He Was Thoroughly Broken by Dr. Hannibal Lecter!
Dr. Hannibal Lecter did not mind Adrian's refusal.
He simply became the sole spectator and believer in this graveyard of steel.
Early morning.
When the first ray of sunlight pierced through the mist formed by industrial exhaust and illuminated the steel rebars, Dr. Hannibal Lecter would appear punctually.
He never carried food or Water.
Spiritual resonance was his only sustenance.
He wandered among Adrian's "works," dressed in that simple jacket.
His presence itself was a silent affirmation.
Initially, Adrian was resistant.
He used an invisible force to crush an abandoned school bus into a shapeless, unaesthetic iron ball and slammed it hard not far from Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
He attempted to drive him away with this crude method.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter merely took a few steps back to avoid the flying debris, then walked up to the scrap metal.
He showed no fear, no hesitation; instead, his eyes revealed a sense of pity.
"A very interesting attempt."
"You have compressed a symbol that once carried the laughter of countless children into a primitive, chaotic starting point."
"This is a violent negation of innocent memories, possessing a post-industrial nihilistic hue."
Adrian was stunned.
He was only venting.
But in the mouth of this man, his meaningless act of destruction was endowed with a philosophical cloak.
Once again, at dusk.
Adrian looked at an abandoned city bus, the faded advertisements on its body still retaining traces of past prosperity.
A surge of uncontrollable sadness welled up in his heart.
He raised his hand, and under the influence of his will, the bus began to rapidly disintegrate, breaking down into countless metal shards as thin as cicada wings.
Under the afterglow of the setting sun, these metal shards looked like a flock of butterflies about to take flight, circling the wreckage of the bus.
This was merely his unconscious behavior, a physical manifestation of his pain.
"Magnificent."
Dr. Hannibal Lecter's voice sounded from behind him, full of sincere admiration.
"This is true art."
"To let an industrial corpse bloom with a splendor that transcends its own value at the very last moment of its existence."
"This is a magnificent funeral dedicated to a transient life."
Adrian turned around and looked at Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
This man could always use the most precise vocabulary to offer garlands for his ugliest scars.
This feeling of "being understood" was a potent poison more addictive than any drug.
He began to crave this understanding.
He began to subconsciously "create" in order to gain Dr. Hannibal Lecter's approval.
His destruction was no longer a deliberate venting of emotions.
Adrian took on a morbid, performance-oriented quality in his pursuit of aesthetics.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter captured this change.
The soil was fertile enough.
He unfolded the structural blueprint of Vought Tower once again.
This time, Dr. Hannibal Lecter did not speak of destruction.
"Every great building has a movement that belongs to it, Adrian."
"Steel is its skeleton, concrete is its flesh and blood, the glass curtain wall is the skin it breathes through, and the endless stream of people is the beating of its pulse."
"In the past, you were the composer who wrote this movement."
"But now..."
Dr. Hannibal Lecter raised his head, looking at Adrian with burning eyes.
"You will become the conductor. Conducting an unprecedented, most magnificent, and most gorgeous requiem."
"At its most glorious moment, let it return to its essence. That will be the pinnacle of your career, the greatest work dedicated to the entire history of architecture."
Adrian's breathing became heavy.
To test this fanaticism, and also to conduct the final "rehearsal."
Dr. Hannibal Lecter chose the first practice field for him.
A century-old highway bridge spanning the Harlem River.
It was about to be demolished by explosives, and the news had already released an announcement in advance.
No one would notice that its farewell performance would be staged in a completely different way.
Moonlight spilled onto the weathered body of the ancient bridge.
Traces of wheels still remained on the bridge deck, lovers' names were carved into the railings, and the bridge piers were covered in the moss of time.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter stood on the riverbank with his arms spread wide, like a concert conductor about to take the stage.
"Feel it, Adrian."
His voice sounded exceptionally clear in the night wind.
"Feel every vibration, every inch of wind and frost, every rain and snow that it has endured for a hundred years."
"Feel the joys and sorrows that have driven across it, feel its silent persistence and loneliness throughout countless days and nights."
"It is tired; it longs for rest."
Adrian closed his eyes.
His perception spread out like mercury pouring onto the ground, penetrating every rebar and every piece of concrete in the bridge.
There was no earth-shattering explosion, no ear-piercing roar.
The entire bridge slowly disintegrated in a manner visible to the naked eye.
The sturdy bridge deck turned into gray dust like quicksand.
Thick steel rebars peeled away from the concrete.
They danced and reorganized in the air.
First, they formed a silently crying face, as if mourning the passing of this bridge.
Those faces hovered in the air for a moment, then decomposed again.
At the very last moment before falling into the Water, all the dust and metal reflected a fleeting image on the dark river surface.
It was a scene of his wife holding their daughter, smiling at him under the sun.
Just like the day the Élysée Grand Opera House was completed.
The illusion lasted only a second.
The next moment, everything lost its form.
They turned into the finest dust and fell silently into the Harlem River.
A magnificent creation that had existed for a hundred years was thus erased from the World, leaving not a trace behind.
Adrian stood where he was, his body trembling slightly, gasping for air.
An unprecedented, complex emotion mixed with sadness and the ultimate pleasure of creation washed over him.
He had completed a perfect performance.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter wore a satisfied smile on his face.
His artist was ready.
...
Vought Tower.
On the screen in Lynn's office, this video, recorded in its entirety by a secret camera, was playing on a loop.
Motoko Kusanagi stood to the side, recording every frame of data from the footage.
"The target's energy output is stable, and control precision has increased by 37.4%."
"The entire process took three minutes and eleven seconds, without generating any energy fluctuations or sounds detectable by conventional means. From a technical perspective, this is a perfect destruction."
Lynn held his wine glass, watching the fleeting smiling face reflected in the Water on the screen.
"Send this video anonymously to 'The Prophet'."
Motoko Kusanagi nodded slightly, without asking why.
"I want to let those rats hiding in the gutters see what true fear looks like."
"Let them understand that the war they are facing is not even on the same order of magnitude."
"It is also time to let those self-righteous rebels know that in the face of a true artist, their little acts of vandalism are simply... not worth mentioning."
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