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

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The rain fell low, splashing across the streets of Emerald Dream City, cutting the city's neon lights into countless flowing blocks of color.

Professor Finch's laboratory building stood like a silent, giant sculpture in the rain, its gray-white glass curtain walls gleaming with a damp, dark light under the night sky, exuding a chilling industrial-age feel.

The towering building looked ordinary, but it had no brightly lit windows, and the huge portico was pitch black, like the gaping maw of an abyss.

The landscape surrounding the building was exceptionally clean, a stark contrast to the graffiti and dilapidation commonly seen elsewhere in the city. Even the rainwater on the ground seemed to be guided by some invisible force to specific drainage outlets, and everything was perfect to the point of being meticulous.

Arthur Morgan wrapped his old khaki trench coat tighter around himself, rainwater sliding down the brim of his hat and wetting his collar.

He crouched low, using the dim light of the rainy night to quickly pass through the shadows of the street corner, his figure completely swallowed by the darkness.

Three figures followed closely behind him: Lina Kaplan, an elite armed personnel under Ava's command, petite in stature but agile and nimble in movement, clutching a device wrapped in a waterproof cloth tightly in her arms; the other two were also mercenaries employed by Ava, dressed in specially made combat uniforms, their weapons gleaming metallically in the rain.

They walked on the slippery sidewalk, the faint sound of their shoes scraping against the ground almost completely drowned out by the heavy rain.

Beneath his trench coat, Arthur's revolver rested against his side, the cool metallic sheen seeping through the thin fabric.

This is a habit he has developed over many years, a familiar tactile sensation that allows him to feel a physical presence in this increasingly unreal world.

He looked up at the top of the laboratory building, where there was no lighting, but the building's outline seemed to expand slightly in a somewhat incongruous way in the hazy rain and mist, or perhaps it was just an illusion.

He had heard many rumors about the laboratory, saying that it imprisoned things older than human thought, and some even described how Professor Finch shaped his "works" by distorting the minds of his subjects.

Now, Arthur and his companions are about to enter Finch's labyrinth of consciousness.

He slowed his pace until he reached the main entrance of the building, a heavy automatic glass door.

The door appeared black and smooth in the rain, reflecting distorted urban light and shadow.

He reached out, his gloved fingertips lightly touching the cold surface of the glass door.

In that instant, a slight stinging sensation came from his fingertips, as if he had touched an electrified wire, and a tiny current was coursing through his fingers.

He felt as if he were passing through an invisible membrane, a viscous and elastic medium, not a physical obstacle, but more like a mental barrier.

The next second, a hidden alarm above the door emitted a barely perceptible "click" at an extremely low frequency. A red light, almost invisible to the naked eye, flashed rapidly on a black sensor embedded in the door frame before instantly going out.

Arthur's eyebrows rose slightly, faster than expected.

"Alert level raised to medium. Finch has already noticed." The Shadow's cold voice, with an untimely urgency, came through the encrypted channel in Arthur's earpiece in an instant.

The shadow's voice was like an icicle, instantly piercing Arthur's carefully maintained composure and pulling him into an even more tense reality.

He could hear the rapid tapping of the keyboard by the shadowy figure, a sound that seemed to penetrate the rain and remind him that time was running out.

"You must hurry, Captain. We don't know how long he can hold on. Lin Zheng's time is running out." Youying spoke rapidly, her voice carrying an unprecedented gravity, as if foreshadowing some ominous ending.

Arthur pressed himself against the edge of the door frame, blending his body into the shadows as much as possible, listening intently to any sounds coming from inside the building, even though all he heard was the sound of rain and distant city noise.

He could feel an inexplicable sense of oppression permeating the air. Everything here seemed too "correct" and too "orderly," which made him feel uneasy and out of place in the chaotic Emerald Dream City outside.

This sense of incongruity was the most direct evidence of Finch's distorted will that he intuitively perceived.

He lowered his voice and briefly replied into the microphone, "Received."

