At three o'clock in the morning, the light on the 48th floor of the CBD office building was like a stubborn nail, piercing into the dark night of the city.
Lin Wan was sitting at her workstation, her eyes filled with red bloodshot eyes, her fingers still tapping the keyboard mechanically. She turned to page 137 of the PPT. She couldn't remember how long she had been working continuously.
72 Hours?
Or longer?
Time has long lost its meaning to her, leaving only the two coordinate axes of "progress bar" and "deadline" spinning crazily in her mind.
The dense data on the screen began to ghost and drift, like a group of drunk ants dancing.
She took a sip of iced Americano - the kind that was so cold it could freeze her soul - but as soon as the glass was put back on the table, a sharp pain suddenly came from her chest, as if someone had hit her heart hard from the inside with a hammer.
The next second, the world tilted.
Her forehead hit the conference table hard, the coffee cup shattered, glass particles flew, and brown liquid slowly spread along the edge of the document, like a silent obituary.
Before she lost consciousness, there was only one last thought left in her mind: If this crappy PPT could be automatically generated, I would be able to go to the Maldives to bask in the sun right now.
