It was a cool night. Or, at least, cool by Texan standards, which meant it was still rather warm. The hypothetical mercury hovered around a comfortable temperature, and an ever-so-slight breeze blew outside. A beautiful full moon hung dominant in a cloudless sky, radiating light upon the sleepy streets below. Every once in a while a star peaked through the city lights. By all accounts, it was a beautiful evening.

But the breeze and the moon mattered little to Ayda. She stood inside a dilapidated old warehouse, unsettling in it's familiarity. The moon showed not through dirty windows. The breeze hadn't a chance of penetrating thick steel walls. Inside the air was thick and stagnant. What little light did bleed into the space caught twinkling specks of dust as they flitted to the floor. It was silent and lonely.

Her eyes searched around the room. It looked completely untouched since her last visit. The machinery and left over mechanical parts were just as grimy as before. Dust long covered up whatever disturbances she'd caused to it on her previous excursion, and no evidence of anyone else exploring the space was visible. Even the door on the far end was still open.

No one had been here, because they didn't have a reason to. The industrial district was full of abandoned buildings like this one, though it was in much better condition than some. While the more pedestrian structures often played host to squatters and criminals, factories like this one lacked a certain homey appeal, and were abandoned in favor of something more inviting. It was the perfect place for a showdown.

Ayda continued to scan the area, ever alert for any sort of sign to signify she was no longer alone. Idly, she adjusted the right shoulder of her cropped leather jacket. It didn't actually need adjusting, but the motion brought her a small amount of comfort, a distraction from the immobile air. She was dressed all in black on this day; a dark tank top, tight jeans, combat boots, and her signature sunglasses completed her ensemble. It was similar to what she'd worn the first time inside the factory. Something about it felt right. The only difference was the overstuffed drab green fanny pack on her right hip.

A chill ran down her spine as her eyes fell upon the ground. There was a dark spot on the floor. She didn't need to inspect it to know what it was. Blood. Her blood. The remnant of a battle long past, but never forgotten.

Unwarranted images flashed through her mind. She saw Tahoe, standing upon his platform with dual swords in hand. His voice rang out and she could almost hear it, accented and constantly jeering, though deeper than she remembered. He turned to solid metal in her mind's eye. Once again her stomach sank as her staff met his metallic skin, and did nothing to effect it. Tahoe raised his sword and brought it down.

Ayda reached a hand down her shirt and slowly scratched her back. Fingertips grazed the place where Tahoe's blade seared her skin. The wound healed nicely—only a faint scar left in its wake—but the mark could still be felt with an observant touch. It had been so long since the lost a fight with actual stakes. Training didn't always go her way, but the moment the outcome actually mattered, she failed. If Ayda concentrated, she could still feel the blade rending her flesh, could still hear Tahoe's confident jeering. Maybe if she'd been good enough, then none of this—

Ayda clenched her eyes shut. A forceful shake of her head splayed jagged black locks. They settled in a slightly less orderly fashion than they began. The hand on her back slid up to instead rub her neck. The other hand flexed and relaxed around her staff a few times. She channeled her powers for a second, not much but just enough for energy to course through her veins.

The girl took a deep, slow breath. The air smelled stale, but it reminded her of the situation. With a long exhale through parted lips, Ayda opened her eyes. Ayda's free hand fell to her side. The power left her body. The factory. El Puerto. Her home. These were the things that mattered. The past was over and done with. It could not be changed. Ayda needed to live in the present, and the present had much more pressing issues to worry about.

She looked down at her watch. The black digital numbers read 10:10. Ayda looked around, but saw nothing. She sighed. Late. Of course. Why did she expect anything different? The teenager wanted to believe she didn't' have all night to stand there, but that wasn't true. She'd completely cleared her schedule. This was, quite literally, the only thing she had to do. In reality, Ayda hadn't time to do anything else besides stand there all night. That thought did little to instill confidence.

