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

The taxi drove through the hazy morning in Emerald Dream City.

Rain condensed on the car windows, blurring the distorted outlines of the skyscrapers in the fog.

Lin Zheng sat in the back seat, tapping his knees lightly with his fingertips, one tap after another, a rhythm he often used when he was thinking.

The destination was the downtown police station building, a colossal structure made of concrete and glass.

On the towering flagpole, the Stars and Stripes hung limply in the wind, like a faded old rag.

This police station is no older than Emerald Dream City, yet it holds the most secrets and clamor of the city. But at this moment, it seems more silent than ever.

Ryan Burt's words echoed in his mind: high salary, stability, police medical examiner's office, basement level, handling "biological samples".

Every word felt like a hook, scratching at his deeply buried unease.

Even an assistant position, especially one with the "forensic" label, rarely offers such an astonishing salary.

In a society like the United States, this kind of pay system is a discordant signal, usually indicating two possibilities: either the job is extremely dangerous, or there is something else going on behind the scenes, and it is not open to everyone.

This was practically a "radish post" reserved for insiders, and he, through Professor Finch's introduction, became that "radish."

The police station doors were wide open before him, not the heavily guarded security check he had imagined, but just an ordinary entrance.

However, an indescribable chill emanated from within, a smell of cement, metal, and some kind of outdated order.

Lin Zheng stepped in, his shoes making a slight echo on the marble floor.

He walked to the elevator and pressed the "B2" button, which led to the second basement level, as instructed.

The elevator doors slowly closed, completely shutting out the noise and light from the ground.

The numbers jump from "1" to "B1" and then to "B2". Each descent is accompanied by a slight feeling of weightlessness, as if falling into a deeper layer of reality.

In the cramped space, he felt the air growing heavier.

With a "ding," the elevator doors opened.

The sight before him caused his pupils to shrink slightly.

The second basement level is completely different from the above-ground level.

The corridor floor was covered with gleaming white tiles, and the walls were also dazzlingly pure white, without a single graffiti or stain.

The air was thick with the strong smell of disinfectant, which masked the residual moisture on his skin and washed over every inch of his sense of smell.

The entire space was unusually quiet, with only the continuous hum of the ventilation system hovering overhead.

The "perfection" and "normality" here made him feel extremely unreal and oppressed, almost like a silent pressure.

He followed the instructions in the email and found the forensic office.

The main door is made of heavy metal, with no windows, only a card reader that glows green, and the words "Forensic Office" written in large characters next to it.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The office was more spacious than I had imagined, with rows of long desks neatly arranged, each with an identical computer and file rack.

The light came from rows of pale white fluorescent lights on the ceiling; there were no windows and not a trace of natural light.

Behind the reception desk, a middle-aged female receptionist was smiling at him.

Her makeup was exquisite, and her business suit was perfectly tailored and impeccably tailored.

His smile was professional yet devoid of warmth; his expression was like a perfect mask.

This programmed smile and eye contact, clearly the result of extensive training, aims to leave a professional and friendly first impression, but robs one of any genuine emotion.

"Good morning, Mr. Lin Zheng. Professor Finch and Mr. Lane Bert have already given me instructions."

"Please wait a moment. Mr. Ryan Burt is currently interviewing another candidate. It will be your turn soon." The receptionist's voice was polite and calm, and her pace was unhurried.

Lin Zheng nodded in acknowledgment, pointing to several metal waiting chairs next to the reception desk.

In the waiting area, four or five people sat upright, their suits and ties appearing somewhat awkward in the overly bright environment.

No one spoke, no one even looked up; the air was thick with tension and unease.

Lin Zheng found an empty seat and sat down, feeling the cold metallic touch of the waiting chair seep through his clothes onto his skin.

His gaze swept over the group of people; they were the job seekers.

His heart began to race, and his fingers started tapping lightly on his knees again.

