The outskirts of the industrial district, not necessarily close enough to see the more affluent parts of the city, but a short trip to exit it. Ayda pulled into a parking lot to the left of a four story brick building. Considerably taller than it was wide, its windows were at an equal distance. All but very few of them were dark, including the one she came for. It was night time, after all. Most folks weren't up at this hour. Ayda dismounted her bike and detached a saddlebag to carry with her. Luggage in hand, the teenagers went around the front of the building.

The lobby of the structure served only as a housing for the staircase. It was cold and cramped and obviously hadn't been swept in quite some time. Landlords in this part of town probably had bigger problems to worry about. None of this really mattered, though. Ayda's destination was on the first floor. These things were merely idle observations by a mind desperate for distraction.

Ayda opened the sesame to enter the ground floor proper. It led immediately to a somewhat narrow hallway, four pressed mahogany doors on either side. Fine blue carpet covered the floor; the white paint on the walls long since yellowed with age. It smelled with just a hint of mold. For some reason, this corridor always made Ayda feel just a little bit uncomfortable. In an attempt to lessen her time within it, she progressed to the third door down on the left hand side.

For a second she paused, a deep breath followed by a long sigh. No version of this would ever go well. She had no idea how to approach this scenario. Most of the things she could say would only make it worse or, at least, in her head. Predicting how someone would react to any given situation was almost impossible. Fights were so much easier than dealing with people. Another deep breath and she knocked on the door, a few harsh rasps to get the attention of those who dwelt within.

"Elliot?" she called through the door. "I know you're in there, I saw your car outside." She knocked again. "Look, I know it's late, and I'm sorry, but I really need your help right now." A third series of knocks.

Ayda paused for a moment to allow Elliot a chance to respond. To show up so late and knock so loudly on his door was the absolute definition of unreasonable. She would not blame him if he decided to ignore her entirely and just go back to bed. But she had to try. She really needed his help. So, again she knocked.

"Elliot, come on," Ayda pleaded. "I promise I'll explain, just, please open the door." She couldn't stop an exasperated note from entering her voice. It had been a long day.

Another pause with much the same result. The rest of the hallway was deathly silent. Any stirrings from inside the apartment would easily leak through the thin walls. Nothing came. Not a single sound betrayed a conscious presence from behind the door. This wasn't working. Ayda didn't have the time to mess around like this. She kicked the door in aggravation.

"Come on, Elliot. I've had one hell of a night and I do not have the patience for this." Another pause out of courtesy. "Okay, we'll do it the hard way. If you don't open this before the count of three, I'll break it down. One way or another, I'm coming in. One..."

When all else failed, a blatant threat often prevailed. Experience dealing with criminals taught her that. Of course, she held Elliot on a pedestal such scum hadn't a prayer to reach, but this moment in time required a more direct approach. She'd have to apologize later.

"Two..." Ayda trailed off, cocking her stance to one side. "Come on, man, just open the door. I really don't want to—"

"Alright, alright, I'm coming!" Elliot's voice blared through his door. "Christ, Ayda, let me put some pants on first. What are you even doing here? Do you have any idea what time it—" he opened the door, "—is?"

Standing before him was the object of his ire, covered in dirt and blood, skin still slick with sweat. She looked the very definition of annoyed. Any malcontent he felt faded immediately. His eyes widened, and expression sagged.

"Oh my God," he breathed. "Are you okay?'

"No," Ayda answered bluntly. "Can I come in?"

"Of course, of course." Elliot turned to allow her entrance.

Ayda strode into the apartment and stopped in the middle of the living room. The fighter in her instinctually took in the surroundings. The living room and kitchen were all one area, separated by a little bar where gray carpet gave way to white tile. The latter space was just large enough for a refrigerator, oven, a few cabinets and about one person to stand in.

Just to her left sat a rectangular metal and glass coffee table, a pale couch behind it. Against the opposite wall hung a big flat screen television flanked by two tall speakers. Ahead of her was an open door which led into a dark bedroom. Further in was the dining area, a simple ovular table with four chairs placed at each cardinal direction. Finally, west of the table, was another door which she knew to be the master suite. The entire apartment was literally exactly the same as she remembered.

