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

For several consecutive days, Emerald Dream City was shrouded in a biting, icy rain.

The rain continued incessantly, emitting a monotonous and annoying noise, as if the only rhythm in the world was the endless pounding.

Inside the morgue, the stench of formaldehyde and rotting corpses simmered into a thick soup.

Lin Zheng was immersed in this filth, mechanically assembling one "Gundam" after another.

My account was liquidated.

This was announced a few days ago by Riley Dunn, the expressionless, grassroots recycling worker, in a hoarse voice.

Over the next few days, Riley Dunn, in his usual detached tone, explained the "rules of the trade" to Lin Zheng—

In other words, safety and hygiene precautions should be taken to prevent them from contracting diseases and becoming like Gundams.

Because Lin Zheng also needs to answer phone calls and go out to retrieve Gundams, instead of just working as an assembler in the morgue like he did at the beginning.

The freezing rain brought an unprecedented "harvest".

Countless homeless people collapsed in this weather, huddled in every corner of the city, tormented to death by hypothermia and other illnesses.

There was no medicine, no doctor, only endless dampness and cold.

Lin Zheng held his fine anatomical scalpel, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light.

His hands were frighteningly steady, his movements precise to the millimeter, stitching together decaying flesh and piecing together the shattered remains of life.

He numbly perceived every detail of the deceased.

He recalled that he had just seen them, every single one of them.

He has witnessed countless kinds of death.

Have you ever seen someone cough up blood?

They will cough up a lot of blood.

The blood wasn't bright red, but dark red, even with a nauseating pink tinge.

He had seen it before, right here on the streets of Emerald Dream City.

A homeless man, in the icy rain, suddenly covered his mouth, and then a mouthful of hot, foul blood spurted from between his fingers, landing on the dirty ground, where it was instantly diluted by the rain into a strange pink puddle.

No one approached him.

The homeless people around them scattered and fled in panic.

They watched helplessly as he lay on all fours, convulsing in the mud like a wild beast, his body arching violently with each cough.

He coughed until he passed out, then woke up in the biting cold and continued coughing.

The blood gushed from his body like a fountain until he finally collapsed in his own blood and the rain, his body trembling as he fell silent.

It was highly contaminated blood; no one dared to clean it or touch it.

That kind of death is a long, drawn-out slow slicing, a decay of both body and soul.

But when Lin Zheng leaned closer to check if he was still alive, the other man gripped his hand tightly and pleaded—

He didn't ask for food or medicine; he just wanted another injection of the booster.

His palms were covered in a sticky liquid, so cold they had no warmth at all.

That's why he felt a deep-seated aversion to such icy rain.

The ways people can die are beyond imagination.

He carefully separated the corpse's tissues, the swollen and stiff muscle fibers caused by inflammation making a faint tearing sound under the tip of the knife.

[Mental Re-education].

The horrific images flooding my mind, the lingering stench in my nostrils, and the nauseating sensation on my fingertips were forcibly transformed into data, into engineering problems that needed to be solved.

This "Gundam" is missing half an arm, which was cut off during a gang fight.

Fortunately, there was still a watermark on his arm. Lin Zheng rummaged through a pile of Gundam fragments and found another piece for him. Gundams with patterned guides are much easier to assemble, just like the instruction manual.

The other one was missing a pair of eyes, likely because it was pecked at by hungry seagulls.

Seagulls' favorite and easiest target is the optical camera on Gundam's body—a dim, murky glass sphere with a hint of scarlet, which they can snatch in one bite.

Just as fresh and delicate as their eyeballs are their lips. If you're lucky enough, you can see the smile at the corners of their mouths—a free cosmetic smile lip.

Harbors usually don't have homeless people, so the Gundams placed here are mostly products of gangs to enhance their prestige through executions. After intimidating people, they are pushed into the sea, a perfect disposal.

Even the fish caught at the harbor are plumper than elsewhere, because debts, losses, and ornaments are often dealt with there.

Therefore, Seattle locals typically don't eat fish, and even if they do, they only eat farmed fish, not wild ones.

However, if you call a Gundam recycling specialist like Lin Zheng to handle it now, you can even make a profit. Everyone can make money, so why not?

To piece together, to stitch together, to reassemble.

He was constructing a perfect structural diagram in his mind, trying to use his superb skills to give these nameless dead a barely complete "final form".

Gundams in different locations each have their own unique characteristics.

