For a time, everything was great. The operation ran more smoothly than Ayda could have ever imagined, even in her wildest of dreams. For a time, the city was her oyster; its criminals, her pearl. They were eating out of her hands. She led them likes lambs to the slaughter, like lemmings off a cliff. Nothing they did could stop her. She was the baddest badass in town. For a time, Ayda was on top of the world.

After the first little hitch with Guang, she changed her approach just slightly. It wasn't realistic to believe all of the Triad's pushers possessed the same level of martial prowess, but it also wasn't impossible. She had to look at every enemy as a real threat, instead of just some lowly street thug. After all, the gang would've never succeeded if its main form of income couldn't remain afloat. The dealers had to be able to defend themselves, at least somewhat.

Armed with that knowledge, Ayda put a modicum of caution into every scenario. However, her method remained mostly the same. She would use a nifty app which scrambled her phone number to arrange a meeting, show up in costume, and proceed to put down her targets. Each one ended with an anonymous call to the police, often with the criminal's phone to prevent a trace on her own device.

That last measure, while unfortunate, was necessary. A few prominent city politicians had taken up a rather hostile point of view. They vehemently opposed her actions. The police should handle matters of justice. The humble citizens had no place taking the law into their own hands. Never mind the very visible undercurrent of transgression and debauchery which ran rampant throughout the town. If the cops were truly effective at preventing crime, then this current would not exist. For some reason, the powers that be seemed incapable of understanding this.

Ayda had momentum on her side, but it couldn't possibly last forever. Eventually, her unstoppable force would meet with some immovable object. When the clock hit zero and she was at her wit's end, Ayda would have to think of a solution. But that night wasn't this one. She still had time. She still had resources and the means to acquire them.

The resources, in this case, were connections. Her entire method relied upon duping drug dealers into a trap and then beating the snot out of them. She couldn't do this without one all important facet, phone numbers. Without contact information, the setup of meetings became completely impossible. This was the only method she'd managed to think of which actually produced reliable results. Without it, her entire plan fell apart at the seems.

The numbers from Allen, Tino, and Miguel ran out long ago. Ayda had been persisting entirely on information gathered from phones of the dealers and buyers she tagged. This was not a reliable source. Most were smart enough to keep that sort of thing out of circulation in any way, shape, or form. She needed something better, a more lucrative way to gather the information she so desperately desired.

That was a bridge she would cross when the time came. For now, her way produced results. Ayda trolled around the streets of the industrial district at a modest speed, usually a hair below the speed limit, which doubtless aggravated many a hapless driver unlucky enough to be stuck behind her. In these cases, she'd been sure to turn off and let them pass. Which streets she explored didn't really matter. Her experience in the past weeks taught her a drug deal could go down literally anywhere.

That's what she was looking for, a drug deal. If Ayda could interrupt one, then she'd be able to both put a pusher behind bars as well as mine the buyer's phone for contacts. To spot a deal in progress was much harder than tracking down a lone addict, but the prospect of killing two birds with one stone was far too tempting a fruit to pass up.

The credit for this strategy could not go to her, however. Allen and his friends deserved most of the credit. All this time later, and she still thanked them for their contribution. Their first encounter had been a fount of useful information, and much of it still remained relevant. Ayda gained some much needed knowledge from those three buffoons. She should probably get around to paying them back properly, one of these days. Maybe a haircut and a toothbrush?

Experience proved, perhaps, her most valuable tool. All her time spent organizing, staking out, and attending drug deals taught her what to look for. She knew what forms they took. To a normal person, these sorts of exchanges appeared to be nothing more than a quiet conversation, strangers or even friends simply passing the time. To trained eyes, however, they stuck out plain as day.

Or, at least, that was the theory. As with pretty much everything Ayda did, this particular endeavor seemed much more difficult than she'd planned for. In concept, it was simple. Ride around looking for any suspicious gatherings, break them up, and steal a phone. In practice, however, it didn't pan out quite so simply.

Of course, that made sense. Dealers and addicts didn't want to be found. They're main goal, other than the exchange of merchandise, was to remain hidden. She'd learned not to underestimate druggies. Despite their bad habit, most were quite intelligent. Those who weren't, at least seemed street smart. They had to be to support their impure practice, which was hard to do behind bars.

The mission clock would tick over to two hours any minute now. That's how long she'd been doing this with no palpable results to show for it. There were plenty of people, of course, just not the right kind. These were just normal citizenry, going about their—most likely—perfectly legal business. They weren't undesirable types.

A few were quite obvious users. Their clothes, dirty hair, gaunt skin, and even the manner with which they walked gave them away. Some may have even been high right at that moment. Now, Ayda could single out one of them to follow for a while, but that was a gamble. If they weren't out to buy more crank, then tailing them would be an absolute waste of time. Time was not a commodity she could afford to waste.

