The limo's doors hissed open, and Brice emerged as he worked the buttons of his suit. He squinted against the morning light, taking in the picture that surrounded him. Firefighters swarmed like ants over mounds of crumbling concrete, their exo-suits whirring as they lifted chunks of debris in search of survivors.
"What the hell," Brice muttered, stepping onto the pavement.
Cops in their graphene-reinforced uniforms waved batons, herding gawkers behind glistening force fields. Forensic drones buzzed overhead, their sensors painting the area in a kaleidoscope of data streams visible only to those with the right ocular implants.
A couple of hulking military mechs stomped by with their massive feet leaving small craters in the street. One swiveled its sensor array towards Brice, giving him a once-over before moving on.
"Sir," Jax called from the driver's seat, "your meeting with the—"
