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

Dim oil lamps flickered in the rudimentary prison cell that doubled as a medical room, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air was thick with mold, dust, and the stench of blood, and breathing in it felt like swallowing the decaying core of a fortress.

Evelyn lunged at Arthur, her heart pounding like a drum, filled with fear and helplessness. Her hands trembled as she untied the blood-soaked bandages; the white gauze had hardened into a dark red mass. A strong, sweet, fishy stench filled the air, a strange, putrid smell, like unfamiliar organic matter rapidly decomposing and spreading.

She suppressed her stomach discomfort, her eyes welling up with tears, and focused intently on the trauma before her.

Arthur's wound was a gruesome, dark red gash, not from a sword or knife, but seemingly torn from within, a bloody mess, as if corroded by acid. Blood vessels were twisted, muscle fibers were broken, and the deeper tissues were a pathological grayish-white.

The skin appeared to be eroded by toxins, with slightly curled edges revealing an eerie sheen. The erosion was alarming, far exceeding normal levels, resembling the effects of an unknown virus or mutated energy.

Fine, dark veins emerged beneath Arthur's body, as if a foreign substance was spreading along the blood vessels, draining his life. Parts of his skin hardened, developing a waxy sheen, and lost its elasticity. This disease, progressing from the inside out, foreshadowed a threat beyond comprehension.

His body temperature was burning hot, his cheeks and forehead were flushed, and his lips were chapped. Each breath he took was painful and torn apart, and his voice was weak.

His consciousness was blurred, he murmured incoherently, his broken syllables a mixture of cries for help, fear, and nightmares. He struggled to find the light, each attempt draining his life force.

Evelyn felt as if an invisible hand was gripping her heart, a suffocating anxiety and helplessness washing over her. She had been taught to save lives, but now she was powerless, her faith as a healer severely shaken.

The medical kit contained only a few rolls of coarse linen bandages, which had poor absorbency and could worsen the infection. A small bottle of liquid with a blurry label had a pungent, corrosive odor and resembled cheap industrial bleach or strong acid; she knew that using it on a wound would only accelerate its festering.

She tried to use the rigorous medical knowledge she had learned at school to stop Arthur's bleeding and carefully cleaned the wound with saline solution, but she was powerless in the face of the mutated injury.

Progress was slow and the effect was minimal. The saline solution failed to clean the wounds, and the rotting flesh continued to ooze blood. Arthur bled incessantly, soaking through the coarse linen and staining it a shocking dark red, yet the stubborn oozing could not be stopped.

Tourniquets, pressure bandages, vascular suturing—all the exquisite techniques became useless here. She could only rely on her tenacity for survival and her professional skills to find a glimmer of hope in this desperate situation.

Evelyn anxiously glanced at Lin Zheng in the corner. He sat cross-legged, his face as pale as paper, his eyes tightly closed, veins bulging on his forehead, and beads of sweat dripping down his face. His body swayed precariously under the mental pressure, his sensory abilities becoming a double-edged sword as he absorbed the fortress's corrupt spiritual energy to fight against it.

Lin Zheng let out a low, hoarse roar, his body convulsing, veins bulging in his arms, as if he were fighting against an invisible force. He was trapped in a mental quagmire of fear, despair, and madness.

He was clearly enduring immense mental torment, far exceeding physical suffering. The twisted mental fluctuations deep within the fortress, like cold, sharp knives, sought to pierce the walls of his consciousness and drag him into chaos.

His teeth were clenched so tightly they turned bluish-white, and his jaw muscles were tense, revealing a powerful willpower to resist the erosion. Each deep breath was difficult, as if he were inhaling the foul air of hell.

The mental pressure here is like a meat grinder, indiscriminately crushing willpower and distorting perception. As the perceiver, Lin Zheng is the first to bear the brunt, touching the fortress's pathological core.

Evelyn couldn't count on Lin Zheng. His oath as a healer was being tested; he was trying to save lives, yet he struggled even to stop a bleeding—his professional knowledge proved utterly ineffective.

She tried to negotiate with the guards outside the door, describing Arthur's distress, emphasizing the urgency, and hoping for help.

The guards stood indifferently, their massive bodies like sculptures, their eyes vacant. They ignored her words, like unyielding statues, severing all hope. They were an extension of the fortress's morbid will.

Despair, like cold vines, coiled around her heart, suffocating her. She watched helplessly as Arthur's life slipped away, a feeling far exceeding physical pain.

