The night in New York was a boundless ocean, jointly illuminated by human ambition and desire.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter and The Deconstructionist stood high above this ocean.
The biting cold wind on the observation deck of the Empire State Building shattered the clamor of the city below.
Countless lights converged into a flowing river of light, outlining the steel skeleton of this city that never sleeps.
"Look, The Deconstructionist."
Dr. Hannibal Lecter's voice was as clear and calm as the cold wind from the heights.
He did not point to any specific building, but instead embraced the entire vista with his arms.
"What an arrogant creation."
"Every skyscraper flaunts humanity's ambition to conquer nature to the sky."
"They build high walls of reinforced concrete, separating people from one another, creating countless lonely cages."
"People are born, grow old, and die within them, thinking they possess the World, yet they have never truly touched one another."
The Deconstructionist did not speak.
His eyes reflected the brilliant prosperity below, the city lights that he had once been proud of and had longed to connect and warm with his own works.
Now, only hatred remained in his pupils for this sea of light.
Every lit window appeared like an eye spying on his pain.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter captured the change in his emotions.
He stepped forward to stand beside The Deconstructionist.
His voice lowered, like a whisper between lovers.
"You once wanted to connect people through architecture, using lines and space to compose a harmonious symphony."
"But what did it give you in return?"
"It took everything from you."
"This city used your works to boast of its own glory, yet at your happiest moment, it crushed your most beloved ones, along with your pride, into dust."
"Do you not hate it?"
"Do you not hate this city that devoured your family?"
Hate.
Of course he hated it!
The thick glass of the observation deck suddenly emitted a faint, teeth-grinding groan.
A few tourists taking photos were startled by this strange sound, looking around in confusion.
The Deconstructionist's body began to tremble uncontrollably.
He saw the phantom of that opera house rise from the ground in the city below, and then, once again, silently turn to dust.
His wife's exclamation and his daughter's cries echoed in his ears.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter reached out and gently pressed his hand on his shoulder.
"Shh..."
"Anger is necessary fuel, but a good artist knows how to control the heat."
On Dr. Hannibal Lecter's face was the gentleness of a mentor.
"Now is not the time."
"A great performance requires an appropriate overture."
...
Two days later.
An eerie urban legend began to quietly ferment on New York's social networks.
It started with Central Park.
Deep in the park, on a secluded lawn near the reservoir, a small war hero monument had originally stood.
It was a bronze statue depicting three soldiers supporting each other as they moved forward, with a base built of solid granite.
It had stood there for over half a century.
However, on a Wednesday morning, morning joggers discovered in horror that it had vanished.
It was not knocked over, nor was it blown up.
It had completely and utterly vanished!
Where the monument had originally stood, only an empty patch of lawn remained.
That patch of grass even retained the slightly depressed square outline that had been pressed by the base for fifty years.
The Police set up a cordon, but the experts investigating the scene found nothing.
The only clue that could be found was the surveillance camera facing that area.
The recording showed that at 3:07 AM, the image was suddenly replaced by static.
This signal interruption lasted for two minutes.
At 3:09 AM, when the image returned to normal, the monument was already gone.
This news quickly ignited public opinion on the internet.
The #VanishingStatue# hashtag quickly surged to the top of the trending searches.
"It was aliens! This is their way of collecting samples of Earth civilization!"
"I guess it's some kind of prank, a team of highly skilled magicians."
"Don't you think this is terrifying? If they can make a statue disappear, can't they also make a building, or even a city block disappear?"
Facing the surging public opinion, the New York City Hall urgently held a press conference the next day.
The spokesperson was a middle-aged man, reading from a prepared script in front of dozens of cameras.
"Regarding the Central Park monument incident, please do not panic, and do not listen to rumors on the internet."
"This... this is a planned municipal maintenance."
"Due to some aging issues in the monument's internal structure, for the sake of public safety, our relevant departments decided to carry out... emergency, nighttime removal and relocation operations."
A reporter stood up and asked a sharp question.
"Mr. Spokesperson, since it was a planned removal, why was there no prior public notice?"
"And as far as we know, no engineering company received this project. By what means did you remove a multi-ton statue overnight without leaving any traces?"
Sweat beaded on the spokesperson's forehead.
"This... this involves some new, uh, confidential construction technology. We are not at liberty to disclose the specific details."
This vague and loophole-filled "denial" not only failed to quell public suspicion but confirmed everyone's guess—the government was lying.
They had no idea what was happening.
...
Deep in the subway tracks.
Rat and several other core members of the Awakened Mutual Aid Society were sitting around an old computer screen.
On the screen, the awkward press conference was playing.
"Confidential construction technology?"
A member scoffed.
"They might as well just admit it's magic."
There was no relaxed look on anyone's face.
They all turned in unison to the figure in the corner who had remained silent throughout.
"Prophet."
Rat's voice was somewhat dry.
"Did... did he do this? That... monster who erased the bridge?"
"The dissociation of the bridge was an anonymous private performance, a display of power to us."
"The disappearance of the monument was a public, deliberate declaration."
Everyone held their breath, waiting for what would come next.
"He is declaring his existence."
"He is mocking everything we know."
"He is using this method to raise the curtain for his upcoming, true performance."
Rat felt a chill seeping from his bone marrow.
He remembered the "Prophet's" previous words— "The only thing we can do is kill the god."
But now, this "god" hadn't even revealed its true form, yet by simply erasing an insignificant monument, it had already plunged all of New York into panic and suspicion.
And they, these rats hiding in the gutters, did they really have the qualifications to challenge such an existence?
...
The Deconstructionist returned to his "gallery."
He had just completed a "creation."
A familiar sense of emptiness swallowed him once again.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter's figure appeared behind him.
He handed over a document with news photos and text.
"You are no longer a lonely rambler; your works have found true spectators."
"Although they are ignorant and cannot understand the essence of your work, their fear and confusion are, in themselves, the most beautiful harmonies in this overture."
"This is not enough."
The Deconstructionist spoke hoarsely.
His voice was filled with craving.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter's smile grew even brighter.
He took a photo from his bosom and handed it to The Deconstructionist.
The photo showed the front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
The sun was shining brightly.
Countless tourists were resting and taking photos on the steps in front of the entrance, their smiling faces frozen in the lens.
It was a hall of laughter and joy.
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