Ayda continued staring into the room to momentarily collect her thoughts. Eyes clenched tight, she scratched her brow with a finger. Her heart racked itself against her ribs from a mix of stress and adrenaline.

As silently as possible, Elliot closed the door. He turned around and audibly gasped. It was then that Ayda became painfully aware—both physically and mentally—of the cut on her back. She pivoted and found Elliot standing bolt upright, hands clapped in front of his mouth, holding his breath.

"Oh my God," he repeated, voice muffled by his fingers. "I..." he dropped his hands. "What happened?"

"I got in a little bit of trouble." Ayda spoke in vague terms.

"Yeah, I gathered that much." Elliot joined her in the living room. "What kind of trouble?"

"I'll explain later, I promise." Ayda waved her free hand. She placed the recently liberated saddlebag down upon the coffee table. "Right now, I just really need your help."

"My help?" Parroted Elliot. "No, Ayda, what you need is a doctor."

"No, Elliot, no hospitals," Ayda rejected firmly. "Hospitals ask questions. I can't have that. It would just get me into even more trouble." She rubbed her left eye. "Please, Elliot. You're the only person I can turn to."

He sighed. "Alright, fine. It's not like I could ever say 'no' to you, anyway." He paused. "What do you need?"

"It's nothing too difficult, I promise," Ayda said. She unzipped the bag and began to rummage through it. "Have you ever sewn before?" Asked the girl while she extracted a black pouch, which was placed on the table.

"What?" Elliot inquired, clearly caught off guard.

"Sewing, like needle work," clarified Ayda. "Have you ever done it before?"

"I mean, I've watched my sister do it before, but I never have myself. Why?"

"Well, you know what they say," Ayda placed an unopened box of latex gloves on the table. "There's a first time for everything."

"What are you getting at?" Elliot gave her a sidelong glance.

Ayda unzipped the pouch and paid it flat on the glass surface. It was an emergency surgical kit, complete with a scalpel, tweezers, sutures, and a few different pairs of tiny scissors, everything someone would need to close up a wound in a pinch. This certainly was a pinch.

"I need you to stitch me up," Ayda said flatly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Elliot hesitated. "Okay, you're gonna have to run that one by me again."

"I would do it myself, but I can't reach," Ayda explained further. "It's not as hard as you think it is."

Elliot considered this for a moment. "But, don't you heal fast anyway? Why bother with stitches?"

"It'll just keep opening up and getting worse if it's not stitched," began Ayda. "The sooner I get this taken care of, the sooner I can get back to it. Besides, all the scabbing would be a nightmare to take care of. Trust me on that one." She spoke from experience.

"Alright," Elliot sighed. "Just don't blame me if I mess it up."

"You'll be fine," Ayda reassured.

Without warning, Ayda reached up behind her back and began to gather up her tank top. In a slow, careful motion, she pulled it over her head. The vesture was not removed entirely, however. She kept her arms inside the garment so the cloth draped over and completely concealed her front side. Actually, she was more covered up like this as compared to wearing the top normally. Despite this, when her head popped out of the garment, she found Elliot with his back turned, hands balled into fists, shoulders tensed up.

"What are you doing?" She asked with a squint.

"Well, you were taking your shirt off so I didn't want to... you know?" He sounded absolutely flabbergasted, like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Oh my God, how long have you known me?" Ayda shook her head. She was losing her patience. "Elliot, turn around. I didn't actually take my shirt off."

Slowly, Elliot turned to face her. The sight of a girl who was not only underage, but also his friend, standing half-topless in the middle of his living room took him considerably far aback. He refused to meet her eyes and shifted his weight awkwardly. He eased into it after a second, though, and straightened his posture.

"This is all I'm doing, alright?" She began. "You see me in less every time we go swimming. I'm gonna lay down on the couch, too, so I'll be perfectly covered."

"Yeah, but why?" Elliot demanded a better explanation.

"I need to expose my back so you can stitch me up, but I can't take my shirt all the way off because one of my bra straps got cut. So, unless you want me to walk around with my tits hanging out, this is the best solution." Ayda hated to be so crass with him, but she didn't have the time to his petty misgivings. She paused to let him respond. His only answer was a simple nod. "Okay, thank you. The needle is already strung up in the plastic case, there. Just put gloves on first."

