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

Inside the modified all-terrain vehicle, the air was thick with heat and gunpowder smoke, mingled with the salty smell of Evelyn's sweat, the sweet, metallic scent of Arthur's wounds, and the pungent odor of burning earth. The roar of the engine had long since faded, replaced by an ear-piercing echo, intertwining with the distant, faint tribal cries to create a desperate lament. Lin Zheng swayed, his sanity plummeting to the brink of collapse. A violent headache blurred his vision, his eyes stung, his muscles tense, and his entire body felt as if it had been plunged into ice water. Everything before him was indistinct, except for the despair within the vehicle. Every inch of shattered glass, every gruesome scratch, silently testified to this sudden catastrophe. He could even feel the twisting and groaning of every piece of metal in the vehicle, a testament to the collapse of their hopes.

Jeremy lay sprawled in the gap in the car door, his twisted limbs starkly contrasting against the bloodstains. He was motionless, his life force faint, the rise and fall of his chest almost imperceptible. The dark liquid slowly spreading beneath him resembled a quietly blooming flower of death.

Lina was entangled in a rough web of vines, exotic plants the tribal warriors had found deep in the wasteland. Their resilience was extraordinary; the more she struggled, the tighter the bindings became, sharp thorns even embedding themselves in her skin. Like a captured bird, her eyes burned with silent rage, her lips pressed tightly together, yet beneath that rage lay a profound helplessness. Her clenched fists trembled, but in the end, she could only helplessly loosen them, accepting the reality of her captivity.

Lin Zheng's gaze finally settled on Arthur. The bloodstains on the old man's chest spread like a map, seeping through his heavy coat. Under the oxygen mask, his lips were purple, and his breathing was so weak it seemed as if it would break at any moment. A hoarse groan, like that of a dying animal, escaped his throat. He had once been the team's strategist and protector, but now he resembled an abandoned statue of the past, scarred and broken.

A massive, all-consuming sense of defeat nearly overwhelmed Lin Zheng, chilling him to the bone. This wasn't just the humiliation of being defeated by the enemy; it was a painful backlash of his own powerlessness, more despairing than being knocked down. He clenched his hands tightly, his nails digging into his palms, intense self-blame and pain surging through his mind like a tidal wave. He remembered his master's words: in this world, to survive is itself a form of resistance. Now, that resistance was futile; the scene before him told him they had lost completely, utterly and irrevocably, with no chance of recovery.

Evelyn's hands trembled, her fingertips stiff with extreme tension, as she carefully pulled a painkiller from a hidden pocket inside her forensic uniform. It was the last one in their makeshift medical kit; the bottle reflected a faint yet stubborn light in the dim light, like the last, fragile yet tragic response of civilization to pain on a barren wasteland. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, fine beads of sweat trickling down her tired cheeks. Without hesitation, she took a deep breath and, with almost reckless determination, plunged the needle into Arthur's rough, cold arm. The icy liquid was quickly injected into his veins. After the injection, Arthur's body only convulsed slightly before returning to a deathly stillness. It was a drop in the ocean; for the old man's deep-seated injuries, this painkiller could only slightly alleviate his physical pain, but it couldn't reverse his critical condition, much less heal the wounds inflicted upon him by this wasteland.

But this near-desperate act, this last glimmer of solace from modern medicine, miraculously ignited a final, unquenchable hope deep within Lin Zheng and Lina's hearts. It wasn't a hope born of blind resistance, but a deeper, instinctive struggle to survive, to prolong Arthur's life, which could be extinguished at any moment, to search for any possible clues and a glimmer of hope in this inferno. The will to live, like a sharp needle, suddenly pierced the thick membrane of despair in Lin Zheng's brain, forcefully dispelling the chaos left by the exhaustion of reason. His gaze refocused, a primal impulse rising within him. He no longer hoped for a futile resistance against an overwhelming enemy; he only sought a chance to live, and to lead his companions to survival.

