Imagine, if you will, a cityscape dotted with homes and buildings, their windows shuttered, their doors locked, their life force drained. Yes, this is Melbourne, a city once buzzing with life, now standing desolate and empty. The sound of laughter, the hum of chatter, the melody of life itself – all but extinguished. The people had been forced out, their homes bought from under them by a man whose insatiable hunger for property knew no bounds.
Donald had done it. He had accomplished his ludicrous goal. He was the sole resident of Melbourne, a city he had turned into his personal property portfolio. He walked the streets, not a soul in sight, yet he couldn’t wipe the triumphant grin off his face. As he returned to his mansion, the towering monument of his relentless conquest, he mused to himself, his voice echoing in the hollow expanse of the city.
“I own so much property. So much. You wouldn’t believe how much property I own,” he said, his voice dripping with pride. His gaze swept over the cityscape, every building, every home a testament to his achievement. “There’s no one better than me at buying property. I’m the best there is,” he declared, his voice echoing in the silence.
The last buyer’s advocacy for Melbourne real estate had shut down years ago, but that didn’t dampen Donald’s spirits. If anything, it emboldened him. There was no need for buyer’s agents anymore. He recalled how he had swooped in, his ever-reliable AI buyer’s agent for property close to Brighton, Donna, by his side, and bought up every last property in sight. The memory brought a smirk to his face. His conquest was complete, yet his desire to own was unquenched.
As our protagonist stood, staring out at his vast, deserted empire, one might assume that he was on the brink of an epiphany. A change of heart, perhaps? But no. His next words shattered that illusion as quickly as it had formed. “I’m not stopping at Melbourne. I won’t stop until I own every property in the world.”