"Okay," Elliot said slowly. He walked over to the coffee table and took the aforementioned case in his hand. It was a clear, flat, square box a little bigger than his palm. "Is all of this sterile? I don't think I have any rubbing alcohol."

"It doesn't matter," Ayda rejected flatly. "I don't get sick, remember?"

"Oh yeah," mused Elliot. "That must be nice."

"It has it's perks," she quipped.

Elliot put the case back down on the table. While he went about donning a pair of clear gloves, Ayda took her place on the couch. She slowly laid flat on the cushions, face down, arms crossed beneath her. The air on her bare back felt wet and cold, just like outside. This position proved much more uncomfortable than she imagined. She shifted slightly in a vain attempt to alleviate the pressure on her elbows.

"Hey," Elliot said as he popped open the suture set, "it even comes with instructions."

"It's designed for emergencies, in case you don't know what you're doing," explained Ayda.

"Well, that's convenient, isn't it?" Elliot joked.

A strange quiet fell over the room. Elliot sat down on the table, directly across from Ayda's wounded skin. To his left spread the instruction sheet, a large piece of laminated paper creased by multiple folds. He awkwardly pinched a thin straight needle between his right thumb and forefinger. He looked multiple times from it, to the instructions, to Ayda's cut, and then back again. This repeated multiple times. A need to get it right led to procrastination.

"I'm getting cold, here," Ayda prodded to inspire action in him.

"Right, sorry." He leaned forward. "Here I go... I guess."

With slow, uncertain fingers, Elliot lowered the point to Ayda's skin. He paused at the edge of her wound. The teenager could feel the the frigid metal against her flesh. She pressed her forehead against the couch arm. With a quick breath in, and then out, Elliot plunged the needle in. It passed cleanly into the thin upper layer of skin. The sharp instrument went through the wound channel and pierced the other side of the dermic wall. Just like the instructions said, he finished this motion by pulling the thread a good length all the way through. At this point, he stopped.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"Did that hurt?" He asked.

"It's worse when you stop," Ayda said through unnecessarily gritted teeth. That was a lie, but it would make him work faster.

"Oh, sorry," Elliot apologized quickly.

Again, he consulted the instructions. The man crossed the needle in the air back across the wound, behind the other side of the thread to form a loop. He then fed the needle through the loop and pulled tight. This formed a knot all the way down to the skin, which pinched a small portion closed. He gave it a confused look.

"So, it's really just a square knot?" He puzzled. "I thought it would be more complicated than that." He made another fastening over the first for added security. Doctors on T.V always did that.

"See? I told you." Ayda echoed a previous statement.

Moving slowly once again, Elliot went in for another stitch, this one just a short distance up from the first. Although careful, he progressed this time with much more confidence. Seeing how simple it really was set his mind at ease. He put the needle through the cut, made a loop with the thread, and pulled it tight. More of the girl's skin came together.

Silently, Elliot got to work. He made careful motions, gentle as possible so as to avoid causing his patient too much undue harm. Occasionally blood would seep form the open wound, which he wiped away with his little finger. Ayda's resilience allowed for such a concession. Zero risk of infection meant he needn't bother with a sanitary cloth.

He went on at a steady interval. After getting the first few stitches under his fingers, the rest became muscle memory. Television shows always made stitching out to be an exhaustive and dextrous process. While it certainly required a heightened level of concentration, Elliot found it not nearly so difficult, which was good.

All the while, Ayda did her best to hide the pain. Her friend was already under quite a bit of distress. Seeing her so beat up, doing something so delicate for the first time, and the possibility of hurting her doubtless compounded in his mind, although he didn't show it. The least Ayda could do was keep her mouth shut about the discomfort cold steel caused as it scraped against tender flesh. She'd had much worse before. Compared to injuries from her past, this was merely the bite of a flea.

The entire process took longer than it maybe should have, but advanced much quicker than Ayda expected. Elliot had always been a quick learner. He was the first one to completely wrap his head around her powers when Ayda first came to America. He had also been the first one of those in the loop to look past them, to see the girl underneath. The fact that he picked up on stitching a wound so swiftly didn't really come as a surprise.

