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

Chapter 120 Elegy of the Soul: The Choice Before Collapse

Ava's finger hovered in mid-air, its tip less than a centimeter from the holographic tabletop.

She didn't look at the lingering shock on Arthur and Evelyn's faces, nor did she offer any explanation for the fleeting portrait of Theodore Sterling on the wall.

Explanation is unnecessary.

The truth is like mercury spilled on the ground; once revealed, it automatically seeps into every crevice, corroding all attempts to deny it.

She simply moved down slightly.

The data streams flowing on the desktop vanished instantly, as if they had never existed.

Instead, a new monitoring window is displayed, which is constantly being refreshed.

The window occupies two-thirds of the central area of ​​the desktop, and the image resolution is astonishingly high, even allowing you to see the dust particles floating in the air illuminated by high-intensity cold light.

The main subject of the picture is a chair.

That was no ordinary chair, but a composite that integrated a life support system, a neural signal acquisition array, and a physical restraint device. It was covered in a matte medical-grade white polymer, but its edges gleamed with a cold, hard metallic sheen.

The chair's design follows a certain unsettling, function-first aesthetic—all the pipes are exposed, neatly bundled and branched according to color and diameter, and finally converge in a half-person-high silver control cabinet behind the chair.

A person is sitting in the chair.

Lin Zheng.

He wore a loose-fitting white straitjacket of the same material, with his wrists and ankles secured to the armrests and footrests integrated with the chair by flexible carbon fiber straps.

The straps are lined with sensory fabric that can monitor blood oxygenation and micro-movements in the extremities and automatically tighten when struggling that exceeds a threshold is detected.

His head was tilted back against an ergonomic neck brace, with his chin gently held in place by a thinner strap to ensure his head wouldn't shift during the experiment.

The most shocking thing was his forehead.

There was—no, inserted—at least twelve microelectrode arrays there.

The electrode base is made of biocompatible titanium alloy, and the hair-thin probes penetrate directly into a specific area under the cerebral cortex through micro-holes pre-drilled in the skull.

Each electrode is connected to an optical fiber and data cable thinner than a human hair. The cables of different colors converge above his head into a bundle, like some kind of deformed nerve bundle, winding its way to the top interface of the control cabinet.

Around the electrode array, a ring of more traditional wet electrode pads, used to monitor basic brain electrical activity, is attached, the gel reflecting light under the cold light.

Lin Zheng's eyes were open.

But those eyes held no focus, no reflection of reality, and no emotion other than pain.

They stared blankly at some unseen point on the ceiling, their pupils dilated, and the color of their irises appeared unusually pale, almost grayish-white, under the bright light.

His lips were twitching.

It is not a conscious twitch, but a rhythmic spasm that occurs when the facial nerve is subjected to unbearable overstimulation.

Each spasm caused his entire jawbone to shift slightly, exposing his clenched, bleeding gums.

His nostrils were wide open, his chest heaved rapidly at an extremely unnatural frequency, each inhalation was short and shallow, and each exhalation was accompanied by a faint hissing sound, the kind that only comes when the lungs are squeezed to their limit.

This is a sign of hyperventilation, which is usually accompanied by extreme anxiety or panic.

However, in Lin Zheng's case, this physiological reaction seemed to be forcibly suppressed below a critical point by some external intervention—allowing him to fully experience suffocating fear without actually causing him to fall into a coma or suffer physical damage.

This is a precise form of torture.

On the right side of the screen, three smaller real-time data windows are displayed.

At the top is a dynamic line chart, with the horizontal axis representing time and the vertical axis being a scale labeled "Sanity Value," ranging from 100 to 0.

A scarlet curve is violently oscillating downwards in the middle of the chart, like a severed snake twisting wildly as it crashes towards the zero mark at the bottom.

The current value fluctuates between 37 and 42, and each downward spike corresponds to a more intense facial twitch or body tremor in Lin Zheng's face.

A rationality score below 50, in all the psychology and forensic psychiatry cases Evelyn has encountered, means that the subject has developed severe loss of reality, paranoia, and cognitive impairment, requiring immediate mandatory intervention and treatment.

A score below 30 indicates an extremely high risk of permanent damage to the personality structure, the beginning of the disintegration of self-awareness, and the possibility that the individual may lose the continuity and unity of being a "person".

Lin Zheng's stats are repeatedly testing the edge of this danger.

The second window displays a real-time functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) image of Lin Zheng's brain.

The activity of different brain regions is superimposed on the gray matter structure map in pseudocolor.

Normally, when a person is experiencing pain, the pain-related areas of the brain become highly active, turning bright red or yellow.