The disinfectant smell was pungent and overpowering, mixed with an indescribable, faint, fishy odor reminiscent of stale flesh and blood. It permeated all the chemical aromas in the air, lingering faintly in his nostrils.

The smell made him uncomfortable, which made him increasingly uneasy about the true definition of a "biological sample".

"Mr. Lin Zheng, it's your turn." The receptionist's voice suddenly broke the silence.

She led him to a door hidden at the end of a long row of desks, blending into the surrounding white walls, with only the doorknob and a crack indicating its existence.

Lin Zheng got up and walked towards the door.

With each step, he felt the floor tremble, not from the ground, but from the ripples surging deep within his heart.

He pushed open the door.

The lighting inside the room was slightly softer, but it was still artificial light.

Ryan Burt sat behind his desk, a professional smile on his face, and extended his hand to him.

He was wearing a well-tailored gray suit, and his hair was neatly combed.

"Hello, Lin Zheng."

"Welcome, please have a seat." Ryan Bert's voice was steady and his tone was calm, now lacking the intimacy of a private conversation and instead conveying the official air of a formal meeting.

On the desk, a monitor was lit up, displaying a resume—Lin Zheng's.

Ryan Burt gave a brief overview of the job responsibilities.

His description remained vague, only repeatedly emphasizing "sample processing" and "data recording," informing him that the core of the job lay in these procedural actions.

"The work here requires absolute focus and obedience, not curiosity."

"Can you do it?" Ryan Burt's tone was flat, but the emphasis of his question was on "focus" and "obedience," as well as a clear warning against "curiosity."

These words sound like a test of the psychological qualities of potential workers.

Lin Zheng looked directly into Ryan Burt's eyes, trying his best to make his voice sound firm and unwavering.

"Yes," he replied with just one word.

Just then, a door next to us clicked softly.

A tall, slender figure walked out from inside, carrying a tray in his hand.

He was a young employee in his early twenties, blond, pale, with sunken eyes, and wearing an ill-fitting uniform.

His eyes were empty, his expression numb, and his steps were slow and mechanical, like a walking corpse controlled by a program, with no trace of soul in his eyes.

His uniform did not look clean, with several suspicious brown stains that were particularly glaring in the pale light.

This is Riley Dunn, an assistant in a medical examiner's office and Lin Zheng's future colleague.

Riley Dunn completely ignored the interview inside the room, his gaze vacantly passing over Lin Zheng and Ryan Burt, and heading straight for another door.

It was as if the conversations and people inside the room were transparent air to him.

He didn't pause, didn't make eye contact, only his mechanical breathing and the slight clinking of the dishes on the tray could be heard.

Ryan Burt's gaze lingered on Riley Dunn for only a brief moment before quickly returning to Lin Zheng.

It was as if he were an insignificant background figure rather than a living, breathing individual.

"Lin Zheng, congratulations, you've been accepted." Ryan Bert's voice carried an expected calmness, as if this was a matter of course.

This swift decision surprised him slightly, but at the same time, a sense of "I knew it" welled up inside him.

Professor Finch's introduction was indeed more than just a letter of recommendation.

Lin Zheng felt a mix of emotions, both happy and bewildered. He realized that he had already stepped into this "radish pit".

But more than anything, it's a strange sense of relaxation.

At least, the temporary economic difficulties have been resolved.

Ryan Burt handed him a access card; the card was cold to the touch.

He smiled and patted Lin Zheng on the shoulder, instructing him, "Junior brother, be there promptly at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

By the way, the first lesson of the onboarding training is: don't ask any questions that are unrelated to your job duties.

any."

Lin Zheng stepped into the elevator and looked back.

The white corridor on the second basement level narrowed rapidly behind him, eventually being swallowed up by the slowly closing elevator doors.

He gripped the access card tightly, feeling its cold touch.

It was a coldness, alluring yet dangerous, his passport to the shadows beneath this perfect facade.