Chapter 253: Please Do Not Feed the Sponsor

The cage tried to inhale me while a room full of rich people clapped, which gave me several strong opinions about live entertainment. I stayed solid above the rock and tightened my coils around its base before the vents could pull loose smoke from my sides.

[System: Stay solid, mate; they’ve watched the fan video, and I’m not losing my only client to a fucking leaf blower. Spider boy’s already at the controls.]

Tell him to cancel the suction before these bastards discover they can charge extra for the remains in the filter. Lukas had already set down his tray and was pressing the stage controls while a technician argued that the demonstration had only just begun.

I raised my voice before Adrian could explain the noise as part of my behaviour. "The door was supposed to stay open, but apparently your safety company measures consent using the same ruler it uses for penis enlargement," I told the audience.

Several guests laughed, then noticed Bridget walking towards Rusk with her phone held where the nearest camera could see it. She played the agreement about the open door, making the captain’s own voice considerably less helpful than her uniform.

Adrian called the closure automatic, which encouraged me to ask whether his apology worked the same way. I suggested the front row test the cage after dessert, since nobody concerned about safety should object to a little personal experience.

A woman in a gold jacket lowered her glass and asked why the vents were still running. Her companion stepped away from the yellow line, and the applause began dying in small embarrassed patches while Rusk reached for a catch pole beside the steps.

I could wait for wealthy strangers to develop a conscience, but I’d seen charity accounting and preferred a plan with better odds. I expanded my translucent fins and gave the jets along their backs a short burst, lifting clear of the rock as the pole entered through a service slot.

The loop passed beneath my jaw and caught my chef’s hat instead. Rusk pulled it out with the satisfied speed of someone expecting a much larger prize, leaving her holding a white hat while the room finally found something worth laughing at.

[System: Excellent catch, Captain, and I reckon another three of those earns you a job at a fucking bakery. Stay clear of the intake until the lad kills the power.]

I’m charging her for the hat if she bends it, because being assaulted shouldn’t void the warranty. I used another brief jet burst to change direction inside the cage, keeping my fins clear of its mesh rather than pretending I could fly through equipment designed to catch me.

Lukas stopped arguing with the technician and pointed towards the cable feeding the stage. The man followed it, saw the emergency power switch and finally decided that letting a guest ask questions was preferable to explaining a death beside the champagne.

The fans stopped, but the door remained locked until Lukas found the release beside the lighting desk. I waited for the latch to lift before floating out, because giving Rusk a photograph of me tearing through her cage would improve the wrong person’s evening.

Bridget took the catch pole by its padded end and asked for my hat. Rusk let it go when the gold-jacketed donor began recording, and Bridget settled it above my eyes and promised to confiscate my next stupid idea before it needed rescuing. I found being told off by her inconveniently attractive.

"That concludes the obedience test, and I’d like everyone to note which animal understood the original instructions," I announced. Adrian reached for the microphone while I added that the buffet remained open unless he’d decided to contain that as well.

The laughter improved my mood until somebody knocked from behind the stage. It was quiet beneath the remaining conversation, but it came twice in the same pattern, followed by a muffled voice asking whether anyone outside could hear them.

Bridget heard it too and moved towards the service curtain while I kept Rusk looking at me. "Your next exhibit sounds unhappy with the accommodation, Captain, and I’d hate for my review to look unfairly generous," I said.

Rusk told a guard to keep guests in the main room, which was a poor answer to a perfectly reasonable complaint. Lukas left the controls and put his tray between that guard and the curtain, offering him a prawn with such determination that refusing it required stopping.

Beyond the curtain sat the three containers from the booking, each fitted with vents and a plate naming its supposed contents. The nearest plate read captured nuisance specimens, which covered a great many people I knew without telling us anything useful.

Bridget asked whoever was inside to give their name. A woman answered that she was Iona, a medic from the Drop Off, and that two delivery workers were trapped beside her after refusing to sign away their wages.

The air leaving the vents carried warm breath, and my constant thermal sight caught the heat around the holes without telling me what lay behind solid steel. I moved close enough to hear Iona warn us that the neighbouring container held something that kept biting its restraints.

[System: People first, champ, and keep that other box shut; the captain’s already proved she’d throw a bloke into a woodchipper to improve the bloody brochure.]

Bridget has the latch, so I’m taking the guard before he discovers which part of the story looks better without witnesses. I turned as Rusk stepped through the curtain and ordered everyone away from what she called militia property.

The donor in gold followed us with her camera still raised, asking whether that included the woman requesting help. Rusk looked towards the recording, then towards the release panel on the second container, and slapped its red lever before anyone could reach her.

Steel restraints crashed inside the box while Iona shouted for us to move. The container door bowed towards Bridget, and something on the other side began forcing its jaw through the gap as the captain backed into the crowd.