Ayda soared down a busy city street, carried by her red and black motorcycle. A curtain of jagged, chin-length black hair flowed behind her. A dark, cropped leather jacket flapped around her ribcage. Sunglasses tinted the world around her, cut down on the glare so she could actually see where she was going in the waning four o'clock sunlight. As much as she loved her bike, its lack of a windshield created occasional problems with visibility. The fact the glasses concealed her identity was an added bonus, yet no less necessary.

Weaving through the vehicles in her path, Ayda sailed at speeds far beyond reasonable or safe. Most of these commuters were probably on their way to dinner or otherwise desperate to escape the doldrums of their various jobs. Usually, traffic wasn't a concern, nor a thing she really paid attention to. On this day, she cursed their presence. If not for the cars, she'd be going even faster. At least her target likely faced similar problems.

Buildings of all shapes and sizes rose up around her. Most stretched multiple stories into the sky. Pedestrians on the streets were of a mixed affair, everything from businessmen in fancy suits to the occasional bum in rags. The streets were perfectly straight, and their intersections were numerous. This was a part of the city she admittedly didn't get to much; the commercial district, right in the metropolitan heart of her hometown, El Puerto, Texas.

"Take your next left," a familiar disembodied man's voice spoke through the miniscule communications device in her right ear, colored to mostly match her naturally Persian skin tone.

"Thanks, Birdseye," responded Ayda. She cut a messy diagonal though the traffic to set herself up for the turn. "Give me an update on the bank?" As she asked that question, she hung the indicated left.

"The silent alarm is still going off, which is annoying." Birdseye—the disembodied voice—paused. "There are police on the scene, along with a NAAME agent. The hostages haven't been allowed to leave, but they're mostly unhurt. A couple medics are treating the teller who got burned, but it looks like she's the only injury."

"Just the one agent?"

"Yeah. He seems to be taking statements."

"Can you pick anything up from the police comms channels?"

"Not really," Birdseye denied. "It's mostly technical jargon, other than telling units to hold back while you engage. There's a helicopter tracking the van, which is why I'm able to update you so quickly."

"News or police?"

"News."

"Goddammit," Ayda cursed. Reporters, just what she needed.

"They're working with the cops, if that helps," Birdseye offered gently.

"It doesn't."

"I didn't think so." Birdseye said, and Ayda could practically hear him smiling. "Turn right onto West Diamond."

"Got it," confirmed Ayda, ducking a little lower on her bike.

The parking spaces on her side of the road, here, were completely empty. Ayda used that to her advantage. She placed her route directly in the middle of them, bypassing the traffic unimpeded. She would've picked up speed if her turn at West Diamond weren't so close. Ayda took the corner wide, missing a big red pickup truck by mere inches. The driver honked as she swerved over to the correct side of the road.

"Nine o'clock, Pulse. Ten seconds." A different male voice spoke in her ear, this one gruffer and distorted by deep rumbling engine noise.

"Copy, Flechette." Ayda responded to her codename. She shifted her line over a bit to give him room to merge.

True to his word, if not exactly his timing, the man emerged from her left. He rode an imposing matte black chopper motorbike, its motor much louder and lower than her vehicle. Flechette pulled up along Ayda's west flank and did his best to keep up with her as they avoided the civilian cars.

Ayda gave him a quick look. He wore a white wife beater, baggy blue jeans, and black combat boots. Every inch of his body she could see was covered in a latticework of interwoven metal spikes, none much larger than a sewing needle. They were an armor born of his unique abilities. An impassive mask concealed his face, expressionless save for the round eyeholes and slim rectangle over his mouth.

"You're late," she joked, yelling over their engines.

"I was further away," Flechette replied simply.

"Excuses, excuses," she admonished. Flechette shook his head, and she just smiled. "I assume you're up-to-date?"

"Yeah, three armed assholes and one Neo."

"That's the gist of it," Ayda said. "No big deal." Flechette nodded in response.

"Turn right onto Prowse, and you'll be able to see them," Birdseye interrupted the little reunion.

"Thanks," Ayda said.

"Another right? They're just going in a circle," replied Flechette at the same time.

