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墨書 Inktalez
The charred remnants of the Firefighting Air Cushion clung to my eyelashes, while the incision from my real Cesarean section oozed with the contents of the Cold Chain Transport Box. Mother tore off her Silicone Mask, revealing a microscopic camera embedded in her cheekbone—connected to a multinational Organ Trafficking Organization's Dark Web Live Stream.
"Product number 48 is beginning to decompose," Director Wang's glasses chain tightened around my real Umbilical Cord, as the Metal clip displayed real-time bidding data from seventy-two countries. Reflections in his badge flickered with countless shadows of young girls whose organs had been harvested, their Social Security Numbers pouring out from my Cervical Mucus Plug.
The female officer's Compound Eyes suddenly split into six Surveillance Screens. Each Screen replayed the process of burning documents related to baby trafficking cases from different years. Instead of handcuffs, her tactical belt ejected a Clamp connected to a nutrient solution pipeline that latched onto the ligation point of my Fallopian Tube. As the Clamp bit down, the buzzing of the freezer compressor shattered the positioning chip inside my false pregnancy belly.
My Stepfather's Crocodile Leather Shoes crushed my left Ovary, leaving an imprint of the Cross-Border Logistics Order's Watermark on the sole. From his torn tie fell a Frozen Embryo Transport Agreement, with my signature burned into it—the bloodstained bite mark from that night when I was fourteen still fresh on his shoulder. The Wedding Ring suddenly emitted a buzzing sound like a test tube shaker; as its diamond edges tore through old scars, serial numbers from twenty years ago related to baby trafficking gushed from the wound.
"We need fresh close-ups of Oocytes!" Mother's ecstatic scream shattered the Obstetrical Forceps. In the burning Live Streaming Phone Screen, Carnival effects transformed into a physical Scalpel that sliced open the Stretch Marks on my real abdomen. The Tip Amount digits morphed into a Barcode, branded onto the surface of my liver that was being removed.
The flame-retardant fabric of the female officer's uniform curled under high temperatures, revealing tattered remnants of my Junior High school uniform beneath her armpit. The Black Snake peeling off the back of her Badge suddenly coiled, its tongue wrapping around my cornea and piercing deep into my Pupil with a Scanning Device—this instrument glowed with the same eerie blue light as Director Wang's glasses chain.
Director Wang's Expander opened up my real birth canal; as the instrument's teeth caught on the sutures of my Cervix, embryos in the Culture Medium suddenly opened seventy-two pairs of eyes. Each Iris bore different men's Social Security Numbers, flashing in sync with rising bids on the Dark Web.
"The temperature in the live transport box is abnormal!" My Stepfather's Wedding Ring suddenly got stuck at my Fallopian Tube ligation point. The barbs on its inner side snagged a knot in the Umbilical Cord of an Embryo Specimen in the freezer; diamonds refracted images of organ tissues being reassembled in an Incubator. On his cufflink’s ejected Cold Chain Transportation order, the recipient’s Signature was written in Menstrual Blood when I was fourteen—a Rescue Signal.
Mother’s high-heeled Heel pierced through the Cesarean incision; a microscopic camera popped out from her Inner Pocket and began Live Streaming close-ups of my Uterine wall. Rose petals brushed by Danmaku cut through the scab on my Fallopian Tube; at that moment, I bit down on glass shards hidden in my molars for ten years.
Plasma splattered onto the burning Firefighting Air Cushion, forming key Evidence Chains in a whistleblower letter. The female officer's Compound Eyes suddenly exploded; six Surveillance Footages played simultaneously showing Mother signing a Surrogacy Contract twenty years ago—her Signature marked by Director Wang’s corroded fingerprint.
"Warning! The value of the product is declining!" Director Wang's roar mixed with alarms from the Fetal Monitor. A Check slipped from his lab coat pocket, softened by Amniotic Fluid; ink blurred into vengeful graffiti I had drawn on the hospital wall after my Miscarriage at fourteen. As a Scalpel plunged into my real Cervix, reflections in its blade revealed countless girls signing Organ Donation Consent Forms.
The female officer’s tactical belt ejected an Umbilical Cord Clamp that suddenly reversed direction and clamped onto my Stepfather's carotid artery. In that instant, as nutrient solution pipes burst, an Undercover Police officer who had been turned into Swiss cheese during a drug bust in 2003 began to reconstruct his face from a pool of blood—his left Iris bore an imprint of my forged Birth Certificate Number.
Mother tore off the wig, revealing a scalp covered in micro sensors. The newly attached hair suddenly tangled with my fallopian tube ligation line, and the hair dye dripping from the ends reacted chemically with the prothrombin activator, spelling out the missing young girl list in the night sky. As the burning live streaming phone triggered an explosion, I felt the spare magazine at the female officer's lower back—the date etched on the brass shell was the very day I was locked in the freezer.
"The cargo must be fresh!" Director Wang's expander was suddenly flung away. The embryos in the incubator stretched out seventy-two arms, each palm stamped with different countries' customs stamps. The frequency of the product codes flashing on their foreheads synchronized with the countdown for bidding on the dark web, while the umbilical cord ensnared my stepfather's crocodile leather shoes, dragging him toward the burning firefighting air cushion.
In the last frame before my retina detached, my bloodied fingertip touched the female officer's iris as she shed her skin. The body camera hidden behind her pupil suddenly began to replay—twenty years ago in the delivery room, Mother personally stuffed a neonatal social security card into Director Wang's medical tray filled with cash.
(End of Chapter)
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