The laptop was not his. It came out of the office pool with an asset tag on the bottom, and by the end of the first week it had been renamed twice, given a new logo on the lid, and loaded with every plan he has ever had between three and four in the morning.
Then the coffee went in. He carried it into a small repair shop, signed the ticket in his own name, explained that the fix was trivial from first principles and never went back for it. Everything on that drive is public property now, which is why the recovery programme is running in front of you, live, one flight at a time.
He had been at it for eleven hours with nothing closed, which he calls hardcore mode and everyone else calls Tuesday. The coffee went in through the gap above the arrow keys and the fan made a noise that has since been described in a memo as feedback.

He carried it into a small repair shop, told them it was a two minute job from first principles, signed the ticket in his own name and left. That was eighteen months ago. The shop has renamed the shelf it sits on after him, which he considers fair.

Getting the drive back through the front door would have taken a week and a receipt, so he taped it to a rocket instead. Four flights ended in what the log calls rapid unscheduled disassembly. The programme is considered a success and the coffee is still cold.

Fixed at ignition. No reserve tank held back for a friend, no second stage quietly minted after the fact.
The keys went up with flight two and came down as confetti over three fields. There is nothing left to unlock and nobody left to email.
Nothing on the buy, nothing on the sell, no launch fee, no range safety fee. The only cost is the gas on Robinhood Chain.
Mint and freeze revoked. He can rename the pad, the rocket and the shelf it all sits on, but he cannot rename what is in your wallet.
Robinhood Chain · drive recovery programme