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

Read the full novel for free, Chapter 135: The Wall of Electricity: Breaking Through Life and Death in an Instant. Link: [link missing].

Arthur stared at the blue-purple arcs of electricity dancing in the slits, the blinding light seeming to cast distorted double images on his retinas. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning sulfur and the distinctive hiss of high-voltage current, like an invisible barrier proclaiming the deadly danger of this area.

The geological structure here determines the abnormal humidity. The seeping moisture not only nourishes the damp rust, but also blends perfectly with the unique "organization industry" technology of the Finch Laboratory, covering the entire underground space with a layer of activated mucus, which is slowly breathing at all times.

The thick concrete walls, originally reinforced with a three-foot-thick double layer, should have been indestructible by any conventional assessment. However, to Arthur's eyes, these cold building materials appeared different, more like the skeleton of some kind of half-rotten organism, emitting a viscous, eerie sucking sound beneath a layer of fleshy membrane. On the walls, faint purple veins writhed slowly beneath a translucent keratin layer, releasing weak bioelectrical signals. This sense of activity was not an illusion, but the sinister product of Finch's forced grafting of primitive biological neurons onto inorganic materials.

This means that any abnormal physical interference will be reported to the central processing center immediately.

Arthur steadied himself, his combat boots crunching on the rusted iron grille, which was now just a skeleton.

Lina pressed against his back, her breathing unusually heavy due to the filter, each breath sounding like a bellows desperately pumping in an old workshop.

Lina's military-grade modified terminal emitted a deep blue, cold light. The raw commands cascading down the screen reflected on her face, making it appear as pale and taut as freshly made porcelain. The faint hum of the liquid nitrogen circulation system inside the terminal sounded particularly jarring in the humid air. It was like a wild beast trapped in a narrow space, letting out a resentful growl, desperately squeezing out every last bit of computing power.

The temperature here is about six degrees Celsius higher than the surface temperature.

This hot and humid environment is deadly to sophisticated electronic reconnaissance equipment. Even after being modified with liquid nitrogen overclocking, the machine in Lina's hands still emitted a faint, sharp whistling sound.

"Boss, the ozone concentration in the air is three times higher than the standard. This is because the high-voltage discharge system is operating at saturation. This intensity... smells like an entire forest being struck by lightning at the same time." Lina's voice was very low, but in the earphones it sounded like two pieces of dry sandpaper rubbing against each other, with a hint of obvious anxiety.

Arthur did not turn around.

His hand slid naturally to his waist, his fingertips touching the cold, rough walnut grip of Arthur's Cold Steel revolver. In this bizarre environment filled with illusions and advanced algorithms, this old-fashioned mechanical weapon, with its simple physical operating logic, became his only anchor for maintaining himself and resisting the chaos. Like a reliable old friend, it was heavy and real, providing him with a sense of security far more than the illusory data interwoven with light and shadow.

According to declassified documents provided by Isabella, this maintenance passage, numbered G-12, should have been filled in with cement back in the 1990s.

But in the grand narrative of the American Dream Corporation, no resources are truly wasted, including these Cold War legacies that should have been decaying. They transformed this abandoned passage into a giant high-voltage current trap by installing special energy couplers.

Turning past the vent covered in a dark yellow sludge, the view suddenly opened up. A massive, abandoned pumping station, reeking of rust and machine oil, loomed in the cavity ahead. It was no longer a simple machine, but more like a bloated organ made of metal and flesh, irregularly expanding and contracting in the shadows. Four high-powered centrifugal pumps, manufactured by Westinghouse Electric Corporation in 1958, now convulsed like dying beasts in the shadows, each convulsion accompanied by a painful groan from the depths of their machinery, vibrating the grilles beneath their feet.

These machines were originally supposed to be painted with olive-green industrial paint, but under Finch's modifications, they were completely transformed. Now, they are encased in a blackened, translucent keratinous layer covered with purplish-red veins, beneath which muscle fibers, forcibly driven by bioelectricity, are faintly visible. This grotesque coating makes the cold steel appear and feel abnormally soft, even allowing one to sense faint internal pulsations. They are a fusion of machine and life, a living defense system.

The air was thick with the acrid smell of metal, forcibly ionized. This smell instantly awakened in Arthur's memory bank the sensory experience of the fire in the Emerald Dream City slums years ago. It was the despairing scent of countless synthetic materials and reason being burned together.

Most deadly of all was the high-voltage power grid that stretched across the center of the pumping station, seemingly woven from countless nightmares. Hundreds of thickened copper alloy wires crisscrossed in the darkness, forming a spiderweb-like geometric structure, each emitting a dangerous hum, brimming with energy enough to instantly vaporize a human body. The current on the surface of the grid pulsed at a chilling frequency, occasionally igniting the surrounding dark yellow sap, sending up tiny, foul-smelling sparks that heralded the edge of death.

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly, a strange glint flashing deep within his pupils.

