HdweuH Chpt 3

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==How did we end up here?‎‎- Chapter 3 -==
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The cramped apartment echoed with the sounds of my discontent as I continued my neuro helmet tinkering. "Oh, fantastic," I grumbled, sarcasm dripping from my words. "A working SLDF neuro helmet and a Blackwatch ID card. Because clearly, that's the key to living the glamorous life in the Inner Sphere."
 
Frustration etched my face as I glanced at the scattered tools on the table. "And what do I get for my troubles? A not-so-exclusive membership to the 'Strugglers of Terra' club. No private factories, no lavish titles, just me and a neuro helmet, trying to make ends meet in the heart of Geneva."
 
As I tinkered, my thoughts veered to the exorbitant cost of living in the city. "Living in Geneva, the beacon of civilization on Terra, is such a brilliant idea," I remarked with biting sarcasm. "Who needs C-Bills when you can survive on the sheer goodwill of ComStar's quarantine?"
 
The glare from the computer screen intensified my irritation. "And let's not forget the joy of discovering how ridiculously expensive everything is. Can't afford to leave Terra, can't afford a decent meal without contemplating selling a kidney. Maybe I should check if ComStar has a kidney market hidden somewhere."
 
A dry chuckle escaped me. "Oh, the dreams of a techie stranded in the Inner Sphere. 'Genie, can I get a ticket off this rock?' No, apparently, my wishes were too extravagant. A neuro helmet and a Blackwatch ID card, that's what I get."
 
My fingers paused over the neuro helmet as I muttered, "To think, some lucky bloke out there is probably sitting on a throne in the Lyran Commonwealth, ruling a Rim World Republic factory, and sipping cocktails on his private dropship. Meanwhile, I'm here contemplating the ethical implications of kidney sales."
 
The apartment's silence was interrupted by my phone's notification ping. With a sigh, I checked the message, expecting some miraculous solution to my financial woes. Instead, it was a notification from ComStar about a new round of quarantine measures. "Ah, just what I needed," I remarked with a hint of bitterness. "Another layer of bureaucratic nonsense to navigate while I drown in the glory of my neuro helmet and useless ID card."
 
A virtual sigh escaped me as I continued my neuro helmet repairs. "Wonderful. Can't even escape the clutches of bureaucracy in this Battletech reality. Maybe I should've wished for a personal assistant instead. 'Genie, grant me a secretary who knows her way around ComStar regulations.' But no, that would've been too sensible."
 
A sudden realization hit me, and I muttered, "You know, I'm not even rich enough to afford a decent escape from Terra. A ticket off this rock? Might as well sell my soul at this point. Heard it's a seller's market for souls in the Inner Sphere."
 
I glanced around the apartment, the sparsely furnished space reflecting the stark reality of my situation. "Maybe I should consider a career change," I mused with a smirk. "Official title: The Neuro Helmet Repair Specialist of Geneva. Watch out, Inner Sphere, I'm coming for your malfunctioning SLDF tech."
 
The absurdity of it all prompted a reluctant chuckle. "Ah, yes, the glamorous life of a techie stranded in the Inner Sphere. Can't afford a Mech, can't afford a ticket off-world. I'm practically a poster child for the struggles of interdimensional displacement."
 
My phone buzzed again, this time with a notification from a local job board. I scoffed as I read through the postings. "Let's see, what exciting opportunities await? Cleaning duty at a local repair shop, janitorial services for a Mech hangar... the possibilities are endless. Who knew my dreams of adventure in the Inner Sphere would lead me to such riveting career choices?"
 
I resumed my neuro helmet tinkering with a sigh. "And here I thought I'd be exploring derelict warships or negotiating with high-ranking officials. Instead, I'm contemplating the glamour of a janitor's mop."
 
The irony of my situation wasn't lost on me. "Maybe I should embrace this newfound career path," I mused. "Who needs titles and lavish lifestyles when you can be the unsung hero of Mech maintenance? 'Genie, make me the janitor the Inner Sphere deserves.'"
 
As I worked, I couldn't help but grumble, "But no, here I am, stuck in the mundane, trying to make sense of a neuro helmet that probably holds the secrets of the universe. Or maybe just a really detailed manual on how to clean Mech coolant leaks."
 
The apartment's walls seemed to close in as my frustrations continued to spill out. "And to think, some lucky bloke is out there ruling a dukedom, probably dining in lavish Lyran Commonwealth banquets. I bet he has a personal chef and a view that doesn't include my neighbor's laundry."
 
A knock on the door interrupted my musings, and I reluctantly answered it. The building superintendent stood there, holding a stack of overdue bills. "Ah, just what I needed," I remarked with a sarcastic smile. "Bills, the highlight of my glamorous life. Who needs a dukedom when you can have an ever-growing pile of debts?"
 
The superintendent offered a sympathetic look, and I waved him off with a sigh. "Yes, yes, the struggles of the displaced techie. Maybe I'll add 'financial wizard' to my list of esteemed titles."
 
Closing the door, I returned to my neuro helmet repairs, my mind swirling with a mix of frustration and resignation. "Well, here's to another day in the glamorous life of Alexia, the accidental neuro helmet whisperer. No fancy titles, no riches, just the hum of SLDF tech and the distant echoes of a better life in the Inner Sphere."
 
As the day stretched on, I found myself muttering, "Perhaps there's a lesson in all of this. A tale of resilience and resourcefulness in the face of adversity. Or maybe it's just the universe's way of telling me to invest in a lottery ticket. Who knows?"
 
