America: The Cremator

Stella stared at him for a few seconds, then finally shrugged.

"Alright, since you insist, I naturally have no objection."

She stood up from behind her desk, pushed over a small blood collection instrument, and then took out blood collection supplies from a sterile cabinet.

Su Long noticed that she had specifically chosen an extra-thick lancet.

"Such a thick needle? Professor, you're being a bit greedy."

"It's just to improve efficiency. What if your blood flow is slower than normal?" Stella put on latex gloves and replied casually, "Don't worry, I'll stop as soon as I draw 300cc. I'm not going to squeeze my precious sample dry just to save money."

She skillfully disinfected Su Long's arm with an iodine swab, then precisely inserted the large needle into his vein.

Blood began to flow into the transparent tube connected to the blood bag.

Stella pressed the timer on the instrument.

Su Long's gaze fell on that flowing dark red, and a thought stirred within him.

In an instant, Stella's relaxed expression froze.

She stared incredulously at the blood collection tube. The originally smooth blood flow had slowed down rapidly at a speed visible to the naked eye, eventually turning into a slow oozing state, with each drop rolling toward the blood bag.

"Are you anemic? Why is your blood flow so slow?"

She frowned, gently pushed the needle tip, and kept patting the skin of Su Long's arm above the puncture point, trying to promote blood circulation.

However, the blood flow rate did not increase at all.

On the instrument's screen, the value representing blood flow velocity had dropped to a level far below the lower limit of normal venous pressure.

Time passed by, second by second.

It took a full twelve minutes for the blood in the blood bag to reach the 300cc mark.

Stella pressed the stop button, pulled out the needle, and pressed a wad of cotton against the puncture site.

She looked up at Su Long, her intelligent eyes filled with a sense of defeat and an even stronger desire to explore.

"Now I know why you insist on that pricing method."

"You win, Mr. Suron."

A smile played on Surong's lips: "A bet's a bet, Professor Stella, it's time to pay."

"Do you want cash or bank transfer?" Stella asked as she packed up the equipment.

"Transfer to my card."

Stella nodded, made a few moves on the computer, and soon Su Long's phone received a bank notification that $12,000 had been deposited into his account.

Then, she picked up the expense list and signed her name in the blank space at the bottom.

"Give this to the finance officer, and your bill should be discounted to $53,000."

Su Long took the paper, looked at the line of neat handwritten signature, and couldn't help but sigh, "Privileges really are useful."

"Thank you, Professor Stella."

……

Another day has passed.

Heavy clouds hung over Seattle, and a solitary, secluded office building stood out against the sparse streetscape on North Aurora Boulevard.

The extremely low housing prices here made it the headquarters of the Seattle Department of Corpse Management's district.

Su Long walked up the stairs, which smelled of years of dust, to the third floor. He stopped in front of the door at the end of the corridor that was marked "Supervisor's Office" and knocked twice.

"Come in."

Watkinson's slightly muffled voice came from inside the door.

As Su Long pushed open the door, a sweet aroma of butter and caramel wafted towards him.

In his office, Watkinson was nestled in a large leather swivel chair, a big bucket of popcorn in his lap, his eyes glued to the live horse race on TV.

"Cough cough."

Upon hearing the deliberate cough, Wokingson looked away from the screen and his small eyes immediately lit up with surprise when he saw that it was Su Long.

"Oh, Suron, welcome back," he said, pointing at Suron with the finger that had been holding the popcorn. "You're a lucky lad."

Su Long walked over naturally, reached into the bucket in Watkinson's arms, grabbed a handful of still-warm popcorn, stuffed it into his mouth, and responded indistinctly.

"I don't think I'm lucky, supervisor. UnitedHealth Insurance has just rejected my claim again."

Upon hearing this, Wokingson's smile held a hint of mockery, as if he had already seen through everything.

"Those sons of bitches, those vampires, they'll get their heads shot in the street one day!"

As he cursed, Watkinson opened the top drawer of his desk and rummaged through it, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

"I already guessed this would be the outcome when you had the accident," he said, pushing the paper onto the table toward Surong. "That's why I applied for the Federal Emergency Management Agency's additional workers' compensation for you in advance."

Su Long stopped chewing, put down the popcorn in his hand, and picked up the paper and unfolded it.

It was a federal government standard check for $15,400, issued by the Seattle branch of the Bank of America, with his name clearly printed in the payee column: Leon Sue.

As he looked at the numbers on the check, he felt that his forehead, which was still a little sore from the impact, didn't seem to hurt so much anymore.

"I knew it, Mr. Watkinson," Su Long carefully folded the check and placed it in his inside jacket pocket, his tone as sincere as if he were praying in church, "You are the most considerate leader I have ever met..."

"Alright, enough with the cheap compliments," Watkinson waved his hand impatiently, interrupting him. "Now that you've covered the benefits, let's talk about what you're going to do for me."

"Here's a new task for you."

"We already didn't have enough workers in our district, and now those two unlucky guys have both met their maker, so we're even more short-handed."

Wokingson’s gaze returned to the live horse race, and his words seemed to come out casually.

"The logistics department urgently transferred two new recruits yesterday. One of them has already gone out with Wells to collect the bodies, and the other one is in your care."

Su Long's expression froze slightly.

"Leave it to me? Supervisor, are you sure? I've only been working here for less than two months, and you're letting me train someone even newer than me?"

Watkinson finally looked up from the screen and stared at Sulong with the look of someone assessing the usability of a tool.

"Don't worry, child."

"Your resume alone—surviving a C-level monster with only minor injuries—is enough to make you the top performer in our entire division."

He pulled a task report from a pile of documents on the side of the table and threw it over.

"The new guy is already waiting for you in his car downstairs; it's the car of those two unlucky guys."

Su Long took the report and frowned slightly.

"That vehicle? Is its incineration system fixed?"

"certainly."

"That won't do either, supervisor. Driving a car where two colleagues died on the job is not a good omen."

"Wells thought so too," Watkinson shrugged, a hint of schadenfreude in his voice. "So he's already taken the car you were driving beforehand."

"FUCK Wells!"

Su Long cursed under his breath and turned to leave.

He walked to the door, his hand already on the doorknob, but then, as if suddenly remembering something, he turned back.

"By the way, supervisor."

His gaze fell on Watkinson's oily face.

"You promised me those silver-plated bullets, where are they?"

Watkinson kept his eyes fixed on the screen and answered without looking up.

"The next batch of ammunition will arrive in three days. Don't worry, you'll get your share."

Having received this promise, Su Long was finally at ease. He opened the door and walked into the dimly lit stairwell.

As he went downstairs, he unfolded the task report in his hand and read the information on it by the dim light in the stairwell.

[Mission Location: Greenbelt Camp Area, Eastern Duwamish]

[Mission Briefing: Six unidentified bodies have been found in a homeless camp in this area. The estimated time of death is more than 24 hours. Please proceed immediately to carry out harmless incineration.]

Su Long slowed his pace.

East Duwamish Greenbelt—a name almost synonymous with chaos, poverty, and despair in Seattle.

That narrow strip of woodland stretching along the Duwamish River gradually evolved over nearly a century into Seattle’s largest and most notorious homeless enclave.

Countless dilapidated tents and makeshift shacks grow wildly in the damp woodland like poisonous mushrooms, intertwined with various illegal and criminal activities, forming a lawless land that even the police are reluctant to set foot in.

Now, he has to take a complete newcomer to that place to deal with six corpses that have already begun to decompose.

Hopefully, nothing unexpected will happen this time.