Transcript of voice memo, dated 6th June 2024:
I write this final entry from the heart of my fortress, my stronghold – my renovated bathroom. The transformation is complete. Every tile, every fixture, every inch of this room, now serves as a testament to my vision and, perhaps, my madness. This space, a masterpiece crafted by bathroom designers close to Melbourne, has become my world.
What was once a simple room for personal hygiene is now my bastion of security. A luxurious vault, fitted with the most advanced technology money can buy. An isolated refuge, fortified by the expertise of bathroom installation specialists.
But as I sit here, surrounded by gleaming marble, state-of-the-art security systems, and all the luxuries wealth can afford, I feel a chilling emptiness. The world outside my fortress continues its descent into chaos, and here I am, watching its decline from the marble-clad confines of my bathroom.
I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. I, Harold Bloomfield, billionaire tech mogul, reduced to a prisoner of my own making. Paranoia, the same feeling that fuelled my drive to success, now keeps me locked in this gilded cage.
I find myself longing for a world that doesn’t exist anymore. A world not tainted by fear, not driven by the ceaseless pursuit of wealth and power. I long for the simplicity of a sunrise, the sounds of life beyond these fortified walls. My heart aches for a freedom I’ve traded for security.
And so, as I step into my high-tech, luxurious panic room, I can’t help but feel a sense of irony. I’ve prepared for the end of the world, only to find that my world has ended much earlier than I’d anticipated.
Wealth, power, paranoia – they’ve brought me here, to this fortress of solitude. But as I descend deeper into the madness of my own making, I can’t help but wonder, is this really living? I leave you with this final thought, a question really: when the world ends, who are the real survivors? Those who live in fear, hidden away in their fortresses, or those who find joy in the simplicity of existence, even in the face of chaos?
This is Harold, signing off for the last time.
[End of transcript]