Being on the faster, more maneuverable motorcycle, Ayda took the lead. The two of them made the turn. Traffic on Prowse wasn't quite as bad when compared to the other streets, so the bikers spread out and Flechette caught up with her.

Up ahead, a large black van lumbered between the lines, its movements slow and broad. Not exactly the most ideal of escape vehicles. It always baffled Ayda why criminals chose such inconvenient getaways. It could carry a lot of cargo, and many passengers, but wouldn't win any races. A dumb choice, in her mind.

At almost the exact same time, Pulse and Flechette pinned their throttles. They shot forward. Vehicles superior in every aspect allowed them to gain ground rather quickly. Ayda dodged cars in her path, even driving on the sidewalk for a moment. The sight of her prey ignited a killer instinct. Nothing could stop her, now. It was just a matter of time.

The van took up a lot of space on the road. This size was mostly a detriment, but that also made it difficult to follow as the smaller bikes couldn't take the same routes through traffic. But, agility eventually won out in the end. Ayda and Flechette closed to within feet of it.

When they were close enough, the pair split apart, lining themselves up on either side of the van in a classic pincer maneuver. On Ayda's side, a man leaned out of the rear window and leveled an assault rifle at her. He pulled the trigger, and a spray of hot lead spewed from the muzzle. Ayda put up her hand. She moved her palm to intercept the individual bullets, the ones which were on target. Purple kinetic blasts emanated from her palms at each contact, themselves sounding like gunshots. This was her ability, her superpower The little explosions shattered the projectiles, sending shards out around her body as she sped past them. The infallible defense kept her safe, but focusing on it cost her momentum. She couldn't concentrate on protecting herself and keep a constant speed at the same time. Ayda lost ground, and the van pulled away.

Flechette took over the charge. He swerved in front of her, keeping pace with the enemy. The thug redirected his efforts onto the new threat. Bullets which would've ripped through Ayda broke and flattened against Flechette's armor, leaving cracked little spikes in their wake. He didn't have to worry about defending himself, and could maintain a consistent velocity at the lack of distractions. The thug wasn't deterred, however. He emptied his magazine before retreating back into the van to reload. All the while, Flechette inched ever closer.

Flechette drove up alongside the van, aligned himself with the rear right tire. He steered with only his right hand. A spike grew from out of his left, identical to the ones which covered his body, though over a foot long and a few inches wide. He grabbed it, a prism with two sharp, parallel edges and broad points at either end. Flechette drew back his elbow, and hurled it into the tire before applying his brakes.

The sudden expulsion of air and subsequent loss of traction caused the van to swerve out of control. It careened left and right, barely avoiding the traffic that panicked to get out of the way. Drivers pulled left and right toward the sidewalks as the van barreled between the makeshift path they created. One blue pickup truck was unlucky enough to hit a light post. Its driver abandoned the vehicle to dart down an alley. Like a motorized battering ram the van smashed a path down the street. It was a miracle it didn't hit anyone. The van skidded to the left and finally slid to a stop, broadside presented.

Its pursuers parked several feet away and got off their bikes, ready to engage. Ayda held her five-foot collapsible metal staff in one hand so the butt end extended up behind her back and past her shoulder. Flechette produced a spike the size of a longsword and gripped it lazily in his right hand. Together, they walked toward their target.

Four men dressed in all black filed hastily out of the stalled van. Three of them toted various firearms. The fourth, the driver, had no gun. He distinguished himself from the others by wearing an open black hoodie over a bare, toned chest. With spikey blonde hair, a sharp chin, and a devilish glint in his brown eyes, he would've been handsome under any other circumstances.

"They call me Flint," the blonde said.

"I don't care what your name is," Ayda fired back.

"You should," he smirked, "because you'll be hearing a lot of it." Flint turned his left palm upward. Fire consumed his hand, a spontaneous combustion he showed no reaction to. A super-powered individual. A Neohuman—as the media had taken to calling them—just like Pulse and Flechette. He nodded to his cohorts.

The gunmen opened fire on their opponents. Ayda twirled her staff around in response, deflecting bullets with purple explosions while she continued forward. Flechette just kept walking through the torrent as bullets sparked uselessly against his armor.

