Ayda stood in her bedroom, still adorned in her nightwear despite the midday sun. A comfy light blue t-shirt hung from her shoulders, while solid gray pajama shorts stretched down almost to mid-thigh. Her hair had not yet been brushed and was a pillow-tossed mess. It was the weekend, and no one could expect her to get dressed until she—on the off chance—decided to leave home.

She peered aimlessly into her closet, inspecting the garments which either were suspended in the air on technicolor hangers, or found themselves tucked into a corner, although most of the latter group didn't fit anymore. Thus, why they'd been stowed away. Her dresser was already full enough. Anything she couldn't wear had no business occupying any more space. One day, she'd get around to taking the old clothes to charity. It would not be this day, though. She had more important things to do.

Her jacket and boots, of course, were already picked out. The former lay flat on her bed, with the footwear on the floor next to it. One of the boots had fallen over. Along with the sunglasses, these items were non-negotiable. Everything else, though, remained up for debate.

So, Ayda found herself in this current predicament. She wanted to wear something which would look good, yet diminish the intimidation factor from other pieces of the ensemble. The salmon tank top from the other day would do the job, but it was too soon since she last wore it. Sporting the same outfit as when she beat up a prominent business man risked an instant giveaway. She'd never accomplish anything if the jig was up within the first five seconds.

In the end, she decided to go with a purple t-shirt with a big white daisy sketched on the front, little petals made of fat lines. It wasn't a garment she particularly liked, and hadn't worn for quite a while, but it was very different than anything she'd gone out in thus far. It would keep her from getting recognized. However, this would probably be the last time she ever wore this particular shirt, for any reason. Along with it she selected a pair of light blue jeans.

Ayda quickly dressed, adorning the articles in a timely fashion. Next, she moved on to the bathroom. Here, she began with a brush of her hair. Now, she'd worn her locks at various lengths over the years, but it was doubtful she'd ever grow them out much longer than they already were. A straight style which just barely stuck down below her chin, it was easy to manage, not like the unruly mane she had just a few years ago. It certainly made the process of going out much easier.

Next came the makeup phase. Ayda seldom wore much, certainly not like some of the girls in school, but she did enjoy looking pretty just like any other woman. ...Not that she thought she needed makeup for that. It's a complicated subject, even for someone so rooted in reality like her. Besides, this particular mission required her to appear some level of presentable.

As it always seemed to, getting ready took longer than she wanted, but not nearly as long as it possibly could. When finally satisfied with her appearance, Ayda made her way down stairs. On her way, she noticed the dust which hung in the sunbeams streaming from the windows above the stairs. It looked so magical whenever light formed visible streaks like that; a calm moment to start off her newest adventure.

She hit the bottom of the stairs. The house had a certain stillness about it. There wasn't a whole lot going on, this lazy Saturday. Bernard, who had been working harder than usual during the week, was probably in the living room relaxing. He may have even still been asleep, which was good. He deserved a little rest. Ayda would not pretend none of this worked out in her favor. The indolent attitude made it easier for her to slip out. Or, at least that's what she thought. As she reached the door, a sweet voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Oh, Ayda, dear," said Emma. "I thought I heard you coming down the stairs."

Ayda paused with her hand on the doorknob, tightening her grip in partial agitation. So close, and yet so very far away.

"Hey, Emma," she replied, dropping her hand to turn to the woman. Her adoptive mother stood about halfway between the kitchen and the front door, a white towel in her hand. Likely, she'd just been wiping down the counters in an attempt to alleviate the dust problem. The older blonde looked from the teenager, to the door, and back again.

"Are you going out again?"

"Yeah. If that's okay," Ayda added quickly.

"Of course," smiled Emma. "Just, where are you going?"

"I don't really know," Ayda lied. "I'm just... getting restless sitting at home all day, you know? I wanna get out of the house for a bit." That part, at least, was true.

"Do you have your cellphone?"

"Yes, I have my cellphone," Ayda said, sounding exactly like a seventeen-year-old would in this situation.

"Okay." Emma smiled again. "Don't get in too much trouble."

"No promises," Ayda joked. The poor woman had no idea.

"Goodbye, hun. Drive safe," Emma said with a sweet little wave.

"Thanks, I will." Ayda waved back.