A talent for dream anatomy quietly activated deep within his mind. In his vision, this seemingly impenetrable line of defense against death began to change, no longer a simple circuit, but a complex and ever-changing barrier, a blurring of "consciousness" and "matter." The originally blinding blue electric light was filtered into translucent energy flow patterns, and the physical structure of the copper alloy vaguely revealed the distorted dream algorithm injected by Finch. At the intersection of these complex cables, several bright, grayish-white, structurally fragile lines trembled wildly. It wasn't a physical break, but a "conceptual gap" left in the deep protocol when dream logic and real-world circuits combined, a gap that could be interfered with by a specific frequency. If the pulse of that frequency could be instantly severed, a momentary hole, just wide enough for one person to pass sideways, would appear in this electric wall.

However, in Isabella's blueprint, this place was supposed to be a spacious and harmless supply storage area. This error gave Arthur a feeling of weightlessness, as if he were falling into an abyss. Finch's madness exceeded all intelligence estimates, adding countless unknown variables to this already perilous infiltration operation. He knew that every miscalculation could mean the lives of everyone in his team. Finch wasn't just building defenses; he was manipulating the underlying rules of reality, turning the entire base into a living, thinking, and aggressive monster.

"Arthur, the blueprint has been tampered with at the underlying protocol level. That madman Finch has logically restructured the base's dynamic defense mechanism." Isabella's voice rang out in the channel, her usual indifferent tone revealing a hint of urgency.

"I just intercepted pulse fluctuations from the internal monitoring system. The energy output power near you is surging abnormally, which means the system has detected someone interfering with the ozone balance in the air!" Ava's voice followed closely, still carrying the overarching rationality characteristic of someone in a superior position, but her speech was noticeably faster, like a high-speed processor issuing a warning. Her data stream was like a cold torrent, impacting everyone's nerves.

"I have already used the three-dimensional measurement model of the near-Earth satellite to provide you with an extreme EMP intervention plan, but that window is only five seconds long."

"Five seconds later, the base's backup power will be recharged within 0.3 milliseconds, and anyone remaining in that area will be vaporized."

Lena let out a suppressed gasp, her adrenaline surging, making her body tense. Her fingertips rapidly traced a complex frequency curve on the virtual panel of Lena's military-grade modified terminal, each command like a life-or-death struggle. Her movements were swift, but her fingertips froze for a second due to intense tension, and a fine layer of cold sweat beaded on her forehead. As a technician who had just stepped onto this edge of life and death, she hadn't yet learned how to completely block out the chill brought by death; that icy cold almost froze her heart and lungs.

Arthur noticed her unease and placed his large, calloused hand firmly on her shoulder.

"Take a deep breath, child. Treat the machine in your hand like a gun; all we need to do is make a hole in the heart of the target." Arthur's voice was deep and powerful, like an anchor sinking to the bottom of the water, pulling Lena back from the brink of collapse. His hand was warm and firm, conveying unspoken trust, which was more powerful than any words in this desperate situation.

He deftly pulled the small, high-energy EMP module from Lena's pouch. This dark metal block, assembled from capacitors from several discarded industrial defibrillators, had a rough exterior, clearly visible solder joints, and exuded a brutal, savage aesthetic. In the logic of the American Dream Corporation, all innovation should be encapsulated in an elegant, smooth shell, and all substandard technology should be destroyed. But in the eyes of someone like Arthur, only old parts with exposed copper wires and solder joints—those battle-tested, reliable, and deadly tools—were truly trustworthy and capable of creating miracles on this distorted battlefield.

The cloying, chemically-laden scent of the air was growing stronger, like thick syrup seeping into the lungs. It was a tranquilizer called Sweet Sleep, the country's most adept soft weapon for quelling any discordant noise. This drug not only dulled bodily reactions but also silently eroded everyone's concentration, making the air thick and suffocating, and thoughts beginning to cloud the mind.

"Arthur, there's no time to argue about the blueprint's flaws! Walter Lehman's guard squad has already assembled at Elevator Shaft No. 3, a kilometer away!" Isabella shouted hoarsely into the communicator, her voice tinged with a panic on the verge of losing control. She knew how terrifying Lehman was, and she knew that at this moment, any hesitation meant certain doom.

"That guy's nose is sharper than a stray dog's. He can trigger the area self-destruct protocol as soon as he smells even the slightest bit of ozone from an EMP overload."

Lena trembled as she inserted the high-energy module into the terminal's parallel interface, almost feeling the cold metal block in her hand rapidly heating up. The terminal's heatsink instantly emitted a chilling screech, like metal being forcibly torn apart. The previously blue screen turned a dangerous dark red, and warning signals flooded in. This power output exceeded the physical limits of the wiring; the machine seemed poised to explode from overload at any moment.

Arthur drew his Cold Steel revolver, not aiming at anyone. He was simply using the heavy touch of the pistol to drive a nail of his own will into this ethereal, hybrid realm of dreams and reality. In that moment, the gun was not merely a weapon, but the embodiment of his determination to resist passivity and take control of his own destiny—an ancient and unwavering belief.

"Three...two...one! Start!"

Lina closed her eyes and pressed the execution button, which had become sticky due to the high temperature.

