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墨書 Inktalez
Time passed more quickly than Carter had imagined, and he gradually adapted to his new life.
Every morning, he still reported to the security company, routinely patrolling the buildings and monitoring screens that held no significance for him. After work, he would change into his campaign vest and step into a completely different world—the Campaign Headquarters of Rain.
This place was more vibrant and purposeful than his previous life.
He learned how to handle simple election tasks, interact with supporters, and even began to get used to facing unfriendly reporters and criticism. He discovered that he could survive in this political battlefield, and surprisingly, he was quite good at it.
Most importantly, his relationship with Keisha had also gradually warmed during this time.
Their conversations were no longer just occasional small talk; they had become more natural, even carrying a hint of ambiguous understanding.
Sometimes, when Carter finished his tasks and glanced toward another corner of the office, he would find Keisha standing there, holding documents, organizing them while casually looking up at him with a sly smile.
At times, they would stay late together in the empty Campaign Headquarters, chatting about trivial matters until they both realized it was getting late, parting with reluctant smiles.
This kind of life brought Carter a sense of peace and fulfillment he had never imagined before.
But the election battle was far from over—
Today was another day for a campaign parade.
The convoy slowly drove onto the streets, and certain areas of the city were already packed with people. Supporters waved flags and shouted Rain's name, while some dissenters' protests mixed in. Yet the atmosphere was still overwhelmed by waves of enthusiasm.
This time, Carter sat in the same Black SUV as Rain.
Rain stood on the vehicle, skillfully waving to the voters with a smile that was just right—reliable and sincere. His movements were smooth and confident, as if he were born for this stage.
Carter stood beside him, initially feeling a bit out of place, but after several activities, he was able to naturally mimic Rain's rhythm, nodding, waving, and offering appropriate smiles to the people on either side of the street.
As his gaze swept over the crowd, he once again saw those who, like him, had been forgotten by society—workers, Veterans, young people, the unemployed… They held up signs and looked on with hope at this movement.
The atmosphere on the street was almost boiling with excitement. Hundreds of supporters surrounded the campaign convoy, cheers rising and falling like waves. Flags waved in the air, and placards were held high, blocking out the buildings and vehicles on either side as if the entire city had been engulfed by this political fervor.
Rain stood atop an SUV, holding a megaphone, his voice passionate as he spoke about his vision and promises.
"Friends! We are witnessing history! We will take back this city and make it belong to the true people, not those greedy Politicians and indifferent Greedy Corporations!"
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause and cheers, chants ringing out like deafening waves crashing against the shore.
However, unlike before, standing next to Rain today, Carter felt a strange unease.
He stood on the vehicle, habitually scanning the crowd, nodding and waving around him with a standard campaign smile plastered on his face, but inside he was gripped by an indescribable anxiety.
It was an instinct—a sixth sense honed on the battlefield—a premonition of death.
Something was off.
His brow furrowed slightly as his gaze darted quickly through the masses.
Everyone was cheering; everyone was shouting Rain's name; everyone was waving flags. But… in one corner, some people remained still.
It was too quiet.
In such a boiling scene, the silence of certain individuals stood out glaringly.
Carter's gaze locked onto a few suspicious figures—they were not cheering, they did not hold up signs, and they wore no expressions. With their heads down and hands stuffed in their pockets, they quietly stood among the crowd, as if separated from the fervor surrounding them.
They did not seem to be supporters of Rain, nor did they resemble typical protesters.
It was a stillness that sent alarm bells ringing in Carter's mind.
He felt his fingers tighten slightly, muscles tensing involuntarily, and his breathing deepened, as if preparing for some sudden upheaval.
His eyes scanned the surroundings again, trying to pinpoint where this danger was coming from.
Rain continued to deliver an impassioned speech, completely oblivious. The convoy moved slowly forward, and the crowd continued to cheer. This scene should have been a perfect political spectacle, but Carter knew that true perfection did not exist in this world, especially in such a setting—a battleground filled with hostility and division.
Here lay some kind of danger, and he could sense it—it was brewing.
The chill creeping up Carter's back grew stronger, like a sharp needle slowly piercing his spine. His instincts told him—something was wrong; this place felt off.
This feeling was not without reason.
Over the years, he had experienced this strange sense of oppression on the battlefield many times—it was a sign that an invisible danger was approaching, an instinctive reaction of being hunted.
His body sensed the abnormality faster than his mind could process it; adrenaline began to surge through him. His fingers curled slightly, leg muscles tensed, ready to respond to any sudden situation.
But this was not a battlefield; this was a campaign parade.
The crowd was fervently cheering, shouting Rain's name, with paper banners waving in the air. The throng packed the streets, forming an impenetrable sea, resembling a grand celebration.
But why did this scene send chills down his spine?
He forced himself to calm down, quickly scanning his surroundings until his gaze landed on his secretary nearby.
She was paying attention to him.
She had noticed.
The secretary's brow furrowed slightly, her lips silently forming the question: "What's wrong?"
Carter had no time to ponder. He spoke in a low voice, his tone laced with an uncontainable unease: "Where are our security personnel? I feel something is off..."
The secretary paused for a moment.
Then, she wore an expression of disbelief, as if she had heard some absurd nonsense.
"Carter, you're overthinking it. There's nothing to worry about." She chuckled lightly, shaking her head. Her tone deliberately slowed down, tinged with a hint of condescension. "This is a Parade. Look at those people—they're just ordinary voters. You're too tense."
Her attitude irritated Carter, not because she didn't believe him, but because—she didn't understand.
This wasn't tension; it was instinct—a feeling only someone who had truly clawed their way back from the brink of death could comprehend.
Carter clenched his teeth, his gaze searching the crowd once more as his heart raced uncontrollably.
"Something's not right..." he whispered, his voice nearly drowned out by the cheers, but the alertness in his tone was unmistakable. "I can't shake this feeling that something's off..."
His gaze locked onto a few individuals.
These people were not cheering, not waving flags, not excitedly shouting Rain's name.
They simply stood quietly among the crowd, utterly still.
It was too quiet.
Their postures were somewhat rigid, hands shoved deep into their pockets, heads bowed low, hats pulled down as if they were deliberately hiding something.
But Carter could see it—these people were not here to support Rain. There was no passion in their eyes, no anticipation, no emotion.
They were not voters; they were hunters waiting for the right moment.
The secretary continued to speak, but Carter could no longer hear. His hand slowly clenched into a fist, his pupils constricted, and his breathing deepened.
This was not an illusion; this was not paranoia.
Something was hidden here, brewing beneath the surface.
It was about to happen.
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