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墨書 Inktalez
"Clack! Clack!"
The electric screwdriver whirred madly, screws falling onto the concrete floor with a crisp sound.
A Quan and Fat Boss moved swiftly, dismantling the Massage Chair as if it were a scrap car, expertly taking it apart piece by piece. The metal casing was pried open, plastic armrests torn off, and the internal mechanical structure gradually disassembled.
Before long, what was once a complete Massage Chair now lay in tatters, parts scattered everywhere, barely recognizable, reduced to a tangled mass of metal and wires.
Lin Zhao Cheng stood to the side, his eyes fixed on the disassembly with an intense gaze, the corners of his mouth involuntarily curling up into a strange grin as he let out an eerie low chuckle.
"Hehehe... Haha... Ha..."
His shoulders trembled slightly, as if suppressing some extreme pleasure. The laughter was deep and unsettling, echoing ominously in the night at the scrapyard.
Fat Boss and A Quan exchanged glances at the sound, both shivering involuntarily.
"Damn it, why does this guy laugh like a creep?" Fat Boss muttered under his breath, frowning as he instinctively stepped aside to maintain distance from Lin Zhao Cheng.
A Quan felt a chill run down his spine. Although he had seen all kinds of strange customers in this line of work, this man’s laughter was particularly disturbing—like a lunatic who had just destroyed his enemy. He just wanted to finish this job as quickly as possible.
"Alright, alright, let's wrap this up. Get this thing completely dismantled!" Fat Boss urged, his tone clearly laced with impatience, even hinting at wanting to rush them along.
"Got it!" A Quan replied while bending down to grab an axe. He aimed at the remaining metal skeleton of the Massage Chair and swung down with all his might!
"Clang——!!!"
Sparks flew as the metal skeleton shuddered violently under the heavy blow, emitting a distorted wail.
Fat Boss wasn’t idle either; he reached for the deformed support frame and pulled hard to forcibly break the last connection point!
"Crack——!!!"
With a dull thud, the last remnants of the skeleton shattered completely, steel bars and wires scattered across the ground. What was once a Massage Chair now lay in a heap of twisted, deformed scrap metal and plastic debris.
It was utterly beyond repair.
Fat Boss brushed the dust off his hands, clicked his tongue, and said with a hint of disdain, "All done! Brother, you must be satisfied now, right?"
A Quan shook his sore wrist and couldn't help but complain, "Seriously, how much do you hate that chair? You made it look like a murder scene..."
The two turned to look at Lin Zhao Cheng, only to find him still standing in place, a strange smile on his lips as his gaze fixated on the pile of scrap metal on the ground, as if he were still unsatisfied.
At that moment, both Fat Boss and A Quan felt a chill run down their spines, their thoughts racing to get this madman out of their sight as soon as possible.
Seeing that the Massage Chair had been completely reduced to a pile of scrap metal and plastic fragments, Lin Zhao Cheng finally felt a sense of relief wash over him. Without saying a word, he pulled three crumpled hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and handed them to Fat Boss, his tone unusually sincere. "You've worked hard. Here’s something for you. Thank you."
Fat Boss was taken aback for a moment as he accepted the three bills. However, instead of feeling happy, an indescribable sense of disgust welled up inside him.
He looked down at the money in his palm and felt that these bills were dirtier than usual, even carrying an inexplicable eerie atmosphere. It was as if he had unwittingly become part of this "twisted ritual," assisting this strange man in achieving some sort of morbid satisfaction.
"...Damn it, this is cursed."
Fat Boss frowned, feeling that this job was the strangest he had ever taken in his life. All he wanted was to go home quickly, have a cup of tea, wash his hands, and rid himself of this uncomfortable feeling.
Lin Zhao Cheng paid no mind to Fat Boss's expression at that moment. He turned and walked toward his car, opened the door, and plopped down into the driver's seat before starting the engine.
But just before pressing down on the accelerator, he couldn't help but glance back at the twisted heap of scrap metal and parts on the ground.
—You’re finally dead for good.
There was no joy of victory in his eyes; only a dark resentment lingered there, as if he were ensuring that this "enemy" had vanished completely with no chance of rising again.
Fat Boss stood to the side and noticed Lin Zhao Cheng's final glance. A chill crept into his heart as he swallowed hard and turned to A Quan to whisper, "If that guy comes back again, tell him we're closed."
A Quan shrugged helplessly. "Boss, isn't this behavior just a taboo?"
The Fat Boss spat and muttered under his breath, "Taboo my ass, I just find this guy disgusting."
Lin Zhao Cheng paid no attention to the two behind him. With both hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, he pressed down on the accelerator, and the car slowly drove away from the junkyard, disappearing into the night.
The night was deep and dark, with the headlights illuminating the quiet road ahead. The city's neon lights flickered with a cold glow, like countless indifferent eyes silently watching over the sleepless metropolis.
Lin Zhao Cheng held the steering wheel lightly, driving at a leisurely pace. He wasn't in a hurry to get home; instead, he allowed himself to slowly immerse in this rare moment of tranquility.
An indescribable sense of relief emerged from deep within him.
The heavy burden in his heart had finally lifted.
Leaning back against the seat, his breathing became steady, no longer hurried or strained as it had been before. He knew that it was all finally over—the Massage Chair, that bizarre nightmare, that terrifying alternate world.
He recalled William's figure, the man who had fought alongside him in the endless Blood Flesh Hell, the one who had ultimately asked him to end his life with his own hands.
—"You promised."
Lin Zhao Cheng chuckled softly, unsure whether he was laughing at his own naivety or at the absurdity of this world.
Did William... really exist?
Or was he merely a projection of Lin Zhao Cheng's subconscious, an illusion born in a dream and fading away with it?
He didn't know, nor did he want to know.
At least he had completely destroyed the Massage Chair.
If William had truly existed, he hoped he could rest in peace and no longer be tormented by this damned world.
The traffic light flickered ahead, and the streets were sparsely populated. The entire city seemed to have fallen into a deep slumber, with only the low hum of car engines echoing in the night.
Before he knew it, he had returned to his doorstep.
"Finally... everything is settled."
He turned off the engine, got out of the car, and walked back to his apartment. Opening the door and stepping inside, everything felt as it should be—everything was familiar.
He walked into the living room and plopped down onto the chair, letting out a long sigh.
It was as if this was the first time in days that he could truly relax.
The strange otherworld was gone.
Everything should be back to normal now, right?
Lin Zhao Cheng closed his eyes, savoring the tranquility of the room, with only one thought in his mind—
"Finally, everything is over."
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