set acceleration. Either way, he simply soared along on that momentum, the streams of energy fading to trickles directed downward at a sixty four degree angle to keep him moving forward at that altitude.

"So where are we racing to, mi--" Nick started again before she dove. Oh god damn it, he thought, though he laughed instead and cut off the flow of particles to face down and again apply a second impulse that let him follow, spreading his wings further apart as he streaked after her, counter to instinctive thought about wings. Beneath them, he was forming a store of energy particles, so that when he absolutely needed to pull out, he'd release that and shoot back up. "Where are we racing to!?" he finally got out.

He was in his 'zen' mode once she answered, simply enjoying being airborne as she floated around him. He might be faster, but to pull off those moves at a higher velocity were almost too difficult for him to try. Then again, considering a USAF Fighting Falcon had been dispatched to try and shoot him out of the sky, it was perhaps a good thing that his evasive strategy consisted of speeding up. Long range missiles couldn't hack the turns he pulled, and short range missiles could be outrun. The mediums were troublesome, but he normally carried a pocketful of aluminum chaff and a road flare just in case. "Two times?" he asked, zoning back in to find her keeping her distance ahead of him. He smiled, turning up the heat on his wings, sending the directed thrust of his particles almost straight horizontal until he matched her velocity, his eyes picking out details along the speeding landscape and overall just making his strange like of the place even better. The sky, the rushing wind, and the feeling of moving really, really fast combined to make one singular thought pop out. He was hungry.

"Cheater!" he called, grinning as she turned back and winked at him. So she wants a good and proper race? I'll give her one then, he thought closing his eyes for a brief second and felt the world around him slow as both his velocity and the rate at which he processed information increased rapidly. The trail of cerulean behind him lengthened to a full four feet beyond the trailing edges of his wings, and he began to gain ground, thoroughly enjoying that he could look around and see the world in ultra high definition at his seeming leisure because of the counterbalance effect on his nervous system.

From what he could see, the property line was nearing a curve point, and so he began releasing more energy than normal from his left wing, keeping it stored up in the leading edge until he'd need it. When the curve started, he cut off the flow of energy keeping him aloft and flipped over twice vertically, twisting right as he came out of it and releasing a powerful blast of EM to redirect him along the curve's interior length, with the added benefit of maintaining about ninety percent of his initial velocity.

Nick turned, adding more thrust output on his left wing directed backwards so he sped up and spun on a set axis to face her, the energy streams flowing backwards to his perception as he grinned. "I thought this was a race?" he shouted, so he'd know she'd hear him. He had just enough time facing backwards to see how she flew, banking nigh vertically. It was beautiful, in a natural way, he supposed, though to him, it had absolutely nothing on the ultrasharp velocity changes he could pull off with enough warning of the track.

That said, such maneuvers were dangerous, and since he needed to plan ahead for most of them, not super practical on the fly, plus they drained more than a pure turn would. Still, he expected that this 'race' of theirs would benefit from a few aerial stunts, if only to show her that he was worth hiring. He did also hope that nobody used any electronic equipment too close to his flight path, as if they absorbed too much, it'd Gauss their equipment's magnetic coding and royally screw it up.

Nick simply smiled wider as she passed him, laughing with sheer enjoyment at the challenge of racing her, until a feather shot past him and he blinked once as he saw her wing crumple, attempting to process what happened. He wasn't slow though, and followed her gaze, looking down at a heading of 280 degrees, with more flashes coming from the guns. There were at least four of them. One shooting. Of course, this was a passing analysis, and not anything binding. "No, I'm going to-- never mind," he shouted back, forcing a banking turn to the left and flaring his wings brightly to an extent that they wouldn't be able to miss his bright cerulean wings as he pulled a one hundred and eighty degree bank turn and streaked downwards. Suicidal, or at least uncaring of his life, but that was certainly an element of his personality. He saw the rest open fire, the ones with small arms focusing on the fast moving target, him, and not so much on the retreating one, though he expected the sniper to try and take her out. The landscape swept past, along with bullets that whizzed past, and a load of shot that smashed into the latter half of his right wing and was repelled back down to earth.

Their faces screamed into view before he flared his wings out and slammed them down right above them, sending a wave of EM Repulse energy that tossed anyone with a fairly high amount of metal against the trees, and flipped the small black sedan they came in over. This also boosted his altitude, and he spun, shooting off with an explosive release of energy in the direction of the villa, accelerating rapidly and spreading a storm of EM particles across his path to make bullets less effective. But it drained him, and he wavered just below the three hundred mile per hour mark as he caught up with Chelle. He expected a reprimand, at the very least, death at the outer edges of the spectrum, but at least the men below were still getting to their feet and losing valuable range on the target.