She opened the door and quickly slipped through it. Once on the other side, the girl leaned back against it for a second. A long breath escaped her lungs. She hated lying to Emma like that. It was necessary to go about her business unhindered but that didn't mean she had to derive any sort of pleasure from it, especially since she was pretty sure Emma knew it was all a ruse. Mothers have impeccable bullshit detectors. That was something Ayda relearned the hard way upon coming to America.

Ayda crossed the yard and entered the garage. There, waiting for her, was the motorcycle she so adored. It gleamed in the sun as immaculate rays caught its matte black panels and the glossy red stripe down the middle. Ayda skipped wearing a helmet this time. She mounted the beast and switched it on. The motor roared to life. A moment later, it carried her out and on toward her predetermined goal.

...

The slums, a wretched hive of scum and villainy, the place where unfortunate destitutes came to live out lives of poverty and transgression. Located on the outskirts of the industrial district—between it and the docks—it formerly was where many of the factory workers and dockhands lived. They couldn't afford a fancy suburbs home, so inner-city housing sufficed for many of them.

It was just as rundown as the rest of its partition, although it enjoyed a more lived-in aura. Compared to the barren streets and shady deals found further in the murky depths of the industrial district, the slums were practically bursting with activity. Of course, it couldn't even come close to competition with the city center. It functioned more like a small town than a part of an actual city, albeit much less wholesome. Here, the American Dream died long ago.

It wasn't always like this, of course. The death of these homes was a slow and painful one. When the jobs disappeared, the people stuck around for a time. They had no reason to leave. El Puerto was full of work, and the district sat at a reasonable distance from the new city center. For a time, an outsider wouldn't even be able to tell anything was different.

However, the area which would become the slums met a similar fate to the factories. As the honest men and women moved out, less desirable individuals took their place. Criminals, addicts, all form of lowlifes and roaches infested the old homes. Some of them became undesirables through a lack of opportunity, just like the criminal syndicates. Others were newcomers looking for a cheap place to settle down. The slums were definitely cheap.

Still, the slums were not without hope. The people making their lives maintained it much better than the abandoned structures on its border. It looked like a viable piece of society. Although the low-rent portion of El Puerto, there were clearly people living and working. This was a community, no less worthwhile than the commercial centers and skyscrapers.

Even moreso depressing, then, was the undercurrent of crime which ran through it. Invisible on the surface, anyone who prodded around long enough could find bountiful evidence of malcontent. This was contested ground. If any sort of conflict occurred between the major gangs, it rose up in the slums. No one wanted to give it over. The desperate druggies were easy income for organizations founded upon the merits of dirty money.

There was murder on every corner, drugs and theft behind every door. Innocents were caught in the crossfire. These people did nothing to deserve a war. It was not Ayda's goal, but if taking down the Triad could save them from a reality of terror, it was a cause she would gladly accept.

In order to pursue any sort of justice, however, Ayda needed a starting point, a place to kick off her crusade. Thankfully for her, there were any number of spots to choose from. As by a mile the Triad was the largest gang in the area, it had its hands in pretty much everything, but most of all, the sale of drugs.

It was common knowledge the Triad controlled a vast majority of crystal meth distribution in El Pureto. If someone wanted some ice, they needed only to track down a Chinese gangster. While she didn't have the specific numbers, the dealers must have provided a decent chunk of revenue for the Triad, and this made them the perfect starting point. No organization could operate without money, and gangs were no different. Ayda would attack their bottom line, and the first step in doing that was figuring out where to find a dealer. What better place to start, than the people who bought from them?

To that effect, she pulled into a wide open parking lot belonging to the remains of an old motel. The Ultra 6, the first name in sub-par temporary living. The enterprise consisted of three tri-story buildings, much longer than they were tall, arranged in square U pattern. It had once been an adequate establishment, a place for traveling businessmen to sleep on a budget. But, a terrible fire in one of the buildings put a stop to it. There wasn't money to fix the damage, and the whole thing went under. Now, it was nothing but a burned out shell.

Despite the inferno, the place remained in relatively good condition. When the corporation moved out, it became permanent housing for all manner of squatters from drug addicts to the homeless. Anyone who lived in the city for any amount of time knew about this place. The city council did nothing about it. The land was owned by no one, and it provided a place for the less fortunate to get out of the proverbial rain. While squatting was not exactly legal, these people weren't hurting anyone, either. No one in charge of El Puerto had the heart to tear it down.

