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

Lin Zheng felt as if his brain was being torn apart by countless hands, and tinnitus surged in like a tidal wave, filling his skull.

The voice whispered in his ear, hoarse and indistinct, a lament born of despair.

The sound came from her shattered "American Dream," from every moment in her life when it was trampled upon.

In the dim and damp shed, a gray-faced, emaciated Mexican worker hunched over, operating a clumsy machine at a makeshift workbench.

His sweat and grease mingled and dripped onto his worn-out work clothes. His eyes were bloodshot, and he clutched a small medicine bottle tightly in his hand, which was roughly poured into his mouth, which was cracked from long-term dehydration.

It was a mixture of cheap painkillers and tonics, which he had to take every day to sustain him through more than eleven hours of almost non-stop high-intensity work.

Outside the workers' shed, the sky was always gloomy, and the dilapidated signboard swayed precariously in the wind. The workers' future, like that signboard, was also precarious.

Not far from the workers' shed, in a dilapidated rented room.

A girl hugged herself tightly, her empty eyes staring in the direction of the workers' shed.

Late at night, the worker returned home and brought food for the girl.

A cold, hard piece of bread, dipped in butter, was devoured by the two of them.

"Lina, today is a good day. I worked 14 hours straight. If I had only worked 11 hours, you and your mother would have had to figure out how to cover the expenses for the next few days."

The girl had just come of age and hadn't even completely shed her childishness, but her body already bore unspeakable scars.

"Dad, please do less work. If you keep drinking those things, your body won't be able to handle it. Mom and I will try our best."

The worker father affectionately patted his daughter's head.

"No, I'll work hard for a while longer, and we'll be able to get out of this situation soon."

To support her loving father, she went out to exchange her meager banknotes on cold, rainy nights.

Her gaze would occasionally drift to the window, where the city's silhouettes stood tall, and the dazzling neon lights outlined a false prosperity—the "American Dream" she longed for but could never attain.

One day, that dream seemed within reach.

Her belly gradually swelled up.

Because of the food and daily necessities she needs, she can only afford cheap protective gear. However, if customers are willing to pay a higher price, she is willing to forgo those comforting but not protective items.

In her remaining memories, there was a joy after repeated struggles. She seemed to believe that this angel could give her the American identity she had always dreamed of, an opportunity to escape the streets and start a new life.

However, without money to live on every day and without enough savings to support oneself, this angel is like a dream.

That angel ultimately couldn't be saved, and the little angel couldn't descend upon the new Rome.

Thankfully, the little angel didn't descend upon New Rome.

Inside the rented room, the girl, with trembling hands, removed a metal wire from a worn-out clothes hanger.

She clumsily bent the wire into a hook, a simple tool.

The homemade tool pierced her, and with endless pain and gushing blood, her "American Dream" was completely shattered into bloody fragments.

The pain not only tore her body apart, but also shattered her last glimmer of hope.

She didn't actually know how to do such a dangerous thing; she just dared to do it herself to save money.

And she had no time to rest, no money to get treatment. After only a few days of rest, she was forced to stand on the street again, and she needed to work to survive.

The passing vehicles, the scrutinizing or lustful gazes, slowly eroded her remaining dignity.

Just when she was on the verge of collapse, a shadow fell over her.

A deep, hoarse voice, carrying a morbid allure, said: "I'll pay double, but you have to accept my special request..."

The face of that "perverted customer" became clearer and more ferocious in Lin Zheng's mind.

That face bore a morbid ecstasy, its eyes filled with naked desire and a twisted smile.

At the end of the broken dream, the girl was tied to a filthy bed board, her body covered with shocking bruises.

Her eyes were completely filled with fear and despair, and a painful roar came from her throat, but the sound was quickly drowned out by a vicious laugh.

The man repeatedly experienced morbid pleasure, while the girl's life gradually withered away in this endless torment.

He didn't even give her a quick release, but tortured her to death until every struggle in her body subsided.

In her final moments, the girl's eyes reflected the still-brilliant city lights outside the window, and the "American Dream" she had never possessed, the "American Dream" pursued by countless people, a rotten "American Dream."

The flickering light pierced her soul at that moment.

In the midst of the dizzying spin, he only had time to let out a painful groan before his body convulsed violently.

Arthur reacted quickly and caught him, pressing his broad hand firmly against Lin Zheng's trembling shoulder, trying to give him some support.

Just now, Lin Zheng's devilish whispers pierced their hearts, allowing them to experience this terrifying story.

For Evelyn, everything she heard shattered her long-held belief in science and the last vestige of trust she had in the government system.

She had always believed that the "justice" system she served was at least maintaining some basic order. However, the truth that Lin Zheng had just revealed made her realize that it was nothing more than a fig leaf for a much bigger and more disgusting lie.