Lacking tools, unable to stop the bleeding, and ignored pleas for help, she was torn apart by her compassionate heart as a doctor, her faith crumbling, and she was on the verge of collapse.

She raised her hand to wipe her forehead, cold sweat sliding down, only to find her hand stained with Arthur's now-cold blood, its sweet, metallic taste congealed. The sticky sensation on her fingertips made her uncomfortable, but she had no choice but to continue.

She was like an ant trapped in an hourglass, watching the fine sand slip away, powerless to change it. Confined in an absurd cage, she was forced to witness life wither away, yet powerless to stop it.

Here, there is no scientific reason, only the imposition of a morbid will. The Parcy Fortress Law: Distortion and Mutation. The air is thick with the stench of blood mixed with the cloying sweetness of industry, attempting to mask decay but only making it more oppressive and nauseating.

A cloying sweet smell, mixed with mold and dampness, and a strange, metallic, rotten stench, assaults the senses. Every breath carries filth and decay, polluting the lungs and tainting the soul.

Evelyn's eyes welled up with tears, but she knew she couldn't cry. There was no place for tears here; she could only allow herself to be weak.

Heavy footsteps and low conversations outside the door broke the deathly silence of the cell, bringing an unsettling and threatening atmosphere.

Brutus's tall figure reappeared in the doorway, like a shadow looming over the room. Beneath the iron eyepatch, his deep-set eyes were ominous, while his other fierce eye, filled with arrogance and cruelty, scanned the room, lingering on Evelyn and Arthur like a hunter.

He let out a low growl, his voice rough and heavy, leaving no room for doubt.

"How is the treatment, Doctor? Lord Percy is impatient. This strange illness is tormenting him. Your 'expertise' is the only hope." Brutus's voice was like sandpaper, laced with impatience and threat.

Evelyn felt a chill run down her spine, her fingers tense and cold. Forcing herself to calm down, she inhaled the sweet, pungent, and bloody mixture, her throat churning with nausea.

Her voice trembled slightly, but she remained professional: "The injuries are severe, requiring better equipment and medication. Conventional hemostasis is ineffective; the infection and physical changes are beyond my area of ​​expertise."

Brutus interrupted rudely, a sneer playing on his lips, his tattoos contorted. "Medicine? Equipment? This isn't your clean hospital. Doctor, your theoretical tools are worthless."

"Here you only find the most 'primitive' and 'effective' things." He pointed to the simple tools, glanced at Lin Zheng, and his eyes held a disdainful and mocking look, implying that the rules here were abnormal.

"However, Lord Percy understands your predicament." He changed the subject, his tone condescending and arrogant, but concealing a deeper scheme. "To help you 'adapt' more quickly, I have 'prepared' a 'better experimental subject' for you."

Brutus ordered two burly, numb soldiers to roughly drag in the "thing" that was bound hand and foot. It was pulled and twisted violently, groaning like a rag doll.

The "thing" was roughly thrown to the ground, scraping against the damp floor with a tearing sound. It struggled, its limbs displaying a morbid elasticity unlike anything found in a dying creature. Evelyn's pupils constricted, a deep sense of unease washing over her; this distortion transcended the realm of biology, like a cruel joke played by the gods.

Its body was completely distorted, not that of a normal human. The spinal curvature was horrifying, and the limbs were deformed. Muscles are misaligned, skin is covered in bluish-purple patches, and cracks reveal strange tissue that appears to be oozing gel. Bones are misaligned and protruding, with tumor-like growths that are translucent and contain writhing veins. An ominous aura emanates from the area, and this mutation is irreversible.

A strong, putrid stench assaults the senses, a mixture of rotting flesh, metal, and industrial solvents, almost causing dizziness. This smell shares a similar origin with the cloying, fishy odor of a fortress, but is far more intense, proclaiming the nature of the pollution.

It struggled, its body twisting and turning as the rope tightened around it, its limbs stiff and trembling, unable to break free. Its throat made a hoarse sound, unable to speak, its mouth stuffed with a rag.

Evelyn's pupils constricted, her blood froze. An invisible hand gripped her heart, her reason and emotions churning. It was a living person, tortured into a monster.

She almost broke down and screamed, her bottom line as a doctor was breached, but her throat was stuck, and only her heart screamed.

She stared in disbelief at the "experimental materials," then looked up sharply at Brutus, her eyes filled with anger and despair, accusing him of cruelly trampling on life.

