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墨書 Inktalez
The next day, Carter went to work filled with excitement; it was the first time in years that he felt anticipation for his job.
As he walked into the lobby of the Lianxun Commercial Building, he was greeted by the same scene as always—businesspeople in sharp suits hurried past, Bluetooth headsets in their ears, speaking in what sounded like profound yet meaningless corporate jargon. The receptionist was still engrossed in her phone, indifferent to her surroundings, while the security guards lazily stood at their posts, boredly scanning the flow of people.
But today, Carter was different.
He strode into the building with a lively demeanor, his steps steady and his back straight, a stark contrast to his usual lethargic self who merely wanted to get through the day.
This change did not go unnoticed by others.
Colleagues cast curious glances his way; some merely stole a quick look before returning to their tasks, while others couldn't help but stare a bit longer, as if trying to figure out how this usually gloomy and reticent Veteran had suddenly transformed into someone unrecognizable.
But no one asked.
No one dared to ask.
Carter had always been an outsider here; no one truly understood him, nor did they wish to. They only knew that this man spoke little, occasionally had a short temper, and in the past, when someone attempted to engage him in conversation, they were met with a cold glare that discouraged any further attempts. Since then, no one had dared to approach this hard stone.
Today was no different. They found it strange but didn’t dare inquire further.
Carter paid no mind to their stares; he focused solely on what he needed to do.
He sat down at the desk in the security room, took out a notebook from his pocket, opened it up, gripped his pen tightly, and began to write—furiously write.
He documented the injustices faced by Veterans over the years: abandonment, lack of support, difficulty finding stable employment, psychological trauma being overlooked, government promises repeatedly broken… These were not new revelations for him, but today he finally felt empowered to change them.
He wrote about their demands: medical assistance, stable employment, mental health support, dedicated communities for Veterans… These were things that should have existed but had never been truly implemented.
He wrote about the needs of those at the bottom: fairer wages, improved safety, an end to labor exploitation, and driving out the parasites that plagued society… These issues had always been present, yet no one in government had ever genuinely cared.
He knew that Rain would take his opinions seriously.
Rain needed him because he was someone who truly understood these issues, coming from the bottom rather than sitting in an office writing reports based on data like the politicians.
These demands could be resolved with his help.
His hand trembled with excitement as he held the pen, but he didn’t stop.
He had never imagined that one day he would feel such an urgent desire to do something, but now he knew he was no longer a nameless nobody; he was someone who could change the status quo.
As Carter wrote, he realized that his pen couldn’t stop moving. One demand after another, one issue after another flowed from his mind as if they were automatically spilling out, taking shape on the paper without any deliberate thought—so naturally.
Was his logical thinking ability really this good?
He paused for a moment, staring at the clearly written bullet points in his notebook. The handwriting was somewhat messy, but the content was extremely organized, even more structured than the speeches of those politicians.
“Damn… I’m actually pretty good at this,” he muttered to himself, unable to suppress a smile that crept onto his face as if he had discovered a talent within himself that he had never noticed before.
He glanced down at the notebook again and burst into laughter—happy like a child.
Throughout his life, he had never taken an interest in writing. In school, writing reports was his least favorite task, and the paperwork in the military bored him to death. Yet now, he found himself able to write so many clear and pointed demands that even surprised him.
Perhaps for the first time, he felt that he could truly be of use—not just as a soldier but as someone who could influence the world.
He couldn’t help but shake his head as if mocking this sudden enthusiasm, yet the smile remained on his face.
This feeling was nice. Really… it was nice.
At six o'clock sharp, Carter was almost the first to rush off to clock out for the day.
He grabbed his notebook and hurried out of the Lianxun Commercial Building, even forgetting his usual habit of lighting a cigarette. Today, he had no time to waste; his mind was focused on one goal—the campaign headquarters of Rain.
He stood by the roadside, waving down a taxi. As soon as he got in, he quickly gave the address, his voice tinged with an excitement he could hardly contain. This was the first time he had actively chosen to participate in something, the first time he felt he could truly make a difference.
The car slowly merged into the bustling street, neon lights flickering outside, signs rushing past, and pedestrians bustling about. Yet Carter's attention was captured by a campaign advertisement.
A massive electronic billboard loomed on the wall of a building across the street.
On the screen, Rain stood at a podium in a suit, arms outstretched, eyes resolute. The slogan read: "Take Back Our Future!"
Then, the screen shifted to showcase three different faces—Rain's competitors.
The first was Fares from the Democratic Party—a refined middle-aged man wearing thin-framed glasses and a dark blue suit, standing against a backdrop of bookshelves that emphasized his knowledge and rationality. His slogan proclaimed: "What we need is unity, not division."
Next was Leisha from the Republican Party—a powerful blonde woman dressed in a crisp black business suit with her arms crossed, set against an image of a military base. Her straightforward slogan stated: "Order Above All."
Finally, there was Polu from the People's Party—a smiling Latina woman with a backdrop of a friendly marketplace. Her slogan read: "Let the People Truly Have a Voice."
Carter looked at their faces without much emotion. He knew these politicians were all alike; they spoke beautifully and made countless promises, but few ever delivered.
But Rain was different.
Carter glanced down at his notebook filled with his thoughts, his anger, and his demands. He believed that Rain would value these because Rain was not one of those idealistic politicians; he was someone who truly understood the struggles of the underprivileged.
The taxi came to a stop at a red light, but Carter's heart raced faster than ever.
This could be the turning point of his life, and he was ready to take that step.
The taxi slowly pulled up to the Campaign Headquarters.
Carter looked out of the car window, and the scene at the entrance was much more lively than he had imagined.
Colorful balloons hung from the doorframe, gently swaying in the breeze, creating a striking contrast against the city's gray backdrop. On either side of the entrance were baskets overflowing with fresh flowers, each bouquet adorned with greeting cards clearly sent by local businesses or political figures, their elegant handwriting proclaiming messages like "Wishing you success in your campaign" and "Rain, the people's choice!"
It was evident that many people had already come to show their support for Rain.
Carter opened the car door and stepped onto the sidewalk, instinctively tightening his grip on the notebook in his hand.
He stared blankly at everything around him, feeling an unfamiliar sense of anxiety.
This feeling was strange; he had been on the battlefield, traversed through gunfire, heard explosions ringing in his ears, and witnessed his comrades' bodies lying in the mud, yet he had never felt as afraid as he did now.
Standing there, he felt as if he had stumbled into a world that did not belong to him.
He was once just a forgotten Veteran, a destitute security guard, and now he was about to step into a realm filled with Politicians, businessmen, and powerful figures, ready to present his ideas to them and tell them what they should do.
Would this really make a difference?
He glanced down at the notebook in his hand, its pages filled with notes reminding him—this was not just for himself but for all those who had been abandoned like him.
Taking a deep breath, he clenched his jaw, lifted his head, and stepped forward into what might be a war even more dangerous than the battlefield.
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