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

The brand-new blue work clothes emitted a smell mixed with disinfectant and chemicals.

Lin Zheng changed into this outfit in the locker room. The stiff fabric rubbed against his skin, every inch reminding him that he was stepping into a completely new and unknown territory.

The changing room was small, with a row of gray metal lockers extending along the wall.

His cabinet had a newly printed name on it: "LIN, Z."

On the cabinet next door was a worn-out nameplate that read: "DUNN, R."

Riley Dunn, the young man with the vacant look in the office yesterday, was standing silently at the other end of the room, already changed into the same uniform.

He didn't look at Lin Zheng; his gaze seemed to penetrate the wall, focusing on some distant place.

Lin Zheng wanted to say something, a simple "good morning" or a brief self-introduction, but the aloofness and complete isolation emanating from Riley froze all his social cues in his throat.

As if sensing his gaze, Riley slowly raised his hand and pointed to the wall with a pale finger.

A huge, laminated flowchart of the operation process was posted on the wall.

That's not just a simple safety notice.

The paper was densely covered with medical terms and complex anatomical diagrams that Lin Zheng couldn't understand. Red and blue lines intertwined on the torso and limbs, and the specifications of different types of sutures and bone fixation devices were marked next to them. There was even a long list of chemical names and proportions that he had never seen before.

The locker room door opened, and Ryan Burt walked in.

He wasn't wearing the sharp suit he'd worn yesterday; instead, he'd changed into a dark green surgical gown, but his hair was still meticulously combed, and his face wore that businesslike, gentle, and aloof expression.

Good morning, Lin Zheng.

"Railley." He nodded to the two of them.

"Time is tight, let's get started."

Ryan's gaze fell on Lin Zheng, he nodded slightly and then looked away.

"Today we have a traffic accident victim whose case is quite complicated and requires 'morphological reconstruction.' Lin Zheng, you'll learn from him."

The word "morphological reshaping" was uttered by Ryan in a nonchalant tone, but Lin Zheng's heart skipped a beat at the mention of it.

Last night before bed, he kept thinking about the job's contents, his mind filled with confusion and fear of the unknown, as well as the novelty and excitement of bizarre imaginations, which made him have some insomnia.

Now we really have to face it head-on.

Ryan didn't give him time to ask questions or think, and turned to push open another door leading to the inner work area.

Riley followed with slow, precise steps.

Lin Zheng took a deep breath of the air filled with the smell of disinfectant, suppressed the turmoil in his heart, and followed behind the two.

Behind the door was a brightly lit corridor, whiter and colder than the offices outside.

The stale, bloody smell in the air became stronger here, enveloping everything around.

They entered a huge room, in the center of which stood an operating table that gleamed with a cold metallic sheen.

The powerful operating lights shone down from the ceiling, illuminating the entire room without a single shadow, making the outline of the operating table covered by a white sheet appear particularly glaring.

Ryan Burt walked to the operating table and put on a pair of latex gloves.

He glanced back at Lin Zheng, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

"The first lesson at work: whatever you see, don't make a sound."

Stay quiet and calm.

This is out of respect for the deceased, and also to protect yourself.

After saying that, he reached out, grabbed a corner of the white cloth, and suddenly ripped it off.

In that instant, Lin Zheng's stomach was gripped tightly and then violently pulled upwards.

An uncontrollable surge of acid welled up in his throat, and his blood seemed to freeze.

That was not a corpse.

It was a pile of parts.

A pile of red and white parts that once belonged to the same person, stacked together in a sacrilegious manner.

He saw a broken section of femur, the white bone fragments piercing through the muscle tissue and exposed to the air.

He could barely make out what appeared to be a chest cavity, with ribs folded outwards like a smashed fence.

He saw what should have been the head, but there was only an indescribable mass of liquid mixed with hair, bone fragments, and brain tissue.

car accident.

The word had never been presented to him so concretely, so violently.

He heard his own heavy breathing and saw that Riley Dunn's face remained expressionless as he skillfully walked to the equipment cart to the side and began to sort and count the tools.

That numbness now seems like a terrifyingly powerful force.

"Our job is to piece these 'parts' back into human form as much as possible after the forensic experts have completed the identification and evidence collection."

Ryan Burt's voice remained completely still.

"So that families can identify the animals and say goodbye, this is part of our work, and also the most important part."

He picked up a pair of surgical forceps and pointed at the pile of shredded flesh.