A faint yet soul-piercing electronic buzz erupted within the cramped pump station. It was a strange sound wave, somewhere between ultra-high and ultra-low frequencies, directly impacting the depths of the human senses, causing a sharp pain in the eardrums. The previously raging blue-purple currents instantly seemed to be gripped tightly by some invisible hand, freezing in place. The entire power grid fell into a deathly silence in an instant, with only the remaining eerie blue light flickering faintly in the air, like will-o'-the-wisps about to go out.

Five seconds—this was a tiny crack that Ava had forcibly torn open on this massive altar using money and computing power.

Arthur moved, like a seasoned detective who had spent thirty years tracking criminals through a dark alley, his speed leaving only a blurry afterimage. Each step he took landed precisely on the most stable support points of the cast iron grille. Even in his high-speed charge, he could still see the microscopic cracks inside the circuit components ahead.

five.

Four.

three.

Two team members tumbled awkwardly behind him, and could even smell the charring of the fine lint on their uniforms in the ionization field residue.

In the final second before exhaustion, Lina slipped on the edge of the grille due to exhaustion. Arthur's hand, like an iron clamp emerging from the darkness, grabbed her collar and flung the terrified technologist toward the inspection platform opposite.

In the next instant, the previously extinguished pump station erupted with a ghastly white light ten times brighter than before, accompanied by a deafening roar that enveloped everyone in an intense beam of light. The electricity returned, but it was no longer a simple flow; instead, it was a raging, vengeful fury. The newly replenished electric grid drew several violent blue arcs through the air, each flash accompanied by a crackling sound, instantly reducing several moths flitting through the darkness to ashes, leaving not even a trace of their lives.

Not only the power grid, but also a set of hydraulic balance bars behind the pump station physically ruptured due to EMP overload. Scalding red hydraulic oil splattered everywhere, like blood and flesh, corroding the surrounding metal structures with a hissing sound. The entire underground facility seemed to be completely awakened at that moment, no longer passively defending itself, but instead emitting a living, breathing roar of pain and rage. The previously dull, dormant growl instantly transformed into a high-pitched, murderous scream—the entire building's "nervous system" collectively convulsing, every activated node issuing a primal warning to the intruders.

"The system is on full alert, Arthur! The abnormal energy fluctuations have triggered the main defense logic of Finch Labs!" Ava's voice sounded intermittent in the earpiece, filled with the background noise of digital tearing.

"The surveillance footage I'm seeing turned completely red three seconds ago. All logical connections are in a state of high interference... The main biometric access control system has completely locked the physical exit. That was a final protocol that Finch reserved during the design to prevent internal leaks. Once triggered, no one but him can pass through." Ava's voice sounded intermittent in the earpiece, filled with the background noise of digital tearing, and even her usually calm voice carried a noticeable heaviness.

"Lina, check your terminal! Quickly!" Arthur wiped the liquid mixed with cooking oil and cold sweat from his face.

Lina scrambled to her feet, her fingers trembling as she tapped on her military-grade modified terminal.

A series of flashing red warnings popped up on the screen, the text like some kind of parasite wriggling under a microscope. These weren't standard codes, but rather some kind of insane, memetic phrase: They see, they eat, they never sleep. Lena's pupils constricted sharply, terror and bewilderment mingling in her eyes. These bizarre statements seemed to be etched directly into the depths of her consciousness, sending chills down her spine.

"The blueprint data stream is being contaminated by this stuff... those hidden backup paths are disappearing like withered leaves."

In the headphones, Ava's voice carried an unprecedented solemnity.

"Arthur, Finch is more insane than we thought. He not only pieced people together, he also wove the mad consciousness of these dead into the base's control network."

"This explains why this dilapidated pumping station from the old era can operate such a bizarre defensive array. He used the residual consciousness of the dead as the control logic of the base; that despair, fear, and madness are the true core driving these 'activated' defensive facilities."

In this despairing silence, a steady and cold sound of footsteps began to emerge from the other end of the long, dark passage, like the pendulum of death, striking the nerves of everyone with each beat. The sound was extremely regular, like the throbbing of a heartbeat within a chest made of flesh and metal, filled with a suffocating sense of oppression.

Arthur gripped his Cold Steel revolver tightly.

On the long-extinct blueprint in his mind, he saw an extremely narrow and pitch-black crack. It was a ventilation duct used to discharge waste biological fluid. There, some extremely fragile structure of reality was trembling slightly under the purple light.

He knew that if that path also failed, this pumping station, which was gradually becoming scorching hot due to motor overload, would become their final, industrial-style, nickel-plated tomb.

The owner of those footsteps was approaching, and a dangerous aura carrying the scents of disinfectant and fresh leather gradually filled the air. It was Walter Lehman, Finch's most loyal hound, a ruthless and highly efficient security captain. His arrival meant they had lost any chance of negotiation or delay; only destruction awaited them. Arthur gripped his cold steel revolver tightly, his knuckles white. He tried to piece together a last glimmer of hope from the fading blueprint in his mind.