He turned his head with difficulty, looking at Lina, who was tightly bound by vines. Almost simultaneously, Lina looked up at him, her eyes filled with despair and anger at their predicament, yet deep within that despair, a tenacious flame flickered. She stared intently into Lin Zheng's eyes, as if silently conveying a message: No matter what, they could not give up. They both knew that, for now, they had no choice but to endure, except to await Brutus's final judgment, to await that unknown and terrifying fate.

Outside the modified all-terrain vehicle, Brutus Grubb cast a massive shadow, like a towering black mountain, completely shrouding the wrecked vehicle in deep darkness, as if even the setting sun feared his presence. Beneath his rough iron mask, his single eye radiated a cold, scrutinizing light, devoid of any human emotion. The enormous "hand axe" in his hand, its blade polished with some oily, foul-smelling liquid, gleamed coldly in the last crimson rays of the setting sun, reflecting an ominous and bloodthirsty light. This weapon, repeatedly tempered by blood, silently proclaimed his absolute victory and the insignificance of all life before him.

Brutus did not rush to swing his axe, but instead struck the chariot heavily and rhythmically with the handle of his axe. Each strike produced a dull and chilling sound, like the tolling of a death knell, or the heartbeat of an ancient behemoth, carrying an undeniable command and a sense of oppression, signaling the people inside to obediently emerge. His voice was deep and hoarse, every word carrying the dust and blood of the wasteland, brutal and unquestionable, as if the will of this land itself was manifested in his mouth.

At his command, with a roar, Buck Stoneaxe and several tribal warriors surged into the wrecked carriage like a tidal wave. They moved swiftly, their muscles bulging, each movement filled with savage and precise power. The rough yanking caused Jeremy to groan in pain, a groan quickly drowned out by the commotion. He was brutally dragged out of the carriage, his body convulsing violently from the pain, his head slamming against the door with a dull thud, and in his unconscious state, he was too weak to even respond.

Lina struggled desperately within the vine-covered net, the thorns digging into her skin and drawing bright red blood. The very plants that had entangled her now truly were a prison, each struggle intensifying the pain, yet she could not break free even an inch. Soon, several tribal warriors stepped forward and roughly bound her hands behind her back and her legs tightly with stronger, thicker hemp ropes. Her entire body was firmly bound, rendering her utterly powerless and completely at their mercy. The defiant spark in her eyes was gradually extinguished by helpless tears and the shadow of despair.

Evelyn clung tightly to Arthur, her frail body trembling, desperately trying to shield him with her own—a maternal instinct born of desperation. However, she was no match for the brutal strength of the tribal warriors. Two warriors grabbed her from either side and dragged her away from Arthur. She let out a desperate scream, like a bird with broken wings, watching helplessly as Arthur's body swayed in the darkness.

Finally, the cold iron chains and menacing gazes of the tribal warriors fell upon Lin Zheng. Two warriors, nearly two meters tall, gripped his arms like iron clamps with their rough, strong hands, and roughly dragged him out of the carriage. His body scraped against shards of glass and fragments of the carriage, causing a burning pain. His hands were twisted behind his back, and thick hemp rope tightened around his wrists. The excruciating pain and the humiliation of being bound instantly overwhelmed him, sending chills down his spine. He struggled to lift his head, only to find his body completely subdued; any resistance seemed utterly futile.

Amidst a severe headache and a throbbing pain in his wrists, Lin Zheng was forced to witness the horrific scene of the ambush. Scattered shell casings gleamed in the last crimson rays of the setting sun, cold and hard, silently recording the desperate and fierce battle that had just taken place. Black smoke billowed from the wrecked vehicles, and the air reeked of a mixture of gunpowder, tar, and blood. The rough but deadly weapons wielded by the tribal warriors, varied in shape, possessed a primal and terrifying beauty. Some were crafted from the bones of enormous beasts and polished flint, their edges gleaming with a bloodthirsty light; others were inlaid with the teeth and claws of unknown creatures, or strung together with withered human fingers—each exuding a powerful aura of savagery and primal killing instinct. They were not products of modern industry, yet they were more threatening than any mechanical construct, a deadly edge forged through countless battles.

