He paid and passed into the street, where the wind kicked up a cloud of dust. Jazzlyn and Shortcut both held bandanas over their mouths. Shortcut looked at X and handed him a gray bandana.
“This is to blend in,” Shortcut said. “And too much dust will screw up your circuits.”
Dust gathered in X’s throat and he spit out a spray. He could feel it collecting in pockets on the insides of his mouth; his algorithm chip buzzed and warned him about his dust intake. He tied the bandana around his face and the buzzing stopped, but he could still feel the dust building up around his eyes.
He scanned the street. The avenue of tall buildings and skyscrapers was deathly silent; the buildings were full of broken windows, their bowels empty and scarred with the evidence of fire and bombs. The street sme
