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墨書 Inktalez
At that moment, a commotion erupted from the road ahead, and a crowd began to gather. The chatter among pedestrians grew urgent and excited. Some people stretched their necks to see, while others raised their phones to record the scene. Street vendors paused their activities, and even drivers waiting at the red light leaned out to catch a glimpse.
"It's Francis Rain!" someone shouted from the crowd, their voice filled with excitement and reverence.
Carter lifted his head, looking toward the source of the sound.
A black convoy slowly entered the center of the road, the tires making a deep, steady rumble against the asphalt. Leading the procession was a black armored SUV, followed closely by two luxury sedans adorned with campaign slogans, and finally, a row of escort vehicles.
One of the car windows gradually rolled down, and a man stood at the edge of the door, half his body leaning out. He wore an iconic smile as he waved to the supporters on the street.
Francis Rain.
His name echoed in Carter's mind like a brand.
He embodied the quintessential image of a white elite—dressed in a sharp suit, his tie perfectly knotted, hair slicked back with gel, neatly adhering to his hairline, giving him a clean and capable appearance. His movements were graceful and fluid; he waved his hands with such familiarity that it seemed he had rehearsed this countless times before. Every angle was just right, allowing cameras and supporters to capture the perfect shot.
His smile… flawless and impeccable.
"Rain! Rain!" some in the crowd shouted his name while others vigorously waved campaign flags, their red, white, and blue symbols fluttering in the air.
"Our hope!"
"He will surely get the country back on track!"
"This is the leader we need!"
Carter stood apart from the crowd, quietly observing the scene as smoke curled between his fingers, ashes falling silently to the ground.
He did not join in the cheers or raise his phone to record.
He simply stood there, watching Francis Rain weave through the convoy like a new Roman emperor conquering the city, basking in the adoration and support of the masses.
And he, Carter Black, who had once given everything for this country, now found himself standing in the shadows of the sidewalk, left behind by this wave of cheers and fervor.
Suddenly, the convoy came to a halt in the middle of the street, as if it were a meticulously planned impromptu performance, perfectly timed to coincide with the city's busiest hour, forcing everyone's attention toward the spectacle about to unfold.
The car door swung open, and Francis Rain rose from the back seat, holding a large black megaphone. He scanned the crowd with a smooth glance before a perfectly timed smile crept across his face as he pressed the switch.
"My friends!"
His voice echoed down the street, cutting through the cacophony of traffic noise and exploding in everyone's ears.
"Our country is on the brink of decline—but we still have a chance to save it!"
The crowd's reaction was layered—some stopped to listen intently, others raised their phones to record, while a few merely hurried past, indifferent to this sudden political display.
But Carter remained still.
He had initially stood there instinctively, ready to light another cigarette, only to find his fingers had unknowingly paused, his gaze fixed firmly on Rain.
The man's voice was like an invisible force, carrying an undeniable magnetism—not because of what he said, but because of how he said it—his tone, his confidence, his conviction; there was something in his delivery that made it impossible not to believe him.
"Look at our community! Look at our factories! Where have our jobs gone? What will happen to our children?" Rain raised his voice, filled with anger and concern. "These politicians—these bastards sitting in their high towers—tell us that everything is getting better! But we all know that's a lie! We have witnessed the decline of this country with our own eyes! We live in this decay every single day!"
His words struck the crowd like a heavy drumbeat on a fragile skin.
Carter felt the atmosphere around him shift subtly. Some passersby stopped in their tracks, while expressions that had been indifferent moments ago turned serious. A few people nodded slightly, as if Rain's words resonated with a deep-seated anger and dissatisfaction within them.
"But we still have a chance!" Rain's voice rose again, taking on an impassioned tone. "We can take back this country! We can set it back on the right track! But we need brave leaders, real action—not empty promises!"
Carter's fingers tightened slightly; he realized he was still standing there, not leaving.
He didn't particularly like political speeches, yet he couldn't tear his gaze away.
What Rain was saying… felt familiar. He had heard these phrases countless times on radio stations, forums, and in military discussions, but today, coming from Rain's mouth, they sounded more real and weighty than ever before, as if this man could truly turn everything into reality.
He wasn't sure if he should believe it, but he knew one thing—he wanted to keep listening.
Francis Rain suddenly paused and then pointed at a man in the crowd.
"You! Sir, what do you do for a living?" His voice boomed through the megaphone, loud and powerful.
The crowd fell silent for a moment, all eyes turning to the man being pointed at.
He was a typical working-class man in his forties, sturdy build, with traces of age and labor etched on his face. He wore an oil-stained work jacket with frayed cuffs, and his dusty boots stood in stark contrast to the sharply dressed business elites around him, who clutched their briefcases.
He froze for a moment, clearly taken aback by being singled out. A hint of embarrassment and unease crossed his face. Clearing his throat, he hesitantly replied, "Uh… I'm a worker at a machinery factory."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Rain stepped forward, excitedly raising his hand to point at him, his tone filled with passion and respect. "Friend, thank you!"
The man was taken aback, and those around him were momentarily stunned, not understanding why Rain suddenly expressed gratitude to this ordinary worker.
But Rain did not stop. He continued to speak loudly, his voice growing more powerful. "Why should you feel embarrassed about your work? Why should you think of yourself as inferior to those guys in suits?"
His hand swept through the air, pointing at the well-dressed Corporate White Collars nearby, who had just been quietly discussing stocks and market trends. Now, called out, their expressions varied; some frowned, some looked down, while others observed with cold indifference.
"These so-called Elites are just sitting in high-rise buildings making phone calls and scribbling on paper! But you? You work in the factory every day; your hands have built this country!" Rain's tone was passionate as he locked eyes with the worker. "You are the ones who keep this country running!"
He slapped his chest forcefully, his voice rising. "It is people like you, like your colleagues, like our workers, Truck Drivers, Construction Workers, farmers—it's you who support this country, not those so-called managers sitting in conference rooms profiting off the labor of others!"
"You are the real heroes!"
As soon as he finished speaking, applause erupted from the crowd, especially from those who also came from working-class backgrounds. They began nodding in agreement; some even shouted excitedly, "That's right!" "Exactly!" "He understands us!"
The embarrassment on the face of the worker that Rain had addressed faded away, replaced by a subtle sense of pride. He stood a little straighter, unable to suppress a smile as if he were experiencing true respect for the first time in front of a large audience.
Meanwhile, Carter Black stood quietly at the back of the crowd, watching it all unfold. The cigarette between his fingers burned down to the end, sparks falling to the ground unnoticed.
Something indescribable churned within his chest.
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