Nicholas was expecting a rebuke, not to see the person he had just risked his life to prevent injury to start to fall, wings useless and a trace of blood in the air streaming slowly from her shoulder. He was only a hundred yards from her, but he was beginning to hit the strain point of his energy. Okay, if I go supersonic, I could end up killing her, or sending her into an unrecoverable spin, he thought grimly, streaking across the space. But I don't have enough energy to outright stop two falling bodies and hit the speed of sound. Wait, this place has a pool, no... too far. Looks like I'm going to have to do a stupid move, again. And now I'm too low to stop us properly. He shook his head, shifting up above her and diving, the stream of energy behind him cutting off altogether and the wings folding as he quickly moved to reach terminal velocity.

Great choice of words. Terminal velocity, it's as if they want you depressed before you hit the ground, he thought, catching up to her as the ground rushed up to meet them and he began tossing just about everything he had into his wings' leading edges in preparation. The instant he reached close enough, Nick tossed his arms around her waist and the cerulean pair behind him spread massively, unloading a torrential flood of similarly colored particles that smashed into the soft earth in front of the villa. Each particle repelled the others in a chain reaction that slowed them incredibly fast, though not fast enough for him to avoid crashing into it and sliding for twenty feet. It rattled his teeth, and his pants were ruined, but, it seemed, she was okay.

The image, if one could actually operate a camera in the dense fog of ice blue particles , was picturesque, him breathing hard with an angelic looking figure held closely in his arms. "Miss Chelle?" he asked, drawing whatever energy he could from the cloud of EM particles around him, something he couldn't do while in midair. Her wound looked like a clean hit, but it had been a rough landing, and a desperate move. The smell of her blood was all over the place, all over him for that matter, but he fought hard to restrain that desire. Neither the time, nor the place, and sure as hell not the person he thought sharply, shaking his head. "I can't be sure, but it doesn't look like the bullet went through bone, though it hit some," Nick said as he quietly checked out the wound.

"Then we'll have to make sure you don't bleed out," Nick said sedately, reaching up with his free hand to tug the silk tie loose. Well, at least it's impossible to notice blood on a tie this color, he thought wryly, placing the widest part of the tie directly on the bloody wound and then deftly wrapping it around with one hand. "There. That should hold you, though we should get it cleaned and see if there's anything dangerous in there," he added as his hands let her slide down a bit so he could stand up slowly. Damn. My knees are really, really unhappy at the moment, he thought, grimacing as his healing came into play, starting to repair what he was pretty sure were some hairline fractures on his patellas. His deep scarlet eyes looked over the woman, checking for other injuries, but he really couldn't tell from such a cursory examination, and looked back in the direction of where he came from, the dense trail of EM Repulse particles acting like a bright cerulean arrow back to where the gang members were.

"I wrecked their vehicle, and any electronics they had are fried. Plus they can't use weapons all too well in that fog," slipping the compact FN Five-Seven handgun from inside his pocket and ejecting the magazine. A full clip of ten lethal 5.7 by 28 millimeter rounds, each one capable of penetrating two Kevlar vests at distances over one hundred and sixty feet. "Neither can I, actually, but I expect them to run to a rendezvous with their secondary escape point and get out of it. Would you like me to hunt them down and exterminate the threat?" Nick asked, calmly sliding the box magazine into the bottom until it clicked and he yanked the slide back to chamber a round. The fog around them swirled, flowing back into his fading wings as he waited for an answer. His demeanor was businesslike, a slight hint of genuine anger in the way he handled the gun at his side.

"It is nothing, Miss Chelle," he replied, a little on edge from how she'd reacted to the pain. Still, her fangs weren't totally threatening. especially given he had a pair of those in his mouth, though they didn't elongate quite as much. Nick's scarlet eyes followed her own as she looked at the trail and he shrugged politely. "Not so if you're in a fighter jet or a missile," he replied and smiled slightly at how he'd accidentally caused both to crash into each other during the chase only two months before. The cryptic smile faded as he looked back at Chelle, disliking the image of the person that very well might be his employer in such a ruined state. "Yes. Not only did they ruin our race, they also stained my tie," Nick said, smiling at that bit of gallows humor. He did care that she was shot, after all, and that demanded vengeance. Or, as the normal people put it, payback.

"I won't be long. Few people can track me when I move fast enough, and... if you need blood," he began, before he furrowed his brows in worry as she slowed down and appeared to pass out before coming back. "We'll trade. Give me something a little heavier than a pistol and take some of my blood," Nick stated diplomatically, offering his wrist to her. True, I need to kill them, but they wouldn't station their escape vehicle within at least a kilometer. Standard operations procedure for Spec Ops, if Dad was right. That gives me about two minutes before they reach it, and then I'll spring a trap. Meanwhile, Miss Chelle could use something to help her stay on her feet. "I intend to, but your health comes first. Drink."