Don't treat it like a human being.

Treat it as a complex, precision model that needs repair.

This is the only way you can survive here.

These words pierced Lin Zheng's chaotic mind, bringing a moment of calm clarity.

survive.

He has given up too much for this word.

In this country, if you don't consume, you have no meaning in your existence.

He forced himself to look away from the bloody mess, took a deep breath, and then another, trying to suppress the urge to vomit.

Ryan Burt shoved a pair of surgical forceps and a huge suture needle into his hands, the cold touch of the metal sending a shiver down his spine.

"Get to work," Ryan commanded.

"Remember, we are preserving the final dignity of the deceased."

Looking at his trembling hands, and then at the pile of matter on the operating table that could not be called "human," Lin Zheng felt a huge sense of absurdity welling up inside him.

Am I preserving dignity, or am I desecrating it?

The work begins with "taking inventory".

Riley pushed a huge stainless steel tray to the side of the operating table, and then, with a pair of long-handled tweezers, began to pick up the scattered tissue and bone fragments one by one, sorting and placing them on the tray.

Lin Zheng's task was to assist, handing over tools to cleanse the organization.

He turned on the tap, and the cold, running water washed over a patch of damaged skin, carrying away the asphalt and glass shards.

For the first time, he observed the subcutaneous tissue of a recently deceased human at such close range: yellow fat, red muscle fibers—a living biological chart.

Several hours have passed.

Time lost its meaning in this windowless room filled only with light and the smell of blood.

Lin Zheng's senses gradually became numb. The initial nausea and fear were replaced by extreme fatigue and mechanical repetition.

His brain had stopped thinking; only the instinct to execute commands remained.

"Skeletal fixation." Ryan's voice pulled him back from his daze.

The next step is to reconstruct the skeleton.

Ryan used a hand drill to make small holes at both ends of the broken bone, and then used a strong steel wire to thread it through, reconnecting and fixing the broken bone like beads.

The only sounds in the room were the clicking, tapping of the drill and the friction of the tightening wire.

Lin Zheng was responsible for stabilizing the limbs. He could feel the sharpness of the broken bones, which stung his palms through his gloves.

He no longer thought about whose arm or whose leg it had once been.

It is just part A and part B.

After the skeleton was reconstructed, a barely human-shaped outline appeared on the operating table.

But this is only the beginning.

"Muscle tissue attachment".

This work is more like rough sewing.

Using huge, curved suture needles threaded with thick thread soaked in preservative solution, they began to re-sew large chunks of muscle tissue back onto the bones.

The dull sound of the needle piercing flesh and the resilience of the fascia being stretched were clearly transmitted through the fingertips.

Lin Zheng's hands were no longer trembling.

He learned how to apply force in the most efficient way and how to insert needles to ensure better tissue adhesion.

He even completed a forearm muscle suture under Riley's demonstration.

When he tied the last knot and cut the thread, he felt nothing.

I felt neither a sense of accomplishment nor a sense of guilt.

There was only a blank space.

Ryan Bert would occasionally speak, not to give guidance, but more like talking to himself, or rather, to provide Lin Zheng with a continuous psychological boost.

"The family needs a proper farewell."

A tangible, relatable entity, not a report from a funeral home or a box filled with fragments.

"What we do goes beyond medicine; it's more like... end-of-life care."

We are the final ferrymen, ensuring they can complete their final journey with dignity.

These words, like hypnosis, kept pouring into Lin Zheng's weary mind.

He began to believe that he was doing something terrifying, but also full of meaning and humanitarian brilliance.

This belief, this booster, numbed his tormented nerves, allowing him to continue.

The final step is the skin.

This is the most meticulous, and also the most terrifying, work.

Like tailors, they unfolded, stretched, and trimmed the torn pieces of leather on the body, then sewed the edges together with finer needles and thread.

Lin Zheng was responsible for the final facial reconstruction.

That face was the most severely damaged in the car accident.

Based on the photos in the forensic report, he could only painstakingly reposition the remaining facial features with tweezers and probes, and fill in the collapsed areas with wax and molding materials.

Now, he is a craftsman who makes dolls, focused and silent.

When the last stitch was finished, and he gently wiped the blood and wax from the "work's" face with a damp cloth, the shadowless lights on the ceiling seemed to brighten a bit.

On the operating table, there lies a "person".

A "person" with stitches all over his body, uneven skin color, and slightly stiff facial features, but who does have a complete human form.

