Of all the enemies Ayda had faced down during her brief seventeen years, this was—by far—the most tenacious. She'd taken out megalomaniacs, trained soldiers, super powered children similar to herself, and vicious criminals, but none posed so great a threat. No, threat was not the right word. Problem fit much better, in this circumstance. No opponent gave her such an insurmountable challenge. It was fitting, then, for this to be the smallest of all. Ayda's greatest nemesis was a stupid little cellphone.

The device itself did not present any sort of tangible difficulty. Just like many drug dealers, the one from the other night carried an old-fashioned phone. This make was of the flip-up variety, a broad brick of a thing barely able to send text messages. Elliot said this trend persisted because older phones were harder to trace, as they had no constant connection to the internet.

The issue at hand was not getting into the phone itself. It had no inbuilt security measures to speak of. The problem lay with the messages themselves. Every contact was just a series of seemingly random characters. Although clearly in English, and not forged in a code of any sort, the bodies of the messages did have a certain form. Locations were almost never mentioned by name, but instead a series of coordinates which were quite obviously latitude and longitude.

But that wasn't the only problem. The messages themselves had no rhyme or reason, the times between them sporadic. Likely, the message frequency depended on when the dealer ran out of product, which could be a week, a month, or just a couple days. It should have been quite obvious, in retrospect. Ayda knew from conversing with the man his supply was on a sort of on-demand basis. Inconsistent drops were the only logical conclusion to draw. It seemed like a good gig, honestly, unlimited access to copious amounts of drugs with just the push of a button. Any junkie in town would kill for such power.

This had to be perfect. A single character out of place, and the entire plan fell apart. The Triad were a superstitious group, even before Ayda's interference. They had to be. Otherwise ran the risk of detection. No criminal syndicate could survive without covering its tracks. Dealers had fallen before. The news covered such events every once in a while. Any gang in the city would be quick to cut ties with an employee who went under.

This problem was what found Ayda in Elliot's apartment two days after acquiring the phone. Between attending school and work for each of them respectively, all their time was spent trying to figure out a new approach. They had the phone, they had the messages and an understanding of how they were formatted. All of the data was in place, but the method still eluded them.

When Elliot called to say he had a possible solution, Ayda rushed over. Many of her nights, which normally would have been spent patrolling, instead took up roost inside the apartment. Dedicating another one of her days to such a place bothered her little, but the hope of a possible solution filled the girl with boundless hope. If whatever Elliot had planned worked, she could finally move forward once again.

Upon entering the domicile, she found him in his office, hunched over in his rolling chair, face just inches away from the cellphone on his computer desk. The phone was connected via micro USB to his desktop computer which, in turn, was wired to a tablet. He was a tangle of cords and technology, a ridiculous cocoon of silicon.

She paused in the doorway, somewhere between laughter and confusion as the scene played out before her. Elliot pressed a few buttons on the phone, then tapped furiously on the tablet before looking at the computer monitor. He was a feverish flurry of actions per minute. All the while, he never noticed the new arrival. Ayda thought his perseverance admirable, but almost felt bad for him.

"Hey," she called to get his attention. Elliot glanced up at her for only a moment before returning to his work.

"Hey," he said while tapping on the tablet.

"What, uh..." Ayda trailed off, "What are you doing?" She took a few steps into the room. Elliot sighed and sat up, pushing himself away from the desk a few inches.

"Okay," he began "you remember all the trouble we've been having with this damned phone, right?"

"I mean, we've only been dealing with it for two days now, but sure."

Ayda quipped sarcastically as she stood at Elliot's right shoulder. She leaned forward to get a look at the mess of devices, but their respective displays meant little to her, jumbled numbers and icons on interfaces she didn't understand.

"Alright." Elliot took a deep breath. "We can't make a call on this phone because the Triad knows it's compromised. There are other dealers' names in here, but the phone doesn't have caller id, so we can't view their numbers. But, the calls have to be logged somewhere. If I can break the factory encryption on it, then I can extract the data, and get one of the numbers."

"And that's what you're doing right now?" Ayda straightened and looked at him.

"It's what I've been doing for the past..." he glanced at his watch, "five hours."

"But you got home five hours ago," asserted the teenager.

"What's your point?" Elliot said before returning to his work. He hunched forward again and hit a few tablet icons.

Ayda hesitated before asking another question. Dead silence hung heavy in the air between conversation. It made her uncomfortable, to say the least, as if she were a third wheel in an otherwise lucrative business. For once, she was the one not doing anything.

