A little more than a week passed by. Ayda quickly fell back into her old routine. On the first day back, she had been a little bit nervous about returning to form, especially after what felt like such a long time away. Old habits, however, died hard. Immediately after getting behind the handlebars of her mighty steed, everything slammed back. She remembered the best ways to negotiate and set up meetings, how to approach a situation, the quickest solution when the dealers tried to run, and everything useful she'd learned during her time as a semi-professional crime stopper.

But old tactics accounted not completely for the ease back into a productive workweek. New tools assisted greatly in the process. Her new staff—so expertly handcrafted by Elliot—provided ample opportunity to switch up her strategy, and finally fight just a little more on her terms. No longer did she have to avoid tight environments.

A whole world of possibilities opened up to her, including alleyways and abandoned buildings. Drug dealers were certainly more receptive to meeting in secluded areas, and confined spaces made it harder for them to run. She could hide her motorcycle much closer by, making it easier to chase down any accomplices who tried to flee in their own vehicles. Ayda knew not the statistics involved, but by her untrained estimate, her efficiency rose by exponential figures, all thanks to a collapsible, separable staff.

Time away from the front lines did more than refresh her body and mind. It instilled her with a new found appreciation for calmness, those mundane moments that comprise everyday life. With her first ever major goal accomplished—blowing up a meth lab—Ayda found herself with something she hadn't had for quite a long while: Free time. She could relax. She could take a step back, admire the little things, and the people who made them possible. Without a relentless end to pursue, Ayda finally had time.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Ayda did things. She actually enjoyed going to school, hanging out with people her own age, filling her spongy teenage mind with knowledge. A break from battle, no matter how short, demonstrated beyond any shadow of a doubt the importance of balance, of breaking from routine. Everything in her life had importance. She had to pursue action, while cherishing peace.

One such cherished moment was lunchtime, the twenty minute block each and every day where the students of her high school gathered in a cafeteria to break cheap, yeasty bread together. It was one of the only moments in a normal day she got to spend time with her other best friend in the whole wide world, Rudolph Steiner.

Rudy sat a few chairs away from her, the only other occupant of a round table meant to fit eight. The angle and distance between the two of them was strange. Rudy was not quite next to Ayda, but not across from her, either. He lingered just outside of arm's reach, though she could still lean over and grab him if the need arose. They'd arrived at the table in different moments. This configuration persisted because both were too stubborn to move.

Ayda idly chomped on a chicken finger, while her friend bit down on a turkey sandwich he brought from home. They'd arrived early, and as such, people were still filling in around them. They congregated in groups, most only a few to a table, and allowed the two of them the same luxury. The sounds of rowdy chatter filled the air, slowly building as more people entered the space.

For many of them, this would be the only free time they had for the duration of the school day. A little boisterous fun was well deserved. Ayda, however, did not dedicate much time to her studies. She had other things to do, things these people didn't even know about. She could relate to their lack of empty moments, though.

"Hey," Rudy said, lowering his sandwich. Ayda glanced up at him. "Did you hear about that party yesterday?"

"You mean the one we weren't invited to?" She joked, plopping a soggy french fry into her mouth.

"That could be any party," Rudy quipped right back. "The cops got called and everything. I hear Ricky's in a lot of trouble."

"Who parties on a weekday, anyway?" Ayda asked, turning her full attention to him. "I mean, at least don't come to school the next day if you're obviously hungover. You're just asking for trouble."

"Not everyone's responsible enough to figure that out," Rudy mused. "Fucking rich kids."

Ayda rolled her eyes. "Don't even get me started." Never mind the fact they both fit firmly within that age group.

The conversation died down after that, but it was not a silence either minded. This was how it went for them. Little talks sprung up sporadically, interspersed with quiet moments. Being such a small clique, and neither of them particularly talkative—though not strong, silent types, either—constant communication was hard to come by. But they were comfortable around one another, even in complete quiet. They didn't need to talk to feel close, to know the camaraderie of friendship. Simply being in the same space was more than enough.

