The Enforcer staggered back a half-step, stunned by the physical rejection. The deep flush of humiliation crept up his thick neck. Driven by deeply ingrained prejudice and a desperate need to reclaim his fractured authority, he closed the distance again. He jabbed a thick, calloused finger mere inches from her exposed face.
"A black girl on a Panigale this expensive either stole it or lied her way," he snarled. Spit flew from his lips as he delivered the venomous assumption, entirely oblivious to the catastrophic magnitude of the error he was making.
A few feet away, his subordinate—the Tactical Goon encased in black cyber-armor—stood by nervously. The Goon’s Augmented Reality glasses whirred, attempting to scan the rider's biometric data, but the obsidian suit’s countermeasures were actively scrambling the signal.