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墨書 Inktalez
Carter's consciousness began to fade, his body pressed against the cold, hard asphalt. Pain and numbness intertwined, leaving him unable to discern where he could still move and where he had lost all sensation.
He gasped for breath, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, a rusty bitterness choking his throat.
—Is this it?
—Is he really going to die at the hands of these punks?
He struggled to open his eyes, his vision swaying as the streetlight flickered in front of him. The laughter of those around him echoed in his ears; the group of young men roared and jeered, as if they were enjoying a thrilling show.
Just then—
"Blare—!!"
A piercing horn shattered the night sky, like the roar of a beast.
Carter hazily lifted his head and saw a large truck approaching in the distance, its headlights like two blinding beams illuminating the desolate road.
The Truck Driver sat in the driver's seat, frowning as he looked through the windshield at the group of delinquents.
"Get lost!"
"Blare—!!!"
The horn sounded again, its deafening noise reverberating through the night like a heavy warning.
The young men froze for a moment, turning to look at the truck, finally realizing that this was no longer a place where they could act without consequence.
"Damn it, let's get out of here!"
"Shit! What bad luck!"
One of them growled angrily, gripping the iron rod tightly. In a final act of frustration, he swung it down onto Carter's body with a dull thud.
Carter let out a low groan, collapsing back onto the ground, his back engulfed by immense pain. He didn't even have the strength to curse anymore.
The street racers mounted their motorcycles, revving their engines like a flock of startled vultures, leaving amidst their curses and shouts, a scene of chaos and a battered man behind.
The truck slowly came to a stop, its engine still rumbling ominously.
The bright white headlights shone directly on Carter, blinding him momentarily. He couldn't help but close his eyes, his vision completely swallowed by the light, leaving only the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.
His world blurred, with only the sound of his heartbeat and faint gasps echoing in his ears.
The truck's engine continued to rumble softly, and the harsh white light from the headlights cut through the night, illuminating the wreckage on the asphalt clearly.
Heavy footsteps approached from the truck door. With a thud, the truck driver closed the door and walked towards the man lying on the ground.
The driver was robust and solid, his physique shaped by years of hard labor. His abdomen was slightly protruding, shoulders broad, and his thick work jacket made him appear even larger under the lights.
He jogged over to Carter's side, crouching down with a furrowed brow. "Old Buddy, are you alright?" he asked.
Carter slowly turned over, resembling a ragged figure that had just been run over by a truck, lying on the cold ground with his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe.
He opened his eyes slightly to look at the driver and nodded weakly, blood still fresh at the corner of his mouth.
The driver examined him closely, concern etched deeper on his face.
"My God, Old Buddy, what on earth happened to you?" he blurted out. The sight before him was alarming: Carter was covered in blood, his clothes tattered, and bruises littered across his body like he had just crawled back from some battlefield.
Hearing this, Carter let out a faint laugh before coughing up another mouthful of blood.
"I just wanted to mess with them..." His voice was hoarse but carried a hint of jest. "But then there was this damn dog."
The driver paused for a moment, then looked down at the man sprawled on the ground. A smile crept onto his lips as he shook his head.
"Ha ha, damn, this is really unlucky."
He adjusted his hat with a hand, shaking his head and chuckling lightly, as if mocking Carter's misfortune while also lamenting the absurdity of the world.
The two men stood in the dark street, one lying down and the other squatting, both laughing—laughing out of helplessness, laughing out of exhaustion. Yet at least, on this filthy night, they found a flicker of humor.
The driver reached out his strong hand, grabbing Carter's arm and forcefully pulling him up from the ground.
Carter gritted his teeth as he stood, enduring the tearing pain throughout his body. Every part felt as if it had been struck by iron; his muscles were cramping, and his bones creaked faintly.
He swayed slightly, took a deep breath, and managed to steady himself.
"Damn it, brother, are you sure you're okay?" The driver frowned at him; he didn't look like someone who was "fine."
