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墨書 Inktalez
Marco and Jack sat on the steps outside the bar, each clutching a bottle of cheap beer. The condensation on the glass dripped between their fingers, falling onto the worn concrete below. The neon lights at the bar flickered erratically, casting a dim glow that resembled the faint heartbeat of the city.
Not far away, Tommy was completely wasted, slumped against a brick wall with a half-empty bottle in hand. He mumbled incoherently, as if arguing with someone who wasn't there, his tone shifting from agitated to somber. No one paid him any mind, and he didn't need a response; as long as he had alcohol, he could continue his ramblings indefinitely.
Marco didn't laugh; in fact, he hadn't laughed in a long time.
He simply sat there quietly, his gaze vacant as he watched the passersby, as if observing a play that had nothing to do with him. The people on the street hurried by—businessmen in sharp suits, women in high heels, elderly folks dragging shopping baskets—each with their own direction. But what about him? Where was his direction?
He lifted his beer bottle and took a long swig, letting the cold liquid slide down his throat into his stomach, as if reminding himself that he was still alive.
Jack, however, never stopped talking.
"This government is just a bunch of bastards!" he grumbled, his speech slurred with alcohol as he waved his bottle around like a podium. "They say the economy is getting better? Bullshit! Look at us! Who's better off? Are you better off, Marco?"
Marco didn't respond; he just took another sip of his beer.
Jack snorted derisively and continued to rant. "Let me tell you something—these bankers and politicians are all in cahoots! You know what? I saw online yesterday that some people say the government knew the economy would crash long ago—they did it on purpose! They want us poor folks to die off faster so we don't drag them down!"
Marco shot him a sideways glance but didn’t engage. He had heard too many of these theories—the government's conspiracies, the banks' machinations, the rich people's schemes. These topics always became heated under the influence of alcohol, but in the end, what did they change? Nothing.
"And that war!" Jack continued to rage on, growing more animated. "You know they don't give a damn about those dead soldiers, right? The news talks about 'great sacrifices,' but that's just bullshit! Do those politicians' kids go off to die? No! It's people like us who pay the price!"
He took another deep swig of beer and let out a bitter laugh. "Damn it, we fight for them while they let us starve."
Marco still didn’t reply; he merely raised his bottle and tapped it lightly against Jack's in silent agreement.
The night breeze swept by as they sat on the steps, taking swigs of beer and discussing things that wouldn’t change while drinking away their unfillable voids. Meanwhile, Tommy continued to ramble beside them, mumbling forgotten tales that no one wanted to hear.
Marco's patience was wearing thin from Jack's incessant chatter.
"Dammit, Jack, how long are you going to keep this up?" he muttered quietly, tilting his beer bottle slightly as irritation flickered in his eyes. Jack was still going on about the government, banks, wars, economic collapse—aliens conspiracies—God knows how many conspiracy theory videos this guy had watched. Marco even suspected that if Jack kept talking like this, he might start discussing how the moon was actually a surveillance device or some nonsense.
Just as Marco was about to explode with frustration, he suddenly caught sight of a familiar figure in the crowd.
Carter approached slowly, his steps steady and imbued with a rare calmness. He wasn’t frowning as usual, nor was he irritably looking down while smoking, and there was no expression of despair on his face. Instead, he wore a hint of relaxation.
This made Marco furrow his brow slightly, feeling a bit astonished.
Carter had never been this way. They had shared countless drinks and vented their frustrations to each other; Carter’s face always bore an expression of indifference and weariness towards the world, as if he had long given up hope for better days and was merely waiting for the mess to come to an end.
But now, he seemed… relaxed?
“Hey there, big shot,” Marco said, shaking his beer bottle in a nonchalant tone as he greeted Carter. “What’s got you so late?”
He expected to hear Carter complain as usual about how “today’s work was a complete disaster,” or “I almost wanted to strangle my boss,” or “this city gets more disgusting by the day.”
But Carter just smiled.
It wasn’t a sarcastic smile or a bitter one; it was a genuine expression of peace and satisfaction.
Marco’s brow furrowed even deeper, which made him feel uneasy.
Because he knew very well that people like them had no reason to feel relaxed.
As soon as Carter spotted them, he eagerly walked over with that rare smile still on his lips, gesturing animatedly like someone who had just won the lottery.
“You won’t believe who I ran into today!” he exclaimed almost impatiently, his tone brimming with undeniable excitement. “Francis Rain! That Rain!”
Marco raised an eyebrow but remained silent, taking another sip of his beer while a flicker of caution crossed his eyes. He wasn’t the type to be easily swayed by others’ emotions, especially not by Carter—this guy had never been this excited in his life, which instinctively set off alarm bells for Marco.
But Carter didn’t notice Marco’s demeanor at all; he was already talking animatedly: “Rain actually found me and asked me to speak on stage! He said he could help us, help those soldiers like us who have been forgotten!”
His grip on the beer bottle tightened, and a glimmer of long-lost hope sparkled in his eyes. He seemed transformed, no longer the resigned Carter who had given up on the world but rather someone who had suddenly seen the light.
"He said we've been abandoned by the government for too long, and this country owes us! He said he wants to change all of this, to help us reclaim our rights!" Carter exclaimed, excitedly patting Marco on the shoulder, his smile nearly bursting with enthusiasm. "This isn't just talk; he really wants to do something!"
Marco furrowed his brow, still hesitant to respond. Before he could speak, Jack couldn't hold back any longer.
"Oh, come on, Carter," Jack rolled his eyes dramatically, slamming the bottle down on the ground. "You can't really believe this nonsense, can you?"
Carter's excitement was interrupted as he frowned. "What do you mean?"
"This is all a conspiracy!" Jack's tone was as if he were revealing a shocking secret, laced with a hint of self-righteous superiority. "All politicians are liars; every speech is manipulation. They put you on stage just to use you, to package your story as their propaganda! Do you really think they will help us? Stop dreaming, brother!"
Carter rolled his eyes dramatically and spun the bottle in his hand. "Can you not do this every time? You've been listening to too many conspiracy theories!"
"This isn't a conspiracy theory!" Jack waved the bottle in his hand, speaking passionately. "This is fact! This isn't the first time something like this has happened. Think about it: what do politicians say before every election? 'We will help the grassroots!' 'We will improve veterans' benefits!' And then what? Where are they once they're elected?!"
"Rain is not just any politician!" Carter interrupted impatiently. "I saw him with my own eyes today; I heard him speak. He genuinely cares about us, not like those smooth-talking bastards!"
"Dude, you've been brainwashed," Jack scoffed with a laugh. "Is the next step for him to get you in a suit and have you campaigning for him on TV?"
Carter shot him a glare, taking a deep breath to suppress his anger. "Believe what you want; I think this is an opportunity—a real opportunity."
Marco quietly watched the two argue without interjecting, but his fingers lightly tapped on the bottle as he began to ponder—was this truly an opportunity or merely a trap?
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