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How did we end up here?
- Chapter 10 -[]
The J. Edgar's engine roared to life as I engaged the thrusters, a surge of triumph coursing through me. Despite lacking the firepower of a Mech, it was a steal for the price, albeit with a blistering speed of 183 and the less-than-smooth ride of its 145-rated fusion engine.
Removing the SRM 2 left me with unused tonnage, prompting an idea to transform it into a makeshift motor home. With improvised modifications, I fashioned a living space that liberated me from paying rent to my ex-landlord.
Grumbling about the absurd speed and my newfound nomadic lifestyle, I found solace in having a roof over my head, even if hurtling across the landscape made my head spin.
One evening, perched on the roof of my makeshift home, I gazed into the sunset. The winds whipped past as the hovercraft sped forward, leaving a trail of dust. Beside me sat the SLDF neuro helmet, a silent witness to my unconventional journey.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, a mix of emotions swirled within. The journey had been stressful, even terrifying, but here I was, traversing the Atlantic on my homemade motor home.
The North American continent loomed ahead, Unity City on the horizon. Grumbling about the two months it took to reach this point, the hovercraft provided a haven on wheels, bringing me closer to a semblance of stability.
The skyline of Unity City came into view, or what remained of it. A hill offered a vantage point, and I parked the hovercraft, climbing onto the roof to watch the sunset. The remnants of the once-thriving city sprawled below, a testament to the harsh realities of the Inner Sphere.
"Two months of traveling, and this is what I get," I muttered, bitterness and resilience in my voice. "But hey, at least I made it."
The SLDF neuro helmet seemed to nod in agreement as I grumbled about the challenges faced during the journey. The makeshift motor home might not be the Mech I once dreamt of, but it was a symbol of adaptability in the face of adversity.
As the last light of the day faded, casting Unity City into shadows, a strange sense of accomplishment settled in. The J. Edgar hovercraft, my nomadic abode, had carried me through oceans and continents, defying the odds.
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J. Edger Hover Tank
I sighed, the bitterness of past struggles mingling with newfound resilience. "Two months, and I've covered more ground than I thought possible. Maybe there's something to be said about unconventional journeys," I reflected, casting a final glance at the city below.
The SLDF neuro helmet and I, perched on the roof of my makeshift home, watched the stars emerge in the night sky. The hum of the fusion engine, now a familiar melody, echoed in the quietude.
As I settled into the improvised living space, a sense of accomplishment overcame lingering grumbles. The J. Edgar hovercraft, with its absurd speed and makeshift comforts, had become my unconventional chariot through the trials of the Inner Sphere.
Amidst the solitude of the North American continent, scarred by the Star League Civil War's devastation three centuries ago, the desolation unfolded like a haunting narrative. Once bustling regions now lay in ruin, with only scattered outposts of scavengers and a few populated towns clinging to survival.
Dialogue echoed against the backdrop of abandoned landscapes as I navigated the J. Edgar through the remnants of what was once a thriving civilization. A radio crackled to life, and a distant voice spoke, "Hey, traveler. What brings you to these parts?"
I responded, "Just trying to make my way through this desolation. What's left of Unity City doesn't look too promising."
The voice chuckled, carrying a hint of weary resignation. "Yeah, it's a tough place. Not many brave the ruins these days. What keeps you going?"
I glanced at the SLDF neuro helmet, a silent companion in this desolate journey. "Survival, I guess. Adaptation to the circumstances thrown my way."
The dialogue with the radio continued, providing a glimpse into the struggles of those who remained in this desolate land. Stories of survival, loss, and the ever-present challenge of eking out an existence in a world that seemed to have forgotten them.
Amidst the vast emptiness, the hovercraft's hum became a constant companion. Another radio transmission broke the silence, "You're not the first to try turning a vehicle into a home. It's a tough life out here, but you seem to be making it work."
I chuckled, "Gotta find comfort where you can. This J. Edgar might not be a Mech, but it's kept me moving."
The nightfall brought a different kind of solitude. Parked on a hill overlooking the remnants of Unity City, I observed the few scattered lights that indicated signs of life. Another radio signal, "You're not alone out there, friend. We might be scattered, but there's a community of survivors trying to rebuild. Unity in isolation you know."
As I navigated the desolate landscape, my mind drifted back to a time when camaraderie and victory painted our world with optimism. Two years ago, before everything went downhill, when Michelle, Jake, Richard, and I were a formidable lance, united by our unwavering belief in Blake's will.
The memory of that evening in the barracks lingered, a bittersweet remnant of the camaraderie we once shared. We had just emerged victorious in a mock battle against another lance, and the euphoria of triumph filled the air. The barracks were alive with laughter and banter as we reveled in our invincibility.
Seated around a makeshift poker table, Michelle, with her fiery red hair, was the most zealous believer in the teachings of Blake among us. "We are unstoppable," she declared, her eyes shining with fervor. "Blake's will guides our every move."
Jake, the pragmatic one, nodded in agreement. "That mock battle was a testament to our skills. No one stands a chance against us."
Richard, the joker of the group, couldn't resist adding his usual flair to the conversation. "Speaking of chances, how about we take one more? I've got something to celebrate our victory." He produced a vodka bottle, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
Michelle's reaction was immediate, horror etched across her face. "Richard, this is not protocol! And certainly not something Blake would approve of."
