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

The world outside the door had just fallen into a suffocating silence, except for the piercing alarm.

That was a blankness more oppressive than any noise.

Everyone in the classroom was tense, their eyes fixed on the thick barrier made up of stacked desks and chairs.

Every breath became cautious, for fear of breaking this fragile balance.

The university corridors are designed to be spacious to accommodate the surge of people during peak hours.

Now, this spaciousness has become an accomplice to the deathly silence, allowing any subtle sound to be clearly transmitted.

Suddenly, a faint scraping sound came from the doorknob.

Then, the door handle began to turn.

Slow and determined.

Once, twice, three times.

"Click...creak...click"

The speed of the rotation increased, and the sound was amplified infinitely in the deathly silence.

"Crunch... crunch... crunch... crunch..."

Lin Zheng, Sam, and several other tall boys used almost all of their body weight to lean against the stacked obstacles while half-lying down.

Every violent shaking and every attempt to turn the doorknob struck a chord in the hearts of everyone present.

One after another...

"Crunch... crunch... crunch... crunch..."

Deep inside the classroom, a girl suddenly let out a soft sob.

Her eyes were wide open, filled with uncontrollable fear and tears.

Her classmate next to her quickly reached out and covered her mouth tightly, almost burying her face in his shoulder.

Both of their bodies were trembling violently, shaking like leaves.

"Crunch... crunch... crunch... crunch..."

A few seconds felt like an eternity.

Time seemed to be stretched and crushed, every moment frozen with despair and fear.

The shaking stopped.

A faint chuckle came from outside the door.

Immediately afterwards, the heavy footsteps sounded again.

It didn't arrive as slowly as it had come, but rather gradually receded into the distance at a somewhat distant pace.

It slowly walked away.

Judging from the sound, the terrifying entity was probing along the corridor, room by room.

Until the footsteps completely disappeared, no echo could be detected.

In the classroom, all the boys who were holding the door tightly collapsed to the ground almost simultaneously due to exhaustion.

They ignored the dust and pain covering their bodies, and just breathed in the air greedily.

Everyone in the classroom let out varying degrees of gasps of relief, as if they had just escaped a disaster.

That's the instinctive reaction of the lungs to refill after holding your breath and nearly suffocating.

Many people collapsed to the ground, their faces pale, drenched in sweat, and their eyes still etched with lingering terror.

Sam moved his body off the obstacle, his massive frame swaying precariously.

Smith, holding onto the edge of the podium, slowly stood up.

His shirt was completely soaked with sweat and clung tightly to his back.

But his face showed little relaxation; instead, it held a thoughtful and solemn expression.

Lin Zheng didn't rush to get up. He leaned against the obstacle, closed his eyes, and forced himself to even out his disordered breathing.

His fingertips were still stiff and numb, and the muscles in his arm were trembling slightly.

He had absolutely no experience in dealing with gunmen, and his hometown never taught him these things.

This passive, silent fear of being chosen makes them like poultry waiting to be selected for slaughter.

When he opened his eyes again, Smith's voice broke the brief silence in the relatively quiet classroom.

"He was clearing out each room one by one. He knew we were here, and he would come back."

He lowered his voice and analyzed the situation calmly.

Smith looked around at his classmates who were slumped over.

His words quickly dissipated the slight sense of relief that came with surviving the ordeal.

"His actions lacked logic," Smith continued.

"At least it's not the logic we understand."

This kind of "lack of logic" is more chilling than any horror story.

If there is a clear goal, at least they can deduce the next course of action based on that goal.

A random, unpredictable Grim Reaper cannot be predicted or avoided.

This was a aimless hunt, and they were nothing more than prey scattered in the forest, waiting to be chosen.

This kind of unconventional violence is a purer form of terror.

It was not intended to achieve any specific purpose, such as taking hostages or intimidating the school.

It was solely for the purpose of killing.

"By hiding here, we're simply leaving our fate to probability."

Smith ruffled his handsome blond hair, rubbing the strands repeatedly.

His words revealed the deepest fear in everyone's heart.

A huge number, with each room representing an equal share of the probability.

This classroom is simply a way to continuously reduce the denominator of the number, making the chances of being selected increasingly higher.

Everyone fell silent.

A deep and desperate silence.

They realized that passively hiding was not a long-term solution.

They will be chosen by "probability" sooner or later.

But rather than sitting here waiting for fate to decide our fate, we should do something.

Although they didn't know what else they could do.

In the midst of the deathly silence, a voice suddenly pierced through the layers of obstacles.

That was a woman's scream.

It wasn't far, seemingly coming from the other end of the corridor, or just a few rooms away.

The screams were filled with extreme fear, heart-wrenching.

It lasted only one second.

Then, gunshots rang out one after another, dense and muffled.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The gunshot echoed clearly in the corridor, reverberating in everyone's ears.

Each sound seemed to strike their hearts directly, causing their bodies to tremble involuntarily.

Those voices were so real, so cruel, that they mercilessly crushed everyone's illusions.

Then, the world fell silent once again.

This time, the silence was even deeper than before.

It was a viscous, tangible stillness.

The smell of blood lingered in the air, a faint, almost imperceptible, sweet, fishy odor.

It is no longer simply the fear of waiting for death, but the inescapable despair of witnessing death and knowing it will come again.

The same thought crossed everyone's eyes: it was almost their turn.

Lin Zheng took a deep breath.

He could feel his heartbeat shifting from extreme panic to a state of calm that was almost numb.

His intuition told him that passively hiding was no longer a viable option.

They must make changes.

Beside Smith and Sam, he saw the same look in their eyes: struggle, despair, and a faint, still-burning ember.

The light was faint, but in absolute darkness, even a tiny glimmer of light is enough to ignite hope.

The school has now become a true island.

There are not many residents left on the island.