"What happens when the money runs out?" Bane asked.
Sofia looked back up at him, "well I'll just fly away."
Bane held her eyes, neither speaking, Talia's voice echoed in his head, her painfully clear orders to keep the pilot safe, to not allow the other mercenaries to forget their place.
He was given free rein to remind them in a way that set an example for the first infraction and death for a repeat offense.
Talia was very aware of how few people could boast having a pilot as part of their arsenal, especially a pilot that could fly the formidable C130.
A plane with a 42,000-pound payload.
A plane with the capacity to transport 128 combat troops.
Talia wanted Sofia, a woman who could fly a plane that was nearly 100 feet long and was equipped with a robust weaponry system of a smattering of miniguns, Vulcan cannons and armament that she'd had added outside of the factory.
Talia wanted Sofia to be as comfortable as she could be within the company of mercenaries.
"Where did Talia put your housing accommodations?"
Sofia looked up, "somewhere safe," she said as she put down the screwdriver before picking up the shop rag.
She moved away from the engine, wiping her hands as she leaned back against a dull worktable, its tarnished quality was in diametric opposition to the stainless-steel worktable directly across from it.
Bane already knew where she was staying.
He knew all the mercenaries assigned quarters, their roles, expectations, and charged with keeping them in line.
His eyes briefly became clouded as he remembered grunting his affirmation when Talia was explicitly clear over the phone that he was not to stand in the way of the of Sofia.
He was not to question her choices, and that he was very much not the one to whom she reported.
Bane had felt a surge of jealousy that Sofia seemed more important, somehow more instrumental in Gotham's liberation in the little time she'd known Talia.
All because she could maneuver that massive, metal bird in the air.
Bane stopped moving, as every step he took was mirrored by Sofia. He'd taken a pause when he noticed that she was subtly moving closer to her loaded handgun at the edge of the worktable.
The short-barreled, titanium firearm was never on safety.
While Bane and Sofia had been orbiting each other, the stark white amphibian had come hopping into the room with the wet floors and concrete walls that bled condensation.
The albino frog scuttled under one of the worktables as Bane directed the conversation to her loaded firearm lying on the table.
"Where did you acquire the handsome weaponry?"
Sofia didn't take her eyes off of Bane as she spoke. "From a warlord that's not a part of NATO," she answered with a chuckle.
Sofia caught him off guard when she spoke. "What are you doing right now?"
"The relevance of my whereabouts Miss Bishop?"
"I need to check out the tires, it'll be a nice drive with the full moon," she said as she tucked the loaded handgun into a holster under her grease-stained coveralls.
Bane was at a momentary loss for words as Sofia partially unzipped the slate grey coverall in order to stash the gun from prying eyes. She was wearing a darker grey tank top underneath.
It wasn't the swell of her breasts that caught Bane's eyes.
Over her heart was a gnarled mass of scar tissue, a malformed pocket of discolored skin stood out on the smooth skin at the top of her left breast.
His view was fleeting, Sofia had the gun concealed with seamless practice and the zipper closed before he could narrow his eyes.
"Well?" she said when he remained wordless.
"Proceed to the route Miss Bishop," Bane finally said before he settled in the stiff-backed passenger seat.
He buckled the conventional lap belt, unable to not notice that Sofia's seat had a four-point racing harness.
The moonlight washed over the commanding Plymouth, making the interior dully gleam.
They were both comfortable in the silence as Sofia navigated the powerful, insatiably fuel hungry engine throughout the moonlit streets of Gotham City.
Bane's eyes slid over to rest against the mangled flesh on the top of her hand as she downshifted. The skin on the top of her hand had positively erupted from the bullet's high velocity impact, leaving a crude crater that had misshapenly healed.
Sofia's voice broke his scrutiny.
"Why does Talia hate this city so much?"
Bane considered his answer as Sofia's eyes swept the landscape she navigated the car past.
Gotham City had pockets of poshness and staggeringly tall ivory towers but there were also corners where men and women sold their cunts, sucked cock, and got every orifice rammed for the right price or an arrest if it was undercover GCPD.
"Has Talia told you nothing?"
Sofia briefly glanced over at Bane, shrugging before returning her attention to the road in front of them. "She gives me cash and I fly where she wants, I don't care much for personal plights, but her passion is certainly intriguing."
Bane stared at Sofia's profile before looking ahead to the upcoming turn off for the financial district. He wanted a look at The Gotham Exchange without any activity in the building and surrounding area.
"Turn right at the next set of lights," he directed.
"No," Sofia said as she accelerated, "I need a straight road with less stop signs."
Bane narrowed his eyes, his ears immediately filled with Talia telling him he was not to dictate orders to her personal pilot. Talia hadn't told Sofia much, mostly because Sofia didn't appear interested and only wanted cash in hand.
"Talia is not here because of a plight of passion," Bane stated, his mechanical tone was strained, anger leeching into the space in between the hissing of the aerosolized release of his serum.
"Sure, "Sofia answered, completely unfazed, continuing without glancing over at Bane. "Proper motivation is everything."
"Aren't you afraid of flying too close to the sun?"
"I know how to avoid getting burned," Sofia answered without pausing. "It's more dangerous being on the ground," she added as she pressed the accelerator further to the floor as she merged onto a frontage road that ran parallel to a freeway.
"Do you not fear someone shotting you out of the sky?"
Sofia nodded, "always in the back of my mind but I'm equipped with the massive ordnance penetrator, there's not much that can defend itself against the MOP."
"Have you ever considered branching out on your own, more money?" Sofia asked as she tightened her hands on the steering wheel which held a gentle vibration as the RPM's were close to redlining.
She watched her tachometer in the space of silence before Bane answered.
In truth, he'd never had a single thought of a life without Talia.
Bane weighed each word carefully before he spoke to her, Talia hadn't told him about putting a pilot on the payroll, he knew nothing about Sofia Bishop.
He didn't know if she'd shoot him without a second thought.
Bane clenched his teeth until his jaw popped as he struggled to determine what chess piece Sofia was on the board.
Where was she next to Talia?
Was her chess piece ornately carved and hollow or full of fire and brimstone?
"You could name your own price in private security," Sofia added in the wake of his continued silence.
"I am not driven by money Miss Bishop," he finally rasped.
"Good for you," Sofia said with a chuckle as she shifted, the tires devouring the road with the increased speed under its fat tires.
Her perceived flippancy infuriated him, made him rapidly devolve as his primitive hackles rose.
Talia's voice was immediately in Bane's ear, reminding him in her dulcet tones that her pilot's safety was paramount only next to her comfort.
"Is your crew also as driven by money?"
Sofia nodded as she passed a slow-moving car, not many vehicles were on the road altogether with the lateness of the hour.
"They understand the value of money besides what is merely stamped on it. They know that money can move mountains and don't ask questions since I keep their coffers full."
"Was your first crew of the same variety?"
"No," she said dryly, shaking her head. "Passion played a part in my first crew and that was a mistake," Sofia added as she tightened her hand on the stick shift knob, the scarred skin stretching with the epidermal tension.
The stick shift knob was a modified cue ball, clear with a wide-open purple eye in the center, encircled with a heavy liquid black eyeliner. The white part of the eye was rife with broken blood vessels.
Sofia's chest ached from remembering what was supposed to have been her final flight.