But Lin Zheng's brain imaging showed a completely different picture.

His entire cerebral cortex, almost all areas, was in a state of frenzied, hypersynchronized discharge.

The hippocampus was brightly lit, and the amygdala and prefrontal cortex were also highlighted, indicating that memory, primal emotions, and rational cognition were being activated and stirred up simultaneously and intensely.

Even more unusual was the abnormal activity in the connectivity between these regions—the white matter pathways that represent nerve fiber bundles also showed abnormal activity.

This goes against basic neuroscience common sense.

High-intensity, synchronized discharges across the entire brain are usually a manifestation of severe epileptic seizures or the use of certain potent hallucinogens, and can lead to complete loss of consciousness.

But Lin Zheng was clearly still "present" to some extent—even if it was a hellish presence.

This means that the stimulation applied to him was not only incredibly intense, but also possessed a capability beyond current neuroscience understanding—the ability to simultaneously hijack and overload all higher cognitive circuits.

Evelyn's breathing stopped.

As a forensic pathologist, she has witnessed death, the most gruesome traumas left by violence, bodies destroyed by drugs, and the empty eyes of mental patients.

But the data and images before us present something else entirely.

This is a systematic, industrialized process that destroys the core of a human spirit with maximum "efficiency".

It is not satisfied with physical pain or simple fear; it wants to throw a person’s entire memory, emotions, cognition, and self-awareness into a high-speed grinding machine, to completely decompose, reassemble, and contaminate them until a certain “residue” that meets specific standards is produced.

The scarlet sanity curve, the frenzied brain imaging, and the near-collapse physiological parameters were not byproducts of torture.

They are products in themselves, "data" that Professor Finch—or rather, the "Republic Project"—needs to collect and calibrate.

Lin Zheng, his pain, his fear, his soul being torn apart, are all just a semi-finished product being processed on the production line.

"Utopia" —

The word flashed through Evelyn's mind.

Now she understands.

That wasn't some kind of virtual reality therapy, nor was it some kind of consciousness uploading experiment.

It was a mental torture chamber built specifically for him, an endless loop.

Professor Finch, or the force behind him, is using Lin Zheng's special talent—"mental potential difference," that is, his potential to create a huge gap between hope and despair—as a "calibrator" for some kind of ritual.

They need to observe how a person with this potential would experience a mental breakdown when thrown into a cycle of perfect hope and cruel despair that can be designed arbitrarily and repeated infinitely.

They need precise data on when he began to hallucinate, when his memories began to distort, when his self-identity began to crumble, when he completely gave up resistance, and when that last glimmer of humanity was extinguished.

These data, every turning point, every threshold of collapse, will become the precise parameters of that massive sacrificial ritual.

It is used to calibrate how to harvest a wider range of people more "efficiently".

Lin Zheng is the monkey in the laboratory that is repeatedly shocked with electric shocks in order to observe the speed at which it learns despair.

However, the "electric shocks" inflicted on him were all the cherished memories, all the painful traumas, and all the unfulfilled desires in his life, which were infinitely magnified, distorted, and played on a loop.

Arthur's voice rang in Evelyn's ears, low and hoarse.

Evelyn turned her head and saw Arthur's face.

His skin was taut, his cheekbones protruded, his eye sockets were deep, and his eyes were bloodshot as he stared intently at Lin Zheng on the screen.

His right hand, the one gripping Arthur's revolver, had knuckles clenched so tightly they were white, veins bulging on the back of his hand, and the gun handle creaked under the weight of his palm.

His left hand hung at his side, fingers spread, then clenched tightly, nails digging deep into the flesh of his palm. A few drops of dark red blood seeped from between his fingers, silently dripping onto the dark gray composite fiber floor of the safe house.

Arthur was all too familiar with this tactic.

Not as a police officer, but as someone who has struggled for decades in the dirtiest corners of this city.

He knows how to destroy a person.

Physical torture is inefficient, leaves evidence, provokes resistance, and sometimes even instills a distorted sense of dignity in the victim.

The most skillful method is to destroy its meaning.

Make him believe that everything he cherishes is fake, that the person he loves has never loved him, that his persistence is a joke, and that his life was a worthless mistake from the very beginning.

When a person can no longer find a reason to live, even if his body is still alive, it is just an empty shell.

Professor Finch's work was far more thorough and "scientific" than anything Birgh had ever witnessed in street psychology.

He not only destroyed meaning, but he also quantified, visualized, and parameterized the process.

He turned Lin Zheng into a living, breathing, painful reactor that constantly outputs data.

