Chapter 383: My Villain Speech Became a Cooking Show

I wanted to put Rex’s face on every screen in the settlement, preferably beneath a warning about where not to follow him, but first we needed somebody willing to plug stolen equipment into a public relay.

The operator at the next freight stop watched thirty seconds of the rehearsal recording and asked whether we had the original. Lukas set the labeled cartridge on the counter beside the copied route map, then showed her the matching diner release.

She called the settlement’s shift office before she agreed to anything. I appreciated that more than immediate applause, because a stranger with a grudge and a boxed toy wasn’t usually a complete emergency plan.

By midday, the office had checked the temporary signs against its own streets. The directions matched, including the blocked wash beyond the homes. The operator gave us a supervised local slot, connected the recovered core and kept a copy for the regional watch.

We paid eighty credits for the slot and power, which felt cheap for the opportunity to ruin someone’s afternoon properly.

[System: Stand on the crate, you high-velocity pepperoni. Nothing says trustworthy public warning like a snake trying to fit his entire personality into a security camera.]

You had been responsible for at least half of that personality, and I expected you to contribute to the legal fees.

The relay booth stood beside a roadside kitchen. We had stopped there for food while the operator checked the files, and the cook had let us use a clean corner after his lunch rush ended.

That was how my announcement began with a pan beside me and a plate of food I refused to let go cold for the sake of a villain’s schedule.

Lukas stood at the controls where viewers could see his hands change recordings. I explained what each file showed, gave its date and let the original footage play without talking over the part that mattered.

The diner timer appeared first. Then the rail cage instructions, the staged warehouse fire and the settlement rehearsal followed in short sections the operator could stop and inspect.

I didn’t ask anyone to trust my smile. I asked them to compare the streets they knew with the route Rex had supplied.

The first messages came from workers who recognized the wash. Someone posted a photograph of the locked service fence at its far end, while another asked why the public safety office hadn’t approved the temporary signs.

The shift office answered that it hadn’t, and the mood changed faster than I expected.

My pan began smoking while I watched the replies.

[System: Lower the bloody heat, fully automatic chorizo. You can expose the bastard and still respect a decent cut of meat; we are criminals, not animals.]

I turned the heat down with a tendril and moved the pan while Lukas tried to keep his face professional. Unfortunately, the camera had a clear view of both the evidence and my lunch.

"If anybody was wondering, this wasn’t a recipe demonstration. The meat was innocent, and I was handling the other problem between turns."

A viewer asked for the seasoning anyway. The cook shouted the answer from behind the camera, then demanded that I stop blaming his stove for my attention span.

That became the most shared section of the first hour, because apparently accusing a public figure of manufacturing disasters worked better if people could also save dinner instructions.

I let it work. Each repost carried the corrected local warning beneath it, and the operator kept the original files available beside the clips so nobody had to rely on my performance.

Cherry sent a message asking whether our trip had become a food channel. Lyra asked if the meal counted as lunch or the breakfast I had forgotten to mention. Bridget wanted the operator’s evidence copies stored somewhere Rex couldn’t buy with a flattering phone call.

I answered all three after Lukas took the next segment. None of them had watched through my eyes or heard Old Mate complain about the pan, and I kept the practical details clear instead of letting the bond become an excuse for missing explanations.

The settlement office announced its own temporary assembly points away from the wash. It warned that Rex’s yard-controlled signs could still point the wrong way and told residents to follow verified local instructions instead.

Two sponsors posted payment holds while they investigated. A fuel supplier followed with a notice suspending new credit to the production convoy, which mattered more to me than a thousand strangers calling Rex names.

Machines still needed fuel even when their owner had excellent cheekbones.

I ate while the operator confirmed the warnings had reached the shift supervisors. We had made it harder for Rex to hide, but the cages remained loaded and the transport frames could still move.

Lukas asked whether we should leave the equipment with the watch and continue toward the coast. It was a reasonable suggestion, which made the answer I wanted to give more irritating.

"I wanted his operation stopped before he found another road with fewer cameras. Also, he had sold a toy of me with pathetic wings, and some lines deserved consequences."

Lukas looked at the box beside my plate. "I wondered how long you’d pretend that wasn’t part of it."

The operator’s public call screen flashed with an incoming request from Rex’s channel. She left our recording feed running and opened the call in a separate window, making sure his audience couldn’t quietly replace the evidence with his version.

Rex stood beside a moving transport frame, his white suit bright beneath the yard lights. He complimented the broadcast, then told me I could have a proper career if I stopped letting an ordinary traveling companion hold me back.

Behind him, the convoy rolled past a fuel truck on stored reserves, and a cage large enough to fill a street shook against its restraints.

Rex smiled at Lukas before returning his attention to me, and offered to find me a partner worth keeping alive.