Shit. Croix had been sitting outside the restaurant, watching through one of the windows, and saw that one of her devices had ended up in the opposition's hands. Gritting her teeth, she spoke into her headset to one of her so-called "underlings".

"Get that weapon back," she ordered. "I can't have it be traced to me."

The teens nodded to the voice in their earpieces, and began to advance on the fallen Michelangelo.