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

A cold, buzzing sound filled the entire space, seeping from the walls and squeezing out from the gaps between the instruments with their small lights, converging into an endless wave of sound.

Emilia sat at her workbench, with a mountain of printed papers beside her, each one meticulously recording different "emotional data" reports.

Her eyes darted between the screen and the paper, trying to find a trace of humanity amidst the dense array of technical terms and charts.

The laboratory she was in was located at the deepest part of Professor Finch's core project group.

My colleagues around me, all wearing matching white gloves, operated their instruments with expressionless faces, their eyes fixed on the screens, intently watching the data.

She heard two people talking in hushed tones behind her; their voices were diluted by the buzzing sound, but she could still catch a few words.

"...The peak fluctuation of the sample emotional data has reached the 'load threshold,' and the fourth stage of 'special intervention' can be initiated..." a voice said calmly, without any emotion, issuing the command like a machine.

Another voice, slightly excited and unable to hide its satisfaction, said: "The assessment report shows that the target audience's psychological resilience is about to completely collapse, and the data model predicts that the conversion rate will reach 98.7%."

Emilia's fingers stiffened for a moment, and the pen tip unconsciously drew a crooked line on the paper.

"Load threshold", "Special intervention", "Conversion efficiency".

These terms had never been mentioned in any of the scientific theories of Professor Finch that she knew; they exuded a cold and cruel rationality.

She remembered the empty eyes of that homeless student, and his emaciated body displayed on the high platform in the square.

She stared at the anonymous "Psychological Resilience Assessment Report" in front of her, which used graphs to depict the process of an individual's emotions falling from a peak to a trough, accompanied by a sharp decline in various indicators.

In the "special intervention" section, there is only a simple code without any details.

She quietly reached out and pressed the read button on the encrypted USB drive, quickly copying down part of the report, along with some project documents that she had noticed but hadn't dared to delve into.

She has to leave.

She put away the USB drive, stood up, and walked out as naturally and calmly as she would after get off work.

As she walked down the long corridor of the laboratory and arrived at the sensor door at the end, a faint electrical sound suddenly rang out behind her.

It seemed as if someone was performing some kind of high-frequency scan, brief and rapid.

Emilia's heart skipped a beat, and the hairs on her body stood on end, but she didn't turn around. She quickened her pace until she was out the door.

As night deepened, snowflakes outside the window swirled aimlessly in the dim glow of the streetlights.

Lin Zheng's dormitory room was lit only by a dim desk lamp, which made his tired face appear even paler.

Emilia sat on the edge of the bed, watching Lin Zheng read the copy of the report over and over again, her fingertips twisting together nervously.

She wanted to know what this anonymous, scientific data meant to Lin Zheng.

She had a vague feeling that her boyfriend, Lin Zheng, must know something.

Lin Zheng finally crumpled the report into a ball, the paper making a harsh rubbing sound that tore at his soul.

But he carefully unfolded the report again and read it through once more.

He suddenly stood up, swaying as if trying to push himself in the opposite direction from the world, so that he could shut out all the pain that was coming his way.

"What exactly did I do?"

His voice was soft, filled with deep self-blame and regret.

"Emilia, I'm sorry, it's my fault. You shouldn't have meddled in these things."

Lin Zheng held Emilia's shoulders, looking at her helplessness, her confusion and ignorance, and her deep love for him.

"Lin, what's wrong?" Emilia opened her arms and hugged him.

Emilia had never seen Lin Zheng so distraught; his pain was laid bare before her.

Her heart clenched suddenly, and a sense of guilt spread through her chest.

"Please tell me. Tell me the truth, tell me everything, and we'll face this together, okay?"

Emilia took a step back, stretched out her hands, and tightly grasped Lin Zheng's trembling, cold fingertips covered with old scars.

The night wind blowing in from outside the window was damp and cold, brushing against her cheeks and ruffling Lin Zheng's hair.

"This isn't just about you; it involves many people, and you need help." Emilia's gentle voice sounded unusually firm.

Her gaze was direct and sincere, striking deep into Lin Zheng's unfocused pupils and forcing him to refocus.

"This is not your fault."

A faint glimmer of light finally appeared in Lin Zheng's eyes as he looked back at her.

"Shall we face this together?"

Emilia's finger tapped across the report, eventually landing on an encrypted paragraph marked with an address and the name of an internal project.

"I think I've found where Professor Finch hid those 'special intervention programs'..." Her voice was weak, but full of unwavering determination.

"There, we can find his true purpose."

Looking into Emilia's determined eyes, Lin Zheng knew they had no way out.

He knew they were about to step into an abyss from which there was no turning back.

However, standing beside her, the abyss didn't seem so unbearable anymore.