So much attention had Ayda been paying to the people, she actually managed to get herself lost. She slowed to a crawl and peered around her surroundings. These buildings were unfamiliar to her, although everything in the industrial district appeared the same if you stopped looking hard enough. Needless to say, this place lit no light bulbs in her brain. There was an intersection up ahead. If she knew the street names, she could get her bearings.

Ayda drove up to the T in the road. Green street markers bolted to the top of a stop sign slowly grew into focus. In a few more feet, she'd be able to read the words written upon them. This wouldn't actually help her complete the task at hand, but she at least would acquire a sense of direction once again.

She'd had every intention of reading the sign, but upon coming closer to the intersection, something else grasped the easily distracted teenager. Up ahead was a public basketball court, little more than two hoops and some flat concrete within a tall, chain link fence. Normally such a thing demanded little attention from her. She disliked sports which didn't involve punching. But this occasion was different.

Two people stood on the right side of the court underneath a hoop. A shadow cast by a nearby building concealed them. The men themselves were visible, but their actions could not be seen. Ayda was immediately suspicious. Her paranoid mind knew things were rarely convenient without a reason. These two must have known they were standing in shadows. Unless they'd' been there long enough for the sun to move and cast the shadow over them, this placement was on purpose. At the very least, it warranted investigation.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Ayda turned the corner right and parked her motorcycle in an alley and got off, grabbing up her staff before she exited it. She didn't bother with looking both ways before crossing the street. There weren't any other vehicles to worry about. Any pause was a waste of time. If this was a drug deal, it would be over quickly. In the city, people could disappear in the blink of an eye. She had to get there fast.

She didn't just stop and stare at the fence. No, that would be much too obvious. She kept walking like a normal citizen. Although, the staff in her hand was a bit of a dead giveaway. Thankfully, the two men inside the fence were too engrossed in their own business to pay much mind to her.

Ayda gave them a long sideways glance as she passed. They were dressed in dark clothing, one in a baggy hoodie and the other a tight black tank. Both were Caucasian, but the latter was noticeably more built. They certainly looked the part. It still wasn't necessarily a drug deal, though. That is, not until an exchange was made.

It was a quick motion, the sort of prestidigitation made by experienced fingers. Without any verbal communication, the two quickly reached out their hands in almost perfect unison. The movements were low and slight, almost unnoticeable by the naked eye. Ayda's perception, however, could not be fooled. Objects clearly changed hands. Although she failed to see what exactly happened, a flash of pale white was all the evidence she needed to pounce.

The fools had left the gate open. This was probably to further divert suspicion, but all it did was give Ayda an easy access point. She slipped through without a sound. Impromptu, she hadn't yet decided on a plan of attack. Remaining quiet kept stealth on the table. Though, as she approached, Ayda realized such care was a bit overkill. Plus, it was boring.

"Hey!" She shouted, a hint of a growl in her voice. Her staff glowed purple.

Both heads turned to her. Their reaction was instantaneous, and shared between the both of them. It was something Ayda had been encountering more and more as word spread. Their eyes tripled in diameter. Muscles tensed up. Each of them floated between fight and flight. This was recognition. This was fear.

The buyer, a scrawny little White boy, bolted for the opposite end of court. There was no gate in that direction. He probably planned to climb the fence. Ayda didn't feel like chasing him. Instead, she hefted her staff, switched to a reverse grip. Holding it over her shoulder like a spear, she launched it at the fleeing suspect. Propelled by a blast, it rocketed toward him. The metal implement hit him square in the back of the head with a hollow thud. He tumbled face first into the cement, and there he remained, motionless. That throw could've knocked a horse unconscious. Likely, this guy wouldn't be waking up for quite a while.

With one half of the equation dealt with, Ayda transitioned to perpetrator number two. His eyes flickered from Ayda to the grounded druggie. Clearly, he hadn't the faintest idea how to proceed. Should he run away, or take his chances and fight? Ayda decided for him.

The girl slapped him across the face. It was not accompanied by a blast. This strike was meant as an insult, and also to get his attention. On both accounts, it succeeded. The man gave her an acrid glare and put up his dukes. His stance, while not perfect, conveyed at least some level of training. He, at the very least, had been in a fight before.

Ayda also assumed a boxing formation. She wanted to fight on his terms for sheer entertainment value. They stepped around each other a few times, jockeying for position, a time to strike. Ayda could have lashed out at any time, but where's the value in that? She gestured for the man to approach, smirked at the fire behind his pupils. Brave. Stupid, but brave.

