Garry stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window on the twenty-third floor. The road downstairs was so empty that the sky could shine through, like a blood vessel that had been drained of blood.
At 3:17, an unmanned delivery vehicle drove from one end of the road to the other, stopped once in the middle, and then drove away without opening the door. Like a meaningless sentence.
Behind him, he was the only one left in the entire building.
Nineteen minutes ago, the last workstation light went out. Thirty-six seconds after the lights went out, the owner of that workstation changed into four words in the system: assets released.
"Asset Released". This is the most dignified phrase in the building, used to describe someone who writes code in the morning and comes up empty-handed in the afternoon.
That work station belongs to Xie Lin. Job number D04-1149.
Xie Lin worked here for six years and three months. The day before yesterday, he also posted a screenshot in the group, which was the convergence curve of his model, with four words - "Run another version." No one in the group responded. At that time, no one in the group responded.
Yesterday afternoon, he deleted the last local backup. The delete key pops up a line of prompts: Local deletion is irreversible, and the cloud copy is not affected. He clicked OK.
At five-fifty, he put the six-year-old mug on the corner of the table into the cardboard box. There is also a book and an old pair of headphones in the box. That's it.
At 6:04, he swiped his card and went out. The gate turned on but didn't sound. At 6:06, the status bar of D04-1149 in the system refreshed.
Four words: assets released.
No one made an announcement. No one shook hands. No one said goodbye. Just a line of status, and a chair that will be leveled the next day