"So, what's all of this, then?" She made a sweeping gesture to encompass the workstation. Elliot explained while he worked.

"I jury-rigged a scrambler app on my tablet to work as a sort of decrypter, but the phone is too old to sync with it, so I have them both going through a virtual line in my computer."

"So..." Ayda rocked awkwardly back on her heels. She could feel another uncomfortable silence coming on, and wanted to avoid it at all costs. This setup was impressive, to say the least. She knew Elliot was smart, but to accomplish all of this in just a few short hours blew her away. Choosing him as her partner was definitely the right decision. Having said that, this situation seemed a bit of a strange setting for her.

"Do you need my help with anything, or am I just here to watch?" She asked. The teenager understood exactly none of what was going on. She couldn't help but wonder why her presence was needed in the first place, if Elliot had it handled.

"I called you because I think..." he pressed a button on the phone. "I'm almost..." a few taps on the tablet. "Done!"

At his declaration, words and numbers scrolled across the tablet screen. They made absolutely zero sense, had no observable pattern. Elliot seemed excited, though. He threw his fists into the air above his head with a celebratory woo!

"That's what I'm talking about," he shouted. "I am the greatest hacker who ever lived!"

An amazed Ayda grabbed up the tablet and held it close to her face. Doing so helped little in making sense of the numbers. They continued to scroll by with the same seemingly random configuration, no discernible pattern to them. She squinted in skeptical observation.

"Is there really a phone number in here somewhere?" She handed it off to Elliot.

"Yeah, somewhere," he confirmed. "I'll run it through a program to translate and sort it all, and then we can set up a meeting."

"That's amazing!" Ayda finally joined in his excitement. "You're the best, El." She gave him a playful tap on the shoulder. The only reason why he didn't react was because he'd been on the receiving end of many a little punch.

"It wasn't all that hard once I hooked everything up," he deflected, as was human nature to do.

"We make a pretty good team," Ayda continued. "Although, I think I'll leave the message part to you."

"Me?" Elliot raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you the vigilante, here?"

"Yeah, but, you're the personable one. I don't think I have the patience to deal with all the formatting," Ayda argued.

"I guess you're right," agreed Elliot with a shrug. He sighed. "Alright, I'll send the message."

And so, it was decreed. Elliot continued to work behind the scenes as a technical expert and, now, a human relations specialist. Doing so allowed him to work to his strengths, while Ayda remained the foot soldier. She was serious when she said the two of them made a good team. They complimented each other nicely. Each evened out the other's weaknesses. Together, they were two sides of the same coin, an unstoppable machine of justice. Mostly, though, she just didn't want to send the message.

…

And then came the worst part of the job by a long shot, the waiting. It seemed like every time Ayda made a big move, it always came back around to waiting at one point or another. She didn't have time to wait. Her goals were mountains to climb, journeys to conquer. Resting while the remainder of the world shifted around her was counter-intuitive in the most basic sense of the phrase. She wanted to move forward now. Why was that so hard?

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Of course, Elliot did a brilliant job composing the text message. He copied the format to a T, perfectly emulating the lingo of a real drug dealer. The wording went through several different versions, which both members scrutinized. Eventually, they decided as a team which one sounded the least suspicious.

The number chosen to fake was taken from dealers the phone's original owner had been in contact with recently. Ayda and Elliot had no way of knowing who'd been taken into custody, though, as the code for the contact names hadn't been deciphered. Using a number from a compromised party would immediately raise suspicion, and ruin the entire plan. A recent correspondence minimized the chance of a mistake.

They couldn't go too recent, though, or risk that particular pusher having not feasibly run out of product. Ayda was glad she'd pushed this part of the job onto her partner. While Elliot hadn't exactly a way with words, he managed much better than she ever would have. He was an invaluable member of the team, one which made her wonder how she ever got by without him. The correspondence would never have worked without him.

The courier took the bait. A meeting was set up. It followed the same basic setup as had been described during the acquisition of the phone. The courier transcribed a set of coordinates and a date. Elliot argued with neither. He didn't want to take any sort of unnecessary chance and risk ruining the mission, not after they'd come so far. The courier would be wearing a brown jacket, blue scarf, and dark sunglasses.

