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

Lin Zheng suddenly fell to the side.

The ammunition behind him struck the rusty pipe wall, sparking blinding flashes. Hot shrapnel grazed his scalp, exploding into tiny ripples in the sewage.

A buzzing sound filled my ears, and the strong smell of gunpowder mixed with the stench of the sewer, piercing deep into my nasal cavity.

Ignoring the pain, he braced himself on his elbows and quickly got up, only to be forced back again by the writhing "filthy womb" in front of him.

This enormous and disgusting mass of flesh seemed to become even more excited after being stimulated by the gunshot. The mucus on its surface churned violently, and countless carrion worms writh restlessly within it.

They were not injured by bullets, but rather each impact aroused their internal, disordered desire to multiply.

Lin Zheng glanced at the monster's wounds out of the corner of his eye. Where the bullets had torn it open, no blood was flowing out. Instead, more granulation tissue was emerging, growing and intertwining at a visible speed, before congealing into new tumors.

The footsteps behind me grew closer.

"Surrender now, and we'll guarantee your safety!"

He could feel cold gazes fixed on him.

You big idiot!

The best outcome of being captured and taken back is to become a lab rat.

There is no escape route.

He's like a sandwich between two loaves of bread and cheese, with an indescribable, burgeoning monster in front of him and a relentless cleanup squad behind him.

With their strength nearly exhausted, every movement in the slippery pipes was accompanied by enormous energy expenditure and the risk of falling.

The icy sewage soaked through his clothes, taking away his body heat and making his limbs even stiffer.

My throat was dry, and with each breath I inhaled stale air from the underground pipes.

He knew he couldn't hold on for long.

But in this desperate situation, perhaps because of the triggering of "mad insight," the brain became strangely clearer than ever before.

He recalled the moment he was touched by chunks of flesh in the chaos, and the smell of his blood seemed to make the "filthy womb" writhe even more violently.

That strange excitement did not stem from a threat, but rather resembled hunger.

There are still bullets.

These steel projectiles, upon contact with the flesh, also triggered the monsters' uncontrolled proliferation.

This shows that simple physical destruction, or even the life force it emits, can stimulate its appetite and proliferation.

A crazy idea took shape in his mind.

This idea is absurd, dangerous, and suicidal.

But there was no longer fear in his eyes, only the kind of resolute determination that comes with facing a desperate situation, regardless of the consequences.

He steadied himself, his breathing rapid, but he tried to calm it down.

He turned around to face the approaching "Ouroboros" pursuers, and then turned to the "Filthy Wombs" that were eyeing him menacingly.

He still tightly gripped the scalpel that had given him strength and clarity on countless nights.

The blade was icy cold.

The bloodstains on the hilt of the knife had dried; they were the marks left by countless corpses he had dissected.

He felt the last bit of heat in his body rapidly draining away, and his soul trembling.

But this trembling was not fear, but rather the kind of excitement that comes when the body is instantly activated when faced with a choice.

He raised his left arm, the rough cuffs of his work clothes rolled up, revealing his arm with bulging veins on his wrist.

His arm was covered with a mix of old and new scars, some from work accidents, others from multiple battles.

He stared at the cold gleam of the scalpel in the dim light.

The veins under the skin of his wrist were clearly visible, and each pulse proclaimed to him the existence and fragility of life.

He took a deep breath, and a sound, almost a roar, came from his throat, suppressed and muffled.

Without the slightest hesitation, he flicked his wrist, and the sharp blade mercilessly sliced ​​across his forearm.

The moment his skin was cut, a tearing pain shot through his nerve endings, causing all the muscles in his body to tense up instantly.

A warm liquid gushed out, the crimson blood line standing out starkly in the dim light, instantly staining the armpit red.

The sweet, metallic scent of blood instantly filled his sense of smell.

He gritted his teeth; the pain momentarily made him lose his focus, but he quickly suppressed the pain with his strong will.

Life is flowing out of his body in the most primal way.

He stretched his bleeding left hand into the filthy sewage at his feet, letting his blood drip into it, instantly staining the surrounding sewage red.

Red bloodstains spread in the black sewage, and a polluted dark red lotus flower slowly blooms.

Fresh blood is the most primal carrier of life and the fuel that ignites all desires.

A strong, pungent smell of blood began to spread rapidly through the damp, sweltering pipes. It carried the water along the main sewage pipes, spreading downstream to the pursuers and upstream to the "filthy womb."

The air was no longer filled with a simple stench, but with an unsettling sweetness mixed with death and blood.

Upon sensing the intense odor, the two "filthy flesh wombs" in front of him stopped wriggling almost simultaneously.

The countless pores on their surface began to contract and expand irregularly, and the carrion worms inside became restless, sensing an unparalleled deliciousness.

Lin Zheng restarted [True Deconstruction].

This time, his eyes were no longer searching for weaknesses to cut.

He no longer viewed the lump of flesh as a simple obstruction.

In his eyes, the two bloated lumps of flesh once again stripped away their appearance, transforming into countless interwoven, bright structural lines and weaknesses.

These lines intertwined and twisted, and the moment they sensed his blood, their brightness became abnormal, as if they had been injected with new energy, appearing more active than ever before.

What he was looking for was a "structural main vein" that could allow this pathological proliferation to reach its limit, or even exceed it.

Behind him, the pursuers of "Ouroboros" seemed to hesitate for a moment because of his self-harming act.

Then, they judged that Lin Zheng was at his last gasp and decided to arrest him immediately.

They no longer saw Lin Zheng as a threat; instead, they fired at the filthy corpse more frequently. The bullets pierced through the corpse's body and struck the inner wall of the pipe, creating a huge echo that made people's heads throb in the narrow sewer.

Lin Zheng endured the dizziness caused by blood loss. He felt his vision begin to blur and his tinnitus becoming more severe, but his eyes were focused on those two lumps of flesh.

In his perception, a powerful thirst was surging from the depths of the flesh, which exhibited an almost frenzied craving for its own blood.

This desire goes beyond the instinctive defense against any external physical attack; it is a completely pathological instinct.

He saw that among those lines that were originally just a jumble of disorder, the thickest, brightest structural line, like a burning flame, began to emerge.

It runs through the core of the two fleshy masses and even faintly connects with other unknown structures deep within, gleaming with an eerie light.

That was a "main vein" woven from chaotic vitality and distorted hunger!

The "filthy flesh wombs" had completely given up resisting the bullets. They abandoned everything and, like madmen, wriggled wildly toward Lin Zheng with a nauseating stench and eerie gurgling sounds.

They wriggled their tentacles, vying for the ultimate delicacy.

The blood loss made him feel cold all over, and the lines in his vision were throbbing violently, but he had never been so focused.

Lin Zheng took a deep breath, pointing the tip of his knife at the brightest structural line.

Just before the filthy corpse and fetus were about to touch him, he unleashed a long-prepared slash, his target—

The main structural vein!