Yet as I continued my neuro helmet repairs, my mind drifted to more enticing thoughts. "You know, if I could get my hands on a Rifleman 3 with its four Gauss cannons and Null Signature System, life might just become a tad more interesting." A sly smile played on my lips. "But of course, my dear Stefan's memory is as helpful as a heat sink on an ice planet. Thanks for the intel on the Republic of the Sphere finding it in 3146, Stefan. Really timely."
 
Sarcasm laced my muttering as I envisioned the battlefield history of Terra. "So many bloody battlefields, from the Blackwatch's last stand to who knows what else. If only I had a map with giant 'X' marks for each Mech wreckage. I'd probably need a telescope to spot them all."
 
With a resigned sigh, I continued my neuro helmet tinkering. "Finding that Rifleman 3 would be a needle in a haystack situation. And with so many battlefields on Terra, it's like searching for a Mech in a scrapyard the size of a planet."
 
A moment of contemplation crossed my mind, and I chuckled bitterly. "By the time I locate that Mech, it'll probably be nothing but rust and scrap. 70 years of wear and tear, compliments of Terra's delightful weather and the occasional scavenger looking for Mech parts."
 
The thought of the daunting task ahead weighed on me. "So, here's to the great scavenger hunt of the Inner Sphere, with our host, Alexia, desperately searching for a Mech that probably disintegrated into dust decades ago. Oh, the joys of interdimensional displacement."
 
As I considered the odds, my sarcastic tone persisted. "Maybe I should've wished for a treasure map or a Battletech GPS. 'Genie, guide me to the nearest Rifleman 3 wreckage, complete with Gauss cannons and a Null Signature System.' But no, that would've been too sensible."
 
A knock on the door interrupted my musings, and I grumbled my way to answer it. A neighbor handed me a package, and I stared at it with bemusement. "Ah, the spoils of war," I remarked, sarcasm returning. "Perhaps it's my Rifleman 3 owner's manual, complete with a guide on how to maintain four Gauss cannons in a post-apocalyptic Inner Sphere."
 
Closing the door, I returned to my neuro helmet repairs, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. "Well, here's to being a Mech-less techie in a world full of elusive treasures. No epic Mech discoveries for me, just the riveting excitement of neuro helmet repairs and the occasional wishful thinking."
 
As I continued my work, a sense of resignation settled in. "Who needs a Rifleman 3, anyway? It's probably become a legend by now, whispered among scavengers as the Mech that vanished into the abyss of Terra's battle-scarred landscapes. 'The Lost Rifleman,' they'll call it, a tale told around Mech scrapyards to frighten aspiring Mech hunters."
 
A hint of a smile crossed my face. "Well, let them have their tales. I'll stick to my neuro helmet and the thrill of patching together SLDF tech with whatever scraps I can find. After all, a Mech is just a hunk of metal. But a functioning SLDF neuro helmet? Now that's a treasure worth its weight in gold."
 
With a final adjustment on the neuro helmet, I leaned back and surveyed my makeshift workshop. "So, here's to the unsung heroes of the Inner Sphere, navigating the twists and turns of a reality that refuses to be anything less than bewildering. Maybe someday I'll stumble upon that Rifleman 3, but until then, there's always neuro helmets, sarcastic mutterings, and the uncharted territories of a techie's eccentric journey."
 
Just as I was about to delve back into the neuro helmet repairs, my phone buzzed with an unexpected notification. "Oh, what now?" I muttered, not expecting much more than the usual barrage of bills and reminders about the intricacies of living in Geneva.
 
To my surprise, the message indicated something entirely different. "A lawyer, wanting a meeting regarding my father and my inheritance," I mumbled with a raised eyebrow. "Well, isn't that a delightful twist in the tale? Probably going to inform me about the vast fortune I never knew I had or some elaborate Lyran Commonwealth title I never asked for."
 
My skepticism lingered as I read further. "The lawyer has made his way from Tharkad, the capital of the Lyran Commonwealth, to have a chat with me. Because, you know, discussing inheritances over a cup of tea on Terra is so much more convenient."
 
The message continued, "Requesting a meeting at a high-end place in Geneva." I scoffed at the irony. "High-end, huh? Must be some legal jargon for 'a place you can't afford, Alexia.' Perhaps I'll have the honor of discussing my newfound inheritance over a cup of coffee that costs more than my neuro helmet repairs."
 
As I contemplated the unexpected turn of events, my grumbling continued. "I bet the Lyran Commonwealth has some grandiose idea of the long-lost heir returning to claim her birthright. Little do they know, the only thing I've been claiming lately is the struggle to afford a decent meal."
 
With a sarcastic chuckle, I muttered, "Let's add 'heir to an unexpected fortune' to my list of illustrious titles. I can already see the headlines: 'Alexia, the Accidental Aristocrat, Discovers Her Hidden Wealth Amidst Neuro Helmet Repairs.'"
 
Shaking my head at the absurdity of it all, I considered the lawyer's request. "Meeting at a high-end place in Geneva? Might as well be a secret entrance to the Lyran Commonwealth's throne room for all I care. But hey, curiosity killed the cat, or in this case, the displaced techie. Might as well see what Lyran surprises await me."
 
As I prepared to leave the apartment, a dry smirk crossed my face. "Here's to unexpected inheritances and high-end meetings in Geneva. Who knew that neuro helmet repairs and Mech scavenger hunts would lead to such riveting encounters? Let's see what the Lyran Commonwealth has in store for this Mech-less, title-less techie."
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