Brutus paid no heed, a cold laugh escaping his lips, a chilling glint in his eyes. He pointed at the pitiful living creature, then at the dying Arthur, reveling in Evelyn's struggles and agony, treating despair as entertainment.

"If you don't cooperate, he'll be the next one on the lab table." The voice was like a curse from hell, chilling to the bone, striking Evelyn's heart like a heavy hammer, shattering all her rationality.

Evelyn trembled violently, a fear and humiliation that resonated deep within her soul. Her gaze darted between the living being and Arthur, the shock making it difficult for her to stand. Looking at the bound, alienated, groaning living being, her desperate eyes accused everything.

Then look at Arthur, barely breathing. Life and death, morality and survival collide violently; the benevolence of a healer is ruthlessly torn apart and trampled, scattering into bloody mud.

She closed her eyes in despair, her lips pressed tightly together, her jawline taut, her eyelashes trembling. Only Brutus's threat, the living groans, and Arthur's sighs echoed in her mind. She knew she had no choice.

She had to make a decision, to break her vow, to betray her conscience. The stinging pain nearly made her faint, and the dam of her morality crumbled, all for the sake of saving the monster Percy, for Arthur's slim chance of survival.

She slowly opened her eyes, her green pupils losing their luster, leaving only a deathly emptiness, a bewilderment after her faith had been destroyed. The purity and ideals of a healer had been torn apart by darkness, leaving only numbness and the coldness of despair.

She reached out her hand, a hand that had saved countless lives, but now it touched the cold, rough skin of a lizard, chilling her to the bone and making her fingertips numb.

She felt her living muscles were unusually tense, her heartbeat was not normal, but more like a powerful, out-of-control energy surging, painful yet not dissipating.

She forced herself to remain calm, like a programmed machine, suppressing her emotions and morals. She compulsively examined the object, viewing it as a lifeless sample rather than a human being with a soul. This was her self-protection, her only sanity in this desperate situation.

No such "patient" has appeared in my medical career, and textbook knowledge cannot explain it. Rigorous theories are powerless and laughable in the face of absurd mutations. This medicine beyond the known resembles a terrifying scientific experiment or a magical incantation.

The living limbs are not naturally bent, with tumor-like growths on the knees and elbows, and calcareous crystals on the surface that shimmer under light, resembling mineral erosion. The skin is a bluish-purple color of varying shades, with darker areas resembling ink stains, and a black liquid flowing beneath, feeling cold and viscous to the touch.

Evelyn's gaze fell on the twisted torso, noticing irregular cracks and the flesh itself cracking. Inside, there were blood vessels and an unidentified gray substance, resembling the marks of a failed fusion.

She smelled the unique sweet, fishy odor of the living organism, mixed with the smell of rotten rust and industrial solvents. This smell was an amplified version of what Lin Zheng perceived, much stronger, an indication of mutated pollution.

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This means that the Parcy disease is closely related to the erosion and fusion of unknown substances, altering the human body's structure and life in inconceivable ways. Evelyn compulsively observes details, searches for clues, and tries to understand the mechanism of malignant transformation.

Evelyn tried to breathe steadily, a sharp pain shooting through her chest, as if she were inhaling a cold blade. An internal scream raged within her; her medical conscience made its final struggle, questioning her choices and condemning the examination.

But Arthur's faint breathing reminded her that there was no turning back. For her best friend's life, she had to explore the living, even if it meant sliding into the abyss, where the fortress's morbid compassion might be corrupted.

Evelyn's fingertips traced the living, bluish-purple skin, feeling the strange pulsation of the muscles—not a heartbeat, but a slow, resonant whisper, a faint, irregular tremor, like a silent wail.

My mind was a blur; my medical school anatomy knowledge had faded, washed away by the bizarre. The knowledge I was once so proud of was now useless, leaving only shock and confusion.

She is forced to decipher distorted structures: growths, cracks, foreign objects. She analyzes physiological dysfunctions and their connection to the Parcy disease. Every detail is a mystery, and in despair, she plays the role of a coerced detective.

The living creature's face was contorted in agony, its features blurred. Its bloodshot eyes, filled with despair, were like a deep lake, reflecting pain and fear. It stared silently at Evelyn, its gaze both pleading and accusing.

Evelyn avoided those eyes, focusing on the "pathology," not the "person" themselves. Self-preservation, a helpless cruelty, was necessary to continue. To acknowledge the living soul would lead to collapse.