"Alright, then," Elliot drew out the words in concentration. He snatched up one of the little pairs of scissors. Holding the thread tight, he snipped it with one decisive motion. The limp string fell against the girl's back. "I think we're done. How'd I do?"

"Your bedisde manner sucks," Ayda joked.

"Shut up. I was concentrating," Elliot fired right back. "I meant the stitches."

"I don't know." Ayda laid her chin on the couch arm. "I can't exactly see it. I'll take a look a little later."

Ayda sat up on the couch, tank top still draped over her front. She and Elliot exchanged a quick glance, little more than the meeting of their eyes. This was incredibly awkward. Ayda wanted to don the garment once more, but felt she should give some consideration to present company.

"Now you can turn around if you want to," she instructed.

Like a bolt of lightning, Elliot sprung up from the table and walked around to its other side, back-to the girl. With shake of her head, she put her shirt back on, speaking as she did so.

"Not that it really matters to me. We've known each other long enough at this point that I don't think a little extra skin is such a big deal."

"Yeah, well, speak for yourself." There was a detectable hint of strain in Elliot's voice. Ayda couldn't help but giggle at him.

"I've never seen you so bashful before," she observed with a grin. "Alright, it's safe."

Slowly, and with great vacillation, Elliot spun back to face her. Almost as if his trust wavered, he squinted his eyes so he could barely see. Thankfully for him, he needn't have worried. Ayda had, indeed, covered herself up. His muscles relaxed. He all but let out a sigh.

"I think I just lost a year off my life," Elliot joked as he took off his gloves, each with a respective snap. He balled them up into one another and threw them—inside out—on the coffee table. Probably not the best place for bloody gloves, but the teenager kept that one to herself.

Ayda took a deep breath. "I guess I owe you that explanation, now."

She patted the couch cushion next to her. Elliot accepted the invitation to sit, but instead of right next to the girl, he instead sat at the far end of the furniture so a single cushion separated them. In a way, this made it easier to talk. Ayda eagerly accepted anything which made the situation more comfortable. This would not go well, no matter how she spun it.

"I guess I should just be blunt." Ayda paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. Time to take the plunge. It was now or never, and better this all happened on her terms. "You know the vigilante that's been running around beating up the triad? That's me. I'm the vigilante."

Elliot considered this for just a second. He looked her square in the eye, a blank expression on his face.

"Yeah, I know," he said matter-of-factly.

"What!?" Ayda went rigid. Her eyes quadrupled in diameter. "What do you mean you know?"

"Oh, come on, Ayda. A Middle-Eastern chick with a staff, a bike, and purple explodey powers? It's not that hard to figure out."

Ayda turned her head away from him. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and stared out into space. He knew. All this time, Elliot knew, and he said nothing. Ayda thought it was a secret. The teenager thought she'd done a good job keeping everyone in the dark, but clearly that couldn't be further from the truth. When did he put two and two together? How long had he known? The news report after her very first excursion mentioned strange abilities. He could have been in the know for an entire month, and she was none the wiser.

Elliot wasn't the only problem, either. There were other people who knew about her. If Elliot figured it out, then doubtless these others had as well. What would Bernard say? What about Colonel Hammond?Everything she'd been working toward for the past few weeks just became exponentially harder. How would she cover her tracks now?

"But I think it's good," Elliot interjected.

"You do?" Ayda looked at him with relieved bewilderment.

"Yeah. I live in the industrial district, Ayda. I know what goes down in these parts. Someone has to put a stop to it, and while I wish you weren't putting yourself in danger, I have to admit you're definitely the better equipped to deal with it."

"Thank you so much, El," Ayda brightened immediately. Everything about her, from posture to aura, lightened. The approval of one of her closest friends meant more to her than any word known by mankind could ever hope to encapsulate. She paused as another thought entered her mind.

"There's... actually something else I wanted to talk to you about. I think now's as good a time as any, since we're already talking," she said, attempting to transition to a new topic.

"Alright, shoot," Elliot approved with a nod.

Again, Ayda needed a moment to collect herself. She took a couple deep breaths. This was miles ahead of schedule, something she hadn't planned on doing for several months, but no one could control the hands of fate. A life without risks was not truly lived. This was a chance she had to take. With one more inhale, she let loose.

