Zero POV
I step out of Justin's place, the steel door clicking shut behind me. I grab my gun from the shelf, slide the clip back in, and tuck it into my waistband. My bike waits in the shadows.
As I swing my leg over and rev it to life, Justin's last words loop in my mind, over and over, like a broken record I can't shut off.
"A similar mask was being auctioned in the black market, but not as advanced."
Not as advanced. That means someone took a basic piece of tech and turned it into a weapon. They customized it.
It's clear that whoever's behind this isn't some street thug.
They're smart, with resources.
You would need a lot of money to get someone with skills to mod it into something that jams signals.
My grip tightens on the handlebars as I peel out into the crowded streets.
