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

The shadowless lamp is like a pupil hanging high in the sky, with dense pupils and a pale halo, eternally and indifferently watching the mangled flesh beneath it.

Lin Zheng's eyes were bloodshot, and a burning pain spread from the depths of his eyes, turning the whole world into a crimson hue.

My stomach was still convulsing violently.

Each contraction was accompanied by nauseating dry heaving, and the physical pain barely pulled him back from the brink of collapse.

The air in the cold storage was filled with a strong smell of blood and formaldehyde.

Lin Zheng covered Sam's face; he couldn't bear to look at his friend's face without being moved.

But he also knew that he could no longer wallow in this pain and numbness.

If he wants to find the truth, if he wants to do something for Sam, for that once hopeful soul, he must confront this cold, broken remains.

He put on medical gloves and picked up his scalpel again.

Each slash of the blade, each stripping of muscle fibers.

It was as if Lin Zheng was reliving Sam's struggles and agony before his death, but he suppressed it all.

His hands were steady, the scalpel darting between Sam's torn skin and flesh, each movement precise and mechanical, like a programmed precision instrument.

He carefully examined the wounds from the whipping, cutting, and burning, trying to discern the perpetrator's emotions during the violence.

Some of those wounds had clean edges, with smooth cuts from sharp instruments.

Some are rough and charred, as if they have been corroded by some kind of corrosive liquid.

This was a meticulously planned massacre.

Each instance of torture was deliberately avoided, designed to prolong the torment and extract every last drop of despair from Sam.

Lin Zheng's movements suddenly froze when he examined Sam's nearly crushed left finger bones.

Deep within the bone, on the inside of a finger bone that was almost completely destroyed, he gently scraped away the scorch marks and scabs covering it with the tip of a scalpel.

A pattern drawn with extremely fine yet exceptionally clear lines gradually appeared in his field of vision.

It was a snake.

A snake, its head and tail joined together, is devouring its own tail. It is coiled into a twisted circle, its lines ancient and rough, etched on its flesh, exuding an indescribable evil and mystery.

Ouroboros.

This is definitely not a mark left on a corpse by an ordinary gang.

It carries a certain ancient sense of ritual, a certain omen, a darkness that is deeper and grander than street vendettas.

Lin Zheng recalled the blurry symbol Sam had seen before he died, which overlapped with the ouroboros before his eyes.

That wasn't an illusion; it was a real image, a reality he glimpsed through the ability he named Dream Anatomy.

Sam's death was far more complicated and dangerous than he had imagined.

He was not destroyed by random violence; he was sacrificed by a meticulously planned ritual, possibly related to some ancient power.

And he himself is now deeply mired in it.

He carefully wrapped up the evidence, rose from beside the autopsy table, and moved stiffly and slowly.

He knew that to find out the truth, he needed more information and a deeper understanding.

Contact Sam's family; they might be able to provide some clues.

His fingertips pressed lightly on the keypad, his fingers trembling and hesitating for a moment before finally dialing a number that had been flashing through his mind.

The call was answered, but silence spread across the other end, a heavy sorrow choking the air.

"Hello... Are you a family member of Mr. Sam Washington?" Lin Zheng tried to keep his voice calm.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a suppressed sigh: "Yes, I'm his mother. And you are...?"

"I am Lin Zheng, Sam's friend, and also... someone who helped him with his funeral arrangements."

He didn't know how to phrase it.

Martha's voice was thick with a nasal tone: "Oh, Lin. I know... Sam... he's gone. The people at the docks told me, the police came too..."

Martha's voice trembled, each word tinged with the salty bitterness of blood and tears.

"They said...they said he was killed because he owed the gang money and offended 'Viper's Skull,' and that it was a financial dispute, none of their business. Those demons!"

After the initial anger, he fell silent, his calm revealing a deep despair.

"Sam's family can't pay back the wages he received in advance, and the 'dock handling company' keeps pressing him for payment."

Lin Zheng gripped the phone tightly.

His brother… his brother went back to those bastards, saying he wanted revenge for his brother. Son, I only have Sam… he's my only good son.”

Her voice was choked with emotion.

"Lin, I... I have no other choice. The family is already so in debt, I don't even have the money to give him a decent funeral..."

Choking back tears.

"They said...they said he could 'hand over' his body...in exchange for some money..."

A mother made the decision to sell her son's body.

"At least... at least we can bring him home, at least we can pay off the debts, at least we can give his brother a chance."

asphyxia.

Martha's voice rang out again, with a final, humble plea: "Sir, please... please try to let him have some dignity... He wants... wants to be a person with respect..."

"Decent..."

Lin Zheng repeated the word in his mind, a bitter taste spreading across his tongue.

In this world, even dying with dignity requires money, and some people cannot even have this luxury.

He hung up the phone, but the old lady Martha's tearful pleas and the reality of "giving up" her body in exchange for survival still echoed in his ears.

The official explanation is an economic dispute, but the ouroboros on Sam's finger bone, the ritualistic feel that transcends ordinary violence, and the cold mockery of the "sacrifice" in the mysterious man's words all suggest that this matter is not simple.

This wasn't the first time Lin Zheng had seen strange marks on these corpses during this job. They had collected hundreds or even thousands of corpses, and the ways they died were all bizarre.

He kept comforting himself, telling himself that he was only here to earn money, to finish his studies, and to go home as soon as possible; he didn't want to care about anything else.

But Sam, his friend's body was on the dissection table where he was working.

He could no longer deceive himself!

He must unravel this mystery, for Sam, and for those who are silently and systematically abandoned.

Clutching the finger bone, Jones's cynical smile flashed through my mind.

He suddenly realized that if anyone could uncover some shady secrets in this decaying land, it must be the man nicknamed "Little Bones".

He knew he had no other choice.