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

The name "Drunken Alley" not only refers to the people's love of drinking, but also implies that once you step into it, it's like falling into a quagmire, from which it's difficult to sober up.

Lin Zheng's motorcycle was parked under a dilapidated sign, with the words "Arthur Morgan Private Detective Agency" hanging precariously on it, the paint peeling and the sign teetering on the verge of collapse.

The air was thick with the smells of cheap tobacco, aged whiskey, and lingering musty odors after the rain.

He pushed open the creaking wooden door, the hinges groaning in disrepair.

The office was even darker inside than outside, with only a single chandelier struggling to provide light.

The messy files, the brown-stained coffee cup, and the cigarette butts in the ashtray were scattered haphazardly on the table.

A tall figure sat in a swivel chair, his back to the door, his gray hair draped messily over his broad shoulders.

He was facing a corkboard covered with old newspaper clippings and woven with red thread, toying with an empty wine bottle in his hand.

Lin Zheng stepped into the room, his shoes crunching over the dust on the floor, making a slight scraping sound that was amplified in the deathly silence of the space.

The swivel chair slowly turned around, making a grating friction sound.

Arthur Morgan's weathered face was etched with weariness, his deep-set eyes were surrounded by heavy dark circles, and the old scar on his nose stood out starkly in the dim light.

His once sharp eyes were now clouded by the mist of alcohol, but still revealed a hint of fierceness.

"Another pathetic loser? What have you run into? $100 if it doesn't involve guns or drugs."

Arthur spoke, his voice hoarse, filled with obvious sarcasm and impatience.

"What if I offer more money? How much would it take for you to come out of retirement and help me? I'd like you to say, 'Although I really don't want to, he's offering way too much.'"

Lin Zheng chuckled and spouted nonsense; jokes, cigarettes, alcohol, and money always managed to bridge the gap between two men.

"I want to get to the bottom of my friend's death." Lin Zheng shook a wad of $1000 bills in his hand.

Lin Zheng looked at the old white man with a full head of silver hair, his thoughts already drifting away. Arthur Morgan, he wondered if he had the Eye of Death.

He sighed, waved his hand, and shooed away the annoying flies in front of him.

"Listen, child, there is no truth here, and no 'justice.' Your friend is dead. Get out of here before you get completely involved."

Lin Zheng did not back down. He walked to the stained desk, took out the piece of Sam's finger bone evidence wrapped in a plastic bag from his pocket, gently placed it on the desk, and pushed it toward Arthur.

Under the dim light, the finger bone gleamed with a pale white light, and the serpentine mark that seemed to be devouring its own tail was wrapped around it, making it look exceptionally sinister.

Arthur's gaze fell on the finger bones. His previously lazy eyes instantly focused, then quickly dispersed, turning into a cold indifference.

"Oh, this thing."

He pursed his lips, picked up a pen holder covered in cigarette ash from the table, and used the bottom of the pen holder to push Sam's finger bone evidence aside.

"Those street gang scum again? Now it's the Viper Gang?"

His voice was full of disdain as he slumped back into his chair.

"Listen, kid, I've seen this kind of scumbag killing each other far too many times. They kill each other, and in the end, they just become 'flesh and blood' to be harvested by those people."

After Arthur finished speaking, he got up and walked to the wine cabinet by the wall, which was piled with dusty empty wine bottles, and small tombstones stood there.

"There's nothing to investigate, and there's no truth to be found."

He took out a half-empty bottle of whiskey from deep inside the cabinet and filled it up himself.

Lin Zheng's gaze never left that hunched back.

He knew that Arthur was using alcohol to build a defense against the truths that were enough to tear a person apart, and the justice that tormented him but could never be achieved.

Lin Zheng looked around, his gaze sweeping over the mountains of old files and yellowed newspaper clippings, finally settling on a dusty glass cabinet in the corner.

Several pieces of evidence, packaged in plastic bags, were displayed in the cabinet. Among them, an antique-looking dagger caught his attention.

Its blade was worn, and its handle was wrapped in faded leather. It looked unremarkable, yet it was emitting a silent call.

Lin Zheng walked to the glass cabinet and touched the dirty, old glass with his fingertips.

"That dagger..." he hesitated for a moment before speaking, "Could I take a look at it?"

Arthur turned his back to him, took a big gulp of whiskey, and a mocking smile appeared on his lips.