Idly, Ayda held her staff straight up and down. She let it go, and its point hit the ground with a hollow plinking sound. It bounced back up, and she caught the rod before it could topple over. At a lack of better entertainment, this was fun enough. She repeated the motion a few times, sharp sounds echoing through the empty space with each drop. They ceased abruptly when Ayda realized they were not the only sounds penetrating the darkness. Low thuds interspersed them. Her eyes snapped to the direction of the new disturbance, and her heart sank.

Out from the darkness which clung lose to the walls strode a man. Grey splotches dotted his dark hair. Urban camouflage and a combat harness clothed his body, while the pale lights reflected off metallic skin. Twin, single-edged swords were already drawn at his sides, ready to partake in the bloody business to follow. This man required no introduction, for Ayda knew who he was. Tahoe.

He stopped a few feet away from her. The girl did not assume a fighting stance nor charge immediately after him, only stood there in confused regard for the new arrival. Tahoe looked pretty much the same as she remembered, and he actually showed up, which was a plus.

"That's it?" Ayda raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward him. "No grand entrance or surprise attack? Not even a posse? I expected at least a hype man."

"I've faced you alone before, haven't I?" Tahoe said. The sound of his voice reminded Ayda of his accent. "You probably don't think so, but I do believe in the honor of combat, especially when I've been issued a challenge." He explained.

Ayda audibly scoffed at that. Honor. Yeah, right.

"I have to say, I was surprised," Tahoe continued when Ayda did not speak. "I expected our next meeting to be more organic."

"What can I say? I've never been very patient." Ayda shrugged.

"Well, we at least have that much in common," Tahoe stated. Ayda rolled her eyes at the comparison.

"You came here to fight, right?" Ayda changed the subject. She assumed her favorite fighting stance, staff held out in front of her at an angle from right shoulder to left hip. "Let's get it over with."

"That's the smartest you've ever said. I'm tired of you slowing down my plans, anyway." Tahoe went into his own stance. His left shoulder facing toward the girl, his left sword was held down at his hip, the tip pointed up at her nose. The other blade was held aloft above his head, focused on the same spot.

They faced off, both standing perfectly still. Ayda channeled her powers. The world slammed into focus as a purple outline took her staff. She shifted her feet along the dirty floor, and adjusted her grip on the weapon, in her best attempt to look antsy.

"Hold on," she dropped her stance. "This doesn't feel right." To her amazement, Tahoe also relaxed a bit, although his expression remained unchanged.

"You have a better idea?" Tahoe patronized.

"No, it's just..." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "You said something about honor? If we're gonna fight, we should fight like men."

Every shred of decency in Ayda's brain screamed at her to stop, to rethink her next action, but she'd come much too far. Pushing through any amount of hesitation she may have felt, Ayda put down her staff. She then removed her jacket and threw it to the concrete. The black tank to was next to go. She crossed her arms at the hem of the garment top and pulled up. In one fluid motion the clothing was over her head and on the ground next to the discarded jacket.

Ayda was thankful for the color of her skin. Were she any paler, she'd be red as a tomato. Standing in the middle of a rundown warehouse, chest bare except for a black sports bra, Ayda put her torso on display for the world to see. Lean abdominal muscles—defined, but not gratuitous—bristled under the smooth skin of her toned stomach, but she was confident in her body. It was not what caused her such embarrassment.

Scars covered her upper-body, most leftover from her time in captivity but some had been acquired in the past few months. Despite constant support from family and friends, they still were a source of self-conscious discomfort for her. They were reminders of all the times when she wasn't good enough.

It was at that moment Elliot decided to speak up, his voice somewhat distorted through the bluetooth headset in her ear.

"What was that rustling sound?" He said. His voice cut through the uncomfortable haze in the girl's mind. "Wait... 'fight like men?' Did you just take your shirt off?"

She did not respond. Tahoe stood there for a moment, clearly taken aback by the events transpiring before his eyes. Ayda felt herself redden even deeper. Tahoe had not earned the right to see her scars. She almost shrunk under his lecherous gaze, but somehow managed to compartmentalize the degradation she felt as his eyes scanned every inch of her. She would not show such petty weakness, not to him.

