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

The following day, Miskatonic University.

A leaden sky loomed over the spires of the Gothic buildings, and ivy climbed along the ancient brick walls.

Lin Zheng walked through the magnificent archway, his shoes making a dull, rhythmic sound on the polished stone slabs.

Everything here was orderly and precise, like the internal structure of a clock, forming an invisible wall with the mud, stench, and chaotic death he had been immersed in yesterday.

There are two worlds on either side of the wall.

Professor Finch's laboratory is located on the top floor of the physics building.

The huge floor-to-ceiling windows let in all the gloomy sunlight from outside, while the interior was so bright that there wasn't a single shadow.

In the center of the laboratory, a huge device composed of countless silver metal rings and blue energy tubes occupied the core position, continuously emitting a low-frequency humming sound.

The sound resonated directly within the skull, bypassing the ears.

Lin Zheng's exhaustion had not yet dissipated, and the damp chill from the floodwaters still clung to the depths of his bones, but he deliberately slowed his breathing, gathering all the turmoil of his emotions into the deepest recesses of his consciousness.

He knew he was the prey who had fallen into the trap, and he had to be calmer than the hunter who set it.

Alistair Finch is standing in front of a semi-transparent data screen.

He wore a well-fitting tweed jacket, his blond hair was neatly combed, and a silver pen was held between his fingers.

When he saw Lin Zheng, a smile appeared on his lips, a smile that precisely captured the friendly curve.

"Lin, you've arrived."

Finch's voice was gentle, with a magnetic persuasiveness.

"I hope that the minor disturbances in the outside world haven't affected your mental stability."

Lin Zheng simply nodded without saying a word and walked towards his assigned seat.

Inside the laboratory, a dozen or so student researchers were already in their positions.

They were all wearing silver brainwave collection helmets, with data cables extending from both sides to interfaces hanging from the ceiling, making them look like plants carefully cultivated in nutrient tanks.

Their expressions were calm, their eyes fixed intently on the terminal screens in front of them, showing no reaction to Lin Zheng's arrival.

Emilia Vincent sat in front of the terminal in the corner, her long chestnut hair casually tied back with a rubber band.

The round glasses perched on her nose shimmered in the cold light of the screen as her fingertips tapped lightly on the virtual keyboard.

Lin Zheng sat down in his seat.

Cold seats, slick console.

The group experiment began soon.

Lin Zheng's role is a data recorder, responsible for monitoring and recording the mental stress responses of three test subjects when exposed to specific images and sounds.

This is a tedious and repetitive task.

The data curves on the screen fluctuate constantly, accurately capturing, quantifying, and then archiving the peak brainwave values ​​representing emotions such as fear, joy, and disgust.

As he handed over the data, he passed behind Emilia.

"How are you?"

Her voice was very low, almost drowned out by the hum of the instruments.

Lin Zheng paused for half a second, then continued walking forward, simply nodding slightly without explanation.

Lin Zheng sat in front of the experimental table assigned to him, surrounded by neatly arranged sensor lines and sophisticated biofeedback devices.

Behind him, Mark Jensen, the muscular technician, was meticulously adjusting a main control device. His protective goggles reflected the indicator lights of the instrument, and his hand movements were steady and precise.

The precise hum of the instruments and the hissing of the high-voltage capacitors intertwined, causing countless tiny insects to crawl under people's skin, making them restless.

The afternoon experiment was called "flow control".

Professor Finch stood in the glass observation room on the upper floor of the laboratory, like a theater director.

His voice, amplified and devoid of any emotion, rang clearly in everyone's ears.

"Experimental objective: To complete complex cognitive tasks under specific emotional stimuli."

"Measurement dimensions: threshold for rational fluctuations, and rate of emotional stability conversion."

"Now, put on the device."

Lin Zheng picked up the silver helmet on the table, and the cold metallic touch instantly sobered him up.

He put on the helmet, the flexible electrodes on the inner wall pressed tightly against his scalp, a weak current flowed through it, and the world in his vision became clearer, yet also more distant.

"Stay focused and eliminate distractions."

Finch's voice continued to come.

"Experience the stimulus, and then... try to transform it."

Lin Zheng placed his hands on the sensor panel, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

The screen lit up, and his mission began.

A complex three-dimensional maze appeared in his field of vision, and he needed to use pure willpower to plan the shortest escape route.

At the same time, a sound came through the headphones.

It started with soothing classical music, but soon, chaotic noises, sharp braking sounds, screams from the crowd, and even faint sobs began to blend in.

This is a standard emotional stress test.

Lin Zheng did not follow the instructions completely.

His consciousness neither constructed the path of the maze nor analyzed the source of the noise.

He opened a gate.

That gate leading to the depths of his memory, which he barely managed to close after a whole night.

Garbage and corpses float on the murky water during the flood.

John Teller's face was pale and swollen from being soaked in water.

Further ahead lies the crystallization of Josh Vic's rationality.

Sam...

And then there are those nameless people.

He didn't confront it with anger, which would have been easily identified as a high-energy emotional outburst.

He simply laid that image quietly deep within the depths of his consciousness.

These real, intense, yet extremely repressed emotions stirred tiny ripples in his precisely controlled cerebral cortex.

These ripples are captured by neural sensors and converted into tiny electrical signals, which are then fed into the central processing unit through complex circuitry, silently blending into the massive stream of experimental data, like a drop of ink falling into clear water.

Lin Zheng could catch a glimpse of Mark Jensen walking not far away out of the corner of his eye.

He would occasionally bend down to check a student's cable connection or communicate with another technician using gestures, but he always appeared at the edge of Lin Zheng's line of sight.

His professionalism and loyalty also served as a form of invisible surveillance.

Lin Zheng did not meet his gaze.

He devoted all his energy to maintaining that subtle "data noise," carefully embedding it into the "perfect" order that Professor Finch sought.

He wanted to make Fincher realize that there was a discordant pixel on the canvas, an alien object that could not be explained or assimilated by his theories.

He wanted to make the hunters suspicious of his trap.

When he felt his mind was almost exhausted and he could barely maintain that subtle tremor of thought, Finch's voice announced the end of the experiment.

Lin Zheng took off his helmet, let out a long breath, and his forehead was covered with a fine layer of cold sweat.

He raised his head, his gaze passing over everyone in the laboratory, and looked at Emilia in the corner.

She was frowning, staring at her terminal screen.

On her screen, the data graph representing Lin Zheng's mental state showed a series of small, discordant ripples.

She subconsciously raised her head, not to look at Lin Zheng, but to look at the glass observation room above the laboratory.

There, Professor Finch had somehow already walked to the glass of the observation room.

He didn't look at the data screen, nor did he look at the other students.

He was staring intently at Lin Zheng's location with an unfathomable gaze that seemed to penetrate everything.

There was no anger or surprise in his eyes, only a cold, focused concentration, as if he were discovering a rare specimen.

Lin Zheng looked back calmly.

The data submission was successful.

After the experiment, Professor Finch came down from the observation room.

When he picked up Lin Zheng's electronic report, his finger lingered on the screen for a long time.

He didn't look at Lin Zheng, but simply smiled and said to everyone, "Today's data is very interesting."

"Tomorrow's seminar will focus on analyzing the meaning of 'error'."