He lay there quietly, as if he were just asleep.

Lin Zheng put down his tools and took a step back.

A tremendous feeling of exhaustion swept over him, his legs went weak, and he could barely stand.

The work, which lasted for hours and almost made me vomit my soul, is finally over.

Together with Riley, he pushed the "work" into the adjacent cold storage room.

The heavy metal door slammed shut, shutting everything out.

"Today is just teaching; our actual work involves a much larger number of people, and the speed is several times faster than this."

Lin Zheng heard it but didn't want to answer. He rushed into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and buried his face in the cold water.

He repeatedly scrubbed his hands and forearms until his skin turned red and sore, but the sticky, bloody smell and the odor of formaldehyde seemed to have seeped into his bones and could not be washed away no matter what.

The mirror reflected a pale, tired face with numb eyes.

He could hardly recognize himself.

A clean towel was handed to me.

It's Ryan Burt.

He leaned against the door frame, his face bearing an expression that Lin Zheng had never seen before, an expression that was almost "approval".

"You're more resilient than I thought." For the first time, his tone carried a hint of warmth.

"Just do a good job, you'll get used to it."

Lin Zheng took the tissue, wiped his face, and said nothing.

"How do you feel?" Ryan asked. "Don't you feel... like you've done something meaningful?"

Do you feel like a hero?

Lin Zheng nodded silently.

Despite the painful process, the thought of "preserving the dignity of the deceased" was indeed the only pillar that kept him going.

Ryan chuckled softly, the sound of which seemed somewhat jarring in the quiet bathroom.

"Do you know what that speech you just gave about dignity, about family members, about end-of-life care..."

He paused, looked directly into Lin Zheng's eyes, and the smile on his face slowly faded, replaced by an eerie calm.

If this were a horror movie, the atmosphere would undoubtedly be perfectly created, but this is reality, a cruel reality.

"...It was all a lie."

Lin Zheng suddenly raised his head, his mind blank.

"A useful lie is one that helps newcomers get through the initial mental shock; it can be considered part of the onboarding training."

Ryan patted him on the shoulder and shook his head.

"Family members? The family members of this body received the death notification and a procedural certificate a few hours ago."

"They will never see the 'work' we've worked so hard to complete today."

"Do you remember when you applied for your driver's license, there was a small option on the form, 'Are you willing to become an organ donor?' The word 'donor' was written in red."

Lin Zheng's heart sank; he already knew what Ryan was going to say.

"He checked 'yes,' so the moment he was declared dead, his body no longer belonged to his family, but to the state government as public property, and we were the government-designated contractor to handle it."

Ryan took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and handed one to Lin Zheng.

"Fortunately, he died on the spot without suffering, saving his family money and energy. Not to mention that some hospitals that cooperate with us may provide passive treatment and wait for his death."

Lin Zheng mechanically took it, but did not light it.

"Our real customers are not those heartbroken families."

Ryan lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and the smoke he exhaled blurred his cold face.

"It's those large pharmaceutical companies that need to test the effects of newly developed drugs."

It's those biotechnology labs that need to study damage models of internal organs.

Even defense contractors are testing new weapons and new body armor.

"We are not the cleanup crew."

"We are artisans."

Ryan's soft chuckle echoed in the room.

"We process these ownerless, broken raw materials into high-precision test models that are structurally complete, fully functional, and can simulate real physiological responses to the greatest extent possible."

"Then, sell them for a good price."

Ryan's words instantly shattered the fragile belief that Lin Zheng had just established.

The cigarette in Lin Zheng's hand fell to the ground.

"So, the real test of this job isn't whether you can tolerate blood and stench."

Ryan exhaled the last puff of smoke, stubbed out the cigarette in the sink, and then threw it into the trash can.

"The question is, after you know the truth of all this, can you still continue doing it with a clear conscience?"

Ryan turned on the tap to wash his hands and took the towel from Lin Zheng to dry them.

"This is a screening process."

People who can tolerate the job but not the truth will break down.

Those who couldn't tolerate either option ran away on the first day.

Only those who can tolerate both are qualified to eat here.

He nodded, seeing Lin Zheng's distraught appearance.

"Go back now, your work for today is finished."

I'm giving you a few days off to rest and think things through.

He turned to leave, but turned back when he reached the door.

"If you've made up your mind, come to work at 8 a.m. next Monday. If you don't come, I'll take it as you've given up."