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墨書 Inktalez
The figure of a man appeared particularly lonely in the abandoned bank lobby. He walked through the littered floor of waste paper and scattered office chairs, each step crunching on thick stacks of banknotes, making a rustling sound. These papers, once symbols of wealth and power, were now just a part of the ruins of the post-apocalyptic world. The man stopped in his tracks, a hint of irony in his eyes as he carefully picked up a stack of banknotes, examining the designs and numbers on them.
The banknotes bore the images of leaders and great figures from the old world, their faces appearing rigid and serene on the bills, as if telling stories of past glory and dreams. A wry smile formed at the corner of the man's mouth; he knew that in this new apocalypse, these papers had lost their original meaning. They could no longer buy any necessities for survival, nor could they prove a person's wealth and status.
Casually tossing the banknotes aside, the man's gaze swept through the hall, landing on the broken counters and overturned filing cabinets. This had once been the center of wealth, but now it was nothing more than a deserted ruin. He sneered, then turned to continue deeper into the bank, searching for potential resources for survival or any useful information.
The man's cloak billowed in the empty hall, his steps firm and unwavering. In this new world order, knowledge and information held far more value than the currency of the past. What he sought was the power to help him survive in this desolate world, not a pile of useless paper.
In an abandoned bank on Silver Street, a man wandered among scattered documents and debris, grumbling incessantly. His voice echoed through the empty hall, revealing a hint of helplessness and annoyance. "Damn it... that John insists on sending me to this wilderness to find some clue. Can't he use his own brain?" His tone was filled with dissatisfaction towards someone, seemingly very fed up with this mission.
As he walked, the man glanced at a nearby decoration - a red dragon statue representing wealth and good luck. In this apocalyptic world, these symbols had lost their original meaning, leaving only hollow appearances. He approached the statue, and suddenly, an inexplicable emotion surged within him. The man abruptly kicked over the red dragon statue, which crashed to the ground with a dull thud, scattering into pieces.
This action seemed to release some of the anger and dissatisfaction in him, but it was soon replaced by the helplessness of reality. "I had to cross mountains and rivers to get here, John, you jerk. This information better be valuable this time," he muttered under his breath, continuing to search for possible clues or any useful resources in the ruins.
The man's figure appeared particularly lonely in the once glorious financial hall, and his mood became even heavier with this fruitless search. However, despite his complaints and dissatisfaction, he persisted in his search. Standing in front of the vault door that should have been tightly guarded, the man gently pushed it, and the heavy door opened effortlessly. He entered the vault, expecting to see a room full of wealth, but all that greeted him was emptiness and silence, without a single soul in sight. Inside the vault, rows of safety deposit boxes were lined up, some doors half-open, some already pried open, clearly indicating that someone had been here before.
The man's gaze swept over everything, and seeing the scattered safes, his mood became even more complicated. He couldn't help but curse under his breath, "Damn it... where do I even start looking?" His tone revealed a mix of anger and helplessness. These safes may have once hidden countless fortunes, but now, they had become a major obstacle for him to find clues.
The man paced back and forth in the vault, pondering his strategy. He knew that even though most of the wealth in these safes held little significance for him now, in some corner, there might be the crucial clue he needed. So, he decided to inspect each safe one by one, hoping to discover the urgently needed information.
This task is undoubtedly difficult and tedious. Although the man is dissatisfied, he understands that this is the only way. He takes a deep breath, adjusts his mindset, and prepares to begin this time-consuming and possibly fruitless search. In this abandoned world, every step forward requires much more effort and perseverance than before.
Deep in the vault, a silver safe gleams with a cold light, like an unwilling mirror reflecting the man's image. He stands quietly, his gaze piercing through the cold metal, landing on his own face. In the reflection, his slightly disheveled beard adds a touch of desolation and fatigue to his appearance. His brown skin appears blurry in the silver-white reflection, as if he were another ghost of this abandoned world.
The man unconsciously reached out to touch his chin, his fingertips touching the rough stubble. A self-deprecating smile appeared on his lips. He murmured softly, "I really should shave." His voice echoed in the empty vault, as if reminding him that despite the changing world, certain daily routines, like shaving, still silently spoke of the continuation of life.
At this moment, the man's mood underwent a subtle change, a mix of nostalgia for the past and resistance to the desolate world around him. But he knew that no matter how tumultuous his inner world was, reality would not change. He withdrew his hand, turned around, and continued to face the task at hand - the unopened safes and the unknown secrets hidden within.
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