He smirked. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?' He joked. "Alright, have it your way. Like men." He sheathed his swords and reached down.

"Ayda, what the hell? Are you trying to fight him or fuck him?" The voice of Elliot shouted into her ear.

The teenager still ignored him, instead entirely focused on what Tahoe was doing. He first undid his combat harness. Unsnapping a few buckles allowed it to slide off his shoulders. Then, he too crossed his arms and pulled up. Tahoe removed his own shirt to reveal hard silver skin below. With all pesky barriers to her intended target out of the way, Ayda's lips curved in a sideways smirk. Tahoe took the bait like a moth to a flame. A moth ripe for a freezing.

Tahoe redrew his swords. Both fighters settled back into their stances from earlier. The atmosphere shifted. A charge went through the air, so palpable Ayda was sure both of them felt it. She embraced her powers. Strength washed over her, and the entire world slammed into focus. It seemed as though everything else slowed down, as if the Earth stopped spinning to allow these two an uninterrupted bout. In this moment, she was not Ayda. She was Pulse; a force of justice facing down a great enemy. It was her job to stop him, because no one else could.

Ayda propelled herself forward. Tahoe stood like a stone to meet her. At the same time as her feet touched the concrete floor, the girl swung a vicious lateral strike over her left side. Staff met sword in a purple explosion which rocked the foundations of the warehouse. A pressure wave emanated from the epicenter of the blast. Several of the overhead windows shattered, raining glass down in the distance all around them. And in the middle of it all stood Tahoe, metal skin gleaming in the pale moonlight, completely unfazed by the incredible attack. It was as Ayda expected, but she still snarled at him.

The two disengaged, but only long enough to launch into a flurry. They exchanged a long series of blows at a blazing pace. Ayda struck down with a blast. Tahoe blocked and countered with a sweep from his right sword. Ayda defended and swung upward with her staff's back end, only to be thwarted. Tahoe answered with a downward slice.

Back and forth they went. Neither combatant got in one attack before the other gave a response. Every contact of blade on staff resulted in a blast, but the defense of each was absolute. Ayda attempted to stab at Tahoe's forehead with the full length of her staff. Tahoe sidestepped out of the way; the blast detonated next to his right ear. Out of sword's reach, he instead gave a quick front push kick. The heel of his boot made good contact with Ayda's pelvis. She took the hit, along with a few steps back, effectively ending the first melee.

It was Tahoe who initiated the next exchange. He dashed forward, striking downward with each blade in series once in range. Ayda stepped back in time with each slash, narrowly avoiding the points. Tahoe continued his assault with an upward swing across is body. This one Ayda blocked. She cranked her staff into a swift slice, which Tahoe barely stopped short of his face. The girl struck again with the other side of her weapon, but again met a black blade. Finally, Ayda retracted her weapon and thrust forward, sliding between Tahoe's defenses and straight into his abdomen.

The ensuing blast pushed her back more than it did him. Ayda planted her feet and slid backward. Her boots failed to find traction on the dirty cement. The much heavier Tahoe, however, was already beginning toward her. Now or never. In one fluid motion, Ayda reached into her fanny pack, pulled out a cylindrical freeze bomb, and hurled it at her enemy with assistance from a modest blast.

Tahoe swiped up at it just before it reached him. His blade shattered the glass on contact. A brilliant display of pale blue liquid sprayed from the broken projectile. Much of it fell harmlessly to the ground, but some painted across the man's chest and right shoulder. Mist rose from the affected areas.

The metal man continued on for a few more steps, but then his nose curled in a pointed wince. Puzzled eyes regarded the foreign substance splashed along his person. He touched it with his opposite hand, rolling it around on his fingertips before hastily flicking it off. Ayda smirked again. Like a cat stalking helpless pray, she pounced.

Ayda smashed down a hefty overhead strike. Tahoe blocked with swords crossed, but his right side buckled just slightly. He winced in pain. Using his superior strength, he forced Ayda's weapon down to her left and took a big step back.