Her phone was on the table to the right of her meal. Rudy displayed a similar setup. She made not a habit of preferring technology over people, but a distraction every now and again didn't hurt. If anything, access to a limitless knowledge base only spurred further conversation. The device vibrated. Ayda tapped the notification that popped up.

The words which scrolled across the screen froze her heart in an instant. She read them twice, and then again, just to make sure they were correct, and not a result of misleading sentence structure. But they were cut and dry, words more horrible than she ever expected to see. "Active shooter situation at Persimmon Elementary School."

Every ounce of color left her face, a considerable feat for someone of her complexion. Her heart skipped a beat, as she hadn't the faintest idea how to respond to such news. All of this, however, was momentary. Anger replaced shock. In an instant, she knew what had to be done.

"Hey... Rudy. I'll... I'll be right back, okay?" Her diction was slow and drawn out, brain struggling to divide attention between intervention and covering her tracks. Before the boy could respond, Ayda gathered up her phone and started toward the exit.

"Oh, okay," Rudy called to her back. "I'll be here, I guess." Confusion painted his face, but he went back to eating without further questions.

A pair of doors led from the cafeteria out to the west side of the building. Coincidence played a part in the choosing of a table within a reasonable distance from them. It was simply the first empty place she saw upon entering the room. As Ayda made her way toward the exit, she was thankful for the circumstance. It certainly removed a layer of stress from the current endeavor.

As the teenager drew a B-line to her goal, she set a pace somewhere between a casual gait and proper jog. Her mother would refer to this as a power walk. It looked ridiculous, but the locomotion was not an uncommon sight within these halls. Students used it quite often when in a hurry, yet unwilling to break the no running rule. Ayda entertained little affection for the rules, but sprinting across the cafeteria floor would—if nothing else—draw undue suspicion. That was the last thing she needed.

The facade kept up until she made it outside the building. The moment Ayda was through the doors she took off southbound, headed for the parking lot. She refrained from using the powers, though. Most students probably weren't used to explosions on school grounds. Her full run was more than enough, though.

While she moved, deft hands fished into her skirt pocket to extract the phone she didn't remember putting away in the first place. With two button presses, Ayda dialed the first—and only—number on speed dial. The recipient picked up almost immediately.

"Ayda," said the familiar and slightly distorted voice of Elliot. "Is this about the school shooting?"

"Yeah," responded the girl. "How did you know?"

"It just came across that news app you told me to download, so I guessed," he answered, followed by a sharp inhale. "Are you gonna do something about it?"

"You're goddamned right I'm gonna do something about it!"

"Okay, so what do you need from me?" In direct contrast to his cohort, Elliot was calm and collected. One of them had to be, after all.

"Persimmon is a rather new school, so I'm assuming it has some sort of camera system. I need you to hack it and send the feed to my phone. Can you do that?" This was the closest thing she had to a plan at the moment. It would have to do.

"You got it," Elliot confirmed. "I'm at work, though, so it might take a minute or two," he warned. "Are you going bluetooth?"

"When I get out to my bike, yeah. I'm putting you in my pocket in the meantime."

Elliot offered a simple response, but Ayda missed it as she stuffed the phone in her pocket, just as promised. She continued to run on, focused entirely on the goal ahead of her, the parking lot. One step at a time. That was the only way she could get through this. Cross all the bridges in order, just like anything else.

She made it out to the lot in record time, considering she couldn't move with aid from her abilities. A glint of red caught her eye, and she dashed toward it. Without a single pause or slowing of pace, Ayda leapt up onto her motorcycle, lit the ignition, and peeled out through the empty space in front of her. The helmet which she hadn't bothered with clattered to the pavement. It would have to be recovered later. There were bigger problems to attend to.

The teenager didn't even check for traffic before pulling a swift left turn to begin on her way to the crime scene. She only made it a few blocks, however, before pulling into a narrow alleyway. This was a maneuver she'd rehearsed rather extensively, an exit strategy just in case anything came up during school hours. It never hurt to be prepared after all, as this day proved. Ayda put down the kickstand and quickly swung her right foot off the vehicle, using the momentum to step in front of a saddlebag.

