It was a hazy morning, with crows flying wildly. Birds were uncommon, and most of those who dared to go out were eaten by them. A faint ray of sunlight filtered in from the clouds. Washing the deserted streets, covering up the events of the night.
The drone in the sky broadcasts comforting words as usual, although the person behind it is no longer there. Helicopters don't come often because there are so many of them.
People live sparsely in secret corners, waiting to die, waiting to live, and waiting for the food sent by the "Night Never Comes", of course, if it counts as food.
They are everywhere and nowhere to be seen. On the shelves of shopping malls; on ghostly running autonomous buses; in houses with open doors; in the shadows; in all the dark places where the sun doesn't shine. They are all there.
This is not some high-risk area at the beginning of the 21st century, but the city of Tinfang Erge in 2097 AD or 32 years after the loss, a former world capital built on the high seas.
Purpose: To write the doomsday in a reasonable way