The Decaying Dream of America: I Assemble Corpses and Confront Madness

Death, an eternal, dark dream; falling, an irreversible descent; departing, a journey away from which there is no turning back.

It was another night of continuous, freezing rain, which seemed to never stop.

Arthur Morgan drove his old truck through the damp night of Emerald Dream City.

The car's windshield was covered with rain streaks, and the wipers swung erratically from side to side, making a screeching sound.

The continuous rain has washed the city beyond recognition, leaving only weary and faded neon lights.

He was walking back from the dock when he received Reverend Dunbar's call.

Murphy Callahan, the construction worker, the girl's father, he has finally been found.

However, Dunbar's voice carried an undeniable heaviness.

The old detective's intuition told him that time was running out and he was afraid he wouldn't make it in time.

Hurry, faster! We have to catch up!

As he drove quickly through the city streets, he hurriedly made a phone call to the daughter who was desperately searching for her father.

But several calls went unanswered, all to voicemail. Arthur could only leave a message hoping Selena would see it soon, but he had a strange feeling that this father and daughter were destined for a tragic end: one would live in torment, and the other would die in agony.

Arthur slammed on the gas pedal, and his car responded, the engine roaring to life.

The wheels briefly slipped on the wet asphalt road, the car lurched violently, and the tires emitted a sharp screeching sound.

He forcefully turned the steering wheel to keep the car from swaying too much, stabilized it, and continued to rush forward.

Outside the window, the city scenery rushed past.

The towering buildings of the technology park had turned into shadows, and the once-shining giant GG sign was now only half lit. This kind of scene, often seen in TV dramas and movies, was now playing out in reality, making him truly feel what it meant to say: "The world is mourning."

But it is he who harbors sorrow; those cold, external things are imbued with tragic meaning, simply because he wants the world to mourn for him.

He drove through a residential area where the houses were low and dilapidated, with faint light coming through the windows.

This place was once the starting point of countless people's dreams, but now it has been crushed by some giant machine, leaving only sheet metal, cement, and the remnants of souls.

Arthur knew that behind these scenes lay countless Murphy-like tragedies, which were playing out in the past, present, and future, and would continue to do so.

Unemployment, poverty, disease, gambling, and ultimately, being forgotten in some dark corner.

The eighteen levels of hell differ only in whether it's death or death after suffering torture. Arthur doesn't know which one would be the better choice.

Living is hope, but also torment; death is relief, but also terror.

If you had to choose, what would you pick? Arthur asked himself this question, and he also considered asking others, but ultimately he had no answer.

Because there is no right or wrong in this choice; it only concerns your own destiny.

A complex mix of emotions welled up within him, a mixture of anxiety about time and indignation at this systemic tragedy.

He was once a policeman who swore to uphold order and justice, but eventually discovered that order and justice themselves were merely playthings manipulated at will by the powerful and wealthy in this city.

During his years at the police station, he saw too many people like Murphy being disposed of like trash, discarded like scrap parts.

He tried to speak up for them and fight for them, but each time he failed.

His sense of justice and his efforts ultimately crashed into a steel plate, leaving him battered and bruised.

Finally, he himself was also expelled from the police force.

He glanced at his bloodshot eyes in the rearview mirror, his eyes weary and reflecting the blurry lights outside the window.

The car screeched to a halt outside the side entrance of the church, the engine still trembling slightly and emitting a low hum.

Arthur didn't have time to turn off the engine; he unbuckled his seatbelt and sped off.

The rain was still falling, pattering finely on his trench coat, quickly soaking through the fabric.

He ignored all of that and quickened his pace toward the side door of the church.

The door was ajar, letting in a dim, yellowish light.

The air was filled with the smoky scent of candlesticks and the musty smell of decaying wood, and the floorboards creaked under the hurried footsteps.

Each step I took was punctuated by my own heartbeat, heavy and filled with anxiety.

At the end of the corridor, a wooden door was open, and a faint light shone through.

