Lino looked at the car. It was a Frankenstein of engineering: a sleeper sedan packed with a nitrogen-cooled turbocharger and a front bumper forged from industrial-grade titanium, designed to flip armored transport trucks like toys. He didn't grab a gun. He grabbed a wrench.
"You’re never out when they’re using your tech to kill cops," the man replied, collapsing against a stack of reinforced tires.
Lino finally wiped his grease-stained hands on a rag. His eyes, cold as the steel frame of the car, drifted to a single, mangled bullet sitting on his workbench—the one that had nearly cost him everything a year ago. In this world, a bullet wasn't just lead; it was a signature. "I told you I was out," Lino said, his voice like gravel.
He slammed the brakes, the specialized hydraulic system locking the rear wheels in a perfect 180-degree spin. As the lead SUV hurtled toward him, Lino engaged the pneumatic ram. The collision was a symphony of screeching metal. The SUV launched into the air, a two-ton bird of prey clipped mid-flight, while Lino’s car absorbed the shock through the custom dampeners he’d spent months perfecting.