A tremendous historic opportunity

Early morning.

Forty Block, 132 Seventh Street.

The air still carried the dampness and rotten stench left over from the night.

The sun had just climbed above the rooftops, spilling pale light that made the dilapidated houses and potholed asphalt along the street painfully glaring.

The residents got up early to head to work and school as usual, only to stop short at their doors-the villa next door, which had been noisy until the small hours, was now surrounded by yellow-and-black police tape.

Two NYPD patrol cars and a white ambulance were parked at the curb, their red and blue lights rotating silently like two weary eyes.

A fat Black woman stood on her front steps gossiping with a neighbor, undisguised satisfaction in her voice:

"Those gang punks threw another party next door last night, with the speakers blasting loud enough to shake the sky. Even my windows were rattling!

"I called the cops three times, and all they did was give them a couple of warnings and leave. Well, now they've finally gotten themselves killed. They can go straight to hell!"

The other residents chimed in. Having suffered more than enough at their hands, they now felt the relief of a heavy burden lifted:

"They threw a dead cat into my yard last time. I nearly puked!" "Someone took a shit outside my door, too. It stank for a whole week!" "Someone should've dealt with them ages ago. Never thought they'd do it themselves!"

Amid the chatter, an inconspicuous gray sedan stopped outside the police tape. Peggy stepped out wearing a white protective suit, latex gloves, and goggles.

As a trainee medical examiner fresh out of forensic medical school, she had been assigned by her professor to the precinct in the Bronx to "make some extra money." Her daily exposure to corpses had long since taken her from disgust to numbness.

Gunshot wounds, stabbings, overdoses, bodies pulled from water, decomposing corpses-she had seen them all. But as she entered today's crime scene, her brows knitted tightly, and her steps were a beat slower than usual.

The backyard had been cordoned off, with four bodies still in their original positions and postures.

A forensic assistant was taking photographs to document the evidence, the flash firing again and again. Peggy crouched down to examine the most conspicuous body.

Name of deceased: George.

Eighteen years old, 1.88 meters tall, one hundred kilograms according to his medical records, a defensive back on Mott Haven Community High School's football team.

He had been out of the hospital for less than twenty-four hours, and bandages still wrapped his chest.

But now his entire body resembled a rag doll twisted by immense force: his legs were folded backward at unnatural angles, his thighbones visibly dislocated, his knees bent in reverse;

His arms had been wrung around three times like twisted dough, his finger joints displaced one by one, with the ends of bones even piercing the skin;

His head lolled sideways, his neck like that of a chicken whose neck had been wrung. Blood had flowed from all seven orifices, drying into a dark brown spiderweb that caked his face and neck.

"It looks like... someone tortured him with extreme violence." Peggy quietly asked the officer taking photographs beside her, "Who did this?"

The officer lowered his camera and rubbed between his brows. "You won't believe this, but he might have done it himself."

Peggy's gaze shifted to the other three bodies-George's three lackeys. Their limbs were likewise twisted, their joints displaced, blood flowing from all seven orifices, as though the same invisible hand had "wrung" all of them at once.

She had seen bodies of people who died from overdoses: convulsions, vomiting, suffocation, cyanosis. They had died in agony, but they had still retained the basic outline of human beings.

These four before her, however, looked as though they had been maliciously sculpted into abstract art.

"This reminds me of certain cult sacrifices..." The officer taking photographs lowered his voice. "Victims torn apart alive and offered to unknown gods."

Inside the villa's living room.

The heavily made-up girl who had called the police in the early hours sat trembling on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. She had cried her eye makeup into a mess, black tear tracks running down her cheeks to her chin.

A middle-aged officer was taking her statement, keeping his tone as gentle as possible.

"I... I don't know what happened either..." Her voice trembled, breaking off and starting again. "It was so terrifying.

"George was lying on a beach chair when he suddenly started convulsing, like he was having a seizure... Then his body... started twisting.

"It was like something had grabbed his arms and legs and was bending them in strange directions. I heard his bones cracking, like they were about to break.

"He was screaming, but the music drowned him out... The other three were the same, rolling all over the ground, their bodies changing shape...

"I thought I was hallucinating because I'd had too much to drink, but I checked over and over... They looked like something was... torturing them in a dream... and they couldn't wake up."

The officer frowned and noted down the key phrase. "Torturing them in a dream?"

The girl nodded and clutched the blanket tighter. "I was so scared... I ran."

The officer did not entirely believe her, but he did not interrupt.

He had seen plenty of people go crazy on drugs at gang parties. Someone occasionally partying themselves to death was hardly news.

But these four bodies... really did go beyond the bounds of an "overdose."

Just then, a shout came from the backyard. "Officer Kane! You'd better come take a look at this!"

A young officer ran over holding a handheld camcorder, his face pale. "They... filmed the whole thing."

Students in the United States loved having fun far too much, and loved showing off just as much.

More importantly, they had money and could buy the best products in the world. Bringing in a handheld camcorder to film an orgy was practically a mandatory part of the proceedings.