While they fired, Flint moved around his henchmen. He stood before them off to one side, about a step away from the sidewalk. With a sinister smile, the man thrust his hand outward. A ball of pure flame elicited from his palm. It rocketed through the air, straight at Flechette. Ayda stepped in front of her ally and swept diagonally downward with a blast. The fireball deflected and struck the pavement to her right, where it fizzled out at a lack of anything to burn.

That was the catalyst they needed. Flechette and Ayda broke into a run. Ayda made a b-line for the pyrokinetic. She blocked a few bullets along the way, but most of the others focused on Flechette, who moved to attack them. Ayda directed blasts into the ground below her feet to propel herself forward. Flint shot a stream of flame at her, but she twirled her staff in front of herself. Rapid blasts like machine gun fire displaced the air in much the same way as a fan.

She closed the distance and brought her staff down. Flint stepped back at the last possible second. Ayda's attack hit only the ground, but the blast still had enough force to trip him up. She stepped toward him. Flint tossed another fireball. Ayda attempted to block this one in the same manner she had the first, but instead of just dissipating like before, it exploded. The concussive force sent Ayda back onto her rump, and almost wrenched the staff from her grip. She snarled at her opponent. Irritating.

Meanwhile, Flechette dealt with the gunmen. Their bullets still had little effect on his self-made armor. He lashed out with his spike sword. It cut deep into the arm of a thug. He cried out, dropping his gun. Flechette sliced him below the knee and he crumpled.

A step closed him in on another man. Flechette sliced him up across the ribs, a strike meant to hurt more than maim. While he reacted to the pain, Flechette kicked him over.

The third and final mook dropped his gun entirely and drew a knife instead. Flechette smirked behind his mask. The man stabbed at him. Flechette stood still as he let the knife contact his chest. The point clinked against the spikes protecting his body and left nary a scratch. The thug gave a look of surprised confusion. He tried to pull the blade back, but Flechette caught his wrist. A simple twist, and the sounds of broken bones filled the air. The man screamed and Flechette let him collapse in a heap.

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Flint put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Ayda thought he was signaling the gunmen until the van shook. It shifted to one side, and then the other, deliberate motions as if someone were trying to tip it. Metal screeched on the inside as it bowed outward.

The van's back doors flew open. Out stepped a colossus of a man. He was easily six-and-a-half feet tall with muscles like a bodybuilder. He was Caucasian, but dark green splotches marred his skin in random places. His facial features slumped and deflated on one side, as if he'd been partially melted. Black hair cut in a flat top rose about an inch from his head. He let out a savage, gravely roar, more like a sci-fi monster than any regular human, and charged Flechette.

The big man threw a huge punch, and his target just barely managed to defend himself. Flechette stepped off to one side and cut at the unnatural forearm. The blade cut in, but no deeper than a papercut. The man growled and attempted to grab at Flechette, who leapt back out of the way. Meaty fingers missed him by millimeters

"Shit," Ayda yelled. "Birdseye, we've got another Neo! And he's a big one."

"Yeah, I see that," Birdseye said hastily. "Kindle, are you able to come assist?"

"Already on the way," said a heavily accented female voice through the comms.

Ayda would've responded, but Flint had other plans. He shot a jet of flame at her. Enhanced reflexes were the only thing which allowed her to roll out of the way. Ayda sprung to her feet and attempted to charge him. He flung another fireball at her. She propelled herself to the left with a blast. The ball exploded where she'd just been standing.

She surged forward. Flint reacted with a short stream. Ayda spun with a sidestep to avoid it and kept coming. Her opponent took a step back and fired another fire beam. Ayda twirled her staff to blow it away. However, doing so blocked her vision with an undulating wall of flame. She pushed past it, but much too slow. A fireball screamed toward her, just inches away. Ayda raised her staff to block. No use.

The fireball slammed into her shoulder. She was forced off her feet, landing hard on her back. Stars swam in her vision, and a piercing ring disrupted her hearing. In a panic, she glanced over at where the attack made contact. She felt heat, but saw no fire. A sigh passed her lips. She'd chosen a leather jacket because it looked cool, but on this day she thanked the heavens for its natural flame-retardant properties.