"Do you want to go to the hospital? Check if you have any broken ribs or something?"
Carter shook his head and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his tone calm as if he hadn't just been beaten up.
"Just some bruises."
The driver paused for a moment before suddenly bursting into laughter, slapping Carter on the shoulder so hard that he nearly fell back to the ground, sending another sharp pain through his ribs.
"Ha ha! Tough guy! You're really one tough son of a bitch!"
Carter frowned at this; the slap almost knocked him down again.
After a few chuckles, the driver pulled out a cigarette box, took one out, lit it up, took a deep drag, and exhaled before asking,
"Alright then, where do you want to go?"
"Just back to town," Carter replied, flexing his painful wrist while maintaining an indifferent tone.
The driver raised an eyebrow. "Perfect timing! I'm headed into the city to deliver some goods. How about I give you a ride?"
Carter lifted his head, glancing at the portly man and then at the large truck in the distance. After a moment of silence, he shook his head. "No need to trouble yourself. I can make it back on my own."
"Don't be so formal, brother! Look at you—walk back? You might end up taking another beating!"
The driver patted him on the back. "Come on, hop in. It's on my way, and no one turns down a chance for a free ride."
Carter hesitated for a while longer, then sighed, shrugged off the pain, and walked toward the passenger seat of the truck. He opened the door and sat down heavily.
The driver closed the door and started the engine. The truck's headlights sliced through the darkness as it rumbled toward the city.
The night was as dark as ink, and the atmosphere inside the cab felt stifling, like a sealed coffin. The only sound was the low hum of the engine, punctuated occasionally by distant sirens that flickered away into the sleepless city.
Carter leaned against the passenger seat, his body tense, muscles still echoing with pain. Each slight jolt sent sharp reminders through his injured ribs, making him feel as though someone were pricking his marrow with needles.
But what tormented him most wasn't just the pain from his wounds; it was the relentless images in his mind.
Rain sat in a lavish booth, surrounded by companions as they casually discussed how to divide up the city, their tone light as if they were merely talking about the weather.
A secretary stood by the door, her mocking smile conveying disdain as she told him, "Do you really think this world is black and white?"
The roars of street racers still echoed in his ears—the force of iron rods swinging down, the dull thud when they struck flesh, and the faint protests of bones… These sensations remained vivid, like pain branded onto his skin, refusing to fade.
Carter gazed out of the window at the moon hanging high in the night sky—pure and coldly indifferent as it looked down upon this filthy city.
It was like an observer, an entity that cared nothing for human suffering, coldly watching the struggles, greed, and decay on this land. Once, he had naively believed he could change something.
The filth of this city had seeped deeply into every crack; it wasn't merely damage that needed mending but a corruption that was beyond salvation.
Suddenly, he felt that purity was so distant—perhaps it had never truly existed at all.
The driver's voice broke the silence, like an inconsequential breeze gently stirring his consciousness.
"Hey, Old Buddy, how are you holding up?"
Carter flinched slightly, as if jolted awake from a nightmare. He blinked, coming back to reality, his gaze shifting from the moon in the sky to the driver's weathered face, which bore a sincere yet simple smile.
He thought for a moment and finally just shook his head lightly, his tone low and hoarse. "I don't even know if I'm okay... but today is definitely not good."
The driver shrugged, slightly turning the steering wheel as they passed an intersection. He spoke casually, "One day at a time, right? Who knows if tomorrow will be any better?"
Carter didn’t respond; he simply stared out the window. The fleeting streetlights cast his shadow on the glass, blurred and fragmented, like a person who could no longer be pieced together.
Yet another voice emerged in his mind, whispering coldly, asking:
—What if tomorrow won’t be better?
—What if this world is destined to only get worse?
The night continued to envelop the city as the truck drove toward its destination, while Carter felt trapped in this endless night, unable to find an escape.
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