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

Deep inside the old coffee shop, the lights were dim, with only a floor lamp in the corner casting a faint glow.

Emilia lightly touched the encrypted USB drive in her hand with her fingertips, her eyes focused on the dancing coffee steam.

On the notebook spread out in front of Lin Zheng, intricate lines intertwined into a web, representing his deconstruction of Professor Finch's project materials.

"Finch's project is not a psychological study; it's a large-scale extraction of spiritual energy," Lin Zheng said in a low, tired, hoarse voice.

The bitterness of coffee and the sweetness of caramel mingled in the air, unable to suppress the dull pain in his chest.

"They use so-called 'psychological resilience assessments' to first raise the participants' hopes, and then quickly destroy them."

Emilia pushed the encrypted USB drive toward him.

"This report on Professor Finch's core project is just the tip of the iceberg; the real 'special intervention program' and conversion efficiency data are hidden much deeper."

She pulled a hand-drawn sketch from her bag, showing the floor plan of the laboratory.

Looking at the diagram, Lin Zheng continued, "Their ultimate plan is to use the narrative broadcasting system, in conjunction with drugs, to amplify those mental fluctuations."

"This means immersing the public in a carefully constructed narrative of the 'American Dream' at all times. This technology, through ubiquitous screens and network signals, directly imprints specific values, consumer desires, and happiness models into the subconscious."

Lin Zheng stared at Emilia, noticing the confusion and fear on her face.

"This is terrible. How could Professor Finch do such a thing?"

After a long silence, Emilia looked back at Lin Zheng with a determined gaze.

"But you need me, right? You need me to continue infiltrating his core experimental area and find detailed information on the 'special intervention program,' which is the real evidence."

"That's too dangerous. I need to make sure you're safe." Lin Zheng shook his head.

"I know." She didn't back down, but simply pushed her file towards Lin Zheng. "You also need to find more victims. Their testimonies and their memories are more convincing than any data."

She proposed that Emilia be responsible for obtaining key data from within, while Lin Zheng would need to find more victim information from outside, build a victim network, and provide solid witness testimony for their accusations.

Lin Zheng looked down at the connection diagram he had drawn in his notebook. One end connected to Finch, and the other end stretched to countless forgotten corners of the city's underworld.

He pictured the "sleepwalkers" struggling in a daze inside the Imam's charity canteen, who had been blinded by the false hopes of Project Finch.

Those whose hope has been completely exhausted will probably be dealt with like Josh Vick.

This time, their handling will absolutely make all traces disappear without a trace.

Emilia gently picked up the pen on the table, her fingertips brushing over the contact diagrams in the notebook.

Her gaze was cold and sharp, with a glint of intelligence in it.

"Every additional detail in the plan increases the chances of survival and the possibility of overturning everything."

Walking in the darkness, the night wind cut like a knife, slicing through Lin Zheng's exposed skin.

The chill seeped into his bones through his thin clothes, but he held Emilia's warm hand.

Emilia turned and walked towards the dormitory. Her shadow stretched long under the streetlights until it disappeared from sight.

Lin Zheng watched her retreating figure, pondering her words. The address of the "special intervention plan" hidden in the encrypted USB drive made him vaguely sense the approaching danger.

His thoughts were swirling with the cold numbers in Professor Finch's core project report and the lingering dreams of the dead he had read, and he felt a massive mental storm brewing.

He walked alone on the way back to the slums, the details of Emilia's discussion with him replaying in his mind.

The plan was meticulous, and every step was carefully calculated, but at the execution level, variables often come from uncontrollable human nature. Finch was a monster who manipulated human nature to the extreme.

He was going to see the Imam.

The imam's charity canteen, deep in the slums, was already bustling with activity in the early morning.

A pot of thick oatmeal porridge was simmering, its steam dispelling the morning chill, and the aroma of the food filled the air.

When Lin Zheng entered the canteen, the imam was distributing food. His figure was busy in the simple kitchen, making him appear exceptionally tall.

With a white beard and dark skin, his eyes were peaceful and full of wisdom and compassion.

Lin Zheng stood not far away, not immediately going forward. He saw in the eyes of the diners that there was confusion, despair, but more than anything, a mechanical numbness, a common trait among the "Nightmare Fuel" class.

These people are the best "experimental samples" for Project Finch.

Lin Zheng knew that the imam had a deep community base in the slums, and his influence was an indispensable force for his investigation.

He waited until the crowd dispersed and the imam finished clearing away the dishes before stepping forward.

"Imam, could I possibly take a moment of your time?"

The imam turned around, his weathered eyes looking at Lin Zheng, deep and calm, as if he were already used to all kinds of late-night visitors.

"My child, I've been waiting for you for a long time."

The two walked to a small room at the back of the church, where the fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, its warmth dispelling all the chill.

Lin Zheng didn't stand on ceremony and directly took out a blurry copy of Professor Finch's core project report from his backpack.

He pointed to technical terms such as "emotional data" and "load threshold" in the report and tried to explain them to the imam in the simplest language possible.

He recounted how Professor Finch used false hope to gradually destroy people's minds, turning them into "mental potential differences" that could be harvested.

The imam listened quietly.

"That so-called 'Hope Foundation' is indeed problematic." The imam sighed. He had felt uneasy before, and now his unease had become a reality.

"It's like bait; desperate people, as soon as they smell a glimmer of hope, will rush towards it without hesitation, only to be swallowed up."

Lin Zheng looked at the imam and made his request: "We need more information about the victims who were lured by Professor Finch. Imam, your community network is our hope."

After a long silence, the imam picked up a piece of charcoal from the table, weighed it in his palm, and his knuckles stood out.

He slowly raised his head, his eyes like stars in the night sky, faint yet bright.

He finally drew a curved symbol with charcoal on the back of Lin Zheng's outstretched left hand.

The ink marks of those symbols were deeply imprinted on Lin Zheng's skin, carrying a rough authenticity.

"I will help you," the imam said, his voice no longer hesitant, only heavy.

He knew the abyss Lin Zheng was about to step into, and he understood that it would be a dangerous journey from which there was no turning back.

Carrying the imam's silent promise, Lin Zheng walked out of the charity canteen. The warmth had not completely faded, but the winter wind was still sharp.

Lin Zheng returned to the university, once again finding himself in that academic hall filled with an elite atmosphere.

During the day, the university campus is filled with eager faces and hurried footsteps, which contrasts sharply with the dim light of the coffee shop in the early morning and the warmth of the charity canteen.

He strolled through the Gothic buildings, the occasional poster of Professor Finch's lectures playing in his ears, his face beaming with a warm smile.

His figure was swallowed by the huge shadow of the teaching building, and then outlined again by the faint winter sunlight. Every turn made him feel tense.

In the university corridors, sunlight streams through stained glass windows, casting dappled shadows that illuminate the ancient buildings with a solemn and dignified air.

In the corridor in front of Professor Finch's office, students and professors hurried by.

Lin Zheng pushed open the door to the emergency exit and silently met Emilia at the corner of the stairs.

Emilia looked at him, her eyes flashing with a questioning look.

Lin Zheng nodded slightly, his lips pressed tightly together, indicating that everything was going smoothly.

She incorporated those data and clues into her daily work, waiting for the right opportunity.

They need to keep their disguises.

They need to play the role of Professor Finch's loyal student and researcher, proceeding cautiously step by step.

He knew they were about to embark on a war without gunfire, and Finch was their primary target.

Emilia and Lin Zheng passed each other by.