Lying there on the asphalt, she heard a distinct whoosh. She kicked her feet around, rotating her hips to make a rough circle. Her heel connected with the opposing fireball and a blast sent it hurtling off harmlessly into an alleyway. Ayda used the momentum from the kicks to roll over her shoulder and onto her front. In the same motion she pushed herself up onto her feet. Fourteen years of fighting, and she'd never had a reason to use that move until just then.

Ayda locked eyes narrowed in concentration with her opponent. There was a silver lining to everything which just transpired; a realization. A twist, and she separated her staff in the middle, effectively transforming it into a pair of matched kali sticks. She held one in each hand in a wide stance, butt ends even with her hips and points faced diagonally upward.

Flint continued to push his offensive. He kept to the same tactic, opening with a steady stream of blazing flame. Ayda dodged out of the way. She planted her feet just long enough to propel with a blast one of her sticks through the fire. The brilliant orange concealed not only its flightpath, but also her movement in general. Imperfect aim caused the stick to exit from the stream a bit early, but it was still a projectile traveling at unnatural speeds. Flint's eyes widened, and it struck him in the shoulder.

This was her chance. Ayda jumped at him, throwing herself forward on blasts. Flint threw up a hand, bothering not for aim nor delicacy. A tiny fireball shot forth. Ayda tried to turn herself around, but she couldn't move very well in the air without something to push off of. The fireball hit her square in the chest. The miniature explosion reversed her momentum. Ayda managed to land on her feet with only a slight stumble to maintain balance. Tendrils of smoke rose from her black tank top, but it—by some miracle—resisted catching on fire. She wasn't interested in figuring out how long her luck would hold.

Ayda slipped out of her leather jacket, grabbing it by the left cuff in her free hand as it fell from her shoulders. She whipped the jacket around her head and spun. The circular motions stirred up the smoke, obscuring her slightly more than before. She swept the jacket down in front of her as she came back around the face Flint. At the same time, she made to throw her other stick.

The jacket and smoke completely masked her intentions until the improvised missile was already in the air. Flint took a step back and raised his hand. Egged on by a purple blast, the stick moved far too swiftly for a person without her reflexes to avoid. It struck him in the sternum. He gave a few strained coughs and stepped back, struggling to stay upright.

When Ayda approached him this time, she stayed firmly on the ground. She didn't even run on blasts. She sprinted like a normal person, straight toward him. Flint held up both his hands, one atop the other. He created a pair beam from each and swept them along the ground in opposite directions in front of Ayda. The fire didn't burn long, but still effectively stopped her forward motion. They were in a stalemate, neither one able to damage the other.

Locked in combat with a large, splotchy man, Flechette found himself in a similar situation. He stepped back from a big punch and sliced downward at the fist as it passed. His hit scored the flesh, but managed not to even redirect it. The green-spotted man attempted another broad swing. This time, Flechette dashed inside it. The fist sailed harmlessly behind him as he swung upward across his enemy's ribs. Another superficial cut. In response, the man twisted and shoulder checked Flechette.

The smaller, spike-clad man flew backward through the air. He hit the ground and slid along his spine for a few inches, gritting his teeth at the impact. The moment he came to a stop, Flechette sprung to his feet. The green man was already charging. Flechette held his sword in one hand. In the other, he produced a spike, which he broke off and hurled at the approaching mass. It made impact with his shoulder. The tip bit in, but not nearly enough to stick. It bounced out of the wound, leaving behind a little hole about the width of an average thumb. It didn't even bleed, nor did it stop the menace.

The big man charged forward like a bull seeing red. Flechette threw himself to the ground in a desperate swan dive. He ate asphalt, but at least avoided a flattening. Pushing himself up, he looked back to see the big, stupid, Adonis smash into a building. Various construction materials showered over him. A frustrated sneer, and he turned back around, completely unfazed. Flechette rolled his eyes. What would it take to bring this guy down?