The teenager would not let up. She matched him stride for stride, spinning her staff vertically. Each end let forth a strong purple burst every time they passed over Tahoe's body. He retreated further and further. The blasts missed him by mere inches. His eyes were wide as they followed the pinwheel of death steadily encroaching on his territory. He caught every motion, committed it to memory and moved in anticipation of the next. It was a level of care Ayda had not seen in their previous fights.

This wasn't working. He was already out of her range. She would never hit him. Ayda spun around once to break her forward momentum, twirling her staff all the while. At the end of her rotation, she jumped back. In midair, the girl dipped a free hand into her pack and launched another freeze bomb at the enemy. Confused and dismayed, Tahoe wasn't near fast enough. The bomb broke against his abdomen. Most of the liquid previously contained therein coated against his middle, but thin tendrils splattered all along his chest. A few drops even made it onto his face.

"What is this?" Tahoe demanded, looking down at his newly blued stomach. "What did you do to me?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Ayda mocked back.

She dashed the short distance between them and initiated with a lateral over her right shoulder. Tahoe blocked with his good arm, and attacked with the injured one in the same motion. Ayda maintained contact as she rotated her staff to block the attack. Tahoe kicked out of the bind in a similar fashion to how he had previously. His foot hit just about the same spot on the teenager. She took a step back to steady herself.

Tahoe continued the assault, striking downward with both weapons. Ayda deflected his blades to her right and used the momentum to hit vertically with the back end of her staff. Tahoe just barely avoided the little purple explosion. He sliced up with his right sword and stabbed with the left in rapid succession. Ayda sidestepped the attacks and stabbed straight at his face with the butt end of her staff. Tahoe batted it away, using the energy of the rod's blast against it, and cut horizontally with his other sword.

Ayda tried to step back out of the way, but she'd overextended herself. Her head and torso made it out of the swinging arc, but blade tip caught her left bicep. The girl gritted her teeth with a snarl as crimson began to pump through the laceration. The cut was deep, but not to the bone. She'd fought on with far worse injuries in the past. Not that she was happy with the current predicament, of course.

The sight and scent of blood whipped Tahoe into a frenzy. He charged forward. Ayda needed a bit more time to recover from the pain shooting through her arm. She jabbed her staff into the ground, sending a shockwave through the cement floor. The pulse caught Tahoe mid-step. The teenager took full advantage of this sudden imbalance. She swung down over her left shoulder. A blast connected with Tahoe's own weakened limb.

A terrible cracking sound pierced the air as Tahoe uprooted. He flew several feet backward. Left in his wake was a silvery-blue powder which slowly diffused into the air. The metal man landed hard on his back.

No time as wasted. With her uninjured arm, Ayda hurled a pair of freeze bombs and her grounded adversary, one right after the other in rapid succession. The first one fell just slightly short. What didn't mark the floor splattered upon his pants. Tahoe rolled away from the second. He pushed himself up, a hand on his right shoulder.

Chunks were missing from the frozen arm. Hair-thin fissures worked their way across its surface. He winced in lingering pain. All of this, Ayda found quite odd. Why would he not reform the metal to heal the wound? Why not just get rid of the cold in the first place? A sickening smile worked across her lips.

Ayda separated her weapon into its two halves. She dashed forward. A couple lofty blast-assisted steps brought the fighters together once more. The younger of them landed in a stance which faced her injured left side away from the enemy. Tahoe did the same, and for a moment they assumed an identical Eskrima posture. This similarity dissolved, however, when they both erupted into explosive action.

The two combatants launched into another flurry of seemingly endless attack and defense. Each of them having dual weapons, they could both strike and block at the same exact time. They stepped and jockeyed for range, trying to get through the solid defenses of the other. Every hit met a weapon, and was followed up immediately with a counter. But, as this bout went on, a pattern began to show. With each fighter having an injured limb, they favored defending with that one, and attacking with their good arm.

