Doomsday: Code A-7

The bank's glass doors slid open automatically, emitting a crisp "ding-dong" sound, as if welcoming two distinguished customers. The lobby was paved with polished marble floors, and the air conditioning was colder than a mortuary. Everything was the same as usual, except that it was empty—so silent that you could hear the hum of the central air conditioning vents, like the dying gasp of an entire civilization.

A middle-aged man in a sharp suit with neatly combed hair stood behind the counter, slowly polishing his gold-rimmed glasses with a flannel cloth. When he saw two robbers wearing terrifying masks—one of them holding a gun—burst in, he merely raised his eyebrows slightly. No screams, no alarm triggered, not even a pause in his glass-polishing motion.

"Good afternoon," he put on his glasses, his gaze sweeping over the lenses to examine them calmly. "What business can I assist you with today?"

Leon was caught off guard by this sudden calm; the lines he had prepared got stuck in his throat. Claire took a step forward, pointing her gun at him. This should have been the tensest scene of the whole ordeal, but the man's expression was as if he were watching a shoddy stage play.

"R-Robbery," Claire's voice trembled, but she struggled to keep the gun steady.

"Very well, a robbery," the manager nodded in understanding. He pulled out several money bags of different sizes and a black suitcase from under the counter, arranging them in a line. "How much would you like? Cash or bearer bonds? Also, I recommend the suitcase—it looks more professional when running."

Beneath his clown mask, Leon's mouth hung open in an "O" shape.

Claire froze too, standing there with her gun in hand.

"H-How much should we rob?" she asked Leon.

Leon blinked behind his mask.

Seeing no response, the manager thoughtfully made the decision himself. "Let's go with one million US dollars. For first-time customers, it's a moderate amount—satisfying yet easy to carry. It fills this suitcase perfectly." As he spoke, he skillfully pulled bundles of brand-new banknotes from the cash counter, stacked them neatly into the suitcase, then snapped the lid shut and pushed it across the counter.

The entire process was smooth and effortless, filled with an inexplicable sense of professionalism.

Leon mechanically stepped forward and lifted the heavy suitcase. Claire still had her gun pointed at the manager, but her momentum had completely faded.

"Aren't you afraid?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Why would I be?" the manager replied, his eyes showing genuine confusion. "Life is like a job—there's always a time to clock out. Some people choose to leave early, others stay until the last minute. That's all."

"Then what... what are you going to do next?" Claire found herself strangely curious about the man being robbed.

The manager adjusted his tie—a valuable Hermès tie that reflected an absurd glow under the bank's pale lights. A faint, almost gentle smile appeared on his face.

"Same as usual," he said. "Finish work, go home, water my mint plant, then lie comfortably on the sofa, sleep, and wait to enjoy the weekend."

Claire was completely lost for words. She put away her gun, exchanged a glance with Leon, and behind his mask, she saw the same utter bewilderment.

The two turned around and hurried out of the bank. The automatic doors closed behind them with another crisp "ding-dong," as if saying "Come again soon."

They jumped into the Cadillac, and Leon slammed his foot on the gas. The car shot forward like an arrow, racing into the desolate city's main road. After driving several blocks, they both took off their masks simultaneously, gasping for breath.

Leon turned on the car stereo, trying to dispel the eerie atmosphere with music. However, instead of music, a calm, almost cold female voice came from the radio, delivering the hourly news bulletin.

"...According to the latest tracking data from the Global Joint Observatory, the A-7 class meteorite codenamed 'Apocalypse' entered the Roche limit in the early hours of this morning. Its orbit is stable, and it is expected to impact the designated coordinates in forty-seven hours and fifty-three minutes. Currently, there are no effective interception methods with existing human technology. Citizens are advised to remain calm and cherish their remaining time..."

The broadcast continued with trivial details—how many times larger this meteorite was than the one that struck sixty-six million years ago, the scale of the impact, and what would happen in the decades to come. Leon turned it off.

Silence fell over the car again. Leon looked down at the black suitcase on the passenger seat. He reached out and opened the lid. Bundles of brand-new banknotes, emitting a mixture of ink and paper, lay quietly inside, like a million unfulfilled promises.

The smell of money—the scent that once drove the world crazy—filled the small car, creating a bitter and desperate irony against the backdrop of a world heading toward its end.