Ayda chose a spot at random to park her bike. She was extra cautious to lock both the handlebars and wheels. She would be angry beyond the realm of human comprehension if she came outside to find her baby missing. Hopefully, this wouldn't take long.

It didn't really matter which of the three buildings she chose to enter first. As such, the one straight ahead of her was as good as any. This was the one which had caught on fire. In truth, she looked forward to investigating it the least. Who knew what sort of structural damage the blaze had wrought? She wanted to minimize her time spent within, and just maybe avoid a collapse in the process.

Upon entering, Ayda stopped in her tracks and blinked a couple times. She honestly hadn't been sure what to expect, but this was probably it. The interior was completely devoid of any interesting features. In many places only wooden struts remained, but wherever wall still stood it was black and peeling. She'd seen pictures of fire wrecked structures, and this one fit them all to a tee. Well, a lack of distractions at least made her job easier.

The lobby must have been in one of the other buildings, because this one opened up immediately into a hallway lined with doors. There were stairs off to the left, so Ayda went right. She could start at the far end and work her way to the second floor, looking for anyone to shakedown for information. It didn't really matter who she found, as long as they seemed weak willed enough to cough up the correct data. She couldn't, however, take on the entire tenement without raising an alarm. So, a level of discretion was called for. She had to carefully choose her targets.

The majority of hovels she could see into—which was most of them—were empty. A few played host to residents, but she paid them no mind. None of them had the look of an addict. She hated to so blatantly profile people, but in this situation it was necessary. The only group of note was that of four men playing poker on the floor in one of the last rooms. They were all burly gangster types, clearly not members of the Triad though they probably belonged to some other syndicate.

Ayda reached the end of the hall without finding any good quarries, which was more or less what she thought would happen. It seems most people had the same instinct about the burned building. She knew almost without a shadow of a doubt more people lived on this property, just not in the damaged part. All three floors would get a thorough inspection, of course. She just didn't expect to find anything much.

She turned around and made her way toward the other end, but didn't make it far. When she was about to pass the room with the four men in it, one of them stepped out to block her path. He was a brute of a man, more than a whole head taller than her with arms the size of most people's legs.

The man outstretched stretched his left arm and pressed his palm against the wall. Clearly, this was meant to both surprise and intimidate Ayda into stopping. He only achieved the surprised half of the equation, though. Ayda stopped. She seriously hadn't foreseen any resistance at this early stage. When, after a second, the shock wore off, she crossed her arms in agitation. Brilliant.

"Hold up there, little lady," the man said. "Don't you know it's dangerous to walk around a place like this alone?"

After he spoke, his other three cohorts entered the hallway. They were of a similar build, although the instigator here was clearly the biggest. Each one was a walking stereotype, like they learned everything about crime from crappy 90's films. They boxed Ayda in, each standing at a corner relative to her. She watched each of them in turn.

"What brings a pretty little Arab girl to our neck of the woods?" Asked the thug to her left with a slippery tone. She shot him an acrid glare.

"I'm Persian you dick!" She snapped. He wasn't the first person to make that mistake, but it still pissed her off every single time someone did. Why could no one in this damned country tell the difference? It wasn't even that hard.

"Ooh, she's got some fight in her," the same degenerate commented.

Ayda sighed and facepalmed. "I know what you guys are doing." She returned her gaze forward.

"Really? What do you think we're doing?" A man behind her chimed in. Ayda glanced at him briefly, but continued on without paying him further mind.

"Any other day I'd try to talk my way out of this, but I really don't have the patience right now. So, I'll give you to the count of five before I bust your asses. One..."

Of course, they made no attempt to move. These idiots were far too entertained to interrupt. They didn't know her. To them, she was just another helpless girl who wandered into the wrong part of town. Their mistake.

"Two..." Still no movement, no shift in the atmosphere. They were definitely planning to see this through, no matter how badly it turned out for them.

"Three..." The duo behind her began to close in. They took a few steps closer, tightening the circle. All this really accomplished was to put them in easier striking range.

"Four..." Ayda gave the one who had instigated all of this an annoyed look, as if to say this was his last chance. He returned with a sly smile. The man standing next to him idly flexed his fingers and widened his stance. These poor fools. They had no idea the world of trouble they were in. Ayda almost felt bad about beating up hapless idiots. Almost.

