Chapter 288: My Stolen Car Wanted to Go Swimming

The brakes worked, but they required far more pressure without the engine assisting them, which was an exciting discovery to make while my stolen car gathered speed toward a waterfront full of expensive ways to drown.

I wrapped a coil around the brake pedal, pulled against the seat frame and felt the vehicle slow enough to keep the next corner from becoming a short documentary about my life. The heater knocked against its straps behind me like it wanted credit for providing moral support.

[System: You're doing well, mate. Keep the wheels on the road and remember the water doesn't care how fucking royal you looked ten minutes ago.]

I was concentrating on the wheels, but the rest of the car kept making suggestions that involved leaving them behind.

The ramp opened onto a broad service lane above the harbor. I steered toward the freight transfer area, where cranes moved sealed cargo between the road and flat platforms that could be lowered into the water.

Two of Hansen's cars followed through the bend. Their engines worked, their drivers possessed ordinary hands and neither advantage appeared to have improved their decision to chase a man who had just stolen a vehicle through a wall.

I called Bridget and gave her the actual route. She had reached the visitor lift safely, with the register copy and the casino's proof of the disputed claim stored on her phone.

"I was bringing the heater through the freight dock, sweetheart. The car belonged to Hansen, the brakes were offended and several relatives of good judgment wanted me to stop."

"Leave the car if you need to," she said. "I would rather hear you complain about losing a heater than collect the pieces of you that survived keeping it."

That was sensible advice. I appreciated it deeply, then continued steering toward a loading platform because I wasn't ready to let my uncle become the only person enjoying the evening.

Old Mate noticed the thought and made the kind of approving grunt that explained why neither of us should ever supervise children or expensive public infrastructure.

[System: We'll get you out, champ. Might lose the suit, the car or a reasonable number of brain cells, but you've got plenty of the last lot now.]

The skill had removed my mental limits, not installed replacement judgment, and I felt the distinction becoming important.

A toll barrier blocked the entrance to the private transfer lane. Its payment post displayed a fee I could have paid through my internal phone, but doing that would require slowing long enough for the chasing cars to reach me.

Mine Now had cooled during the drive. I lined the car beside the post, selected the barrier's removable gate arm within three meters and moved it into the clear passenger footwell beside my coils.

The arm arrived at full length. One end struck the dashboard, the other hit the window frame and the middle pinned the corner of my expensive suit beneath a warning sticker about unauthorized access.

I had removed the obstacle from the road and installed it across my entire fucking vehicle.

[System: Brilliant, mate. You've stolen the concept of being in your own way, and the shop didn't even charge extra for the lesson.]

If you called that innovation, I was finding the part of my brain you lived in and charging it council rates.

I shoved the gate arm through the open window with two tendrils, letting it drop into the empty verge before it could catch the steering wheel. The move cost me enough speed that the first pursuing car pulled level with the rear cargo door.

Its passenger raised a restraint launcher. I stayed low, kept my coils on the brake and watched the weapon's angle in the side mirror while Galaxy Brain gave me several excellent predictions my body was too busy driving to enjoy.

The shot caught the heater's upper handle through the open rear gap. A cable tightened between the vehicles, and the driver accelerated as if he expected my prize to leave politely when somebody tugged it hard enough.

It didn't. The straps held, the freight car lurched sideways and my steering tendrils pulled against the wheel while the curb arrived much faster than I wanted.

I let the suit tear rather than freeing it carefully, moved my tail beneath the seat and cut the cable with a solid smoke edge where it crossed the rear doorway. The sudden release sent the pursuing car wide, leaving its driver shouting at an employee who had apparently never considered that pulling things created movement.

The second vehicle came around the other side. Ahead, a heavy cargo platform stood level with the road, its loading ramp open and its warning lights beginning to blink.

A dock worker waved us away. The platform was about to lower into the water, and its safety rails had already started rising across the sides.

I could stop before the ramp, provided the second car didn't hit me while I tried. I could roll onto the platform, provided somebody halted its descent before my cargo developed a serious interest in marine life.

Old Mate offered the next objective while I chose the platform, because apparently the bastard considered my worst moments an excellent time to start negotiations.

[System: Keep the Prize, champ. Get yourself and the marked heater out of this pursuit, both intact, for six thousand EXP and thirty IP. Swimming home with the receipt doesn't bloody count.]

I would accept, but I wanted you to understand that calling it a prize didn't make it any lighter.

The car rolled onto the platform. Its far rail rose in front of the bumper, and the deck began sinking while the nearest pursuing vehicle followed us onto the same shrinking patch of dry space.

Then three fresh shop offers appeared beside the falling depth display. One promised a forklift, one promised an apology and the last promised to stop traffic for exactly two seconds, which was barely enough time to regret a purchase and suddenly more time than I had.