Brutus's menacing grin echoed in her ears. Evelyn knew that every investigation was being monitored, and she would decide Arthur's fate. It wasn't treatment; it was a live performance, serving Percy's morbid curiosity. She was a forced actress.

She lightly touched the deformed spine of the living body with her thumb. The bones were abnormally large, with coral-like growths, a loose structure, and a damp feel, as if the bones had liquefied and crystallized, forcibly altered. The flesh and blood body had been alienated from the human form.

Looking down into the chest cavity, the skin is stretched to a translucent state, the ribs are covered by overgrown tissue, the outlines of the internal organs are blurred, and they writhe and twist irregularly.

When I pressed my ear against my chest, I heard not the familiar heartbeat, but a low, rustling sound, like insects crawling or mechanical friction. My scalp tingled; it was not the pulse of a living being.

Oral examination: The tongue is deformed and purplish-black, covered with mold or mineral crystals. The gums are receding, teeth are loose and falling out, cavities are rotten and black, emitting a deep, foul odor.

In a living, desperate patient, the eyeballs are cloudy and unfocused. Yet, fine red filaments crisscross the sclera. Touching the area under the eyelids with a fingertip reveals warmth, contrasting with the cold skin, suggesting internal metabolic and inflammatory abnormalities.

Hair examination: rough, dry, and yellowish, with large patches of hair loss and bluish patches on the scalp. The ends of the remaining hairs have a glassy texture, are as hard as steel needles, and are fragile and easily broken, indicating a drastic change in the internal environment.

She silently memorized the anomaly, hoping the information would bring Arthur a chance at life. Even if that chance came at the suffering of others, her conscience was shattered, and she wavered between good and evil, searching for a non-existent balance.

A viscous liquid seeped from her fingertips—the fluid from ruptured, living skin—with a sweet, putrid stench, quickly drying her skin and forming hard scabs. She tried to wipe it away, but Brutus's cold gaze made her stop; she knew she couldn't show disgust or weakness.

This forced "examination" was not merely a physical dissection, but a form of mental torture. She had thought she was accustomed to life and death, but the scene before her shattered all her understanding of "life." This "living experimental subject," existing somewhere between life and death, human and inhuman, openly desecrated the laws of life.

Each touch is like a dull knife slowly and painfully scraping at the healer's compassionate heart. The body is broken, like a precision instrument being twisted, groaning under unbearable burden. Medicine, once meant to heal life, now, under violent coercion, dismantles another's suffering at the cost of one's own.

But Arthur! His name flickers like a faint flame, stubbornly dancing in the darkness and despair. For this flame, she endures everything. She must be like an emotionless machine, meticulously recording, coldly analyzing, isolating herself from all feelings. This is her final self-dissection as a doctor, her only hope for Arthur's survival in purgatory.

Evelyn took a deep breath, her chest tight with pain. Her compassionate heart, once a healer, had shattered and reformed into a more resilient and ruthless survival instinct. This instinct, within Percy Fortress, was the only law, the only way for her and Arthur to survive.

She looked up again at Lin Zheng, who was still struggling in the corner, his brows furrowed and his face as pale as a sheet. Their fates were intertwined at that moment, each struggling in their desperate situation, trying to find a way to survive.

They all stood on the edge of the abyss, each step potentially leading to a plunge into the abyss, or perhaps a glimmer of salvation. Evelyn's hands were covered in the mutated tissue of strange life forms. The light in her eyes had been extinguished, leaving only deathly silence and bewilderment. But deep within her heart, the flame of fighting for Arthur still flickered faintly, sustaining her on the edge of hell as she continued this painful and desperate "treatment."

Her fingertips slid across the living organism's skin, a strange, slimy sensation making her stomach churn, but she forced it down. She noticed faint points of light flickering deep within some of the skin's fissures—was it some kind of bioluminescence, or the faint glow of mutated substances deposited in the tissue in the darkness? She couldn't be sure. The organism's energy seemed to be tearing itself apart from within, undergoing some kind of metabolism in a runaway yet persistent manner. She began to imagine the agony this "living organism" had endured before being brought before her, and the cruel "modifications" it had been subjected to. She forced herself to see this living organism as a complex failure of bioengineering, a living, traceable case of pathology, rather than a human being subjected to such torture. Only in this way could she avoid a complete breakdown.