He couldn't hear anything; it was an extreme silence, more unsettling than any noise.

Arthur rushed into the ward, and a heavy atmosphere of illness and sorrow hit him.

The room was small, containing only a cot with one person lying on it.

Lin Zheng sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a jacket with some stains, his head down, looking tired.

Murphy lay quietly on the bed, covered with a thin blanket that reached his chin.

He remained motionless, his chest rising and falling slightly, his breathing so shallow it was almost inaudible.

In the room, only the dim candlelight flickered, casting long shadows of the two people.

There was no panting, no groaning, only a silence born of extreme weakness.

Arthur's heart sank.

He felt all the strength drain from his body in an instant, and he knew it might be too late.

Murphy is slowly leaving this world that has forgotten him; the flame of his life is flickering on the verge of dying.

Reverend Dunbar emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room, his face serene and compassionate.

He walked to Murphy's bedside and gently tidied the messy hair on his forehead.

"Arthur, you've come." Reverend Dunbar's voice was deep and hoarse, carrying a strange, comforting power.

Arthur took a deep breath, his throat tight with difficulty speaking.

He forced himself to look away from Murphy's face and focus his gaze on Lin Zheng beside him.

He felt a wave of weariness wash over him; a person with feelings can never truly become numb to the plight of someone on the verge of death.

Reverend Dunbar stepped forward at the opportune moment and introduced in a deep voice, "This is Arthur Morgan, my old friend. He's been looking for Murphy."

Reverend Dunbar turned to Lin Zheng and said, "This is Lin Zheng; he brought Murphy here."

Their gazes met on Murphy's dying body, a silent scrutiny.

Arthur's eyes were filled with inquiry and doubt.

Their first meeting was not at a noisy gathering of the living, but at the quiet bedside of the dying.

The air was thick with a sickness and sorrow, and an indescribable sense of heaviness that foreshadowed impending death.

A sense of urgency spread from the bottom of my heart, not out of concern for Murphy's life or safety, but out of doubt about Murphy's current situation.

Arthur didn't waste any time with pleasantries. He looked directly at Lin Zheng and asked in his hoarse, sandpaper-like voice, "What did you hear Murphy say?"

He knew that Lin Zheng was the only person who stayed by Murphy's side as he lay dying.

Murphy's final words may be the key to unlocking all the mysteries, the only key to the truth.

Reverend Dunbar stood aside, silently watching the two.

Lin Zheng looked at Arthur's weathered face.

The old detective's face was covered with deep wrinkles, his stubble was messy, and his eyes were bloodshot, revealing a long-term weariness and vigilance.

His old trench coat was wet from the rain, the edges were worn, and some stains could be vaguely seen on the collar.

The stale smell of tobacco, rain, and a hint of alcohol emanating from Arthur blended together in Lin Zheng's senses, creating a strong aura belonging to the city's underclass.

As he listened to Arthur's direct question, Murphy's fragmented words from his dying moments, his painful whispers about gambling, gangsters, his daughter, and his illness, resurfaced in his mind.

Murphy's struggle, the deep yearning for life in his eyes, and his concern for his daughter still echoed in my ears.

Deep within Lin Zheng's heart, something that had been suppressed for a long time was finally shattered.

He had always tried to separate himself from the darkness of this world and from these miserable "goods".

He disposes of corpses numbly, solely for survival and to earn a high salary.

He thought that as long as he didn't invest his emotions, he could protect himself from being devoured in this cruel world.

But Murphy's critical condition shattered all of that.

Murphy is a living, breathing person, a person with flesh and blood, with regrets and attachments. He has been swallowed up by disease and this indifferent city, and now all that remains is pain and struggle.

His daughter, his debts, every word he uttered in his final struggle—all these left an indelible mark on Lin Zheng's mind.

It was like Murphy's flesh and blood, pieced together into Lin Zheng's consciousness, forming a new weight that made it hard for him to breathe.

He was forced to ruminate on his own thoughts; he could not understand, empathize with, or adapt to this sorrow, because these things should not have happened.