Eventually, one of them found an opening. Ayda parried with her healthy arm, dragging Tahoe's right weapon down with her left. It was enough of a change to destabilize the flow of battle. Before the man could react, Ayda struck with her other stick over her left shoulder. A terrible blast impacted Tahoe's frozen limb. More little chunks and dust flew off as he stumbled away, spinning around with a little step to maintain balance.

Ayda would not let him rest. She charged forward. Tahoe completed his spin just in time to block her stuttered downward blows. Blasts impacted his swords one right after the other. Tahoe made the mistake of blocking with his bad arm. He took a big step back to once again break momentum. Ayda charged forward and slammed both sticks down simultaneously, but this time Tahoe was ready. He blocked with his left sword, and swung low with his right. Ayda shifted back to avoid the blow as it sailed past her midsection with just inches to spare.

It was Tahoe's turn to press. He stepped toward her, swinging once right and then left. Ayda blocked both. She gave him a high front kick-blast combo in response, which he faded back from. The girl followed him with alternating stabs of her stick, a burst at the end of each one. Tahoe blocked the first, and sidestepped the second. The moment it was past him, he swung down.

Ayda knew what was about to happen. She took a step back out of the way, but it wasn't enough. The tip of a blade passed through the flesh above her right kidney. Searing pain took her entire torso as several unsteady footfalls led her backward. Instinctively, a hand covered the freshly wounded area. She pulled it way, wincing as sweat and dirt seeped into the gash. Her hand came back stained with red, while tendrils pooled at her belt. Though longer, this cut didn't bleed as much as the first of the night. Again, it missed anything vital, but the pain was temporarily overwhelming. For a few harrowed seconds, the only things she could feel were the agonizing throbs which wracked her upper-body.

To her surprise, Tahoe did not continue to attack her. He instead stood a few feet away. His breaths came in labored pants, and a hand clutched his damaged arm. There were even more chunks missing, and a few of the fissures had blown into full-fledged cracks. His face twisted in pain, a sinister sneer on his lips.

They faced off like this for a moment, each far too hurt and tired to continue fighting. They panted back and forth in fighting stances. Their eyes met, full of fervor, but they lacked that fighting spirit from earlier in the match. Ayda, though was not one to rest on her laurels, not while she was so close. She gathered what energy she could and propelled herself forward.

A downward blast met Tahoe's waiting weapons, but it was weak. Tahoe deflected her single rod off to one side. The man retaliated by slicing down at her with his only good appendage. Ayda just barely managed to swing one of her weapons in a wide arc to bat it away. She tried to follow it up with the other stick, but pain and exhaustion in her wounded arm kept the hit slow. Tahoe blocked with little trouble. He retaliated straight down the middle with one sword. Ayda, unable to defend herself, faded back. Air displaced by the blade tickled her nose, but did not mark her skin.

Tahoe pressed forward. He cut vertically with staggered motions. Ayda dodged both, continuing to retreat. With perhaps more effort than necessary, Tahoe hauled his swords back up from their follow-through. Ayda blocked them both with one rod, and attacked with the other. Tahoe quarter-turned out of the way and countered with a long thrust. Ayda kicked a blast off the ground and flew back a few feet from harm's way.

The moment she hit the ground, the teenager switched both sticks into her left hand, dipped her now free appendage into the pack at her waist, and hurled a freeze bomb at Tahoe. This one was just a normal throw, without any sort of explosion to propel it along. Learning from his previous mistake, Tahoe swatted this one away with the flat of a blade.

But that was exactly what Ayda wanted him to do.

In the split-second distraction the projectile provided, Ayda launched herself forward. She struck upward with a spin, rising into the air a few feet. Tahoe stumbled back from the force of it. His exposed and frozen middle cracked and fissured.

Ayda matched him step for step, fire in her eyes as she refused to let up. The girl gathered all her strength and smashed both her weapons into Tahoe's weakened right arm. Deafening blasts filled the air. Chunks flew away from the man as Ayda came down again. Another spray of debris. She repeated the attack a third time, with similar results.