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What chilled Lin Zheng even more were the "Gobi Raiders" composed of sand and gravel. Originally indistinct, they were now just vast piles of dust on the ground, like unweathered giant skeletons, exuding an unsettling sense of oppression. He watched their remains gradually dissipate in the wasteland, turning into countless insignificant puddles of dust. Yet, at the edge of his vision, deep within the distant wasteland, those dust particles, in a bizarre and unbelievable way, reformed, twisting and deforming, transforming into new forms of raiders. Their movements were ethereal and light, yet possessed an unstoppable primal force, as if stepping out of a dream and returning to one, challenging all laws of physics and common sense. They seemed to be the embodiment of the land's own will, the biological manifestation of primordial chaos.

Lin Zheng's gaze pierced through the billowing smoke and the chaos in his heart. A startling truth suddenly flashed into his mind, completely overturning his understanding of the world. He suddenly understood that the reason the company's pursuers retreated at the most crucial moment was not because of insufficient firepower, nor out of some humanitarian consideration, but because these primitive and savage tribes were the true and undisputed rulers of this land. Their power did not originate from any modern technology or so-called "rational" system, but was rooted in the deepest primitive laws and ancient beliefs of this Ochre Maze State. This power transcended all the cognitive boundaries of modern civilization; it was a chaotic realm that even the exquisite "narrative construction" of the "American Dream" company could not reach.

The federal government and the "American Dream" corporation kept their distance from Ochre Labyrinth State, not because of a lack of technology or weaponry, nor out of fear of tribal warriors' weapons. What they feared was a primal force there that modern civilization could not tame, predict, or even comprehend. The corporation's "narrative construction"—the so-called "American Dream" instilled in the populace through widespread spiritual imprinting and narrative broadcasting—utterly failed here, unable to take root. Data and algorithms, the cornerstones of the corporation's civilization, became meaningless in this wasteland. There was no logic, no data to analyze, and no rationally quantifiable "happiness index" or "productivity."

This land submits only to its own ancient and distorted laws. It has its own breath, its own heartbeat, and its own unique life forms. It believes only in flesh and soul; these are the true currencies used to sacrifice to the 'gods' lurking deep within the wasteland, in the ancient primordial era. These 'gods' may not be living beings, but rather some kind of ideology, some distorted law of nature, some omnipresent 'nightmare' itself.

This revolutionary realization instilled in Lin Zheng a fear far deeper than physical capture, a fear that pierced to the very depths of his soul. It meant that the enemy they faced was not merely the tribal warriors wielding bone axes, but the "dream" of this land itself. It was a vast dream woven from primitive beliefs, bloody sacrifices, and ancient chaos—an irrational existence utterly incomprehensible and incapable of confronting modern civilization. Before such power, technology, law, principles, and even the rationality upon which humanity depends for survival all seemed so fragile and insignificant. A chill ran down his spine. Only now did he truly understand why Brutus possessed the ability to influence his "rationality." Because Brutus himself was the embodiment of this wasteland, a practitioner of the laws of primordial chaos, a part of the "dream."

The entire team was now completely imprisoned. Lin Zheng, writhing in agony from his restraints, looked up at Brutus's single eye beneath his iron mask. There was no victor's elation, no mockery, only a bottomless, ancient, and cold indifference, like a wasteland. It wasn't a lack of emotion, but rather an emotion beyond human comprehension, like the land itself—primitive and cruel, reduced to the naked laws of survival.

Night deepened, the last rays of the setting sun swallowed completely by the horizon, and the Ochre Maze Wasteland fell into an eerie silence once more. A chill spread rapidly with the darkness, shrouding everything in a hazy, unsettling mist. Brutus coldly glanced at the wrecked 'modified all-terrain vehicle' lying on the ground and the captured team. His eyes showed no pity, no emotional fluctuation, only absolute indifference to completing the mission and an assessment of the resources.