"Hey," a voice called out from behind the scene. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

In unison, five heads all turned to the source of this brand new disturbance. Ayda didn't know whether or not to laugh.

Approaching them was the single most stereotypical junkie Ayda had ever seen. Now, the mooks cornering her weren't exactly the most unique of fellows, but they had nothing on this guy. Whiter than his stained wife beater, disheveled brown hair, covered in old scabs, and about ninety pounds soaking wet, he walked with an ever-so slight hunch. Seriously, she'd seen tougher looking pigeons. Nonetheless, he had a confident look on his face, like he presumed to actually make a difference. Ayda embraced her powers, something she probably should have done a while ago. Her mission had a new objective, keep this guy from getting his teeth knocked out.

"I thought I heard you pull in," he continued. "You should have told me you were here." Without batting an eye, this man entered the circle and stood perpendicular to Ayda's left shoulder.

"You... know this chick, Allen?" Asked one of the thugs of the newcomer.

"Yeah. She's my cousin. Right, Casey?" said Allen with all the confidence in the world.

"Uh... yeah," Ayda did her best to play along.

"She's your cousin?" A different gangster raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I have a big family." Gently, Allen put his arm around her shoulders. "Come on, Casey."

The pasty gentleman led Ayda out of the group. Together, they moved at a brisk pace away from the group of malcontents. The thugs made no attempt to pursue further aggressions. Although clearly confused, none of them followed. Perhaps it was this confusion which stayed their feet. Ayda couldn't really be bothered to figure out the reason. It wasn't important. What mattered was she got away from it without any cracked skulls.

Ayda looked over her shoulder to find the would-be assailants slinking back into their hole. Mentally, she let out a sigh. That could have been a distraction she hadn't the time or the patience for, but a conflict had been avoided, and it was all thanks to Allen.

"Alright, they're gone." Ayda said while she shrugged him off.

"That's good." Allen glanced just to confirm. "I know they're big and scary, but they're not really bad people," he explained. Ayda had an indescribably difficult time believing any bit of that.

"Eh, I couldn've taken 'em," Ayda joked with a shrug.

"I bet you could," Allen agreed. "I'm Allen, by the way." He presented an open hand to her.

"Sandra," lied Ayda, recycling her assumed name from when she confronted Lo Feng. They briefly shook hands.

"So..." Allen trailed off. "I don't want to sound just like those guys, but what are you doing here?"

"Well," Ayda began, "The diamond salesman I usually go to got shut down the other day, and I've been looking for a new hookup. I figured a place like this would be a good place to start."

"You're here to buy drugs?" Asked Allen, an incredulous look on his face.

"I was more just looking for a few tips, but I did bring my wallet." Ayda said with a forced air of hope. This could be the goldmine she'd been looking for, and she couldn't afford to let it slip from her grasp.

"Well, you're in luck. If you want to come up to my place, I can dip into my stash for you." Allen smiled, flashing gross yellow teeth.

"Alright, sounds perfect," Ayda responded. Yes, perfect indeed.

"Follow me, then. It's on the second floor."

With that, Allen began to usher her toward the staircase at the far left of the hallway. They remained abreast, but he was clearly in charge. Ayda was more than happy to let him lead. This was a great chance for her. Although she liked to be the one in command of any given situation, in this instance a subordinate role made more sense to reach her ultimate goal. Or, at the very least, get her closer to it.

They walked the somewhat short distance to Allen's abode in relative silence. Allen didn't necessarily strike her as the most talkative of chaps, and while Ayda could be in certain scenarios, this was most certainly not one of them. She harbored much more concern for her mission than any sort of menial conversation.

The scenery improved little as the duo climbed the stairs. If anything, it worsened just slightly. Being the second floor and at a greater vulnerability to natural effects such as wind and gravity, it suffered noticeably more damage. There were scattered small holes in both the floor and ceiling, but none that made walking overly hazardous. The walls had seen better days, more charred and ruined than those below. Very few rooms—including Allen's—had doors. Ayda was starting to get massive flashbacks to the apartment where she fought Sun Xin. She could never live in a place like this, with no privacy nor cleanliness. Or, at least, never again.

"This is us," Allen said immediately before hanging a right into a room.

