Damien I stepped into the camera store with my cap pulled low, huffing my face perfectly. The inside smelled like old wires. A young man stood behind the desk, distractedly scrolling on a tablet. He looked up, mildly alarmed by my sudden presence.“I’m looking for your manager,” I said, voice cold, even.He blinked. “Uh... he’s not around right now.”I glanced through the window, where a black SUV I recognized from surveillance was parked out front. I turned back to him slowly.“Funny,” I said, cocking my head. “His SUV is outside.”“He... he left the car. He’s somewhere—” he stammered, but I cut him off. I pulled out my gun, the cold steel gleaming under the shop’s LED lighting.“I’m not going to ask again. Get your manager. Or I’ll paint this floor with your brains.”The guy went white. He swallowed hard and nodded, lips sealed in fear as he hurried through a side door. I turned and paced the store, scanning shelves lined with digital surveillance gear—HD cams, bugs, motion detect
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