He commanded his subordinates with a complex yet concise set of hand gestures, and the tribal warriors, like a pack of well-trained wolves, swiftly and efficiently cleared the battlefield. Their movements were frighteningly skilled, as if they were already accustomed to the constant killing and plundering that occurred on this land. Each member of the tribe was like an emotionless machine, only knowing how to execute orders.

The wreckage of the modified all-terrain vehicle was bound with thick ropes by several burly warriors and dragged from the middle of the road to the side of the wilderness like a huge beast carcass. The twisted metal body scraped against the ground with a harsh screech, proclaiming its complete wreckage and the fragility of modern civilization on this land. The tribal warriors then began to collect the supplies left behind by the team. Their rough hands rummaged through the wreckage, taking all valuable items, including precious medical supplies, food, and communication equipment. These items, which would be priced in civilized society, possessed a primitive value in the eyes of the tribe that far exceeded modern market values; they were a guarantee of survival and offerings for sacrifices.

A group of tribal warriors carefully, yet forcefully, lifted Arthur using a thick log. His breath, so faint it was almost inaudible, was like a candle flame flickering in the wind, his life force dimmed to its lowest point, as if it might be extinguished at any moment. Evelyn was shoved along, her face filled with despair, her eyes red and swollen, yet she still glanced back every now and then at Arthur being carried away. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to offer him a final comfort, but the tribal warriors ruthlessly blocked her with their thick wooden clubs. Every step she took was heavy, her desperate and powerless figure appearing so desolate and helpless in the rapidly deepening night.

Jeremy and Lena were also roughly bound. The ropes tightened around their bodies, digging deep into their muscles, making every step as painful as a knife cut. Their eyes were filled with anger and resentment, yet they were helpless, like two trapped wild beasts, deprived of their freedom and dignity, utterly conquered by their primal wildness.

As Lin Zheng was shoved forward, he endured the dual impact on his mind and body. With every breath he took, he could feel the primal killing intent flowing across this land. It was an ancient and pure malice beyond human comprehension, clinging to every tribal warrior like a mist. Their sweat seemed to be mixed with the scent of some ancient ritual, thick and nauseating. This scent did not come from decay, but from bloodshed and primitive faith; it was an intertwining of life and death, the essence of this wasteland, and the aura of the 'gods' here. He looked back at the gradually blurring wreckage of the 'modified all-terrain vehicle,' knowing that it was not the end, but the beginning of their complete demise. It was a symbol of civilization, a creation of the industrial age, now reduced to waste in this wasteland, a sign of the collapse of the modern order.

The group advanced along the rugged path across the wasteland. The sand and gravel beneath their feet became even softer in the night, each step producing a faint sound, as if sighing at their arrival. The night wind howled, stirring up dust from the ground, carrying a decaying and ancient scent. They headed in a direction indistinguishable to the naked eye. Night had completely fallen, swallowing up the last rays of light in the sky, leaving only sparse and distant starlight overhead, as if even the stars themselves had dimmed.

A deep, rhythmic drumbeat drifted from afar. The sound wasn't from wood; it sounded more like a heart beating with an incredibly slow yet powerful rhythm within the body of some enormous creature. Deep and penetrating, it seemed to emanate from the depths of a wasteland, filled with a primal allure, like an ancient summons, luring prey into their lair. The sound seemed to welcome these new "guests," dragging them step by step into a deeper unknown, towards an ancient nightmare abandoned by modern civilization, an abyss beyond the reach of logic and reason.

Just as night completely swallowed the last ray of light, leaving only suffocating darkness, Lin Zheng struggled to glance back one last time at Arthur, who was being carried. The old man's once sharp eyes were now empty and weary, his face covered in sweat and dust. Though his consciousness was blurred, in that fleeting moment, he caught sight of a gigantic, indescribable black shadow on the distant horizon, slowly writhing in the night like a living beast. The shadow was unimaginably enormous; it had no concrete shape, more like a bottomless abyss composed of pure darkness and some ancient power, devouring all light and hope. It was as if some ancient being beneath the earth was issuing a silent, deadly summons, and they were being led into that abyss… they were being drawn into the nightmare at the very core of this land.