"What… are they doing here?"
On the far end of the cordon, a line of black limousines was driving in—silent, smooth, slow. The crowd instinctively parted, whispers spreading like wildfire, phones rose, and cameras zoomed.
Valerie turned, voice clipped, smile cracking.
"What the hell is that? Who authorized this?" She leaned back from the mic and hissed, "How the fuck is anyone driving into my event?"
Reed didn't answer immediately. His jaw was clenched.
"Immobilize them already!" she snapped. "There's an army out there. Use it."
Reed finally turned to her, voice quiet, calm and terrified.
"We can't stop them."
Valerie froze.
"What do you mean 'can't'? Are they suicide bombers? Terrorists? What if I'm the target?! I was already almost assassinated! Do something!"
Reed didn't look at her. His eyes were locked on the convoy. On the number plate of the lead vehicle.
"0"
Just one number.
But it was enough.
"They're from Zero," he whispered.