From it, she first extracted a pair of black jeans. Ayda kicked out of her school shoes and swiftly slid the pants on underneath her skirt. One hand removed the now superfluous, latter garment with a zip and a tug. The other worked frantically at the buttons on her blazer. The coat flew off, followed directly by the blouse beneath to reveal a grey tank top which had been hiding under all of it. Ayda slipped into her signature cropped leather jacket, and then the black boots covered in fancy straps, also vital to her look. The aforementioned bluetooth headset slipped around the girl's ear. Finally, a pair of sunglasses concealed her identity. With the costume change complete, the teenager mounted her steed yet again and burst from the alley and into the street on the opposite end of it. This entire process took only a few seconds.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Absolutely zero regard was paid to the speed limit as Ayda tore through El Puerto. The screeching roar of her engine echoed off the cityscape. Worried not was she about getting pulled over. Most of the city's police presence would likely be at or around the school, which suited her just fine. Persimmon wasn't necessarily far away, but every second she spent away could cost another young life. Fewer obstructions cut down on this risk by an exceptional factor.

It amazed her how, in the face of such catastrophic tragedy, the whole city seemed so... normal. These people went about their individual daily tasks without a single care in the world. Citizens in cars grappled with midday traffic, while those on the sidewalk kept a normal, beleaguered pace. Surely such an important event already filled the radio airwaves, yet not an ounce of commotion showed in the drivers. There weren't even any sirens this far out.

Didn't they care? Why weren't they doing everything in their power to help out, even if it were just checking up on loved ones? Frustration and fury filled Ayda's mind, not at the criminal she was doubtless about to face, but at the complete lack of action from those around her. Why, in a city of almost one million people, was she the only one capable of making a difference?

Now, Ayda could've spend the rest of this ride stewing in her own thoughts, but as luck would have it, a distraction presented itself. All of a sudden, without so much as an interlude of ambient noise, Elliot's voice filled her ear, flowing through the bluetooth headset over the sounds of the city.

"Ayda, you there?" He said, speaking quickly as if to not waste her time.

"Yeah. I'm on the move, if you couldn't tell," replied the teenager.

"Okay, I'm in. Sending the feed to your phone now."

"Really?" Perplexity furrowed her brow. "That was quick."

"You're telling me," scoffed Elliot. "Their security system has no protection, not even a basic firewall. It's like HBO for pedophiles."

"Elliot!" Ayda couldn't help but raise her voice at such an inappropriate comment.

"What? It's true," he asserted, but was met with only silence. He sighed. "Whatever. Open the screen sharing app on your phone, and it'll take you to the security feed. The icons will be small, but you can switch cameras with the arrow buttons."

"Can't you switch on your side, too?" As Ayda recalled, screen sharing was just Elliot streaming his computer wirelessly to her phone. She could control the mouse by tapping the screen.

"I'm at work, Ayda. I can't just drop everything," denied her friend. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, but I'll let you know if anything come up. I'm keeping the call open in the meantime."

"Okay," affirmed Elliot. "Just remember I might not be able to respond immediately."

"Don't worry about it," Ayda dismissed. "It's just one guy. I doubt I'll need your help."

With that, the conversation died down. Both participants realized there wouldn't be anything else to say on the subject, as all relevant information had been pretty well covered. As Elliot said, he was at work and hadn't the time for idle chitchat. Ayda, on the other hand, harbored much more pressing concerns. She focused on the mission and drove on. Persimmon Elementary School was close.

A pit stop had to be made on the way, a quick stepping stone between her and the final destination. Ayda pulled into yet another alleyway, this one only a couple blocks from the school. She switched off her bike and dismounted, leaving it behind in the slender shadow, but not before she grabbed up her staff in fully collapsed form.

As much as she loved the bike, it was not the most common of models. Something so flashy and distinctive would stick out. Surely a crowd had gathered around the scene by now. Driving up with such a unique vehicle presented the possibility of someone tracing it back to her, and that simply wouldn't fly. So, the teenager traveled the rest of the distance on foot, although it was a short trek.

Persimmon was one of the fancier grade schools in town. A privately owned and operated establishment, it played host to only the most wealthy. Longer than it was wide, the building sat parallel with the road atop an unnecessarily long staircase of white stone. Brown siding covered most of the exterior, while white trim around the top and bottom edges fed into a pale, gently pitched roof. It had been a library at one point, but recently was bought and upgraded by a rich local family, who turned it into a school.

