HdweuH Chpt 9

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==How did we end up here?‎‎- Chapter 9 -==
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The flickering light in my apartment did little to lift my spirits as I stared at the meager sum displayed on my bank account. Grumbling under my breath, I began to assess the financial aftermath of the ComStar swindle. 
 
"350k C-bills. That's all I've got," I muttered, my frustration evident. "From salvaged tech, odd jobs, and a teen pension, it's barely enough to keep my head above water."
 
My gaze shifted to the SLDF neuro helmet on the table, a painful reminder of lost opportunities. "Could've had a Mech by now," I grumbled, the bitterness creeping into my voice. "But no, I got swindled, and here I am, struggling to make ends meet."
 
Despite the frustration, a small part of me acknowledged the improvement in my circumstances. "Well, at least it's better than scraping by before I salvaged that ER PPC and Gauss rifle," I admitted, my tone begrudgingly acknowledging the small victories.
 
As I continued to crunch the numbers, the reality of my situation became stark. "A Phoenix Hawk, a relatively common medium Mech, requires a down payment of 25%. That's around 1 million C-bills," I muttered, the figures weighing heavily on my mind. "And even a down payment on a BattleMech recovery vehicle is around 250k. Not exactly pocket change."
 
The idea of affording a down payment on a Mech or even the recovery vehicle seemed like a distant dream. "Sure, I can afford the down payment on the recovery vehicle, leaving me with around 100k for a rainy day," I acknowledged, a hint of resignation in my voice. "But the monthly cost of living on Terra is around 6k, and living in Geneva bumps that up to 8-9k. It's a never-ending struggle."
 
The prospect of committing to such financial obligations made me grimace. "I can't believe this is my life now – constantly juggling numbers, deciding between a down payment on a recovery vehicle and the basic cost of living," I grumbled, my frustration reaching its peak.
 
The SLDF neuro helmet stared back at me, almost mocking my financial predicament. "Could've been piloting a Mech, living the dream. Instead, I'm stuck in this cycle of barely making it," I sighed, the reality sinking in.
 
Despite the bitterness, a glimmer of pragmatism surfaced. "Maybe it's time to settle for something less ambitious," I muttered, eyeing the BattleMech recovery vehicle. "Sure, it's 250k, and that's expensive. But it's within reach, unlike the elusive dream of a Mech."
 
The idea of settling for the recovery vehicle conflicted with my aspirations. "I never imagined myself compromising on dreams," I mumbled, grappling with the internal struggle. "But a down payment on a Mech is just too out of reach right now."
 
As I considered the practicality of the BattleMech recovery vehicle, the weight of my financial limitations pressed down on me. "I can't keep chasing a Mech dream if I'm drowning in expenses," I reasoned, a sense of resignation in my voice. "Maybe settling for the recovery vehicle is a step towards stability."
 
The decision felt like a compromise, a concession to the harsh realities of my circumstances. "250k is a significant amount, but at least it won't leave me completely broke," I conceded, the reluctant acceptance of practicality settling in.
 
The SLDF neuro helmet seemed to silently witness my internal debate. "Maybe this is the best option for now," I muttered, my gaze shifting from the helmet to the BattleMech recovery vehicle. "It's not a Mech, but it's a step towards a more sustainable future."
 
As I contemplated the financial implications, the realization that I needed to prioritize stability over extravagant dreams became apparent. "A down payment on the recovery vehicle leaves me with some savings, and maybe, just maybe, I can navigate through this challenging phase," I sighed, the decision settling in.
 
The harsh truth of my situation lingered, but with a reluctant sense of practicality, I resigned myself to the idea of settling for the BattleMech recovery vehicle. "It's not ideal, but it's a move towards a more stable future," I muttered, grappling with the bittersweet nature of compromise.
 
As I pondered the pragmatic decision of settling for the BattleMech recovery vehicle, there was a knock on my apartment door. Startled, I opened it to find my neighbor, Mr. Richardson, standing there with a look of genuine concern etched on his face.
 
"Alexia, I've been meaning to talk to you," he began, his voice carrying a mix of care and apprehension.
 
I gestured for him to come in, wondering what could be so urgent. "What's on your mind, Mr. Richardson?"
 
He stepped inside, glancing around my modest apartment. The SLDF neuro helmet and the scattered tools were silent witnesses to my struggles. "I've noticed you've been managing on your own, and I can't help but worry," he admitted, his tone softening. "I know it's not my business, but I can't ignore a neighbor in need."
 
I couldn't help but feel a mix of surprise and gratitude. Here was someone extending a helping hand, a stark contrast to the bitter struggles I'd been facing alone. "I appreciate your concern, Mr. Richardson. It's just the way things are right now," I replied, my voice carrying the weight of my circumstances.
 