Arthur gently pushed open the door, the hinges making no sound, and he led his team members into the building like ghosts.

Inside the door was a straight corridor, brightly lit to the point of being blinding. The floor was made of polished gray-white tiles, reflecting the cold white fluorescent lights overhead and casting their elongated, distorted shadows.

A strange, mixed smell permeated the air, a cloying blend of the sweetness of incense and the pungent odor of industrial alcohol, as if one were in a morgue that had just undergone a religious ceremony and was hastily disinfected.

The smell was nauseating, yet it also carried a ritualistic solemnity that clashed with the high-tech atmosphere of the surroundings.

The walls were devoid of any decoration, but every few meters there was an embedded display screen showing a still image: a pure white rose that never fades, its petals so finely detailed they were almost pathological, and so perfect they were without a single flaw.

This perfect tranquility, however, made Arthur wary, because perfection itself implies premeditation and control, and falsehood.

Suddenly, at the end of the corridor, a figure flashed through the light; it was not an illusion, but a real presence.

It was a vision guard, dressed in a dark security uniform, but his proportions seemed slightly off to Arthur, as if he were pieced together from several mismatched components.

The guard's movement pattern is also a kind of precise mechanization. Every step he takes and every turn is like a pre-calculated program, without any superfluous movements, and without any hesitation or slackness that a human should have.

His eyes had no pupils, only two unnatural crimson lights flickering like small arcs of electricity, cold and wary.

The guard held a peculiarly styled rifle in his hand. The barrel seemed to be wriggling slightly at a frequency imperceptible to the naked eye. It didn't have the cold texture of metal; rather, it felt like there was living tissue breathing slowly inside. Its muzzle also had an irregular geometric shape.

This guard appears human, but it exudes an indescribable inhuman aura, a projection of Finch's consciousness and a product of the Reality Distortion Zone.

Arthur immediately raised his hand to signal the team members to stop. Everyone pressed themselves against the wall, completely hiding their bodies in the shadows.

The illusion guardian walked slowly from the end of the corridor with his precise and unerring steps, making an extremely faint "rustling" sound between his steps, like plastic rubbing against the ground, or like some kind of organism slowly wriggling.

His gaze swept precisely over every corner of the corridor, leaving nothing out. His crimson eyes even paused briefly at their hiding places before continuing his patrol without finding anything.

"They don't have human thermal imaging systems, only visual and acoustic sensors," the Shadow's voice came again, carrying clear instructions. "Finch's defenses are analyzing your movement patterns; they'll try to predict your next move."

Arthur knew that they were not facing simple security guards, but Finch's "eyes" and "arms," ​​entities given the power to act in this "fictional reality."

He observed the guard's every movement and every turn of his head, trying to find patterns and flaws in his actions.

It's like playing a game of chess against a sophisticated calculation machine; any slight deviation could lead to its detection.

The team continued deeper, needing to traverse this labyrinth woven from Finch's will at an even faster pace.

A heavy premonition weighed on Arthur's heart, like the low pressure before a storm, making it hard to breathe.

That heavy burden wasn't just about the risks of the mission, but also about the crisis that Lin Zheng could face at any moment.

He could sense a strange mental fluctuation coming from the depths of the building. It was an extension of Finch's arrogant will, and also a faint distress signal from Lin Zheng, who was trapped inside. Like a faint flame burning in the distance, it reminded him that time was running out.

Arthur tightened his grip on the revolver; the metallic touch was no longer cold, but instead carried an almost burning determination.

He knew that there was a special connection between him and Lin Zheng, a bond that transcended ordinary interpersonal relationships.

It was a kind of fateful overlap, like the merciless judgment he had faced back then, and like the inhuman torture Lin Zheng was currently enduring. The two intertwined into an invisible thread, connecting them.

Lin Zheng, like him, was once obsessed with those who died and no one cared. That deep empathy allowed him to see his past self and also to see an uncorrupted hope.

He had to rescue Lin Zheng from that madman, not only for the mission, but also for a promise in his heart.

