#kitchensdevil

“Elektra’s dead, right?”

That’s how Jess began the conversation: with a direct question. She didn’t have time for bullshit or dancing around the matter of hand. For the last week, her doorway had been darkened time and time again by wives, sisters, brothers, whatevers of people who were missing loved ones. M.I.A. assholes in New York? Nothing new. A fuckton of them being petty criminals? Maybe a little more weird. Some big names? Now, you were talking about something worth Jessica’s time.

All but breezing into Matt’s apartment, she tossed her camera down on the couch before pulling the flask from her pocket and taking a long swig. It wasn’t a secret that Jess was far from an Elektra fan. She had never known her as Elektra Natchios before she became the freaky born again undead ninja who went by the Black Sky. Jesus, it just screamed melodrama. She had died, though. Buried under the city with Matthew going with her. Supposedly. Matt was back, wasn’t he? Elektra could be as well.

“Look, I have a whole conspiracy board at home with the red fucking string and everything. I’ve got a few cases I’m working on, but I need to know: Elektra. She’s dead, right? There’s no reason for her to be tied up in this?”