Useless and Empty

The banks were nothing more than hollowed-out husks, their grand facades crumbling under years of neglect and contempt. Once symbols of wealth and security, their towering columns now bore the scars of looting and fire, their insides stripped bare. Vault doors hung open, useless and empty, their promises of protection long since broken.

For years, the politicians had siphoned money through false promises—programs meant to "help" the people but designed only to enrich the elite. By the time the public caught on, it was too late. The accounts were drained, the pensions gone, and the institutions that once held the economy together stood as nothing more than relics of a world that no longer existed.

Trust had died with the banks. No one deposited money anymore. There was nothing to deposit. The paper bills were worthless, good only for kindling, and the digital wealth—numbers on a screen—had vanished in a single, calculated purge. The people, betrayed one too many times, abandoned the system altogether.

Barter became the new currency. A sack of grain for a pair of boots, a few bullets for a jug of clean water. Goods were exchanged in hushed negotiations, each trade a quiet act of survival. The markets, once bustling centers of commerce, had turned into back-alley meetings in the ruins of the old world. Deals were struck in whispers, trust earned only through hard bargains and desperate necessity.

And so, the cities withered. Businesses collapsed, storefronts shattered and looted until there was nothing left to take. The banks, those once-mighty fortresses of finance, were left to rot, their empty lobbies echoing with the ghosts of a time when people believed in the system.

But belief had died, just like society itself.