Ayda rolled aside from a flame jet. When she stopped on one knee, a projectile left her hand. Just a littered soda bottle, it still flew with quite a force. Flint launched a fireball at it, knocking the weapon from the air. Ayda swore under her breath, but she had to admit that was an impressive shot.

Flint continued his assault. He loosed one jet, and then another. Ayda dodged them both, dashing on blasts. A third one came her way, but it went wide, striking the street several feet away from her. Odd that he would miss, when his aim so far had been quite good. She observed her opponent, and saw he was no longer looking at her, but at some point up and above where she stood. Ayda turned around to see a pair of orange streaks approaching. She smiled.

Like a fighter jet the twin streams rocketed toward the battleground. Ayda was completely nonplussed as they approached. Her only reaction was to step onto the sidewalk. Her enemy, however, wore a look of extreme concern, brows knitted together and mouth agape.

When the jets reached them, they turned toward the ground. A woman in her thirties descended from the sky, flames licking around her as she put high heeled boots on the asphalt. Ferocious blue eyes pierced into the enemy pyro. An eye mask with diamond-shaped oculars shrouded her identity. Long blonde hair flowed out behind her in duality with a black leather trench coat. The same material covered her from head to toe. A tunic of the stuff contained her larger-than-average chest, zipped in the center, and with a V at the bottom where the halves met. Her trousers were simple and skintight. Red outlined the entire outfit and ran along its hems.

"Just in time," Ayda quipped.

"Glad I didn't miss the fight," the new arrival spoke with a thick Dutch accent.

"Fiery as ever, Kindle," Ayda responded, earning herself a pointed glare. She just smirked, and so did Kindle.

"Two-on-one is a bit unfair," Flint interjected.

"How about one-on-one, then?" Kindle responded, and then spoke to Ayda. "Go help Flechette. I can handle this guy."

"Don't burn him too bad," Ayda said.

"No promises."

Ayda walked toward where Flechette grappled with the deformed monster, patting Kindle on the shoulder as she passed behind the slightly shorter woman. Kindle, for her part, fixed Flint in a vicious predatory gaze.

"What, you want some, too?" Flint said, trying to appear confident even as he took a step back. "I was giving the other one a run for her money."

"Yes, I'm sure you had fun harassing my teammate, but now it's time to fight fire," she held out her hand, a flame flickered above it, "with fire."

"Boo!" Ayda jeered from the distance. Kindle ignored her.

With all the same care she might have paid an insect, Kindle raised her flaming hand. A stream issued forth from it. Flint threw up both his hands and met the attack with a double shot of his own. They met much closer to him than her. Even with the strength from both hands, Flint couldn't hope to match his enemy. Kindle's jet ate through his without losing an ounce of momentum.

She closed her hand into a duckbill shape. Her jet narrowed all at once into a pointed rope of pure flame. It cut straight through Flint's fire with alarming speed. He hadn't even the slightest chance of dodging before the attack struck his arm. He flung backward, rolling a couple times along the road before he came to a stop. When again the man stood, his right hand, wrist, and forearm were covered in blisters and charred skin where the hoodie burned away. He was not, however, aflame.

Kindle held arms above her head with limp wrists, not unlike a marionette. Flaming vines like tentacles sprouted from her back, three on each side. She thrust her hands forward and the flames snaked toward the enemy. They pyro pounded his fists together and enshrouded himself in a dome of fire. The paltry defense was wholly ineffective as the vines passed straight through as if it weren't even there. Each struck him in different spots. He flinched and stumbled at each one, steadily driven back at the onslaught. The last hit brought him to his knees.

Pain and despair etched on his face, Flint raised a wide beam from where he knelt, the largest he'd made yet. Kindle clapped her hands together to drive a wedge into the jet. It split to either side of her, passing by safely. She threw her hands out wide and the attack dissipated entirely. Kindle propelled herself with jets beneath her boots. An uncontrolled flight, but it brought her within striking distance. She clasped his hands, messily interlacing her fingers with his. Out of both fear and in response to the impact, Flint knelt down until his knees almost touched ground.