Officer Kane took the camcorder, put on the headphones, and pressed play. The screen lit up, the image shaking, the volume deafening.

The party at midnight: neon lights flashed, figures milled about, George lay on a beach chair guzzling alcohol, his lackeys cheered, and a girl knelt in front of him... Everything looked outrageous but normal.

Until 12:07 a.m.

The camera swept past the pool, and George suddenly convulsed.

At first, only his fingers spasmed. Then his arm jerked upward as though pulled by strings, its joints twisting at exaggerated angles.

He began grabbing his own thigh and wrenching it hard in the opposite direction-the crack of breaking bone was clearly audible, the muffled sounds of tearing flesh mingling with his agonized screams.

The camera shook, and someone shouted excitedly, "Haha! George is dancing!"

A close-up-George grabbed his right wrist with his left hand and twisted hard, displacing his finger bones one by one as though snapping twigs. Then he grabbed his own neck as if trying to strangle himself, veins bulging, his face swelling purple.

His three lackeys also began mutilating themselves at the same time:

The green-haired one slammed his head against the fence, splitting his forehead open, blood covering his face;

Another clawed at his own eyes with his fingernails, nearly gouging out his eyeballs;

The third clutched his own leg as though trying to fold his knee backward, the cracks of breaking bones sounding like firecrackers.

The entire process lasted seven minutes and twenty-three seconds.

In front of the camera, they dismantled themselves inch by inch. The screams and laughter of the others there mingled with the music into a symphony of hell.

Officer Kane's face was livid after watching it. He took off the headphones, his voice dry. "How... how the fuck did they do that?"

The young officer swallowed. "I... I don't know either. Can drug-crazed lunatics really go this far?"

Peggy came over, watched the last part of the video, and remained silent for a long time.

She took off her goggles and stared at the frozen image on the screen-George had twisted his own head almost 180 degrees, his eyes bulging as though about to burst, yet a bizarre smile still hung at the corners of his mouth.

"It wasn't drugs," she said softly. "They... looked trapped in a nightmare. Something... was forcing them to destroy themselves."

Officer Kane looked at Peggy. "You believe what that girl said? That an evil spirit was at work?"

Peggy shrugged. "Is there another explanation?"

Ten in the morning.

An old dark gray Volvo screeched to a halt outside the police tape. The door slammed open, and Professor Winters practically leaped out.

The professor was in his fifties and had clearly come in a hurry. His graying hair was as messy as a bird's nest, his tie hung crookedly to one side, yet his face held an irrepressible, childlike excitement.

He strode through the police tape and rushed to the twisted bodies in the backyard before he had even finished putting on his protective suit. He crouched down, his eyes frighteningly bright.

"You're certain they did this to themselves?" His voice trembled as though he had discovered a new continent. "This must be a new illicit drug!

"Something that lets users completely ignore pain and repeatedly mutilate themselves while unconscious until they kill themselves! It's extraordinary... magnificent!"

Officer Kane stood nearby with an unlit cigarette between his lips, his brows tied in a dead knot. He had heard far too much of the professor's "academic fervor," but today, the word "magnificent" still made his stomach churn.

He spat out the cigarette and warned in a low voice, "Professor, we're investigating a case involving four deaths. This isn't some 'new discovery' worth celebrating."

"No, no, no, you don't understand!" Winters jerked his head up, nearly dislodging his glasses.

"Look at the condition of these bodies-joints completely dislocated in reverse, bones twisted apart by their own hands, fingernails dug into eye sockets, cervical spines rotated 180 degrees...

"Drugs can't explain this! This is an entirely new neural mechanism! Evidence that the human pain threshold has been completely rewritten!"

"Bull-fucking-shit." Officer Kane lost his temper. "Academic dogs like you have no damn limits. Don't go nuts on my turf."

Ignoring the insult, the professor turned to Peggy and spoke urgently. "What did the preliminary examination of the scene show? Let me see the camcorder footage."

After watching the video, the professor became even more animated.

"Those four began destroying themselves at 12:07 a.m., as though controlled by the same command... There's no sign of any external force! This isn't an overdose. This is... some kind of 'program'!"

Peggy remarked wearily, "The preliminary autopsy indicates that the cause of death was shock and internal bleeding from multiple fractures.

"But... how did they manage to twist themselves into this state? Even the craziest meth-induced self-mutilation I've seen never reached this level."

Winters trembled all over with excitement, gesturing with both hands. "That's the key! The camera captured it perfectly clearly-they weren't struggling. They were 'executing.'

"As though some compulsory command had been implanted in them!

"This isn't drugs. This is... neural control!

"Perhaps it's a new neurotoxin, or perhaps the ultimate manifestation of psychological suggestion! The Bronx always produces new research topics. We haven't reached a conclusion on that last series of deaths, and now here's another case!

"This case has tremendous research value."

The professor's descriptions grew increasingly exaggerated. He abruptly stood and turned to Kane. "Officer, I want all four bodies transported back to my laboratory at New York Medical College!