Just as Ayda predicted, a throng of people gathered in front of the building, huddled around a perimeter cordoned off with police tape. She took a quick count of not the individual heads, but what kinds of folks the scene collected. She first noted at least three ambulances, but there may have been others around the sides of the school. One SWAT team accompanied the generous smattering of police officers but—just like the medics—there may have been more.

What struck her was the quiet of it all. There were occasional murmurs from the people waiting there, or barked orders between officers, but otherwise the air stood stagnant. There were no sirens, no cries for help, no gunshots. Everyone simply looked on with anticipation and horror. They were helpless. An evil hand grasped at hundreds of small lives, and all they could do was watch in stunned silence.

Ayda looked over the pedestrian crowd, and relief washed over her heart. There were adults mixed in, likely parents and teachers, but most of those who waited in the wings were children. They outnumbered the adults at least three-to-one, if not even more so. But, Persimmon was more than big enough to host a much larger student body. That meant there were still kids inside.

The teenager paused for a moment, weighing her options. She could, of course, try to sneak her way inside. To find any portion not guarded heavily by police officers was wishful thinking at best, so that plan fell away. She could just bull rush them, push her way through before any of the cops had a chance to react, but that was liable to get her shot. The authorities wouldn't just let her walk right in... or would they? Her actions as of late gained her some level of notoriety. Maybe they'd recognize her and accept the help of a lawless vigilante? No, it wasn't a good plan, but it was the best she could come up with on such short notice.

Ayda scanned the surrounding area. This would be easiest in a more isolated section, a place where the police cover was at least thinner by comparison. Most seemed concentrated around the center, where the civilians in need of protecting resided. Naturally, then, the wings supported a thinner load. Having approached from the west, Ayda was closer to that flank.

Directly ahead of her were two police officers without an entourage of people or medical personnel. One was a Caucasian man in his mid-forties. The other, a tall African-American chap with broad shoulders, clearly the younger of the two. They appeared to have stepped off the set of a classic buddy cop film. Any other day, their presence would've been quite comical, but Ayda hadn't currently the time for humor.

She walked right over to them, head held high as if she owned the place, as if she belonged there. Confidence made every situation run more smoothly. Why should this one be any different? Hopefully she'd be able to get through without too much confrontation.

The officer duo noticed her before she got too close, just as suspected. These were professionals at their craft, and likely had all their senses running on overdrive. The approach of a single person would surely register for them. The older man turned first, followed immediately by his partner. They both looked mostly unimpressed but also just a little curious. She watched their eyes drift from her face, to the weapon in her hand, then back again. Ayda would've paid them the same courtesy, but the men looked like just normal cops, no outstanding features or anything. No reason to pay them special mind.

When she'd almost reached them, the older man took a step forward and held up a flat palm level with her chest.

"I'm gonna have to ask you to stop, ma'am," he ordered. Ayda complied, halting just short of arm's reach.

"I need to get inside there," she said plainly. "I can put an end to this." A thick fog formed in her mind. There were a million other things she could've said, yet that was the only one which presented itself. She needed to get inside, to save these children. All sense and semblance was secondary.

"You... what?" The white police officer wore the most purely bewildered expression Ayda ever saw on a human being. "This is a crime scene, you can't just go waltzing in!"

"I realize that, but I'm better equipped to deal with this than any of you," argued the teenager. "People will get hurt if you don't let me in."

"What are you gonna do, hit him with your stick?" The older man joked.

"Yeah, that's the plan. Do you know who I am?" Ayda finally asked the important question she should have opened with.

"Wait, now that you mention it…" the tall, darker skinned man finally interjected. "The jacket, the staff, you're that vigilante! The one who's been beating up the Triad!"

"That's me," Ayda confirmed with a nod. "Are you gonna arrest me, or something?"

"Prove it, then," challenged the old one.

"What?" The girl retorted.

"They say you have special powers or something, so prove it. Prove you're the vigilante." The cop had a haughty air about him, like he'd just caught her in a lie. He had no idea.

