雪と孤独な男のディストピア都市景観

A bleak, cinematic scene set in a snow-lashed dystopian cityscape. In the foreground, a solitary man stands before a massive wooden door — dark, aged oak with reinforced metal bands — the entrance to a neo-classical mansion nestled between brutalist high-rises. Snow falls steadily around him in thick flakes, carried sideways by the icy wind, accumulating in mounds around the stone steps and cobblestone path. The man is bundled in a heavy gray-brown overcoat, stiff with frost and stitched with military detailing. A thick ushanka hat covers his head, its ear flaps tied beneath his chin, coated in ice crystals. His gloved hand is raised mid-knock, the wood of the door dull beneath the snowfall. His posture is tense — unsure if he’s being welcomed or watched. Above him, mounted beneath the mansion’s stone cornices, are sleek high-tech surveillance cameras — small, jet-black with glowing red lenses, panning slowly to track his movements. A soft electric hum pulses from them, barely audible under the wind. One blinks, acknowledging him. In the distant background, rows of towering brutalist apartment blocks loom like sentinels — stark, window-lined monoliths disappearing into the storm. Their forms are broken only by the pale glow of orange street lights, casting long shadows across snow-drifted sidewalks and frozen utility poles. The street beyond is empty — choked with ice and silence, as if the city itself is holding its breath. The entire scene is cast in a desaturated, oppressive palette: concrete grey, cold white, faded olive, and glints of blood-red light from tech and signage. The mood is suffocating, loaded with tension — as if this knock could change everything. <lora:CinematicStyleFlux_v1:1> <lora:FluxDFaeTasticDetails:1>