The dealer aimed a right hook at Ayda's temple. The move had a good deal of power, but lacked almost entirely in speed. Ayda crossed over with her right hand and grabbed his wrist, pulling him off line. When his balance slipped, she jammed a fist into his ribs with a blast just strong enough to accentuate it. The dealer bent over and took a few steps back.

He looked up at her with unfiltered hatred. All Ayda could do was level a cocky smile at his pathetic feelings. The man charged at her. He loosed two quick jabs. The teenager avoided them with sly movements of her head. She tapped him in the heart, a light blow meant to stun.

Her next punch careened into his cheek. So enraptured in the over-confident thrill of an easy win was she, Ayda failed to notice the purple glow in her fist. The horrible shattering of bone and squishing of muscle echoed off the nearby buildings, audible even over her blast. The dealer fell to hands and knees. Blood dribbled from his destroyed jaw.

Ayda's heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught. A hand covered her mouth.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" The young woman exclaimed. She dropped her hand. "I didn't mean to do that, you have to believe me!" That strike wasn't even meant to end the fight, much less permanently disfigure a man. Ayda had no love for criminals, especially those belonging to the Triad, but this guy didn't deserve such harsh treatment. When had she lost control?

Gently, she took his hand. The dealer offered no resistance as she dragged him the short distance over to the fence and sat him comfortably as possible against it. From her pocket, she produced a zip tie. Hand down at his side, she strapped him to the chain links.

"I have to do something real quick, but then I'll call the cops and they'll bring an ambulance, okay?" She did her best to speak in a comforting tone. The man slowly nodded, too sick with pain to manage much more. "I'm really sorry. I just—I didn't meant to, I really didn't. I'll pay your medical bills, I swear. I'm just... I'm so sorry."

There was nothing more she could do for him except ensure medical attention arrived as soon as possible. To that effect, she jogged over to the still passed out junkie. The rational part of her brain said he was just fine, but she bent down to check his pulse just in case. His heartbeat was slow and strong, like someone sleeping peacefully. Likely, he had a concussion, but would make a full recovery.

Ayda rifled through his pockets in search of her real quarry, a prize more valuable than gold. His front two produced no results. Was this the one guy in all of El Puerto under the age of thirty who didn't carry a cellphone everywhere? If she went through all the trouble of not only finding him, but seriously injuring someone, then rage wouldn't even begin to describe her state of mind. Her spirits were about to plummet, until she checked his back pocket. Inside was his cellphone. It was an old fashioned flip phone, the kind someone could buy for ten dollars at any electronics store, which would explain why he felt comfortable sitting on it.

Quickly, the girl took down all of his relevant contact information into her own device. Much like Tino, he used actual names to denote each person. Ayda targeted the Asian sounding monickers, again feeling dirty at the blatant racial profiling. This entire situation had gone to utter shit in the blink of an eye. How was it even possible for something to end so badly so fast?

She stood. For an added measure of security, Ayda pocketed the addict's phone. Leaving it behind would make it evidence of a crime, one the police could take fingerprints off of. A pair of gloves would be a sound investment for the future. She filed that little tidbit as important and shuffled it around to the back of her mind. At the moment, it meant nothing.

As she left the scene, Ayda navigated to the call function on the druggie's phone and dialed the emergency authorities. Paramedics, as well as police officers, were on the way and would be there shortly. She'd made extra sure of the first one. Ayda would have to pay close attention to the news in order to get this dealer's name. He would find all of his expenses paid, as well as an anonymous deposit into his bank account.

She couldn't get the sight of him out of her mind. The sight of his misaligned jaw, limp on one side, dripping blood, was burned into her retinas. She cursed herself. This lack of control, this thirst for blood, she hadn't felt it since first acquiring her powers so long ago—back when anger was the only thing that fueled her spirit, and when Dr. Vahlen controlled every aspect of her life.

Restraint was one of the many things which separated her from the thugs she so relentlessly chased down, both from a moral standpoint and as something she'd never been allowed to have while in captivity. She dealt justice in appropriate amounts to each and every opponent she went up against. Failure to do so put her one step closer to being just another menace to the world, exactly what her creator had wanted. Ayda wouldn't revert back to that helpless little girl. She refused to.

She derived no joy from hurting people, from killing them. Indeed, since her brush with Xin, murder was something she actively avoided with every fiber of her being. She was a good person, and the men she fought weren't necessarily all bad. Ayda had to remind herself of both points. She was better than an unnecessary maiming. She had more control over her powers than that.

To use only the right amount of force a the right time, that was the thin red line which kept her divided from the degenerates of the world, from what she herself could have so easily become. Crossing it made her no better than them. She crossed it on this night. Never again. Moving forward, the only people to receive shattered jaws would be the ones who deserved it.