There were three things of note in this space: the surprisingly intact couch and the two people sitting upon it, who looked up at the new arrivals when they entered. Other than that, there was absolutely nothing to see. An intact door separated the room itself from the lavatory, which doubtless no longer worked. A green duffel bag sat against the west wall. Other than these few things, the room was a burnt desert.

"That's Tino and Miguel on the couch, there. Guys, this is Sandra." Allen made the appropriate introductions.

"Hey."

"What's up?"

Tino was a large man of African-American descent, his curly hair cut short. The blue couch sagged under his weight. In contrast, Miguel was a Cuban man of average height and build. His head had been shaved. Somehow, he managed to wear a tan winter jacket without roasting to death. With the addition of Ayda, this was now the most racially diverse room in all of El Puerto, and possibly the entire state of Texas.

"Sandra here," continued Allen, "is in the diamond market."

"For real?" Tino raised an eyebrow. "Well, you sure came to the right place."

"Yeah, I guess I did," Ayda agreed, resisting the temptation to awkwardly scratch the back of her head.

"Just make yourself at home, I'll see what I can come up with," Allen instructed before moving over to the duffel bag.

"Um..." Ayda looked around the room. The only place to sit was the couch, and although it had three seats, she didn't feel like nestling between two strange men. To not accept Allen's invitation may have been seen as suspicious, though. So, she chose the only other opening available to her. Ayda sat on the floor between him and his friends. She crossed her legs in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

"So," Miguel said the moment she had sat, "Sandra, where are you from?"

"Oh, I've been around, but Texas is my home, now," replied Ayda simply. It was not technically untrue.

"And what made you think to come here for a little ice?" Prodded Tino further. This was beginning to feel like an interrogation, but this level of caution was more than understandable.

"As I was telling Allen on our way here, my usual dealer got taken out a few days ago. I figured this would be as good a place as any to start looking for a new guy."

In response to her explanation, Tino shrugged and Miguel jerked his head to one side. Ayda assumed these were affirmative gestures. All the while, Allen continued to rifle through his bag. She could feel herself running out of time. If this went on, she may end up actually being offered drugs. Now was the moment to accelerate her plans.

"So, I know I probably shouldn't ask, but where do you all get your stuff from?" Ayda said in the most innocent way she knew how, which meant she sounded more sarcastic than anything else. All three junkies gave her puzzled looks. Allen ceased his search entirely.

"You're right, you shouldn't ask." Allen turned to her and slowly stood.

"I'm not trying to step on your territory or anything," Ayda made a defensive wave of her hands. "I'm just wondering so I can maybe get some for myself. Is it really so bad to ask?" This was a genuine question. She didn't know the first thing about druggie etiquette.

"Depends on the person," Allen said.

"You seem pretty well off," explained Tino further. "We can't have you snatching up all the best deals, you see?"

"It's not personal, just business," Miguel added.

Ayda sighed. "So, that's how it's gonna be?" She gave them a chance to respond. They did not. "Why do I even try? I mean, I want to be nonviolent, but every time I go looking for information, it turns out like this. Fine, whatever." She stood. "Have it your way."

She embraced her powers. In the same instant, Ayda rammed her foot underneath the couch. A stronger than required blast sent it toppling backward, Tino and Miguel along for the ride. Their feet dangled comically in the air as the furniture teetered over it's back legs. They both hit their heads when its back came down.

Nary had a beat dropped before Ayda unleashed upon Allen. A kick to his hip spun him around one-eighty. She planted the same foot in the small of his back. A little burst smacked him against the wall. Ayda closed the distance, pressing him into the structure, a smash of his head into it for emphasis. She positioned her knee right between his legs. Any movement from the waist down would be... unpleasant. The pressure against his torso and shoulders kept him from moving any other part of his body. Allen had no hope at freedom, not until Ayda said so.

"Okay, okay, okay," Allen sputtered, shaking with fear. "Just take whatever you want and leave."

"Shut up, Allen," said Ayda. "I'm not here for your drugs."

"But, you said—"

"I lied, imagine that. Now, Allen, I'm not your enemy, but I don't have to be your friend, either. I'm not afraid to hurt you. But, if you just tell me where I'm most likely to find a dealer, we can all walk out of this unscathed."

"But, that's not how it works," Allen argued.

"How what works?" Ayda demanded

"This, any of it! That's not how it works! What, you think dealers just set up a tent on a street corner and wait for a junkie to wander by? It's all private meetings and shit."