Undeterred, Richard grinned and poured a shot, holding it out to Michelle. "Blake helps those who help themselves," he said with a wink, and against all expectations, Michelle took the shot, a mix of shock and amusement on her face.
I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the moment. It was a stark contrast to the disciplined and serious demeanor we would later adopt as the world around us unraveled.
"Remember that night?" I mused to myself, the nostalgia softening the edges of the harsh reality I now faced. "We were so sure of ourselves, so certain that we were on the righteous path."
The memory continued to unfold, the barracks filled with the clinking of poker chips and the banter of comrades-in-arms. As we played, Michelle shared stories of the First Circuit's teachings, Jake analyzed our mock battle strategies, and Richard kept the atmosphere light with his jokes.
"It's moments like these that make it all worthwhile," Michelle declared, raising her glass. "For Blake and our unbreakable bond."
The conversation flowed, each of us contributing to the vibrant tapestry of our shared history. We were believers, advocates of Blake's will to an absurd degree. It was a time when we wore our faith proudly, unburdened by the shadows that would soon cast themselves upon us.
I sighed, the weight of the present momentarily lifted by the warmth of the past. "Two years ago," I reflected, "we were so convinced of the righteousness of our cause. We were family, bound by our shared conviction."
But the reminiscence took a bitter turn as I recalled the events that led to my expulsion from Sandhurst and the betrayal by a ComStar acolyte. One bad experience had shattered the foundation of my faith, but it wasn't enough to override the seventeen years of being raised in ComStar.
"Life has a way of challenging our beliefs," I whispered to the wind, the desolation mirroring the emptiness I felt. "After that betrayal, I questioned everything."
The echo of Michelle's unwavering zeal haunted my thoughts. In the flashback, she was the most fervent, and I couldn't help but wonder how much that zealous belief had contributed to the fractures in our once unbreakable bond.
"As I got expelled and scammed, they stayed true to their convictions," I mused. "Michelle, especially. She held onto Blake's will with an iron grip."
The passage of time had changed us all, but Michelle's fanaticism had only intensified. It became a fervor that blinded her to the complexities of the world, turning her into a staunch Blakist. I shook my head, the contrast between then and now stark.
"Back then, we were invincible," I whispered, the wind carrying away the words. "But life had other plans for each of us."
The hum of the J. Edgar's fusion engine accompanied my solitude as I traversed the desolate Belarussian Wastes. Amidst the silence, my thoughts were interrupted by the persistent ring of a phone, an anachronistic device in this world dominated by war machines.
"Hello?" I answered, a touch of surprise in my voice.
"Alexia, it's Michelle," came the familiar voice on the other end. "How have you been?"
The nostalgia of our shared past resurfaced, but I maintained a measured tone. "Surviving, Michelle. What brings you to reach out?"
"Just checking in on an old friend," she replied warmly. "The last I heard, you were still salvaging in the Belarussian Wastes. How's that going?"
"Same old, same old," I responded, a guardedness in my words. "Scavenging for salvage and trying to make a living."
Michelle's voice took on a contemplative tone. "After we graduated, we all went our separate ways. I can't say where we ended up, but I've found myself in a position of influence, in charge of my own lance."
I raised an eyebrow, though she couldn't see it over the phone. "That's quite an achievement. Congratulations."
"Thank you," Michelle continued. "I've been thinking, Alexia. With your skills, you'd be a valuable addition to ComStar. I'm considering recruiting you."
The mere mention of ComStar sent a chill down my spine, memories of betrayal and expulsion resurfacing. "Michelle, you know I can't go back there. Not after what happened."
Her fervor for ComStar became evident in her next words. "Alexia, times have changed. The Inner Sphere needs the stability and guidance that only ComStar can provide. Join us, and together we can serve Blake's will."
I sighed, the weight of our different paths pressing on the conversation. "Michelle, I appreciate your offer, but I can't go back to ComStar. I can't trust them, not after what they did to me."
Her tone shifted, becoming more insistent. "You were expelled, yes, but people change. ComStar is our path to a better future, guided by Blake's wisdom. You belong with us."
I couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration. "Michelle, you're still shouting Blake will. I've seen the darker side of ComStar, the side that exploits and manipulates. I can't go back to that."
She countered, "Alexia, you need to see the bigger picture. Everything is part of Blake's plan, and ComStar is the vessel through which we enact that plan. Join us, and you'll understand."
My response was firm. "I won't be a pawn in their game, Michelle. And after what they did to me, I can't trust them. Not with everything at stake."
There was a brief pause on the other end. "Alexia, I believe in ComStar's mission. We can make a difference."
"I believe in making a difference too, Michelle," I replied. "But not at the cost of blind allegiance. I've learned the hard way that not everything is as it seems."
As the conversation continued, the gap between our beliefs widened. Michelle's fervent devotion to ComStar clashed with my skepticism, born out of personal experience. The stark contrast in our views highlighted the profound impact that our separate journeys had on our perspectives.
The call ended with a lingering sense of unease. Michelle was resolute in her faith, while I remained steadfast in my distrust.