The thought was like a fine needle, pricking Arthur's weary heart, bringing a slight sting, but also giving his tense nerves a moment's relief.

In Lin Zheng's hazy perception, coldness and chaos continued to engulf him.

He felt like a grain of sand being crushed and scattered in an endless wasteland, all the sense of reality he once possessed gradually being stripped away.

The blood seeping from his nasal cavity had congealed into dark scabs, blocking his airway, making each breath feel like inhaling rotten soil.

An unbearable, tearing pain surged from deep within his body, a pain that seemed to originate from the very core of his soul, not just his flesh and blood.

An unbearable, tearing pain surged from deep within his body, a pain that seemed to originate from the very core of his soul, not just his flesh and blood.

Finch's voice, like an all-pervasive icicle, pierced once again into the depths of his shattered consciousness.

The voice was deep and magnetic, yet carried a morbid sweetness, full of victor's smugness and a seductive allure, attempting to make him completely give up his resistance.

"Give up, Lin Zheng." Finch's voice was like a whisper in his ear, or as if it were ringing directly in his mind, without any sense of distance or echo.

"This 'reality' will eventually become your new home."

"Here, you will find eternal peace... and order."

Finch promised a false peace; the "tranquility" and "order" he described were, in fact, a complete erasure of individual free will.

Lin Zheng's consciousness was like a ship in a raging storm, swaying precariously in a massive torrent of mental energy, its hull already riddled with holes.

He felt a huge, invisible force surging in from all directions, trying to completely crush his last remaining anchor of "who am I," as if trying to knead him into a shapeless lump of mud.

"Who am I?" This question echoed repeatedly in the depths of his consciousness. It was his last line of defense, the final proof of his existence.

However, whenever he tried to focus on the thought, chaotic fragments of information and Finch's whispers would rush in, overwhelming him and trying to make him forget his name, his past, and why he was there.

He struggled in agony, his consciousness bordering on countless phantoms, blurry and indistinct. Sometimes they were subjects being tortured in Finch's laboratory, sometimes they were fragmented images of the "Gundams" he had assembled himself, their distorted faces screaming silently.

Just as his consciousness was about to dissipate, a faint yet exceptionally clear chill suddenly emerged from the ancient mark within his body.

The coldness was not a physical chill, but a transcendent clarity, as if from the depths of the universe. It was like a bolt of lightning piercing through the fog, instantly dispelling the chaos and illusions around him.

The power of the ancient mark rose slowly from the depths of his shattered consciousness like an underground spring, carrying an ancient obscurity and primal purity.

It is completely different from the distortion and decay of Finch's dream. It is neither malicious nor benevolent, but a pure "existence" that exudes a powerful aura that is unpolluted.

That cold power left a clear ripple deep within his weakened soul. Every fragment of his soul was rewoven and given new meaning, like a patient craftsman carving a piece of hard-won jade into a new form.

Lin Zheng vaguely sensed a signal from the outside world. It was neither sound nor image, but a strong sense of "presence," a ignited light of hope.

It was faint, yet exceptionally firm, like an invisible thread that pierced through his suppressed consciousness and instantly connected with the ancient mark within his body.

This signal awakened his deep-seated survival instinct, allowing him to re-coagulate the last vestige of tenacious resistance within the shattered core of his "self."

Lin Zheng coughed painfully, the blood crusts in his nasal cavity were shaken off, bringing a brief stinging pain, but also making him feel more clearly that his body still existed.

He raised his head, and a stubborn flame suddenly ignited in his tired eyes, not out of anger, but for survival and for that unyielding dignity.

He felt the power of that ancient mark flowing through his body; though cold, it clearly told him: now, he must fight.

This is not the end, but the beginning of a deeper confrontation. He knew that he was still Lin Zheng, that he had not been devoured by Finch, and that he would never simply disappear.

He struggled to control that cold power, not to completely dominate it, but to allow it to flow in a symbiotic way. It was like an ally, providing him with the strongest support when he was at his weakest.