Ayda smirked. She raised her staff, still in small form, while presenting her free palm to the officers. She channeled an immense amount of energy into her empty hand. It glowed with her signature aura, slowly growing in brilliance as more power made its way into the appendage. She needed a lot of energy to make her hands light up like that. It almost felt like a waste.

While the police officers watched on with wide eyes in their dumbfounded expressions, Ayda touched her free hand to her staff. It too began to glow purple, but even more intensely than her hand. It almost appeared stark white. Both cops looked away from it. Even through her sunglasses Ayda had a hard time starring directly at her own weapon.

"I can't demonstrate my blasts right now, because they sound just like gunshots and I don't think the crowd would like them very much. So, this is all you get," Ayda explained.

After a few seconds, she released her powers. The light from both her hand and staff ebbed away. She dropped them to her sides. The police turned slowly to look at her again.

"Was that good enough, or do you want me to block some bullets next?"

"Um… no," the older cop said.

"How'd you do that," inquired the younger. "Do you have an LED up your sleeve, or something?"

"What?" Ayda honestly didn't know how to respond to that.

"Look, maybe you are the vigilante, maybe you're not. Either way, we can't let any civilians in or out until the area is secure," said the balding man.

"It looks pretty damn secure to me," Ayda shot back, indicating the police presence. The cops were unmoved. "This is ridiculous! I am the vigilante. I can save everyone in that school! Just let me in."

"Ma'am, we appreciate the offer," began the young cop, "but your help is unnecessary. We have the situation under control."

"No you don't!" Ayda kept her voice just barely below a yell. "If you had everything under control, the shooter would already be in cuffs but I don't see him anywhere, do you?" She took a breath to calm herself down. "More kids are gonna die today if you don't let me help, and then their deaths will be on you. Could you really live with yourselves?"

The officers shared a glance. Ayda watched their unspoken conversation with a smug smile on her face. No one wanted the deaths of children on their conscience. She wished she'd been given telepathic powers, though, just so she could hear them mull it over in their heads. They turned back to her in almost perfect unison, and dashed her expectations.

"I'm sorry, but we can't let you in," said the older cop.

"Seriously? This is bullshit!" Ayda threw her hands up in the air, then crossed her arms and quarter turned to stare at the school.

"Let her through," ordered a sudden voice.

Ayda turned toward the newcomer. Dressed in a police uniform complete with a hat, he must've been a whole foot taller than herself. He walked toward them with confidence in his ridged gait, made even more impressive by his muscular physique. Grey clung to his temples below light brown hair. A thick mustache decorated his lip. If not for the facial hair faux pas, he'd have been rather handsome for his middle age.

"Captain?" Wondered the young cop aloud.

"You heard me." The captain stopped just behind his underlings.

"Sir, I don't think—" began the older officer.

"I don't care what you think, Lewis," the captain cut him off. "We're under orders to stay back. She isn't. Like it or not, she's our best chance of getting everyone out of there alive. I'm ordering you to stand aside."

Lewis, the older cop, looked from his superior officer, to Ayda, and back again. Ayda gave each of the men who'd stood in her way expectant looks, like a parent waiting for a child to do as they're told. With a sigh, Lewis looked down at his shoes and stepped back. The younger cop hesitated for a second before doing the same, though he kept his gaze forward. Ayda didn't even spare them cursory glances as she ducked underneath the yellow tape. She stopped for a moment in front of the captain.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

"All I did was tell the truth," replied the captain. "I don't approve of your methods, but I can't argue with the results." He held out his hand, which Ayda immediately shook. "Get my grandson out of there."

"You can count on me, sir. I'll make sure everyone is safe," Ayda said. No time to stand on ceremony. She released him and began toward the school.

The presence of a new and somewhat familiar face within the crime scene caused a bit of an commotion. A murmur ran through the crowd. Press Cameras audibly snapped and she caught the flashes from the corner of her eye. Some of the people called out to her. A few even tried to shuffle closer, though the police put a stop to that much. Ayda didn't blame them for getting a bit unruly. They were just parents worried sick about their children.