Tahoe missed a step. He fell onto his rump. Both his swords clattered along the ground. But still, Ayda did not relent. She struck down again. Tahoe put up his injured arm in a vain attempt to stop her. His face twisted in agony as another pair of simultaneous explosions chipped away large chunks of his arm. They bounced and shattered upon the concrete as Ayda came down once again.

There came a great crack like shattering glass. Tahoe's arm separated at the elbow. What was left of the appendage tumbled to the floor. It broke into three uneven pieces on impact. All Tahoe could do was look on in sheer terror. But still, Ayda did not relent. She shifted her aim to his shoulder and hit one more time. Tahoe buckled. All the strength left his good arm. His only support folded underneath him. He fell flat on his back. Ayda quickly moved into position. She stood over him, trapping his neck with crossed sticks.

"It's over, Tahoe," she spat his name. "You lose."

He did not respond, but only looked from her to the remnants of his arm, and back again. What had once been a metallic tree trunk bursting with incredible strength was now just a jagged blue nub. He wiggled it around pathetically. The man which had caused her so much trouble over these past few months was now—quite literally—a fraction of his former self. Ayda couldn't help but smirk.

A gunshot rang out. Ayda honed instinctually on the sound. She straightened up and spun to face the new threat. Unnatural eyes spotted the projectile just moments before it hit. A swipe and blast smashed it. As the debris scattered around her, the girl found its origin. A man stood on what was left of a catwalk along the far wall, brandishing a slim pistol. He fired again, but to no avail as Ayda blocked.

The teenager was about to squash this new threat, when she felt something shift on the ground below. A swift blow to the ankles knocked her feet out from underneath. She plummeted to the ground, landing awkwardly with the manipulated leg outstretched, and the other bent back. Her lip curled and eyes went wide in frantic anger. She didn't need to look to know Tahoe had made a break for it.

She was about to spin around and go after him, but another shot rang out. Ayda blocked it from where she sat. The girl glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Tahoe disappear out a side door. She quickly stood to give chase. The gunman fired yet again. Ayda twisted around to nullify his assault. Taking a second to square up, Ayda threw one of her sticks at him; a burst propelled it at impossible speeds. It hit him square in the shoulder. He cried out at the pain of broken bones. His gun slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor below.

The moment he was out of the picture, Ayda flew through the door Tahoe just used to escape. She made it to the alleyway but, of course, he was nowhere to be found. Her first instinct was to check behind the warehouse. The space behind the building was narrow. Tahoe would have nowhere to hide if he'd taken off down it, so his absence meant he wasn't there. That only left the road.

Propelling herself on blasts, Ayda bounded to the street. Her head whipped around left and right, desperate for any sign of him. But the sidewalks were barren. There were no cars at this time of night, and not even the sound of traffic. Her shallow breaths gradually slowed to something more controlled. She let out a long sigh, and made way back to the warehouse.

Once close enough to the structure, she let out a fitful scream and punched the exterior wall. The ensuing blast echoed through the alleyways and avenues like the little explosion it was. The deteriorated metal siding buckled around her fist. Ayda kept it there for a moment, breathing heavily again, but this time through her nose. A sharp inhale, and she dropped her fist. Letting the breath out in a huff, Ayda went back around the side of the warehouse.

There were drips of blood and icy chunks all over the floor where their battle had transpired. Seeing them reminded Ayda of her own wounds. Discomfort shot through her torso and left arm. Best get home before these wounds became worse, and maybe cool off along the way. Riding her motorcycle always had a marked therapeutic effect.

A glance at the catwalk revealed the interloper was no longer present. She felt the most animosity toward him. If not for his interference, Tahoe would still be in her grasp. But, there was nothing she could do to change it. She put her shirt back on, gathered up her jacket and the other half of her staff, and exited the building, bound for her bike parked a few blocks away.

Elliot was probably worried sick. He would want all the details the moment she walked through the door. Distantly, Ayda hoped he remembered how to stitch up a wound.