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

There was no time to mourn the deterioration of the Seattle ice storm; the immediate response was the massive flooding of Seattle.

The roaring torrent broke through the fragile coastal defenses of Emerald Dream City. Rainwater mixed with seawater, carrying mud and garbage from the city's edge, and poured into streets, alleys, and even underground spaces that were once considered safe havens.

The entire city resembled a giant vomiting monster, spewing out all the indigestible rotten matter.

The damp chill seemed to penetrate to the bone marrow and reach the depths of his soul. Lin Zheng was wearing a bulky hazmat suit, his gloves covered in sticky mud that had been washed away by the cold rain.

Numbly, he swung the corpse hook in his hand, scooping up the floating "Gundams" from the murky floodwaters, roughly sorting them by color, weight, and size, and tossing them onto the barges on the shore.

The air was filled with the salty smell of the sea, the musty smell of the soil, and an indescribable, cloying sweet smell of decaying matter. This smell was so strong that it was clearly audible even through the thick mask.

The freezing rain a few days ago deprived many already vulnerable homeless people of their last means of survival, and now this sudden flood has directly sentenced them to death.

Those who sought shelter under bridges and in abandoned vehicles were mercilessly swept away by the cold, icy floodwaters.

Their struggles and despair, along with their dignity, were submerged in this chaotic water.

Even more so, some people, accustomed to a comfortable life, choose the temporarily neglected sewers as their hiding place after falling to the bottom of society.

But they lacked experience of being homeless and thought the sewers were a temporary safe haven.

As the floodwaters poured down, the entrances to the sewers became abysses that swallowed lives.

They were swept into the depths of darkness and then silently returned to the surface, becoming "Gundams" awaiting recycling.

This time, the "Gundam" warehouse overflow is more serious than ever before. Not only is the quantity huge, but most of them are also unrecognizable due to long-term immersion in sewage, making recovery much more difficult.

Lin Zheng's walkie-talkie was filled with the rude complaints and instructions of his colleagues, who were also vying with other peers for those relatively "intact" bodies, because those could be sold for a higher price.

Lin Zheng did not respond, but mechanically repeated his actions, his gaze like a scanner, lingering on each "Gundam" for a moment.

He was searching for familiar signs or faces, though he didn't want to see them here, because they might really be in grave danger.

If it falls into Lin Zheng's hands, he can still use the little power he has to give them some dignity.

He remembered their eyes, filled with the pride of former elites, but also with the confusion and fear of experiencing life at the bottom for the first time.

Their aspirations when they talked about "code changing the world," fame, fortune, and power may have lingered briefly in their lives.

Mortgage payments, car loans, health insurance, car insurance, phone bills, property taxes, daily necessities, and maintaining a decent appearance are just some of the fixed expenses that precisely squeeze every penny out of their wallets.

The hook dipped into the water again and pulled up a body entangled under a piece of floating wood.

It was a male corpse, his face swollen and pale from being soaked for a long time, but Lin Zheng recognized him at a glance.

John Teller.

The young man who once helped him crack Professor Finch's computer system, the young man who vowed to start over with code.

His body had turned white from being soaked, and his skin was loose.

Fortunately, he died in winter.

The low water temperature will not cause him to quickly become a giant.

"Death is a cool summer night, life is a sweltering day." This is Heinrich Heine's "Homecoming," and Lin Zheng suddenly recalled it.

If he dies in the summer, as bacteria multiply in his body and produce gas, the gas will accumulate under the skin and in the body cavity, causing the body to swell, with a swollen face, protruding eyeballs, and everted lips, making him look like a human balloon.

Do you know about the 20-day girls' bathroom?

Lin Zheng's hand trembled, and the hook almost slipped from his grasp.

John Teller, as a member of the "homeless" class, did not survive in the city for more than three months, far shorter than the average lifespan of three to five years for the homeless in the United States.

He was just an insignificant figure in society; a fall from grace and an unexpected disaster could easily erase him from existence.

His death was like a silent irony, mocking those souls who once firmly believed in the "American Dream," and also mocking the meager helping hand that Lin Zheng had tried to extend.

Lin Zheng gently moved the hook away and carefully lifted John's body with both hands, a method that seemed out of place in the noisy recycling site.

"Hey! Lin! What are you daydreaming about! Get to work! There's still a pile of stuff behind us!"

A colleague cursed, his tone impatient.

Lin Zheng ignored him, staring at John's cold and swollen face, trying to recognize those once-familiar outlines.

He suddenly felt a hard object in John's chest.

He reached out and laboriously slipped his hand inside John's soaked clothes.

In the torn pocket of his shirt, he felt something wrapped in layers of plastic film.

Although the plastic film had gotten wet and was damp, he could still make out a square outline.

He pulled it out forcefully; it was a miniature data disk that had been tightly sealed in a waterproof bag but was still being corroded by the moisture that had seeped in.

It lay coldly in his palm, the only remnant of John's dream that he refused to give up, the only thing he left for the world.

All that code, all that grand narrative about "technology changing the world," all that he poured his heart and soul into creating—now all condensed within this small space, silent and heavy.

They can no longer be run, understood, or even touched.

His programs, everything about him, will never be known again.

He placed John's body on the barge, making sure he wouldn't be crushed by the other "Gundams".

Then he turned to the still churning river, plunged the hook deep into the water, and continued searching for the next victim.

The cold rain kept pattering against Lin Zheng's cheeks, mixing with the sweat inside his mask and blurring his vision.

The number of corpses on the barge increased, gradually piling up into a small mountain. They had once been labeled with various tags, but now only a uniform number remained.

This country is a giant factory that breaks down and digests all of humanity's hopes and despairs, leaving only cold, numb logic in the end.

Lin Zheng recalled Professor Finch's actions, his attempt to use scientific methods to quantify the spirit, control emotions, and extract reason.

Environmental protection, high efficiency, and innovation are their pursuits.

Ha, the self-justification of cannibals.

He completed a day's work of recycling, having been immersed in the icy floodwaters for more than ten hours, leaving his body almost numb.

Exhausted, Lin Zheng returned to his underground warehouse in the port district of Emerald Dream City.

Deep inside the warehouse, he temporarily stored John Teller's body in a corner using a tray wrapped in a waterproof tarpaulin.

Lin Zheng took off his hazmat suit and shivered as he was exposed to the cold air of the warehouse.

He leaned wearily against the wall piled with various recycled parts and picked up the water-damaged hard drive that John Teller had left behind.

He carefully wiped the mud off the surface and placed it in his palm.

The hard drive's icy touch contrasted sharply with the equally cold but much harder 'Josh Vick's Crystallization of Reason' in his pocket.

One is passively eroded by physical means and loses its luster, while the other is residue extracted by human intervention.

Essentially, they are all the results of what Professor Finch called "perfect optimization".

Lin Zheng recalled John's once vibrant face, who had vowed to use a brand-new algorithm to build a "fairer and more transparent" trading platform.

He believes in the power of technology and that code can fix the world's vulnerabilities.

Now, his ideals, like his body, are submerged in the cold floodwaters, becoming another insignificant "failure sample" in the world's operating mechanism.

This land seems to possess a strange magic that can ultimately reduce all grand narratives about the "American Dream" to utter despair.

Silence, oh silence, either erupt from silence or perish in silence.

He could not save John, nor could he save the souls swallowed by the flood.

But he refused to remain silent; he preferred to perish in the eruption.

This is not entirely for some lofty justice, nor to fulfill the wishes of the deceased.

This is also a form of resistance, a resistance as the prey, a resistance against the cold scrutiny that treats him as a "sample".

He gripped the hard drive and the crystallization of reason tightly in his hand.