I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Richard began the preoperative preparations with remarkable speed and dexterity, without making any mistakes.

Simon nodded slightly:

"good."

Next came the suturing. Richard picked up a large, curved anatomical needle and began suturing with his hands as if he were a butterfly flitting through flowers.

In Richard's hands, the gruesome stitching of corpses seemed to become an art form.

Simple, fast, and accurate.

Every stitch and every threading is just right.

With 15 points of physical strength, Richard's control over his body reached an unbelievable level.

Strength, speed, dexterity, flexibility, control, and hand-eye-brain coordination have all reached the pinnacle of human capabilities.

It's no exaggeration to say that Richard could master any acrobatic act he saw on television, no matter how unbelievable it seemed, with just a little practice.

Simon's expression changed completely. Ordinary people only saw speed, but he saw a talent: top-notch surgical talent.

This is a kind of "factory setting" for the brain and body.

With top-notch three-dimensional spatial reconstruction capabilities and imagination, it can create a 1:1, 360-degree, rotatable human anatomical model in the brain without looking at CT or MRI, and overlay it on the surgical field of view in real time.

Microscopic-level hand-eye coordination allows for operation within one millimeter without the aid of a microscope or even close observation, or for maintaining absolute stillness of the needle tip.

Simon felt a surge of intense jealousy, which then turned into envy, and finally into a sigh.

The feeling of having something you've longed for your whole life casually wielded by a middle school student is truly exhilarating.

Indeed, some things, if you're not born with them, you'll never have them in this life.

Richard completed the stitching.

Simon glanced at his watch; 25 minutes had passed. His expression was complex.

"Are you still in high school?"

Richard responded:

"Eleventh grade, Dr. Simon."

11th grade! Simon's lips twitched:

"I heard you've joined Dr. Shepard's cell lab?"

Richard smiled subtly:

"Professor Shepard is a good man."

Christina Shepard had many titles: The Only One, Queen, Tyrant, Empress on the Hill...

There were no good people among them.

Is this the treatment top geniuses receive?

Simon sighed again:

"Dr. Shepard's ability to discover talent is truly astonishing."

He wanted to say something, but couldn't say anything. In the end, he could only pat Richard on the shoulder:

"Keep it up. Dr. Shepard is the best teacher on the planet."

Simon walked out of the dissection room dejectedly, tightened his clothes, and muttered:

"Fxxk! Why is the air conditioning so cold today?!"

After saying that, he left dejectedly.

"Are you cold? Why am I all sweaty?" Rex asked Richard, puzzled.

"Who is Dr. Shepard? Is he your advisor? Aren't you a high school student? Do high schools have professors?"

Richard smiled:

"Yes."

Rex didn't think much of it and offered a compliment:

"You students at Dongda University are all good at studying."

The autopsy was finally completed.

After a busy night of work, everyone was exhausted, except for Richard, who felt alright.

Rex, who was supposed to be in charge of the paperwork, started slacking off, hiding in the bathroom with a cigarette in his mouth and refusing to come out.

Irving volunteered to do the cleaning work that no one else wanted to do, joining James in scrubbing the morgue and autopsy room.

But for some reason, Irving fell silent again.

Richard glanced at the flames above his head: sadness, depression.

It's strange... It's really rare to see someone work themselves to the point of sadness. Aren't people usually filled with anger towards their boss?

Maybe he really does have depression?

Richard didn't think much of it because Irving was often in a low mood.

After finishing his work, Irving took the initiative to take over the paperwork that Rex had been slacking off on.

Richard came over to help, and the two chatted while typing on the keyboard.

Richard quickly realized that something was wrong with the data.

OCME takes in as many as 35,000 bodies throughout the year, but fewer than 5000 bodies are claimed by their families each year.

"Where did the extra bodies go?"

Kyrie Irving tried to type on the keyboard with two fingers:

"Two options. Those who are harmless and whose families may come to claim them will be buried in Hart Island Cemetery; those who are infected with viruses, chemically poisoned, or absolutely unclaimed, such as illegal immigrants who have come through illegal channels, will be cremated directly."

"Hart Island?" Richard asked curiously.

He had never heard of that name in New York.

Irving explained:

"That's a small island east of New York. For over a hundred years, unclaimed bodies have been buried there. During the massive COVID-100 outbreak a few years ago, hundreds of thousands of bodies were sent there in one go. According to figures reported by the media a few years ago, there are at least over a million skeletons on the island, but nobody knows the exact number."

At least a million corpses! Richard's breath hitched.

Treasure!

An unparalleled treasure!

One game with the Undead Scourge is enough!

Richard forced down his excitement and asked:

"Why aren't all these corpses burned? Aren't you afraid of viral transmission?"

Irving sighed deeply:

"I don't know. Maybe the authorities think the bodies will be claimed by their families? But ordinary people haven't been allowed to land on the island for decades, so how can they claim them?"

Richard saw that the flames of sorrow above Owen's head had grown even larger.

Does he have relatives or a lover buried on that island?

How did OCME manage to get the body onto the island?

Irving glanced at Richard:

"You're interested in that island? That makes sense, you're young and like thrills. But I advise you not to try it. The NYPD's water police patrol there and illegal landings are not allowed. Many thrill-seeking influencers have tried to land on the island to film videos, but they've all been caught by the water police."

However, Irving still explained the procedure for transporting the body to Richard.

Every Tuesday, the DOT (New York City Department of Transportation) sends a white refrigerated truck to pick up the body and then transfer it from the pier to a special ferry to the island.

The burial work on the island was handled by a private contractor called KOM, and nothing is known after that.

All that is known is that KOM originally used cheap prisoners to bury corpses, but after being exposed by the media, it had to switch to hiring employees to bury corpses.

In order to save on labor costs, KOM had its employees use excavators and bulldozers to bury the bodies.

The incident was exposed by reporters, but KOM stubbornly refuses to change back to human resources.

Throughout the process, OCME was responsible for full supervision, the New York City Department of Transportation was responsible for transportation, and KOM was responsible for manual labor. The three parties cooperated to ensure that the body was not used for other purposes.

OCME was originally unsupervised, and a few years ago a scandal broke out in which truck drivers from the New York City Department of Transportation secretly sold corpses to human composting companies during transport.

This scandal directly led to the resignation of the then-director of the OCME.

......

The two finished all their work, but the replacement hadn't arrived yet, so Irving went to rest, exhausted.

Richard searched online and found that, probably due to strict government management and the fact that Americans also considered Hart Island to be unlucky, there was almost no information about Hart Island except for a few old scandals.

Richard put down his phone and began browsing the OCME's public database of corpses.

Perhaps studying different causes of death can enhance one's knowledge.

He was operating the mouse, but his mind was on Hart Island.

That's a million corpses!

Maybe even more!

Richard was absentmindedly scanning the photos of the corpses when he spotted a familiar face: Marcus, the F-130 morgue keeper!

Is Marcus's body here too?