Evelyn's gaze lingered on the living body's abdomen, where the skin was thinnest and best revealed the internal abnormalities. She saw an abnormally developed network of blood vessels beneath the skin, but the blood within wasn't the normal bright red; instead, it was a dark purple, viscous liquid, flowing slowly and heavily, as if bearing immense pressure. In some places, the blood vessels were even twisted into bizarre patterns, like a morbid map drawn with flesh and blood. She tried pressing lightly with her fingertips, feeling a rubbery elasticity and the stiffness of deep tissues—definitely not a normal human bodily response. A cold, eerie tremor emanated from beneath her fingers, as if an invisible core within this body was constantly trembling and resisting.

"Is Lord Percy's illness also a mutation from the inside out?" A chilling fear crept into her heart. Arthur's wound was also tearing open from the inside out, accompanied by a strange, corrosive sensation. Everything about this living being confirmed her worst suspicion: what was spreading in Percy Fortress was not just some kind of virus, but an unknown force capable of completely overturning the laws of biology and reshaping life forms.

She recalled the strange, sweet, rotten smell from Arthur's wounds, exactly like the odor emanating from a living body. This was an "infection" that couldn't be explained by traditional medicine; it wasn't just the invasion of pathogens, but a kind of "erosion" and "fusion" in essence. This erosion was transforming the organism's body into a "new form" adapted to the distorted environment inside Fort Parsey.

Brutus sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Looks like Miss Doctor has finally found a 'professional' clue. Don't waste your time, Lord Percy's patience is running out." His words were like whips, mercilessly lashing Evelyn's already faltering nerves. She forced herself back to her senses and focused on her work.

Evelyn examined the living specimen again and noticed that its tissue fluid, after drying in the air, formed a thin, crystalline film with a faint metallic sheen. This characteristic reminded her of certain heavy metal poisoning or mineral deposits, but it was far more complex and unusual. She speculated that this might be due to corrosive substances circulating within the body, ultimately altering cell structure and the expression of exocrine secretions.

"A mutation at the cellular level," she murmured, her voice barely audible. Her mind raced, trying to construct a theoretical framework, even if it was built upon the supernatural absurdity before her. If this mutation began in the cell nucleus, a reconstruction at the genetic level, then any traditional treatment would be ineffective. She had to find a substance that could reverse this reconstruction, or at least inhibit its development.

Her gaze inadvertently fell upon the living creature's desperate eyes again, and this time, she didn't look away. The dense red blood vessels in those eyeballs, under her observation, seemed to wriggle slightly, like tiny parasites. An unprecedented feeling of nausea surged to her throat, and she almost vomited on the spot. But this was only the beginning. She discovered that beneath the skin of the living creature's neck and temples, these same thin red threads were also faintly visible, pulsating and connecting to deeper tissues.

"This is... a biological symbiote? Or worse..." Evelyn's voice was so hoarse it sounded unfamiliar even to herself. She recalled those forgotten legends about alien parasites, those folk tales scorned by scholars. Now, these absurd "legends" seemed to have become a cold and cruel reality. If this "symbiote" also grew in Arthur's body, then his suffering would be unimaginable.

She examined the deformed oral cavity again, trying to probe deeper with her fingertips to feel the rotten alveoli. She felt unusual hard lumps, like calcium or silicon crystals, fused with the bone structure, unusually hard. She could even feel something trembling slightly deep inside the tongue, making a rustling sound similar to that in the chest cavity. Every corner of this body was filled with traces of modification; every cell was emitting a silent wail.

In her mind, Arthur's agonizing face overlapped with the twisted, desperate expression of the living person before her. The hope of saving Arthur seemed to rest on this utterly destroyed life. What an irony! What a hell! For the sake of one person's life, she was forced to dismantle another's death.

Lin Zheng let out a deeper roar from the corner, his body arching violently, the veins on his forehead bulging like writhing dragons. His senses seemed to have reached their limit; the twisted spiritual energy deep within the fortress was crashing against his mental defenses like a tidal wave. Evelyn glanced at him; she knew Lin Zheng was also waging a silent war, a battle of the soul more painful and profound than physical torture. What he sensed might be the consciousness of the "parasite" within this living body, or perhaps the morbid and evil will inherent in the fortress itself.

Evelyn's breathing quickened, her heart pounded, and she felt herself being swallowed by the darkness of the fortress. The healer's compassion, broken and rebuilt, became a survival rule forced to evolve in extreme environments. She knew she had to find the answer before she and Arthur completely succumbed.