Murphy's entire ordeal revolves around three words: He is human. How can a human being be forced into such a predicament, so tragic and without any way out, or rather, he is not considered human in this country, and therefore the good things and happiness that a human being should possess will not befall him?

Lin Zheng took a deep breath. The air still carried the lingering scent of Murphy's illness and the faint traces of death.

His gaze was resolute as he looked at Arthur, his eyes shining with a new light—not fear, nor numbness, but a sense of responsibility, a determination to no longer run away.

He knew he could no longer be as indifferent as before, because Murphy's experience had completely changed him.

He recalled his original intention to study in the United States. Although his ideals and ambitions had been worn down by the harsh reality, the conscience deep in his heart still remained.

He realized that he could never go back to that numb world where he was only focused on "building Gundams".

Murphy's critical condition felt to Lin Zheng like a dull knife had cut a gash in his chest.

The barrier that once separated him from the outside world has been torn open.

Through this opening, he saw and felt more.

This was the first time he had come to realize so profoundly that those corpses he regarded as "goods" were once vibrant lives, with stories, pain, and attachments.

Murphy's fate, like a catalyst, propelled him from the position of an observer to the center of the story.

He knew perfectly well that once he embarked on this path, it meant saying goodbye to the false peace and security of the past.

But this force also made him feel that for the first time in this foreign land's underworld, he had found some meaning in his existence, and was no longer just a wandering soul.

Arthur observed the changes in Lin Zheng's expression. In those young eyes, the initial weariness and confusion were gradually replaced by something deeper and more determined.

He knew that Lin Zheng, this young man, was different from the people he had dealt with before; he had a heart that was not completely corrupted.

The old detective's lips curled down slightly, not in mockery, but in a helpless understanding.

He witnessed too many people fall into depravity, struggle, and ultimately succumb to depravity in this city.

At that moment, he saw the possibility of another path in this assembler.

It may be hope, or it may just be the beginning of another self-destruction.

Reverend Dunbar quietly walked to Arthur's side, gently placing his hand on Arthur's shoulder, offering him silent support.

It was a comfort that transcended language, an understanding of what had happened to an old friend.

Arthur turned to look at Pastor Dunbar, a hint of weariness and pleading in his eyes that only an old friend could understand.

Reverend Dunbar nodded slightly, his eyes calm and deep, as if to say, "I know."

Lin Zheng decided that he would tell Arthur everything.

Murphy's fragmented words were about his daughter, his gang debts, and the tragic fact that he would eventually die in poverty and disease.

These were no longer insignificant secrets, but the starting point for his decision to embark on this path.

He can no longer turn back.

Inside the room, the candlelight continued to flicker, illuminating the three people.

A life hanging by a thread, two living seekers, and a silent witness.

In the unseen corners, the gears of fate have already begun to turn mercilessly.

The critical condition or even death of every ordinary person is intertwined with the deeper, darker secrets of this vast and indifferent city.

Murphy's body, appearing even weaker and paler in the candlelight, was a microcosm of this decaying world.

He lay there, a frail witness, his weak breaths announcing the beginning of everything.

Lin Zheng's heart pounded violently in his chest, and his voice vibrated in his eardrums.

He seemed to hear something awakening in the deepest part of the city.

That was not a god, but something more cruel, cold, and ruthless than a god.

He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms.

Arthur saw Lin Zheng's pain, and he also saw a determination in his eyes that was beyond his years.

Murphy's critical condition is a tragedy, but it is also a catalyst that tightly connects two people who were originally unrelated.

An exhausted old detective and a forensic assistant awakened by death meet for the first time at the bedside of a dying person.

Murphy's critical condition was merely the prelude to this dark symphony.

They will embark on a journey to expose the deepest sins of this city as the next note sounds.

They will go to explore all the truths buried beneath the decay.

Light, dazzling and blinding illumination; dreams, the reassembly of fragmented memories; convergence, the prologue to the grand opening.