The entire morgue had become a giant exhibition hall of lies in her eyes at this moment. Every body covered with a white sheet could be a hidden truth, a forgotten lament.

She knew she couldn't continue pretending she knew nothing.

Her gaze fell on the weakened Lin Zheng. The boy seemed so fragile at the moment, yet he possessed such abilities.

She couldn't imagine what he had just gone through; the feeling of being forcibly dragged into someone else's darkest moment was a torment that no one could bear.

Arthur's voice rang in my ears, then came from afar: "Is he alright?"

"He's mentally exhausted and needs rest."

Evelyn carefully examined Lin Zheng's pupils and found that his eyes were bloodshot and his vision was unfocused.

Lin Zheng had just forcibly opened a door to the dead, and the evil of this world that surged out from there assaulted his spirit, trying to completely devour him.

In the office, sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting dappled shadows on the floor, but this faint light could not dispel the heavy gloom in their hearts.

Evelyn settled Lin Zheng on the sofa, then took out a small bottle of sedative and several vials of glucose solution from the drawer and skillfully injected them into him.

The cold liquid flowed through Lin Zheng's veins, mixed with the distinctive medicinal smell of the hospital, bringing him a moment of numbness and a false sense of calm.

He leaned back on the sofa, wearily closing his eyes, but those terrifying images flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern.

Evelyn sat back in her chair, her fingers tracing the suspicious notes recorded in her private notebook.

Her gaze swept over the hastily written words, and she could hear the lamentations of countless nameless dead echoing in her ears.

This notebook was something she had secretly kept for the past few years.

Autopsy reports that were hastily classified as "accidental death" or "drug overdose" in official reports.

She instinctively sensed something was wrong, but constrained by the system and lacking decisive evidence, she could only quietly record these doubts, waiting for an opportunity for change.

Those deliberately omitted wounds, those illogical times of death, and even those overlooked, insignificant traces at the scene all correspond one by one to the terrifying details Lin Zheng saw in the mental purgatory.

"Kid."

Arthur's voice broke the silence, shattering Evelyn's reverie.

"You have seen the truth, and that is your value, and that is the meaning we are looking for."

He paused, his voice becoming deeper and more powerful.

"You are speaking out for them, seeking an answer for those souls abandoned by the world."

Lin Zheng slightly opened his eyes, and in his hazy vision, he saw Arthur's weathered face.

His words were a faint but firm light that pierced through the depths of Lin Zheng's heart, igniting a tiny warmth on the verge of madness.

That is a kind of value in existence, a meaning that is worth doing even if it involves endless suffering.

Evelyn closed her notebook, stood up, and walked to Lin Zheng and Arthur. Her tone was no longer calm, but carried an unprecedented solemnity, as if she were making an oath.

"These dead should not be forgotten."

Her voice was firm, and every word was resounding.

"I am willing to join you in seeking justice for these forgotten souls."

They all knew that this would be a thorny path with no turning back, and once they embarked on it, there would be no peace.

"Right now, your health is the most important thing."

Evelyn withdrew her hand, her tone carrying both a doctor's professionalism and a touch of gentleness.

"The mental shock you just experienced was too severe; you need time to recover."

She walked to her desk, turned on a computer displaying complex medical data, and her fingers flew across the keyboard.

"I will use internal resources to falsify medical records to ensure you receive the necessary medical support."

As she spoke, she opened several encrypted folders.

"I will review more 'accidental death' cases similar to the unidentified woman's body case and gather all the suspicious points."

"No, I want to work with them. The act of dissection will help me regain my rationality, as long as I don't activate this ability too many times in a short period of time," Lin Zheng said, struggling to get up.

During this period after his ability awakened, he gradually figured out the conditions for activating his ability.

The ability to "Read Residual Dreams" allows Lin Zheng to obtain intelligence by touching, dissecting, or assembling corpses when he is focused, thereby reading the strong emotions, memory fragments, and dream images remaining in their tissues.

When he was on the verge of madness, the "Mental Recalibration" allowed him to force the flood of chaotic information to be "formatted" and "sorted" through highly focused and meticulous work, such as dissection, and to "recalibrate" his mental state.

"Okay, let's dissect and organize it together."

Evelyn nodded.

Arthur placed the canvas messenger bag on the ground, then took out a leather notebook and a pencil from it and began to take notes.

"Leave the outside matters to me."

Arthur said in a deep voice, which was as hoarse as ever, but full of power.

"I will take responsibility for protecting you and gathering intelligence on what's happening outside."

"Your previous conversations and movements were monitored and even locked. You can no longer act recklessly as before."

Evelyn added that her gaze had become even sharper.

"Public hospitals have a large flow of people and a diverse range of individuals, so they are relatively safe for the time being."

She paused, her gaze sweeping over Lin Zheng and Arthur, before reminding them in a serious tone—

"But don't forget, we may be facing a vast network that can penetrate every corner of society."