"I want you... I want you to help me," she began.

"I'm sorry, what?" Elliot said, leaning forward in disbelief. "Did I just hear you right?"

"I serious," affirmed Ayda. "I need you to be my eye in the sky, the Jarvis to my Iron Man. You'd be the one who runs down leads, hacks computers and cameras, monitors for gang activity, that sort of thing."

"Ayda, do you even hear yourself right now?" he stood up and took a step toward the dining room. "This is crazy!"

"Elliot please! You're the only person I can trust with this." Ayda begged, pleaded for him to understand. So far, this was going exactly as well as she predicted. He whipped back around to look her square in the face.

"Assuming I even want to help you, which I don't, what makes you think I can even do any of that?" He questioned. "What makes you think I'm cut out for this sort of thing?"

"You're the smartest person I know, Elliot," she said simply. "No one understands computers and stuff better than you. You programmed all the software used to test me, that speaks miles of what you can do."

"Writing software is one thing, Ayda. What you're talking about is something different entirely," Elliot argued.

"But, isn't hacking just programming in reverse?" Ayda said with a raised eyebrow. The befuddled expression Elliot returned made her feel less than an inch tall.

"... I won't even begin to explain what's wrong with that," he said.

"Just hear me out, okay?" Ayda held up a hand to calm him down. It at least got his attention. "As much as I hate to admit it, I can't do this alone. I'm just running in circles. There's no shortage of idiots looking to make a quick buck. I need your help to make things happen. I need your help to cure this city."

"Saving the city isn't my fight," Elliot growled. "I would say it isn't yours, either, but I know I'd just be talking to a wall. Why don't you work with the police or something?"

"The police?" Ayda couldn't believe her ears. "Are you fucking serious? Elliot, when was the last time the cops did anything to stop organized crime? They're all in the pocket of the triad. Don't act like you don't know."

"Yeah, well, they're still better equipped to deal with this than I am," refuted Elliot.

"I found Sun Xin, Elliot. That was me. I didn't need any help from the cops. Think about what we could do if we worked together!"

Ayda let this statement hang in the air for a bit. She wanted Elliot to respond, to argue another point she could put down, but he did not. All he did was look at her, dark brown eyes boring deep into her skull. He was angry, flustered, and even a little sad all at once, but she could see something else behind his gaze. Temptation. Ayda had become good at reading people. It was a necessary skill she picked up while learning to fight. Elliot was not completely opposed to the idea. Somewhere deep down, in a place he may not have even known existed, he thought she was right. This was her only chance to win him over. She had to keep talking.

"When I tracked him down, I wanted to kill him. More than anything, I wanted to see him dead. It was the only thing I'd wanted in what felt like forever. I had him on the ground. I was about to do it, but I found a picture of him as a little boy with his mother. He was so happy and full of life, not the beaten down addict he became."

"People change, so what?" Elliot interrupted. "What are you getting at?"

"I mean, I realized he isn't to blame. Sun Xin is just a victim of the crime and violence that rules El Puerto, that rips families apart and turns good little boys into bad men. Together we can stop it, Elliot, all of it. We can make sure no more fathers lose their daughters to a botched robbery. There are a million people living in this city. We have the power to save all of them, but only if we work together."

Elliot stared at the floor as all of this information entered his brain. Of course, he knew who the father and daughter reference was referring to. Ayda watched his face as he did some mental math. Her tracking down Sun Xin, the mention of her family, of course they were connected. Finally, he at least began to comprehend what Ayda had been fighting for. She continued on with her little speech.

"The people in this city have lived in fear too long. It'll only get worse unless someone takes a stand. Please, help me fight back. Help me make the world a better place."

Alright, that was a little too ambitious, even for her tastes. The world? She didn't even know how to micromanage of a few city blocks! How could she save an entire planet? This was what happened when she ran her mouth. She really needed to learn when to keep her trap shut. Elliot, though, seemed unfazed by the scope of it. He had other concerns.

"I know nothing I say can stop you, so I won't even try, and even though I approve of this crusade of yours, what makes you think I would ever consider joining?"

"Because I know you," Ayda responded gently. "You're a good person, Elliot, and so much stronger than you realize." She paused. "You once told me you wanted to make history. This is your chance."

