Rhythmic scraping sound disrupts the overwhelming silence of a dimmed basement. The fingers squeeze a quill pen, making it move faster along the black board, reminding an archaic clay tablet. Scraping grows louder.

> Summer of 69. Earth crust continues to shrink. Earthquakes hit Mon York regularly. It’s getting worth. The city may disappear into the mantle in the next decade. The Circles are narrowing down. No more elections. This ghost of democracy is gone. Underground works in upper mantle now. They are sent to die. We all will soon.

>

> Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The hand holding the pen freezes. It scrapes a 69 symbol on the bottom right corner of the tablet. Now it’s ready. 

Man’s figure in a long black robe stands up and heads to the dark wall behind him. As he brushes his hand against it, the shelves get out of the wall, revealing an astonishing collection of the same black clay tablets. The man slowly slides the tablet into one of the half-empty shelves in front of him. Click. The shelf accepts the new tablet and hides back into the wall. Click.

The man lingers his hand on the wall for a mere second, paying his respects. Next 

moment, he heads towards the massive black door and reaches out for the key from around his neck. 

Another entry is done. The history is secure, so are the humankind memories.

https://youtu.be/Gs_4_oAepN0