The Harlem River under the moonlight returned to calm.
Adrian knelt on the ground, his hands buried deep into the soil.
His body was trembling violently, the result of the pleasure, which had receded like a tide, leaving his body.
It was an experience akin to that of a creator.
What remained for him in the end was a void greater than ever before.
That pleasure of creative destruction gave him a momentary ascension, but also made him fall deeper.
He had become an addict.
In the post-ecstasy clarity, only endless pain and craving remained.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Dr. Hannibal Lecter's voice sounded behind him like a devil's whisper.
"When everything returns to nothingness, this void that remains is, in itself, a form of beauty."
"It reminds you of how unique what you just created truly is."
Adrian did not turn back; he merely gasped for air.
He loathed this feeling, yet he was hopelessly addicted to it.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter gave him no chance to catch his breath; the final brand had to be struck while the iron was hottest.
"From this day forward, you are no longer Adrian Dubois."
Dr. Hannibal Lecter's voice was gentle.
"That architect, who built dwellings for humanity only to be betrayed by his own creations, has died along with that bridge."
"Now, standing here is the messenger who reveals the true nature of this hypocritical World."
His finger tapped lightly on that brand-new name.
"You are 'The Deconstructionist'."
The Deconstructionist.
It elevated all his insane acts of destruction from a morbid outlet to a philosophical height.
He was no longer a madman driven by pain.
He had become a prophet with a noble "mission."
His mission was to reduce all things man-made, self-righteous, and touted as "eternal" "structures" back to their original form.
To let the World see clearly that beneath the magnificent shell, the essence of everything is merely dust.
The Deconstructionist raised his head, and flames reignited in his hollow eyes.
It was a fanatical fire of faith, endowed with sacred meaning.
On Dr. Hannibal Lecter's face appeared the most satisfied smile of an artist after completing a masterpiece.
...
Vought Tower, internal database.
Under Motoko Kusanagi's silent operation, a brand-new file was created.
Codename: The Deconstructionist
Threat Level: S
Ability Assessment: Unknown upper limit
Behavioral Pattern: Highly artistic and philosophical structural destruction of large, man-made buildings.
Psychological Profile: Views acts of destruction as a noble "mission," unpredictable, incapable of communication, extremely dangerous.
This name was officially born in Vought's massive database.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter walked into Lynn's office; he had already changed back into that elegant dark brown vest.
"Boss."
He bowed slightly.
"The artwork has completed its preliminary polishing."
"It is ready to be put on display at any time."
Lynn was standing in front of the window, overlooking the brilliantly lit city beneath his feet.
He did not turn back, merely holding his wine glass and swirling it gently.
"Very good."
...
In stark contrast to the deathly silence at the edge of the city.
The center of New York City was immersed in a carnival belonging to Vi.
Her posters were plastered on every billboard in Times Square.
In the photos, her short pink hair stuck out defiantly.
She wore a provocative smile on her face, with the backdrop of the steel ruins she had shattered during the dock incident.
"Order requires an iron fist."
The slogan was concise and powerful.
On a TV talk show, the host exaggeratedly called her "The Rose from Queens, carrying the fragrance of steel."
Fashion magazines defined her utility jacket and metal accessories as this year's most popular "wasteland punk style."
Countless teenagers imitated her hairstyle, sharing videos of themselves swinging their fists online, accompanied by the hashtag #BeLikeVi#.
She enjoyed all of this.
Enjoying the ocean of camera flashes when stepping off her private jet.
Enjoying the curiosity and awe in the eyes of Hollywood superstars when clinking glasses at parties.
Enjoying the fact that with just a flick of her finger, the Vought team would send over the most beautiful women.
All of this was something she had fought for with her fists.
She once thought this was what she wanted.
But in the dead of night.
When she returned alone to that luxury suite in Vought Tower, a sense of emptiness would submerge her like a tide.
She would uncontrollably think of that man at the docks.
Think of Frank's eyes, filled with grief and disappointment.
"Have you forgotten who you are?!"
"Have you forgotten what it tastes like to be hungry?!"
She had not forgotten.
Precisely because she hadn't forgotten, she was in even more pain.
Using her clearance, she had quietly inquired about the whereabouts of Frank and the others.
Official records stated that they had been sent to a Vought-affiliated "Superhuman Behavioral Correction and Re-education Center" for posing a threat to public safety.
And then, there was no more "then."
Those names had vanished completely, as if they had never existed.
Vi's heart, however, was cold.
She had defeated those rebels.
And then what?
Were the demands of those dock workers met?
Were their children's medical expenses taken care of?
No.
Nothing had changed.
The problem had not been solved.
Only the people who voiced the problem had been "solved."
Vi felt a wave of suffocation.
She grabbed a coat, left her room, and knocked on another door.
Starlight opened the door and was somewhat surprised to see Vi's face, which was rarely seen with such vulnerability and confusion.
"Vi? It's so late, you..."
"Can we talk?"
Vi's voice was somewhat hoarse.
Starlight's room was not luxurious; it only had some cozy little ornaments and a few potted plants.
Vi threw herself onto the soft sofa, burying her face in a throw pillow; her voice came out muffled.
"Do you think what we did was right?"
Starlight was stunned.
She had never seen Vi in this state.
In her impression, Vi was always that wild girl who feared nothing and solved all problems with her fists.
"That dock incident..."
Vi raised her head, deep confusion in her eyes.
"We defeated those rebels and quelled the so-called riots."
"But was the problem solved?"
"Or did we just... hide the problem deeper?"
Starlight looked at her without responding.
Because she herself had no answer either.
She could only walk over, sit beside Vi, and gently give her a hug.
"I don't know."
"But at least we are still together."
Vi did not speak, only leaning her head on Starlight's shoulder.
...
The encrypted forum of the "Awakened Mutual Aid Society."
Rat and all the other members lurking in the shadows were repeatedly watching the video sent by an anonymous user.
No soundtrack, no commentary.
Only the silent moonlit night, the flowing river, and a magnificent century-old bridge turning into dust silently, like a dream or bubble.
The visual impact and psychological shock brought about by that kind of elegant destruction were ten thousand times more terrifying than any explosion or collapse.
Their hideout, which they were so proud of...
Could those sturdy concrete pipes, those abandoned subway stations, hold up against an existence that possessed such power?
A sense of despair spread through every corner of the forum.
"...This is something only a god could do."
"How... how can we be enemies with such a monster?"
"Give up; we have absolutely no chance of winning."
Just then, the pinned post with the ID "Prophet" was updated.
"They have shown us the power of a god."
The post paused for a moment, and just when everyone thought this was the entire content, a second sentence appeared with a chill capable of freezing the soul.
"Then, the only thing we can do is kill the god."
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