Brushing a heap of glass chunks from under her ass, Hellion steers the sedan at a tire-blistering acceleration and corners hard.  Through the destroyed side-window, rain begins to patter at her arm, and a cool, stinging drop pats her cheek like an admonishing pixie.  "Now you're speaking my language, Medea."  She smirks, staring ahead still, her gaze wandering for a moment to check the passenger in the back seat.  "The Valkyrie project... that<i>does</i>ring a bell.  I never read the files, but I heard rumors."<br/><br/>Cornering with a minimal slide, the tires chirp more than she'd like, but they don't scream-- Hellion's direction seems to be for the expressway.  Maybe across the bridge.  "I'm surprised that a person with sufficient talent to control the human will didn't settle for a seven-figure-a-year job in corporate advertising."  As if on queue, they pass one of the massive, hovering advertising bots, its searchlights giving Hellion a moment's pause before she discerns that their purpose isn't to seek, but to be seen.  The advertisement: "Nostalgia: Let Not the Night's Dream Fade".<br/><br/>The cops are almost certainly locking down their scene; no one in pursuit yet, apparently, so their only need now is to cross the bridge, lose the car, and catch a train into Manhattan.  Hellion takes a moment to scan the young man's face again in the rearview-- ruddy and streaked with fresh blood, sure, but pretty underneath.  She smiles faintly under the mask.<br/><br/>"Are you saying he's your suspect?  Because I'm not sure this guy's jacking-up enforcers and sniffing for clues at a fire scene connect back to tossing a washed-up spook out a highrise window."  Her eyes pivot back to Medea's.  She's almost proud to have the knowledge she has so far revealed, but makes no motion to share more.  "You know that he was a complete monster, I hope.  No hero, but rather an empowered extension of a corrupt society's fears and hatred."<br/><br/>Without further explanation, she sets into a steady pace of five-miles-per-hour above the posted speed limit as they start across the East River.  "Damned if you don't, damned if you do."  She leans back slightly in the seat.  "I tell you what... I'll help you talk to this gentleman.  Gently, politely.  We'll all play Hunkey-Dorey as long as we can."  She reaches for the mask with one hand as the lamp-posts roll by like sentinel candles.  "You ask me questions, if you like.  And I'll try to help you out, like I've said."  She changes lanes, makes their way around a tractor-trailer bound out of New Jersey.  "I'll worry about the 'safe' part."<br/><br/>Her face, beneath the mask, is lovely.  Full lips, huge eyes uptilted at the corners.  Soft smile lingering at her mouth.  "I'm even going to show you my place, if you'd like.  But you gotta promise me something."  She glances aside at the woman beside her, letting her gaze roam from face to thigh before returning to the road ahead.  "No tricks, no masks.  You've got to let me see the real you."