"What, you're interested in those old-fashioned ghost stories too? That stuff is evidence from a missing person case from over twenty years ago, it has nothing to do with your little gang feud."

He spoke with a sarcastic tone, but still staggered over and opened the glass case.

He casually tossed the old dagger onto the table with a dull thud, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"Take it, look at it as you like. It's just a rusty piece of scrap metal, completely useless."

Arthur shook his head, his tone dismissive.

Lin Zheng ignored his taunts. He reached out with trembling hands, his fingertips touching the blade of the dagger.

A chilling sensation from the distant past instantly traveled from his fingertips straight to his brain.

A sudden ringing in my ears, and everything in front of me began to distort and blur; the walls of the office turned into a flowing watercolor painting.

The intense shock made him feel nauseous, and his sanity was rapidly depleting like sand in an hourglass. But Lin Zheng endured the nauseating sensory impact and forcibly focused his consciousness.

Fragmented but terrifying pieces of memory flooded into my mind uncontrollably.

It was a blurry street in the night, the rain washing away the bloodstains. A black sedan sped by, its wheels splashing mud, and then a piercing scream was muffled by the rain.

Then came a closer look: the smell of blood, the smell of rust, and the fear washed over by the rain.

A dark shadow descended from the sky, a cold flash of lightning, and the dagger pierced his chest with pinpoint accuracy.

A man fell to the ground in terror, his eyes filled with despair, his hands flailing helplessly as he tried in vain to grasp something.

Blood splattered, not red, but a dark, almost black liquid mixed with a nauseatingly viscous substance.

The man stared intently at the dark figure, fear and resentment frozen in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only broken blood foam came out.

He saw the shadowy figure's wrist, where a strange tattoo loomed in the darkness—a snake, its head and tail joined together, devouring its own tail, the ouroboros.

It's exactly the same as the one on Sam's finger bone.

Then he saw Arthur's anxious face rushing towards him.

The memory abruptly ended, and Lin Zheng abruptly pulled his hand back, panting heavily.

"It was raining... You were wearing that old khaki raincoat that night, the cuffs were covered in mud... You tried to grab him, but your hand slipped off his clothes..."

Lin Zheng spoke haltingly in a voice that was almost not his own, as he used a knife to pry open the wound, causing it to bleed profusely.

"You tried to save him. You were so close to him, so close that you could see the hollows where his eyes had been gouged out, and smell his last breath, tinged with blood..."

"In his dying moments, there was no anger in his eyes, only pure...fear."

Arthur Morgan's hand, which was holding the whiskey glass, suddenly trembled, and the whiskey glass crashed to the ground with a "clatter," shattering the glass and splashing the liquor, leaving a small amber stain on the dirty floor.

His eyes, which had once been clouded by alcohol, were now frighteningly clear, staring intently at Lin Zheng.

He was looking at a ghost that came from the past and carried omens of the future.

Lin Zheng precisely stabbed a sharp knife into his deepest old wound.

He stared intently at Lin Zheng, his Adam's apple bobbing violently, but he couldn't utter a single word, and the entire firm fell into a suffocating silence.

Arthur's chest heaved violently, and the muscles in his face twitched.

Twenty years ago, on that rainy midnight, there was that dagger, those eyes that were gouged out—that event was the deepest nightmare of his life and the real reason he was forced to leave the police force.

The "abuse of power" and "framing" recorded in the police files are just fabricated lies used to cover up the unspeakable abyss he touched.

He once thought he had buried that night forever in the abyss of alcohol.

But unexpectedly, a young man used the memories of the dead to dig it out in a bloody way.

Lin Zheng looked at him calmly, his eyes showing no mockery or sarcasm, only the same pain and questioning that Lin Zheng felt.

Arthur's lips moved a few times, but he didn't say anything, though Lin Zheng could hear it—

A trapped beast cries out in despair.

The office was deathly silent, save for Arthur's heavy breathing and the muffled thunderous echo of his own heartbeat.

He knew that the young man before him held the key to unlocking the knot in his heart, and he had to make a choice.

In his once cloudy eyes, an indescribable hope rekindled, illuminating the regret and shock that had been buried for many years.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something to Lin Zheng, wanting to ask that question about the truth.

However, a sudden loud noise instantly shattered the heavy silence.

"boom!"

A huge explosion came from outside the office.

The entire ground shook violently, and dust fell from the ceiling.

A swaying chandelier emitted a piercing electrical hiss before going out instantly, plunging the entire office into complete darkness.