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墨書 Inktalez
The copper buttons of the Interpol uniform rolled over my carbonizing pelvis, branding the fluorescent number of Extradition Flight CA-3072 onto the uterine wall. At the end of the fallopian tube, a blood pearl suddenly floated, each drop reflecting different years of the Embryo Transport Agreement, while my homeroom teacher's fingers, stained with refrigerant, emerged from the surface of the blood pearl.
The Cold Chain Transport Box suddenly fell from the ceiling, its remnants of a dark web server piercing into my detaching small intestine. The recording chip embedded in the intestinal wall began to play autonomously, the sound of a pen scratching paper as my stepfather signed the Surrogacy Contract shattering the DNA ice sculpture in the center of the courtroom.
"Extradition procedures initiated!" The gold tassels of the presiding judge's robe suddenly liquefied, wrapping around fragments of Director Wang's glasses and stabbing into my cervix. As the metal solution solidified into data cables within the fallopian tube, I heard the cries of seventy-two embryos surging toward the Interpol cloud along the fiber optic lines.
My mother's carbonized brain tissue erupted, and debris reassembled on the surgical antimicrobial curtain into medical records altered ten years ago. My homeroom teacher's fingerprint emerged from a bloodstain on the jury table, with a torn piece of junior high school uniform embedded at its center.
The steel string of the fallopian tube ligation line suddenly snapped, entangling itself around the wrist of a female officer whose carbonization was inscribed with the physical address of a dark web server on the court recording device. The fluorescence of the Cold Chain Transport Box's refrigerant suddenly surged, illuminating those barcode-like stretch marks on my carbonizing ovary.
The last danmaku from the dark web live room got stuck in my cervical laceration, expanding into an International Extradition Document along with amniotic fluid. Fragments of Director Wang's expander stood upright, piercing through my cervical mucus to form a testimony that stabbed into the witness stand. The ashes of my stepfather's crocodile leather shoes reignited, leaping out from flames that bore numbers for cross-border transport within cold chain containers.
The presiding judge's judicial hammer suddenly melted, and liquid metal flowing from its handle began to reconstruct my death certificate. The last remnants of my mother's silicone mask wrapped around my falling small intestine and stuffed it into an evidence bag marked with the Interpol badge as the blood pearl at the end of the fallopian tube suddenly played a birthday song.
The melody was reminiscent of surgical instruments clashing during organ removal procedures. My carbonizing vocal cords vibrated unexpectedly, their frequency perfectly matching that of an infant's cries recorded twenty years ago in a delivery room monitoring system. As the last fragment of the surgical antimicrobial curtain swept across my eyelids, I tasted the salty mixture of disinfectant and semen from a middle school classroom floor.
The roar of a refrigerated truck engine from within the Cold Chain Transport Box suddenly tore through the court dome, as genetic sequences from frozen embryos surged forth from my fallopian tube. Cries echoed from Interpol’s cloud, mingling with the clattering sounds of extradition handcuffs as they fell into the fissure of my cervix.
The fallopian tube straightened into a fiber optic cable, stabbing a blockchain key into my mother’s pixelating pupil. Fragments of Director Wang's glasses chain softened unexpectedly, pouring dark web server logs into my carbonizing throat. My cervical mucus crystallized suddenly, projecting a flowchart of cross-border transaction funds onto the witness stand.
Residual data from the dark web live room materialized abruptly, shattering courtroom floor tiles to reveal a body bag from a funeral home. My detaching small intestine wrapped around my stepfather's neck while a recording chip embedded in its intestinal wall played back recordings of bribes made to customs by the Cold Chain Transport Box.
"Immediately terminate life signs monitoring!" The presiding judge’s verdict caused my last piece of carbonized skin to fall away. My mother’s high heel melted into liquid silicone that flowed backward, wrapping around disinfectant from the delivery room and pouring into my rupturing uterus. Cervical lacerations spewed out torn pages from junior high textbooks, each printed with social security numbers belonging to missing girls.
The Interpol Uniform Button suddenly exploded, sending shards of Platinum piercing into my Carbonization-affected Ovary. At the end of the Fallopian Tube, a Blood Pearl suddenly floated, reflecting the entire process of my homeroom teacher forging a Signature on the Organ Donation Consent Form. The Cold Chain Transport Box, mixed with debris from the courtroom Floor Tile, branded the Extradition Flight schedule onto my dissipating Torso.
The last remnants of the Surgical Antimicrobial Curtain suddenly turned transparent, revealing the Barcode of a Body Bag from Twenty Years Ago wandering along my inner thigh. The female officer's Carbonization-affected fingers suddenly softened, dipping into Amniotic Fluid to write down the hiding coordinates of a Transnational Crime Syndicate Leader on the trial recording device.
The steel string of the Fallopian Tube Ligation Line suddenly played a tune, but the melody was merely the metallic clinks of surgical instruments being counted. I felt that what seeped from the fissure in my Uterine Wall was not Amniotic Fluid, but rather a button torn from my school uniform by my homeroom teacher, its back engraved with the initial IP Address of a Dark Web Live Room.
The Presiding Judge's Robe suddenly tightened around my slipping insides, and as the Code page number severed the Stepfather's carotid artery, Cervical Mucus abruptly solidified into an International Extradition Document seal. Fragments of Mother’s Carbonization-affected brain tissue suddenly reassembled, piecing together a Paternity Test Report that had been swapped ten years ago.
The fluorescent light of the Cold Chain Transport Box's Refrigerant suddenly extinguished, and my Carbonization-affected Vocal Cords emitted their final vibrations. Logs from the Dark Web Server gushed from the end of the Fallopian Tube, shattering the Court Dome's National Emblem before synchronizing the last 1% of data in Interpol's cloud.
The Fallopian Tube suddenly ruptured, and seventy-two Cord Blood Samples from embryos erupted from the fissure. Director Wang's Expander remnants were reassembling, each piece of Metal bearing the Iris Pattern of Undercover Police. As the last piece of Surgical Antimicrobial Curtain turned to ash, I heard my dissipating heartbeat frequency perfectly align with that of a newborn’s first cry in Delivery Room Monitoring.
Cervical Laceration suddenly released scalding Amniotic Fluid, mingling with the heat of the International Extradition Document seal, reattaching my Carbonization-affected Torso. A notification sound echoed from Interpol's cloud indicating data synchronization was complete, and Seventy-Two Cries transformed into healthy cries of an infant.
(The End)
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