Ayda considered this for a moment. "Alright." She let him go. "Walk me through the process, then."

Allen turned around and bent over, deep breaths through suddenly uncompressed lungs. Ayda glanced behind her, but found she had nothing to worry about from the other two men in the room. Both Tino and Miguel hid behind the upturned couch, cautiously peaking over it. Allen still caught his breath. This was taking too long.

"Talk, Allen." Ayda flicked him on the forehead with a miniscule blast, just to get his attention.

"Well, um..." he collected his thoughts for a moment. "It... it starts with a phone call. I call one of my guys, we set up a meeting place, someone brings the stuff, I bring the money, we exchange and then part ways. The whole thing takes, like, ten minutes."

"You just call people?" Ayda raised an eyebrow. "That seems really unsafe."

"Sometimes. It depends. Single, rogue guys won't sell to someone they don't know, but if you're dealing with a gang or something, you actually talk to a middle-man who sets up the meeting for you." Allen explained.

"That's a lot of steps just to get high," observed Ayda.

"It's a vetting process," Allen said. "Keeps the cops away."

"Hmm..." Ayda trailed off, annoyed. "I guess you would know better than me." She sighed. "Well, shit. There goes my entire plan."

Perhaps she'd seen too many bad movies, but that wasn't even close to how she thought drug dealing went down. She assumed it was all street deals. The pusher walked around looking for people whom he magically knew were junkies, and waved a dime bag in front of their faces. In retrospect, it sounded absolutely ridiculous, but that was the image American media promoted. However, as it always did, reality had a much different view of things.

"So, what do I do now?" Ayda thought aloud. She could pose as a buyer. She wasn't a cop, but it shouldn't have been too hard to convince their vetting process. That seemed like a good start. "Alright. Phones, all three of you," she ordered of the men. Predictably, they hesitated. "Phones, now!" She made a small blast above her open palm just to get her point across.

Hastily, the three men produced their cellular devices. Ayda collected them. She placed two on the ground at her feet and held the last in her left hand. With her right, she extracted her own cell. Fleet of thumbs, she began to copy down contact information.

This particular set belonged to Allen. His contacts weren't all illicit, of course, but the relevant ones were easy to distinguish. He'd gone through the trouble of listing a drug next to each listing. These weren't actual names, but instead random jumbles of letters. Ayda was only interested in methamphetamines, so she copied those numbers and no others. They would help her find a few, but what was she supposed to do about all the other dealers in town?

Tino had more contacts than Allen, and while he hadn't given each one a drug, he did seem to use actual names. Ayda only took down the Chinese sounding ones. It was terribly racist, but also effective. Likely at least a few of these were the same as Allen's. That was a bridge she'd have to cross when the time came. She transitioned to Miguel's phone and was about to start copying when an epiphany hit her like a ton of bricks.

She didn't even need to find the dealers. All she had to do was go after the buyers, and they'd lead her right to them. She could do exactly what she was doing, just on a larger scale. More phones, more junkies, an entire network of stolen contact information.

The teenager swiftly finished transferring Miguel's data to her own device. He didn't have as many contacts overall, but he assumedly used their real names just like Tino. Of course, the possibility of red herrings was ever-present. If a lead bore no fruit, Ayda would move on to the next one. Simple as that. When finished, she tossed it to him. He reacted in barely enough time to catch it.

"Okay, that was all I needed." She began toward the exit. " Thanks for the info, guys. I'm sorry I broke your couch."

"Oh, don't worry. It's not ours," Miguel called after her.

"Dude!" Tino shouted before audibly smacking him. Ayda just smiled. She didn't even come close to caring where or how they got it. After all, the room didn't exactly belong to them, either.

To say she was excited would be an understatement. In the space of not even a half hour, she'd gone from having no clue what she was doing to a clear and concise mode of operation. Her mission to take down the Triad was beginning to take shape. All the avenues for doing so were lining up in front of her. The drugs were just the start of it. Soon, she'd move on to bigger fish worth even more money and influence than simple street pushers. For now, though, getting some crystal off the streets would more than suffice. The Triad wouldn't even know what hit them. Her name would become synonymous with destruction, and it was all thanks to a trio of hapless addicts. Allen, Tino, and Miguel were alright, in her book.