America: The Cremator

"Good morning, America! It's time for the bizarre lottery draw again! Yesterday, the number of bizarre lottery results in the United States was—a full 88!"

"Let's congratulate the 17 lucky winners who correctly predicted the target..."

An exaggerated and noisy male voice came from the radio, accompanied by crackling electrical static, echoing in the somewhat somber interior of the Ford crematorium.

Upon hearing the number "88," Wells, in the driver's seat, slammed his fist on the steering wheel and excitedly growled, "Yes!"

Su Long turned his head, looking at him with some surprise: "What's going on? Did Lady Luck finally smile upon her today?"

Wells' face lit up with an unbelievable, ecstatic expression. He unlocked his phone, tossed it to Su Long, and said in a trembling voice, "I can't believe it either, man! Quick, get me a look, something might be wrong with my ears!"

Su Long took the phone and skillfully opened the betting app with its gaudy icon. The first line of the purchase history clearly showed the bet number "88".

Su Long's expression turned somewhat strange. He clearly remembered that when he last bought the ticket, he had chosen 88, just one number away from the grand prize. He never expected that his missed opportunity would fall on his partner in this way.

"How is it?" Wells asked impatiently.

Surong tossed the phone back onto the dial and sincerely congratulated him, "Congratulations, Mr. Wells, you've won the grand prize of ten thousand dollars!"

Wells pounded on the steering wheel, his excitement making him feel ten years younger: "Hahaha, this is amazing! Lucy has always wanted that damn Lego Disney castle, it's ridiculously expensive, it's like robbery, but now she can have it."

"And the oven at home, that old relic should have been replaced a long time ago. This time we can get a brand new one!"

Looking at the pure joy on the middle-aged man's face, Su Long felt the bitterness in his heart caused by the cruel twist of fate vanish.

In this damn world, there's not much happiness left that can be bought for a few hundred dollars.

Wells grinned, turned to look at Suron, and said excitedly, "Suron, listen to me, after this deal is done, I'll..."

Before he could finish speaking, Su Long swiftly pulled a cigarette from the pack next to the gearshift and precisely shoved it into Wells's incessantly chattering mouth, silencing him.

Suron said sternly, "Wells, shut your dog mouth unless you want this to be your last deal."

Wells paused for a moment, then realized he had almost triggered a death sentence from movies and novels. He immediately took the cigarette out of his mouth and awkwardly muttered, "Oh shit, you're right."

The scenery outside the car window gradually changed from the bustling city center to the desolate suburbs, with large areas of abandoned factories and low shacks appearing along the way, like festering scars on the edge of the city.

The Ford turned left at the fork in the road and continued for another 500 meters before finally stopping in front of a completely abandoned cannery.

The two got out of the car, and a damp smell mixed with rust and decaying plants hit them.

Immediately afterwards, they saw a huge metal cross standing in front of the factory's rusty iron gate.

It was crudely made from some kind of industrial waste, its bottom inserted into a pile of foul-smelling old tires and household garbage. A blurry human figure was fixed on it, and from a distance, its posture was exactly the same as the classic image of the Passion of Christ.

Su Long frowned and took a few steps closer. As he got closer, the gruesome state of the corpse became clearer and clearer.

His condition was even more shocking than in the photos; a tattered leather jacket hung on his body, and he was covered in wounds of varying depths. Although the upper half of his face was covered in blood and grime, its structure was still intact, but his jaw was completely split in two.

A soft tongue dangled from the crack, hanging limply on the neck like a purplish-red tie.

A long strip of cloth was stapled to the tip of the tongue, on which a sentence was written in blood.

"This is what happens to informers!"

As Su Long scanned the rest of the body, he saw that the muscle tissue in many places had begun to rot, showing a strange trend of turning into black mud.

Wells glanced at it and said with disgust, "The Columbia tie... looks like a gangland feud."

Surong subconsciously touched the "Sirius" at his waist, glanced around warily, and said quietly, "I hope those lunatics are gone. I'd rather face a newly born monster than humans with firearms."

He pulled out his body camera and took several photos of the scene as evidence. Then he said to Wells, "Come on, lay the crucifix flat and cremate it on the spot. The contamination level of this body is rising; we need to get this over with quickly."

Just as the two put on their heavy protective suits and were about to touch the metal cross, a deep and powerful engine roar suddenly came from afar.

The two men turned around warily at the same time and saw a muscular Dodge Challenger slowly driving up and finally stopping next to their crematorium truck.

The car door opened, and a man wearing a well-tailored black suit, polished leather shoes, and tactical sunglasses stepped out of the driver's seat.

He walked straight up to the two of them, his tone icy, with a habitual command: "Don't move. Put it there."

Su Long frowned, his hand still on the holster at his waist, and questioned, "Who are you? This is a work site for the Bureau of Corpses."

The man didn't answer, but instead pulled a wallet from his pocket and casually flashed it. The golden badge reflected a cold light in the sunlight, with the words "FBI" prominently engraved on it.

He put away his identification and introduced himself succinctly: "I am FBI Special Agent Adam, investigating an illegal controlled drug distribution network spanning the United States."

He pointed a finger at the gruesome corpse. "The man in front of you is a key informant the FBI has been tracking for six months. The scene is now under FBI control."

Surong glanced at the corpse and said coldly, "Detective, I must remind you, this guy is probably less than ten minutes away from completely turning into a monster."

Adam's lips curled into a slight smile, and he said dismissively, "That's none of your business, janitor."

"Even if he turns into a zombie, I have plenty of ways to deal with it. Now, step back!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than another, heavier, more oppressive roar of an engine came from the other end of the road.

A Bearcat armored vehicle recklessly drove into the open space, almost hitting the FBI's Dodge as it came to a stop.

The car door suddenly opened, and four fully armed soldiers jumped out first, followed by Elena.

When Su Long saw Elena get out of the car, he smiled slightly and said, "Hey, Captain Elena, we meet again."

"Excuse me, could this poor guy be your missing informant?"

Elena glanced at Su Long in surprise, then her gaze was quickly drawn to the pitiful corpse in the field, and her expression instantly turned solemn.

"He is indeed our informant."

Upon hearing this, Adam shrugged, walked up to Elena, and flashed his FBI Special Agent badge: "I didn't expect to run into someone from your Weird Support Bureau here... What, does the informant who helped me with my tax investigation have business dealings with you?"

Elena glanced at the ID held up in front of her face, then walked past Adam and strode to the cross, scrutinizing the shattered face: "Your informant? According to our intelligence, this person also seems to be our informant."

Su Long stood aside, silently watching the tortured corpse before him, and couldn't help but think to himself: Working for the FBI and also acting as an informant for the Bureau of Mystery Investigations? Dude, you've got guts.

Unfortunately, not everyone can balance all aspects as well as Hannah.

This guy clearly went too far.