The data stream on the screen is still scrolling.

A new comment appeared below the sanity curve, in the cold, system blue font.

"Sample 001, 19th baseline hope scenario implantation failed. The expected cognitive anchor 'mother image' failed to trigger positive emotional feedback, but instead showed a strong correlation with the deep traumatic memory of separation—blizzard, causing a sharp drop of 5.7 points in rationality. It is recommended to adjust the memory retrieval weight, or introduce secondary anchors such as 'hometown food' or 'childhood playmates' for offsetting testing."

The cold words describe the atrocities that are taking place.

They forcibly dragged out the last bit of warmth Lin Zheng had left, which he himself might not have even clearly perceived, and crushed it in front of him, binding it together with the pain and loneliness of parting.

They told him, "Look, what you're longing for is just the prelude to suffering. That little bit of warmth in your memory doesn't exist at all; it was inextricably linked to despair from the very beginning."

Then they recorded that he "crashed" 5.7 points.

Evelyn felt a wave of dizziness.

She gripped the edge of the control panel, the cool metallic touch coming from her palms, but it couldn't dispel the chill that shot up her spine.

Her gaze was fixed on Lin Zheng's face.

She saw his pain, his silent screams, and how the physiological data depicted a soul being slowly tortured.

But she felt an even greater sense of suffocation and professional powerlessness.

The crimson sanity curve, the frenzied discharge pattern of the entire brain, the physiological state forcibly maintained on the verge of collapse by external forces—all these point to one reality: what is being imposed on Lin Zheng is something that combines extremely advanced neurotechnology, deep psychological manipulation, and something—a "rule" beyond her comprehension.

Ava previously mentioned "void programming".

Perhaps it's not just about techniques for bypassing electronic firewalls.

Perhaps it is the ability to directly write and tamper with the underlying "code" of reality.

Lin Zheng's brain, his personality, his memories, and his emotions are all being "programmed" by this ability.

Professor Finch is the programmer, Lin Zheng is the runtime environment, and "Utopia" is the source code filled with malicious and destructive instructions.

Her pride as a forensic pathologist, the scientific foundation upon which she relied to understand the world, appeared so pale and so vulnerable in the face of this scene.

For the first time, she realized with such clarity how ridiculous and how utterly irrelevant all her and Arthur's previous plans, all their caution, all their doubts and considerations about Ava's motives had been.

When your friend is in the deepest part of hell, having their soul burned by flames, do you still have the mind to care whether the person who handed you the rope has blood on their hands?

Do you still have the right to doubt whether the rope is sturdy or whether there is another trap hidden inside?

No.

You have only one thought: grab it, no matter what it is, no matter the cost, grab it, then jump down and pull it up.

Or, be burned to ashes with him.

Arthur moved slightly.

He slowly and heavily loosened his clenched left hand, letting the blood drip from his palm.

Then, he took a step forward.

His steps were steady, his back straight; the old detective who was always slightly hunched over, his spine bent by alcohol and failure, was gone.

Standing there was the young man who, many years ago, had just put on his police uniform and vowed to protect the city.

It is Arthur Morgan, who, even when betrayed by the entire system and stripped of everything, never truly bowed his head.

He walked to the holographic desktop, not looking at Ava, but staring at Lin Zheng on the screen who was still silently enduring torment.

His gaze was as sharp as a knife, as if it could pierce through the screen, into the walls of Finch's laboratory, and into Professor Finch's gloved hand that was "lovingly" touching Lin Zheng's temple.

"tell me."

His voice rang out, hoarse and dry, yet carrying a resolute and unquestionable power.

The sound wasn't loud, but in the silent control center, it was like a stone thrown into a deep pool, creating a clear echo.

Tell us.

He turned his head, and for the first time his gaze truly landed on Ava Sterling's face.

There was no pleading, no compromise, and none of the complex emotions mixed with wariness and helplessness that had been present in that gaze before.

There was only a cold, burning determination.

"What should we do?"

It's not a question, it's a statement.

It refers to soldiers asking their commander for instructions on the attack route before charging forward.

Ava faced his self-light, her icy eyes devoid of any emotion.

She seemed to have anticipated this moment and had planned everything in advance.

From her display of the "Contract of Nation's Founding," from her interference with the "point of real-world distortion," from her revealing the Sterling family's portrait, to the final release of live footage of Lin Zheng being torn apart alive—

Every step he took was pushing Arthur and Evelyn toward the precipice, forcing them to jump off themselves.

Now, they jumped.

Evelyn also came over.

She stood next to Arthur, her shoulder almost touching his.