So, with all of that done and over with, the only thing left to do was wait. The courier had chosen a Sunday afternoon to conduct their business. The logic behind this was pretty obvious. Parks around town would be quite full with all the folks just getting out of church making pit stops on their ways home. Bigger crowds made for better cover. It also complicated Ayda's job considerably, but that wasn't a problem. She'd faced worse.

It was painful to slog through, but time passed as it always did. Ayda laid low in the meantime, mostly to give her wound time to heal. Miraculously, she hadn't popped any stitches in confronting the dealer only a single day after her defeat at the hands of Tahoe. She'd been certain the cut would require further care, but luck was on her side.

Instead, it only served as a stark reminder, a memento of a time when she wasn't good enough. She let an opponent get the better of her, and it cost her both time and dignity. This would be another in a series of permanent marks on her body, yet it carried more weight than the others. It was the first scar she'd acquired since coming to the United States. It was bound to happen eventually, but that didn't mean Ayda had to be happy about it.

Occasionally, his words came back to her, the way he spoke about government corruption and conspiracy, like a lunatic shouting at passersby. He seemed so convinced, so sure of himself. Tahoe spoke as if from experience, not conjecture. What if he was right?

No. Mustn't dwell on the past. That was a bad habit. She could never change that which had been done. Instead, the wise thing to do was direct her energy toward making sure it never happened again. That was why she changed her plan of attack, why she brought on Elliot. If taking down the Triad's footmen made no impact, and going after their leadership was impossible, then the only remaining course of action was to strike somewhere in the middle.

But time passed, like it always did. The hours and days of the workweek oozed by, slowly giving way to its reprieve. The world turned, blissfully ignorant to the tides which shifted on its surface. Soon the day came. The sun waned in the sky, just starting the way to falling below the horizon. It was now Ayda's turn to take the spotlight. It was her time to shine.

She sat on a bench made of dark pressboard in the middle of a rather large park, strangers to both her left and right. Several seats lined an asphalt walkway. Many people, most of them couples, passed by between them, quietly conversing or simply basking in the glow of cloudless sunshine. Screens of trees partially concealed this center area from both the bordering road and the rest of the park. The sounds of children playing could be heard in the distance. Somewhere, a dog barked. Occasionally, gurgling hints of the fountain far off to the left cut through the cacophony as people cast wishes into it. It was a beautiful day, with people unaware of the business conducted right under their noses.

Ayda lounged in silence, among the general populace but not acknowledging any of them, the sort of public solace so strangely common in today's society. Most people on the benches messed around with various smart devices, a few read books, and one old lady flipped idly through a newspaper. They were all together, and yet alone. The sadness of such situations was not lost on her, but she welcomed the lack of distraction.

The teenager did her best to blend in. She wore a lilac hoodie with white strings—a faded "City of El Puerto" logo on the front—a blue baseball cap pulled down over her eyes, and denim shorts rolled up at the hem; not an outfit she would ever wear on any normal day, and that was exactly the point. No one would ever even come close to recognizing her as a staff toting vigilante. She was undercover; like a cop, but with fewer rules.

Still, she felt weird. Her heart pounded at a mile a minute. The back of her head tingled. To say this certain scenario was not her forte would be a grievous understatement. The young crime fighter was completely out of her element. This was not an infiltration or interrogation like Ayda had done before. Those kinds of things she could handle. This objective was pure deception, something which—again—her powers were not exactly tuned for.

She subtly turned her head toward the fountain, just enough to get a good look in that direction. Swift eyes scanned the crowd. It was early, yet, and not quite time for the proverbial shit to hit the fan. Predictably, her target had not yet arrived. She looked back the other way, but again observed nothing but a sea of meaningless faces. There were garbage cans in both directions, but Ayda didn't expect him to approach from the right. The fountain on the opposite side drew attention to itself, providing extra cover in plain sight. It's what she would do, were it up to her.

Perhaps that was the root of what really bothered her. For the most part, Ayda had zero control over the situation. Again, it all came down to waiting. She waited for the courier to arrive, waited for the optimal time to strike. Seriously, every little thing she did came back to waiting sooner or later. It was infuriating.

Ayda relaxed for a moment, leaning back with hands in her pockets to stare at the ground between black and white sneakers. Doing so deflated any suspicion looming over her head... theoretically. It made her feel better, which was really what mattered.

After a long, slow breath in, the teenager peered back toward the fountain to her left. Doing so brought its sounds to the forefront of her senses. Water ran in the background, like someone left a faucet on. The crowd of people here was largely the same. Folks liked to linger around the fixture. It was the most interesting thing in this particular park, and drew the most attention. While the individuals in this group probably had their own stories to tell, they weren't at all important to her. Ayda was about to look away, when a flash of blue caught her attention.

