Chapter 317: My Girlfriend Had a Live Rocket

The first shot was a heavy restraint bolt, and I saw it through the service window before it could make the glass somebody else’s problem.

I moved into range and captured it with Hold My Bloody Beer. A can appeared beside my coils while the incoming bolt disappeared, leaving me with ten seconds and the sudden understanding that the window had offered the only useful line of sight in the room.

"Everyone away from the glass," I said, while Bridget opened the side access toward the empty loading lane instead of leaving us crowded behind one target.

The van’s passenger stared at the missing shot. I used the opening to return the bolt toward the van’s empty rear panel, where it punched through metal and convinced the driver to duck below the window.

My six-minute cooldown started with the capture. Opening the can had dealt with the immediate problem, not earned me another use because I had been tidy about it.

[System: First review’s in, mate. Customer service says go fuck yourself, and the delivery department appears to have received the message directly through the van.]

I wanted everyone to remember the other three could still use theirs, because I was currently the least useful drinks cabinet in the building.

Bridget stepped into the protected angle beside the service door. Lyra and Cherry moved the staff through the interior passage while Lukas called the district guard and gave them the actual vehicle description.

The van passenger reached for a second weapon. This one wasn’t a restraint launcher, and the shape of its ammunition made the difference clear before he raised it toward the doorway.

Bridget saw the rocket first. She activated her own capture when it entered three meters, producing a can in her hand and a look of absolute concentration on her face.

The attacker fired because he expected panic. What he got was a woman holding his terrible decision while carefully counting how long it remained somebody else’s problem.

"The empty freight channel, sweetheart," I told her. "Open it toward the water side, clear of the walkway and the parked equipment."

She moved to the marked service gap. The can slipped when a fragment from the damaged window struck her sleeve, and I caught it with a tendril before it hit the floor.

Passing it hadn’t changed the timer. Six seconds remained, then five, while I held a rocket disguised as the sort of drink people left beside expensive electronics.

Old Mate shouted one useful word and several less useful ones, all inside the same breath. I didn’t answer because this seemed like an excellent opportunity to use Galaxy Brain for something other than inventing excuses.

I returned the can to Bridget’s steady hand. She aimed through the clear service opening, pulled the tab and sent the released rocket down the unoccupied freight-water channel toward the distant stone barrier.

The blast sounded beyond the protected lane. It damaged the empty barrier face, not the club doorway, and the pressure doors between that channel and the public route kept the shock from turning our escape into somebody else’s injury.

That didn’t make the choice free. The district would want the actual damage assessed, and I intended to supply the footage of who had brought the weapon rather than pretend a skill made repairs disappear.

[System: Beautiful work, lass, even though you can’t hear me. Somebody get that woman a proper drink after we stop serving the explosive fucking selection.]

I told Bridget you were impressed, and I left out the part where your advice had briefly become a list of Australian farm insults.

She laughed once, mostly from relief, then pulled back behind cover while Cherry watched the van. Both my timer and Bridget’s were running, leaving Lyra and Cherry ready without making any of us eager to juggle more rockets.

The driver reversed. Cherry moved the loose loading barrier into the empty space touching her hand across the lane, forcing the van to stop short and turn toward the longer exit.

She didn’t steal the whole van because its center remained outside three meters. Knowing the smaller useful target saved us from another plan based entirely on wanting a rule to become flexible.

Lukas checked the staff corridor and confirmed everyone had stayed clear of the damaged entrance. I made him repeat that before letting myself concentrate on what the attackers did next.

District guards reached the far end of the lane as the van turned. The driver abandoned the vehicle behind a freight stack, and the passenger ran with him through a route I wasn’t foolish enough to chase while my family stood behind a damaged door.

Horass appeared briefly on the far camera, watching from an access ramp. He hadn’t fired either shot, but he had clearly used the collection crew’s attack to see what answer I had developed.

His next message described the first capture, the physical can and Bridget’s separate activation with annoying accuracy. He didn’t know the full timer yet, and I had no intention of sending him the instructions to complete his notes.

He included the auction vessel’s updated berth. My sealed storage case was loaded aboard, and the collection boss had added a second item to the sale list: a live claim on Matthew Vane, advertised as if I were already locked in the next crate.

I stared at the listing while Bridget checked the fresh scrape on her hand. The guards took our footage, the club secured its damaged service entrance and the mermaid moved her actual frame away from the window without being asked.

My public reputation had somehow advanced from accidental hero to an auction item while I stood in my own business returning mail. That seemed like an achievement worth answering personally.

Old Mate suggested I bid on myself using a fake mustache. I told him the idea was stupid, deeply unnecessary and exactly the sort of thing I would consider after making sure Bridget’s hand was properly cleaned.