2 Or maybe that was just the bass.

The relentless cadence of rock music pounded against my eardrums, I couldn't help but let out a wry chuckle. "Another glorious evening in paradise," the words laced with a sarcasm that could cut through circuit boards. My back leaned against the wall with a thump that seemed to resonate with the very foundation of the building. Or maybe that was just the bass.

My gaze flitted to the plant on the windowsill, that stubborn little thing thriving against all odds. "You and me both, buddy," I thought. "Though you definitely got the better life."

With a weary sigh, I glanced at the mirror, catching the reflection of a woman who looked like she could handle a bit more than just a plant. The neon light from outside painted my face with stripes of blue and red, a grim mimicry of the warpaint of old—fitting for someone about to face the corporate coliseum.

And there, beneath the braid that kept my hair from joining the chaos of this city, was the shadow of a smirk. "So, TriColor Corp, will you deem my tech worthy, or is it back to the mad scientist's drawing board?" The smirk grew as I considered the possibilities. "Either way, it's just another day in the life of Marlene."

Shifting to lie flat on the bed, I let the music wash over me, like a serenade for the soldering genius in her shoebox kingdom. My prototype, my ticket out of this techie sardine can, was in the hands of those who probably wouldn't know genuine innovation if it uploaded itself into their mainframes.

I caught my own eye in the mirror again, the edges of my mouth twitching upwards. "Who knows, maybe they'll actually get it," I said to my reflection, which seemed to be the only thing listening. "And if not, they can join the illustrious ranks of the clueless."

It was a waiting game now, the kind where the prize was either a leap into the unknown or the same old spin on the hamster wheel. "But hey, at least the wheel's in neon," I added with a snort. The room was silent, save for the music and my own voice—a one-woman show to an audience of circuitry and second-hand furniture.

A glance at the clock told me it was late, or early, depending on which side of sleep you were on. "Come on, TriColor, give me something to toast to other than my impeccable taste in end-of-the-world playlists."

I swung my legs up onto the bed, the mattress groaning in protest. It was a familiar refrain in this little symphony of mine. As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of it all—pinning all my hopes on corporate bigwigs while finding solace in a soundtrack of rebellion.

"Well, Marlene, get up." I whispered to the ceiling,Pushing aside the veil of self-deprecation, I stood up, my reflection now revealing more than just a tenacious tech-head with a penchant for sarcasm. The mirror caught the curve of my hips, and the way my plain t-shirt hugged them before meeting the waistband of my thin, utilitarian pants—chosen more for their pocket space than any fashion statement. "Decision or not, life doesn't pause for dramatic effect," I told my reflection with a wry grin.

Slipping into my work attire, I chose the sturdy boots that had seen better days, the leather jacket that doubled as armor in this city's unforgiving streets, and, of course, the red-tinted glasses that gave the world a warmer hue. It was my small rebellion against the cold cityscape.

The music shifted to something slower, a ballad that spoke of dreams deferred and the quiet dignity of enduring. Humming along, I stepped out the door, the green neon sign flickering above it—a constant reminder of my small victories. Paid rent was a badge of honor here in Megablock 4.