He stood out for a few reasons, not the least of which was the jacket her wore on a day much too warm for it. He was an Asian man just about in his mid thirties with shaggy black hair. Sunglasses concealed much of his face. The fellow conducted himself in a somewhat drawn in manner, shoulders hunched, gaze downcast, hands in his pockets. A turquoise scarf hung from his neck.

It was him. It had to be. The courier. He matched the description without a single flaw, from his clothes to the color of his skin, although Ayda hated to racially profile him. She subtly glanced at her watch. He was early, only by a few minutes, but early nonetheless. But still, who else could it be? Unless this were some cruel, cosmic coincidence, her target was in the open.

Ayda did her best to watch him from the corner of her eye without actually looking in his direction. He moved somewhere between a casual jaunt and a jog, noticeably faster than most other people. This man had a purpose, a goal to accomplish, much like most people in this city.

The man walked around the left hand side of the fountain, weaving between people as he went. His fleet footwork was, quite honestly, impressive. He clearly knew how to handle himself, which made sense for someone in his position. Couriers likely faced greater danger than the merchandisers. As far as Ayda could tell, they worked alone. Fighting skills were a necessity. If all went well, she'd never have to witness them.

Once past the watery obstruction, the fellow continued on his way toward the line of benches. Ayda kept her eyes trained on their beginning, on the object which lay there. The man approached it at a steady pace. Not long now. She'd have all the proof necessary within the next few steps. Another glance at her watch. Still early, but only by just a few seconds, now. By the time he reached the benches...

This had to be it. He fit the description, and certainly seemed in a hurry. All signs pointed toward a positive outcome. If it wasn't, the Ayda didn't know what she would do, how to proceed. This had to work out because there wouldn't be another chance, otherwise.

The man reached what Ayda considered to be his destination. The breath caught in her lungs, heart skipped a beat. The entire world spun to a stop. Everything stood still. Nothing else mattered. This was a shared moment between two people, cat and mouse, spy vs. spy, hero and villain.

From his pocket, the man produced a brown paper bag. The Earth spiraled back into motion. Ayda became painfully aware of her surroundings, all the people around her, but the man most of all. Without even the slightest look or cessation of movement, he dropped his parcel in a garbage can. Ayda glanced at her watch. It was time.

She stood. Hands in her hoodie pockets, hat pulled down over her eyes, she walked toward the man. The distance between them was rather short, and grew even more so with every step. There wasn't time to think, to consider, only to act. In a few brief seconds, it would all be over.

They converged. Ayda hoped he didn't notice she held her breath. A nervous heart pounded like drums in her ears. He would hear it, without a doubt. Everyone around her could hear it. How could something so loud go unnoticed?

The two of them were only feet apart now. Ayda looked away from him, pretending to look at a car as it passed by. She wasn't paying attention, and neither was he. The teenager embraced her powers. Anything to give her an edge. It was something she should have done eons ago. Everything snapped into focus. She was aware of everything around her. She took a miniscule step to her right, a movement almost unnoticeable. Ayda bumped shoulders with the courier at the same time as deft hands deposited something in his coat pocket.

"Sorry," she muttered and quickly turned to him.

"Watch where you're going!" He shouted back, but offered no further retaliation as both parties went their separate ways.

As Ayda left him behind, a grin spread along her lips. It was over. With one little moment, it was over. All her trepidation up to that point had been superfluous. It went off without a single hitch. Her heart still beat at a feverish pace, but it didn't matter. She'd done it. Ayda dug her phone from her left hoodie pocket. Without dialing a number, she held it to her ear.

"It's done," she said simply.

"Oh, thank God," the exasperated voice of Elliot said on the other side of the line. "I thought I was gonna have a heart attack for a minute, there."

"You?" Ayda scoffed as she removed her stupid hat. "Imagine being me!" She gave her head a shake to put the unruly locks in place.

"Yeah, you have a point," agreed Elliot. "And he's none the wiser?"

"I don't believe so," confirmed Ayda. "I guess we'll find out, though." There was a pause. "Hey, let's talk about this later. There's too many people here."

"Agreed," said Elliot. "I'll see you later, then."

"Yeah, see ya." Ayda ended the call and returned the phone to its home in her pocket. All she really wanted to do was go home and take a nap.