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墨書 Inktalez
As night fell, the entire city seemed shrouded in a thick layer of dust, and the abandoned building in the northwest corner resembled a sleeping giant, silently witnessing the past's glory and decay. Carter sat at the edge of the top floor, his black trench coat billowing in the biting wind, every seam seemingly concealing secrets of blood and fire from times gone by. The stains on his coat were like silent verses, reflecting the brutal and lonely tracks of his past, making it impossible to ignore the war scars etched upon him.
His boots crunched on the scattered shards of glass, their faint glimmers whispering tales of past life-and-death confrontations. In the distance, neon lights flickered defiantly, like the weak heartbeat of a dying city, signaling that this place once held dreams. The previous mayor had boasted from a polished podium that this area would become "the future's commercial heart," yet now the nearly completed department store lay in ruins. Civil war and economic collapse had swept through like a merciless hurricane, shattering all promises; exposed steel rebar and crumbling concrete told silent stories of lost glory.
Below the building, ruins intertwined with wild grass to create an absurd tapestry. The weeds sprouting from cracks resembled grotesque fingers clawing their way out of hell, attempting to drag this once-mighty beast into an endless abyss. The drug addicts, thugs, and homeless who once occupied this space had long vanished under Carter's ruthless purging. Each bloodstain bore witness to his cold and decisive judgment, as if delivering a darkly humorous message to the city: in despair, only the strong could dictate life and death.
At this moment, Carter sat quietly on the edge of that forsaken tower, allowing the cold wind to caress his pale yet resolute face. The distant lights of the city flickered in his deep-set eyes, reflecting an indelible solitude and remnants of war within him. He remained silent, accepting the chilling baptism of air mixed with metallic and decaying scents as if it were fate's final mockery. Throughout the night, apart from the whispering wind and the faint lament from the ruins, everything fell into an endless silence while Carter completed his cold ode in that stillness.
The night breeze flowed like a dirge through this desolate corner, stretching flames into twisted phantoms. A dim light flickered among the ruins, illuminating dried bloodstains on the ground. Nearby, an old radio sat forlornly on a charred concrete slab, emitting intermittent buzzing sounds like a relic gasping for breath in the wind. Its casing was covered in scratches and dust; its antenna bent awkwardly as it struggled to receive signals—sometimes crackling with metallic noise as if some long-decayed machine still fought to speak its last words for this crumbling city.
"The approval ratings for Mayor Rain have dropped again..." The host's voice was dull and laced with suppressed sarcasm as it cut through unstable frequencies like a ghostly whisper, sending an inexplicable chill through the silence. "According to recent data, multiple protest groups have surrounded City Hall demanding the immediate ousting of this incompetent mayor. The main reason? Quite simple—over the past month, there have been consecutive shootings, terrorist attacks, and explosions while the government's actions... ha! Aside from issuing some hollow condemnations and announcing blockades on a few streets, they've done almost nothing."
The voice briefly faded amid static before returning with a deeper and colder tone: "But at the same time, one name has quietly risen in darkness. He has no party affiliation, no backing, no staff team—but his actions are more well-known than those of the government. 'City's Angel of Death'—Carter. His approval rating has risen by 5% in just one week. What does this mean? It means people are beginning to believe that a vigilante—a lone hunter—might be more effective than an entire system."
The voice paused again as if allowing this dead city to digest this harsh reality. The fire crackled as it burned fragments that no longer belonged to this world; the air was thick with a mix of charred wood and blood—a slaughter yet unfinished.
"Of course, there are concerns. His methods are too brutal; his actions are unchecked. He is both executioner and judge; no one knows who he will strike next. Can such violence truly bring order? Or does it merely plunge the city deeper into chaos? This is a question worth pondering..."
The host let out a soft scoff filled with weary indifference as if he had long grown accustomed to this city's decay: "But data does not lie. People no longer believe in the mayor's promises or trust police patrols; they don’t even believe in justice under law anymore. They don't want to hear politicians' empty words; they want action—and Carter is synonymous with action..."
The flames flickered slightly in the darkness, casting shadows that twisted with the wind like some silent mockery. The radio continued broadcasting; its signal occasionally clear then broken but its very existence symbolized something—the city still functioned but had lost its soul. All that remained were gunshots, bloodshed, and faint echoes of burning firelight.
Carter leaned against the dilapidated railing, listening intently to the radio’s sporadic reports as voices fluctuated between clarity and distortion. When the host mentioned "City's Angel of Death," a slight smile crept onto his lips—a faint expression not born from joy or victory but one filled with cold satisfaction at foreseeing how everything was aligning with his vision for what was to come.
He slowly lifted his head, gazing toward the distant horizon. The moon hung high in the sky tonight, full and flawless, its silvery light gently cascading over the scarred city, casting a veneer of false tranquility over the steel forest. This light, like a cold judgment, deepened the shadows, exposing decay and corruption without mercy. The towering buildings in the distance still stood tall, but he knew it was all merely temporary; this city was like a dying corpse, yet to begin its decay.
His gaze wandered through the maze of steel and concrete, envisioning a future scene—flames dancing wildly on the broken streets, consuming the lies and deceit of the past. Greedy politicians and corrupt entrepreneurs screamed amidst the ashes, while the crowd no longer remained silent but raised burning flags, taking to the streets to roar, shatter, burn, and overthrow. Buildings toppled in the inferno, statues in the square were dragged down to the ground, police lines were utterly crushed, and the gates of government were torn apart by the fury of the masses. This city would be baptized in fire, soaked in blood, reshaped by true justice and order.
At this thought, he smiled softly, a deeper smile that came from within. It was a smile imbued with both destruction and rebirth, as if he were witnessing an inevitable dance of fate.
The wind whispered gently by, carrying some intangible murmur, like souls from the past whispering in the night. His eyes flickered for a moment before he murmured softly, "Keisha... do you see this?" His voice was low yet tinged with a strange fervor, as if speaking to the dead or proving his existence to the night. "This is the liberation I bring... this is justice... this is the future..."
His gaze returned to the silver-lit city, his eyes burning like fire, resembling a prophet staring at the old world about to be consumed. And in his ears, that radio continued to broadcast news of the mayor's plummeting approval ratings, still conveying whispers of a city on the brink of destruction.
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