There were still tear stains on her face, and a thin layer of moisture covered her glasses, but she didn't wipe them away.

She simply raised her hand and, with trembling yet unusually firm fingers, wiped away the last bit of moisture from her cheek.

Her eyes changed.

The shock, confusion, and even a hint of fear that I had felt due to the overturning of my understanding had disappeared.

Instead, something harder and sharper, tempered by anger and compassion.

She looked at Ava, her gaze equally cold.

"I don't need any promises from you, Ava." Evelyn's voice was soft, but every word was crystal clear.

"I don't need to know your ultimate goal, I don't need to know what your relationship with your father is, and I don't need to know what you plan to do with Lin Zheng after rescuing him."

She paused, took a breath, and her chest heaved.

None of that matters.

"All I know is that I will never let Lin Zheng suffer there alone!"

Her voice suddenly rose, and the last few words were almost roared from her chest.

That is the most primal, instinctive anger and protective instinct when witnessing one's fellow human beings being treated inhumanely.

That was a doctor's scream, a scream that went beyond any professional code, as he faced a patient being murdered and was powerless to stop it.

The control center was deathly silent.

On the screen, Lin Zheng's physiological data continued to scroll silently, and his rationality curve dipped slightly downwards, stopping at 35.8.

Ava's gaze slowly swept over Arthur, then over Evelyn.

The corners of her mouth, her lips which were always pressed into a straight line, were now slightly curved upwards in an almost imperceptible arc.

That wasn't a smile, at least not a smile in the usual sense.

It was an extremely subtle muscle twitch, so brief that one might doubt whether it was merely an illusion created by light and shadow.

But it did exist.

Like a hunter's instinctive reaction when he sees his prey finally step into the deepest part of the trap.

Like a chess player who, upon seeing his opponent make a move that is certain to kill him, has a knowing glint in his eye.

Like a programmer seeing their complex program finally output the most crucial result as expected.

satisfaction?

perhaps.

She did not respond to their statements, offering no praise, no emotion, and no further explanation or reassurance.

She simply turned around again to face the holographic desktop.

Tap lightly with your finger.

The live footage of Lin Zheng's suffering shrank and moved to the corner of the screen, still playing silently, like an unavoidable background noise, constantly reminding them of the significance and urgency of their actions.

In the center of the desktop, a brand-new, extremely complex three-dimensional architectural structure diagram was displayed.

That was a complete layout of the Finch Labs, detailed down to every ventilation duct, every load-bearing column, and the location and blind spots of every surveillance camera.

Next to the architectural drawings are detailed text descriptions and data lists.

"Emerald Dream City, formerly Rain Needle Technology Park," the underground expansion of the abandoned military base in District 7, extending to depths of -4 to -7 levels.

"There are three main entrances: a disguised main entrance (heavily guarded), a freight passage (using biometrics and dynamic passwords), and an emergency ventilation shaft (0.8 meters in diameter, leading directly to the backup generator room on the fifth basement level)."

"Internal resident personnel: Research Director Finch (Level 1 authority), two deputy directors (Level 2 authority), eight technicians (Level 3 authority), twelve armed security personnel (divided into three shifts, equipped with non-lethal stun guns and live ammunition), and four logistics and cleaning personnel (no authority, restricted range of activities)."

Security system: Infrared dynamic sensing (full coverage), pressure-sensitive floor (core area), voiceprint recognition access control (all internal departments), and a backup monitoring network with independent power supply (fiber optic transmission, physical isolation).

"Lin Zheng's current location: Level -6, Central Experimental Area, Isolation Chamber A-07. The chamber is constructed of reinforced glass and a special alloy, with an independent life support and monitoring system inside and external connection to the main experimental platform."

After Ava finished presenting all the information, she put her hands behind her back, turned slightly to the side, and looked at Arthur and Evelyn again.

"Layout, personnel, weaknesses, and time window." Her voice remained calm and steady, without any emotional fluctuations; she was simply stating the facts.

"Everything you need to know is here."

She paused, her icy gaze lingering on Arthur and Evelyn's faces for a second.

Then, she posed that question.

That simple question, yet one of immense weight.

"Now," her voice was soft, yet it was like a cold awl piercing the air.

Tell me, where do you plan to start?

The control center fell into an even deeper silence.

They saw the trap, they saw the danger, they saw Lin Zheng's hell.

They decided to jump in without hesitation.

But it wasn't until this moment, when Ava calmly handed them the key to open the trap door, that Arthur suddenly realized—

They awaited to personally set the stage for this rescue—or rather, this grander scheme.

The real big fish may only be just getting ready to enter the fray.