Terrified brown eyes met cold, determined blue. Kindle smirked. Flame exploded all around her with the force of a grenade. Flint flew backward through the air and hit the ground hard, sliding along it. He came to rest on his back several feet away. His chest rose and fell, but he was motionless.

Kindle strode toward him and took a flat metal circle with two red lights next to each other from a pocket in her coat. She knelt down and opened it by a hinge. A serrated section slipped from behind where the lights were. It went over his wrist and she closed it tight against his skin, burying the serrations back into the ring itself. Hundreds of thin, red lights scattered over his body, outlining his nervous system. He snapped into a plaintive laying position on his back with feet together and palms pressed to his thighs. His breaths became erratic. His eyes were free to move, yet the rest of him was in frozen stasis. He blinked rapidly; uneven, frantic movements.

"I'm sorry," Kindle said. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "It won't hurt if you don't struggle."

It took him a moment to comply, but after a few seconds Flint settled down He looked straight up into the sky. His breathing stabilized. Her work done, Kindle stood and turned to where her teammates were still fighting. That battle seemed almost over, though. Kindle watched as she set about restraining the three gunmen with similar circular devices.

The big, green monstrosity punched down at Ayda with a hammer fist. She kicked up at the bottom of his hand. A blast sent it straight back up. Flechette used the temporary redirection to hurl a couple spikes at him. One hit his chest, and the other his neck, but neither did anything. The man caught one as it fell from his hide and threw it back. Flechette put up a hand, reabsorbing the spike into his palm.

Ayda kicked with a blast at the monster's right leg. He fell to one knee, supporting himself with a fist against the ground. Ayda grabbed the spike he hadn't returned to sender. Though not pure as her staff, it was metal all the same, and would amplify her ability. She channeled her power through it. The spike took on a purple outline, just like her staff did whenever she used it. In a two-handed grip she swung down at the green man's neck. The blast forced his face into the pavement, arms splayed out at his sides. He tried to push himself up, but Ayda hit him again. The man stirred still, not ready to give up. With a snarl Ayda stepped on his head, a blast-assisted curb stomp that put him out for the count.

Flechette ran up and took one of the flat metal rings from the loop in his cargo pants. He clasped it over the big man's wrist. It barely fit. The monster's nervous system glowed red for a moment, and his posture then matched Flint and the other thugs, just laying on his front instead of his back. Flechette and Ayda shared a quick glance. She gave a thumbs up, and he let out a long sigh. Kindle joined them.

"You dealt with the other guy?" Ayda said, glancing behind her.

"Yes. I told you I would. I got the gunmen, too." Kindle added, almost as an afterthought.

"I would've done that, but I kinda had bigger problems." Flechette kicked the green man in the shoulder.

"Don't hit them when they're restrained," warned Kindle. "You'll get in trouble again."

Flechette grunted. "A love tap won't hurt 'em, especially him."

"Still," Kindle persisted, "I don't think the law will care."

"Speaking of the law," Ayda interrupted, then put a finger in her ear, "update, Birdseye?"

"Uh, yeah," Birdseye began. "I've just sent word to the police. The van didn't exactly get too far, so they should be here any minute. Oh, and that news chopper is still overhead."

Ayda glanced up. "I see it. We're probably live." She waved up at the helicopter, then spoke to her teammates. "Alright, good job, team. You know how it goes, nothing we can do until the cops arrive."

"At least they're close," Flechette rolled his eyes.

"You can say that again," concurred Kindle.

Ayda nodded agreement and decided to take a seat on the sidewalk next to the big man's feet. Her heart pounded with adrenaline still, and this was her chance to calm down. It hadn't been a necessarily difficult fight, but any combat got her blood flowing. Despite the stress, it was a good feeling, like life itself pumped through her veins.

After a couple minutes, Kindle walked up. She handed Ayda her discarded sticks, which the younger girl accepted with a smile. Kindle nodded and went to watch over Flint.

Ayda looked around to see Flechette wheeling his motorcycle off the street in preparation for the cops to arrive. That seemed like an excellent idea, and it certainly beat sitting around. Ayda set about the same task with her own bike. The smoother this went for the police, the easier for everyone involved. She might even get out of there before the press ruined her good mood.