"I need dissections, brain tissue sections, neurotransmitter tests! This could be the greatest forensic breakthrough of the century, a tremendous historic opportunity!"

"In your dreams!" Officer Kane took the cigarette from his mouth, his voice cold and hard. "Professor, the bodies must first go to the precinct's designated morgue and undergo the full procedure. It's not that I won't cooperate. Those are the rules."

"The rules?" Winters raised his voice. "Leaving four such exceptional bodies in an ordinary morgue is a waste!

"Do you people understand what this means? If we miss the optimal sampling window, a great deal of evidence will disappear forever!"

"Professor." Kane stepped forward. Half a head taller than Winters, he instantly bore down on him with his presence. "This is a crime scene, not your laboratory."

The two argued fiercely, their voices echoing through the backyard. The assistants awkwardly lowered their heads and took photographs, while residents outside the police tape craned their necks to watch the commotion.

Peggy looked up toward the villa's living room-the heavily made-up girl who had called the police in the early hours still sat there wrapped in her blanket, her eyes hollow, as though she had lost her soul.

The handheld camcorder lay quietly inside the evidence box. The images within seemed to lead to another world.

She suddenly sighed softly. "I wonder what those four... actually encountered before they died. Another chapter in Forty Block's urban legends."

With the midnight duel over, Lin Rui successfully obtained one attribute point as a reward and added it to agility.

During his fight with George's group, the enhancement from the "Toby" card had given him an absolute advantage in strength and constitution, but his opponents' superior numbers had instead left him suppressed in agility.

Had his ice shield and ice armor not been sturdy enough to withstand the damage, he would certainly have lost against the four opponents surrounding him.

One point in agility to shore up his weakness.

Everything else continued as usual.

In the morning, he sold burgers from the food truck; in the afternoon, he worked out at the gym.

Toby still came to lose weight, sweating buckets on the spin bike.

Molly only came on the first day. On the second, she complained that the muscles in her wrists were sore, threw out an "I'm not practicing this crap," and ran off.

The other eighth-grade girls stopped showing up too, presumably dragged off by her to go shopping or paint their nails.

"Bean sprout" Vincent, however, did come. His frail frame swayed on the treadmill as he ran for a minute and rested for five, panting but gritting his teeth and persevering.

Occasionally, Lin Rui would pass by and toss him a bottle of water. "Don't stop. Keep going. Cardiovascular endurance is the foundation."

Around five, Lin Rui wiped the sweat from his forehead and was about to lock up when Adrian appeared outside the iron gate, with five or six Latino boys behind him.

They varied in height and build, wearing loose T-shirts and jeans with the cuffs rolled up, their eyes holding curiosity, wariness, and a faint trace of admiration.

"Leon, I brought you a few students." Adrian pointed and told the boys behind him, "This is Leon. From now on, you listen to him.

"Work out at this gym three times a week, and you'll get a hundred-dollar subsidy every month. Spend it however you want."

Forty Block was predominantly Black and Latino, and so were most students at the nearby schools.

Lin Rui had originally worried that Adrian would use gang methods to force people to come, but these boys clearly had not been threatened into coming-their eyes gleamed as though they had spotted a chance to strike it rich.

The old pastor had promised a thousand dollars per person each month. Blackhearted as he was, Lin Rui pocketed eight hundred and gave Adrian two hundred.

Adrian took another half, using a hundred dollars to recruit students from nearby. It was neither too much nor too little, just enough to earn some pocket money-an excellent fit.

Layer upon layer of subcontracting, a perfect closed loop. Truly, this was the reality of the human world.

The boys filed in, looking around and curiously touching the old barbell plates and treadmills.

A tall, skinny boy with dyed blond hair spoke first, asking Lin Rui, "Bro, do we really get a hundred bucks a month for working out here?"

Lin Rui nodded.

Another boy, round-faced and wearing a baseball cap, lit up. "I heard you took out George from the Will-o'-the-Wisp Gang last night?"

Lin Rui had been smiling and about to greet them, but his smile instantly froze. "What do you mean, 'took out'? I only beat that guy up half a month ago."

The boys erupted at once, talking over one another:

"But everyone out there is saying you killed George right after he got out of the hospital!"

"He died horribly! I heard his arms and legs were all wrung up like twisted dough, and he was bleeding from all seven orifices, like he'd been possessed by a demon!"

"Not just George-his three lackeys died too. Bro, you're a total beast! Everyone at our school says you're the neighborhood's new boss!"

Lin Rui grew frantic, waving his hands wildly in denial. "Don't spread things without evidence! Watch it, or I'll sue you for slander!"

But rather than being frightened, the boys had stars in their eyes, gazing at him with the worshipful awe of people meeting Superman. "So it really was you?!" "That's badass, bro!" "We're following you from now on!"

Lin Rui's face darkened. He pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. "Goddammit. Every step of the reasoning was wrong, but the result was right. I'm in deep shit."