Soulful AI Memoir Narration Voice

That was the first time I saw Chen Yongren at the police academy. The instructor kicked his back and roared: "Those who don't follow the rules, get lost like him! Does anyone want to trade places with him?" I stood in formation, my nails digging into my palms. I wanted to trade. Not out of pity for him, but jealousy—he left openly and honorably, while I stayed at the academy, yet had to be Han Chen's pawn. I was 18 that year, which path to take? Han Chen had already chosen for me: "The fortune teller said I would 'achieve success over countless corpses,' but I don't believe in fate! Life and death are my own choice!" How ironic, Brother Chen, later when I killed you, I also said: "This is what you chose." For ten years, I was an elite in the Criminal Intelligence Division, with the highest case-solving rate in the entire police force, praised by superiors with pats on the shoulder. But late at night when I returned home, I practiced smiling in front of the mirror—afraid my wife Mary would see through the facade. She wrote novels, saying the protagonist had 28 personalities. Hearing her words, my throat tightened. Actually, I was more absurd than that character: When passing intelligence to Han Chen, I was a rat in the gutter; When wearing my badge to arrest drug dealers, I was bewildered to actually feel like an embodiment of justice. The night Huang Zhicheng fell from the building, blood splattered on the car window. Colleagues cursed the brutality of the triads, I chimed in, my stomach churning. The order to kill him came from me, but if I hadn't acted, Han Chen would have taken my life. When Chen Yongren's gun pressed against my forehead, Hong Kong's wind was so strong you couldn't open your eyes. This sentence had been simmering in my heart for ten years. Becoming an undercover agent was not my choice, but having fallen this far, even redemption became an extravagant hope. He sneered How ridiculous! He clung to "I'm a police officer" until death, I desperately craved to "be a good person," but fate had long nailed us both to the Infernal Affairs—he died a martyr with a medal, I lived to be tortured. Chen Yongren's tombstone is engraved with "Number 27149." I saluted, the crowd praised my loyalty and righteousness. Only I heard the roar deep in my heart: "I want to trade places with him!" Buddha said: "Those who receive the body of Avici will never die, longevity is the great calamity in the hell of Avici." The elevator doors closed on Chen Yongren's body again and again, like an instrument of karmic punishment. I walked out like a "hero," to thunderous applause. But I know This police uniform is a costume, the rest of my life is a tragedy whose curtain will never fall. That day in the audio shop, the 30 seconds Chen Yongren and I stood side by side listening to music was light leaking into hell.