He shook his head gently. "No one should be living on instant noodles and rationing everything, especially someone as young as you. It's not right."
 
I hesitated, unsure how much to share, but his genuine concern made me open up. "I've been through tougher times. This is an improvement, believe it or not," I admitted, my gaze drifting to the SLDF neuro helmet. "I'm trying to make the best of what I have."
 
 Mr. Richardson's expression softened further. "Alexia, it doesn't have to be this way. I know you're young, but you shouldn't be going through this alone. You deserve more."
 
His words struck a chord, resonating with a longing I'd buried deep within. The sense of isolation, the struggles to make ends meet, and the dream of piloting a Mech all seemed to fade in the face of genuine concern.
 
"You've got potential, Alexia. I've seen it in the way you handle things," he continued, his sincerity unwavering. "If you need help, if you need someone to guide you, don't hesitate to reach out. There's more to life than just surviving."
 
The bitter theme of my existence seemed to waver, giving way to a glimmer of hope. It was an unexpected shift, and Mr. Richardson's kindness made me reassess my perspective.
 
"Thank you, Mr. Richardson," I said, gratitude lacing my words. "I never thought someone would care enough to offer help."
 
He smiled warmly. "We're neighbors, Alexia. We look out for each other. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask."
 
As Mr. Richardson left, closing the door behind him, I was left with a newfound sense of warmth. The bitterness of my struggles didn't completely dissipate, but the possibility of a supportive neighbor and a more hopeful future lingered in the air.
 
With the unexpected support from Mr. Richardson lingering in my thoughts, I shifted my focus to more practical considerations. The BattleMech recovery vehicle was a distant dream, but perhaps there was a more attainable option. The idea of a J. Edgar hovercraft surfaced as a potential solution – not a Mech, but a military-made vehicle that could offer some semblance of strength and ruggedness.
 
Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through listings, and there it was – a J. Edgar hovercraft. The down payment was around 180k C-bills, a figure that seemed within reach compared to the BattleMech recovery vehicle.
 
 I dialed the number listed, my heart pounding as the phone rang. After a few rings, a gruff voice answered, "Yeah, what do you want?"
 
"Hi, I'm calling about the J. Edgar hovercraft you have listed," I replied, trying to sound confident despite the nerves.
 
"Interested, huh? Well, it's a solid vehicle, military-grade. Got some wear and tear, but it'll get the job done. Down payment's 180k," the seller stated matter-of-factly.
 
I bit my lip, considering my options. "It's a bit steep for me. How about we meet halfway at 150k? I'm looking for something reliable, and I can put down the payment soon."
 
There was a brief silence on the other end, and then the seller grumbled, "Fine, 150k, but that's the best I can do. Cash upfront."
 
Relief washed over me as we negotiated a lower cost. "Deal. I'll get the cash ready. Where and when can we meet?"
 
After settling on a time and location, I hung up, realizing that my financial juggling act was far from over. The paperwork, especially with a military vehicle like the J. Edgar, was going to be a bureaucratic nightmare.
 
As I dove into the sea of paperwork, my apartment felt like a makeshift office. The dim light illuminated stacks of forms, and the SLDF neuro helmet on the table seemed to watch over the chaos.
 
The day of the meeting arrived, and I found myself nervously counting the cash, hoping the J. Edgar hovercraft would live up to its military reputation. Arriving at the agreed-upon location, I spotted the vehicle – a rugged machine with its fair share of scars.
 
The seller, a grizzled individual who looked like they'd seen their fair share of battles, eyed me as I approached. "You got the cash?"
 
I nodded, handing over the agreed-upon amount. "Here you go. Now, about the paperwork..."
 
The seller handed me a thick stack of forms, each requiring meticulous attention. "Military surplus, you know? Lots of hoops to jump through. Make sure everything's filled out correctly."
 
As I sifted through the paperwork, I grumbled under my breath. "More paperwork than salvaging a Mech wreck," I muttered, struggling to make sense of the military jargon.
 
Hours passed as I navigated through the bureaucratic maze, deciphering terms and ensuring every line was filled. The seller, clearly unimpressed with the process, tapped their foot impatiently.
 
Eventually, I handed back the completed forms, hoping I hadn't missed anything crucial. "All set. Now, about the condition of the J. Edgar?"
 
The seller shrugged. "It's been through some rough patches. Most of the weapons are gone, but the medium laser still works. You're getting what you paid for."
 
I sighed, knowing I couldn't be too picky with my budget. "As long as it gets me from point A to point B reliably, I'm good."
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