Lin Zheng knew that the external signal he sensed belonged to his comrades.

That was a ray of hope cast from the outside world, and it was the only reason for him to keep going.

His consciousness became clearer than ever before, and the ancient imprints resonated within him, connecting his dying spirit with the faint signals from the outside world.

He was ready to fight again, even if the price was complete burning, he was determined to break free from the mental prison that Finch had created.

Meanwhile, in the underground corridor of the laboratory building, the cold white fluorescent lights emitted a faint hum of electricity, a sound that sounded particularly jarring to Arthur's ears at that moment.

The metal walls gleamed with a cold luster, and the pungent smell of disinfectant mixed with ozone was unusually strong, like entering some kind of operating room, yet filled with the unknown and danger.

"Coordinates have been synced to your tactical helmet displays."

"At the same time, Ava has a new emergency report: Finch has sensed an external threat and, in a desperate move, has forcibly connected his entire consciousness to the system."

The shadowy figure's voice carried an undisguised astonishment, as if he were facing an enemy who had reached the end of his rope and chosen to perish together with him.

"He thus gained near-absolute control over this 'fictional reality'."

"But this also means that once this 'node' is destroyed, it will suffer the most direct and thorough backlash."

Through the voice of the shadow, Ava conveyed to Arthur Finch's final madness, which was both Finch's ultimate move and his most fatal weakness at this moment.

Arthur's gaze swept over the display screen inside the tactical helmet. A flashing red dot stood out conspicuously in the 3D building model and was marked as a "core node".

He glanced at Lena Kaplan, who was clutching the explosive device tightly beside him. Her face appeared somewhat pale in the dim light of her helmet, but her eyes were exceptionally resolute.

Arthur knew that this was no longer stealth; they had been exposed, and their only way out was to force their way in.

Without hesitation, he took a deep breath and let out a low growl, a beastly battle horn that heralded a fight to the death with no turning back.

"Cover Lina! No matter the cost, the explosives must be delivered!" His voice boomed like thunder in the corridor.

Arthur was the first to rush out of cover, his body moving almost simultaneously. He drew his revolver from under his trench coat, and without any aiming, instinctively pulled the trigger directly at the illusionary guard blocking his way.

"Bang!" The first gunshot rang out in the corridor, the bullet whistling out and hitting a vision guard squarely in the chest.

The guard's body twisted instantly, like a shattered glass sculpture, emitting a strange "creaking" sound. The fragments scattered and then quickly dissolved in the air, turning into a void of black mist.

But this brief victory did not provide any respite.

The gunshot was the signal; the alarm blared, and a blinding red light instantly filled the entire corridor, like blood flowing on the walls.

More illusion guardians poured out from the doors on both sides. Their numbers were astonishing, each with those scarlet, unnatural eyes, and the weapons in their hands began to emit high-frequency hums, ready to strike.

Bullets rained down on her. Lina was shoved by Arthur. Clutching the explosive device, she darted through the gaps in the bullets and charged toward the core node.

"Run!" Arthur roared, his body rolling through the hail of bullets, his revolver spitting fire, each shot a desperate act of desperation.

He could feel that he was not facing a wall, but rather assaulting a living, malicious mental prison.

There is no turning back in this battle; only by uprooting Finch can we escape this illusion unscathed.

Lena rushed to the front, with Arthur's roar in her ears and the fierce gunfight behind her. She felt that she had not stepped into a room, but into a living, malicious mental prison.

She proceeded with extreme caution, knowing that in this place completely controlled by Finch's consciousness, every inch of air could be a trap.

Behind her, Arthur and two other mercenaries were firing at full speed, trying their best to draw the guards' attention and create even a second's chance for her to break through.

Lina gritted her teeth, her eyes reflecting the "core node" flashing red at the end of the corridor. It was Lin Zheng's only hope, and Finch's only weakness.

She knew there was no turning back in this battle; she had to deliver the explosive device she was holding.

That was the only way out for all of them, including Lin Zheng, who was in danger.