
The resonating ping off the bike worried her awfully. She'd heard of teams being brought down by tracker rounds or electronic sabotage to the key components.
Taking no chances, she turns the bike off and pulls back the seat to reveal the battery terminals. Gently she unclips them and takes a look over the bike in AR, searching for silent running devices before sweeping the bike carefully and thoroughly with the tag eraser.
Cursing out loud as she found the first tracker round, she removed it and zapped it repeatedly with her tag eraser before stamping it into pieces.
Making sure it was the only one, she resumed the search, making sure to leave no nook or cranny unchecked.
She began to feel uneasy as she found the second one tucked away deeply.
This was seriously not good....
She removed it and left it in the garage, presumably still communicating to its owner as she got back on the bike.
Now her position had been broadcast, the safehouse was not going to be safe.
She merged with traffic and made for the downtown district in search of a coffin motel for the night.