In the street pharmacies of this land, you can only easily buy cheap tonics and painkillers.

Amoxicillin costs over fifty or even sixty dollars a bottle, which is outrageously expensive, while tonics and painkillers are shockingly cheap.

This is a distorted walled city, shutting out the sick while opening its doors to drugs that numb the soul.

Some homeless people, after finally receiving some relief, will not hesitate to sell the relief items, just to gain a little bit of temporary numbness and illusory pleasure.

Then, a group of people sat together, sharing cheap alcohol and "enhancers".

Whoever dies from drug use, their body will be sold to them the next day by their informants and the police informants on the streets who cooperate with them.

Gundam recovery worker, parts assembler.

They make a profit, the police make a profit, and the homeless also get a share, which they use to continue buying alcohol and drugs.

This is reality, not some hellish joke, but a daily cycle playing out in this city.

The cold corpses are transformed into heartwarming US dollars, which are then used to buy drugs, which in turn lead to more deaths, and the deaths turn back into money, in an endless cycle.

This cycle continues endlessly, a cycle in which one knows one will die but keeps rushing towards death.

Lin Zheng had witnessed too many times how those figures who were chatting and laughing together today would become "Gundams" piled up in the corner tomorrow.

Death's fingers plucked at the strings of those fragile souls, playing one mournful dirge after another that no one listened to.

Lin Zheng is His spokesperson.

As he pushed the last assembled Gundam onto the waiting transport cart, a biting wind, carrying rain, howled in through the half-open roller shutter door.

A chill swept over him, causing his body, which had become almost numb from the intense work, to shiver violently.

Another one is complete.

But he felt as if another layer of his reason had been stripped away, leaving him exposed to the cold winds of the world, trembling.

But the stench in the air was also somewhat reduced, replaced by the smell of damp earth and a faint, salty sea breeze.

Lin Zheng leaned on the iron table and slowly straightened up. His finger joints, covered with tiny scars, made a slight creaking sound from being bent for so long.

Exhaustion surged through his limbs and bones, instantly overwhelming his consciousness.

He couldn't remember how long he had been working continuously; he just felt that every inch of his bones was groaning.

His gaze swept over the almost empty pile of "Gundam parts" in the warehouse.

The "gift" of the icy rain is about to end.

When the tide recedes, what is revealed are the reefs, a stark reality of survival.

Lin Zheng's dilemma is that he hates the death in his job, yet he still needs it to keep him alive.

Lin Zheng turned around and realized who was behind him.

Riley Dunn.

He was still wearing that oil-stained baseball cap, his face bearing the cold expression born of long-term fatigue and gloom.

He reeked of formaldehyde and tobacco, a unique scent of death and suffering emanating from this port.

"Good morning, Dunn."

Lin Zheng greeted him in his hoarse voice.

Riley simply nodded slightly without responding. His eyes were bloodshot from years of staying up late, but he scanned the few remaining "goods" in the warehouse with precision.

He walked up to Lin Zheng, managing to force a formulaic expression onto his fat, stiff face.

"The freezing rain is finally almost over."

His voice, hoarse from a hangover, mingled with the sound of raindrops, sounding somewhat jarring.

"We've received a notice from above that the supply of corpses will likely decrease sharply starting tomorrow."

Riley exhaled a breath of stale air mixed with the smell of coffee and sage.

"The amount you can collect by answering the phone will soon be insufficient. You can try to actively purchase items or find other part-time jobs, but the next 'harvest' won't be long."

After he finished speaking, he glanced at Lin Zheng with an almost emotionless look in his eyes.

"After the freezing rain comes the first snow. I think there's an old saying in your country: 'A timely snow promises a bumper harvest.' Go back and wait for news. I'll let you know as soon as possible."

Lin Zheng looked at the other person, whose empty eyes held neither sympathy nor schadenfreude, only a tacit acceptance of the laws of survival.

In their line of work, this is the norm.

Lin Zheng's heart sank.

"It's happening again..."

He wanted to escape this hell, but he also needed it.

After saying that, Riley turned around and left without looking back.

The roller shutter was pulled down behind him, making a screeching sound, cutting Lin Zheng off from the last bit of light from the outside world.

The raindrops pattered against the roller shutter, making a noisy sound. Was the freezing rain really going to stop?

Lin Zheng was left alone, trapped in this deathly silence filled with the stench of formaldehyde and corpses, and an unprecedented sense of confusion and unease welled up in his heart.

The phone rang.