"I meant as an inventor, not a crime fighter!" Elliot said, as if such a late clarification meant anything.

"So, what? You invent a new phone or something then live happily ever after? But what did you really accomplish. What difference did you make? Eventually, whatever you make will become obsolete, and the world will forget about you. I'm giving you the chance to change the world. Nothing will be the same once word of our accomplishments get's out, but I can't do any of that without your help."

A very long stretch of silence filled up the room. They both had a lot to think about, after all. Elliot faced a life changing decision. And it wasn't just his life at stake, either. His choice effected both of them in a massive way. Elliot held both their fates in his hands. Ayda was dead serious when she said this couldn't be done without him. If he refused her offer, then she didn't even know where to go from here.

Of course, she knew exactly who she sounded like. His words echoed in her head, like a song on repeat. He was the man ultimately responsible for all of this. She sounded like Dr. Cyrus Vahlen. Their sales pitch was nearly identical, right down to the part about changing the world. She felt sick deep inside, like something died in the pit of her stomach. She had lived long enough to see herself become the villain.

But there was one distinct difference between them, one thing which separated her from the man she hated more than anyone or anything in the entire world. She wasn't forcing Elliot into service. She didn't kidnap him and murder his family. There were no soldiers or research facilities involved. Not on her side of things, anyway.

While they both wanted to change the world, their goals couldn't be any more different. Vahlen wanted power. He wanted fame and fortune. He was selfish. Ayda wanted to change things, to make history for a better tomorrow. Her intentions were noble. She was good, not the pure evil of her creator. He wanted to destroy the world. She wanted to save it.

For all the time Ayda spent reconciling this in her head, Elliot fought his own mental battle. She couldn't read his mind, but strife was painted all over his face. He started off by pacing, walking back and forth just beyond the couch. Ayda neglected to mention how nervous this made her. It didn't last long, though. After not even a minute he sat down, and there he stayed for quite a while, head in his hands, breaths long and slow.

Neither of them had any way of knowing how much time passed like this, how long they spent trapped in their own respective thought cages. They hadn't exactly been watching the clock beforehand, so looking at it now made little difference. They both knew, however, it was quite late. Ayda stifled a yawn.

After what seemed like forever, Elliot spoke.

"You're right," he said quickly. Elliot lifted his head and stared out into space. "Everything you said is right." He gave her a smile. "And I can't say it doesn't sound cool. Okay." He nodded. "I'll help you. I'll join up with this crazy idea of yours, but strictly behind the scenes. No one can know we're working together."

"Elliot, I don't..." Ayda began, but words failed her.

All of the thoughts that ran through her head turned to mush the moment she tried to form them into words. At a lack of anything meaningful to say, she instead threw her arms around him. Elliot sat upright, caught off guard by the sudden grasp.

"I don't even know how to say how grateful I am," Ayda admitted. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

At that, Elliot returned her embrace. He looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. They stayed like that for a brief second. Through his ribcage, Ayda could hear his heart beating out of his chest. He was nervous, and rightly so. Elliot just made the biggest decision of his life. The fact that he hadn't had a mental breakdown yet was quite astonishing, and proof that he was—indeed—cut out for this line of work.

When the moment passed, they separated. Ayda looked at him with soft eyes. She had one more favor to ask, albeit a much smaller one.

"Do you mind if I use your shower? I need to wash some of this grease off," she said.

"Uh..." Elliot trailed off. "Yeah, sure. It's the closed door in my bedroom." He pointed over his shoulder for emphasis.

"Thanks," Ayda said simply as she got up and started toward the master suite.

"I don't have a change of clothes for you, though," Elliot called after her.

"No big deal, I'll just wear this."

"Oh, Okay. I guess." Elliot sank into the couch, not really sure what to do with himself.

As Ayda stepped into the small bathroom, she was absolutely amazed at how quickly this night turned around for her. What started out as a crippling defeat ended in a glorious new beginning. With Elliot at her side, nothing could stop her. They were the dream team, the single driving powerhouse which would put an end to the triad once and for all. As she ran hot water, her mind raced. The possibilities were endless, but they all started on this night. It was her journey of a thousand miles, and this was her single step.