Hannibal Lecter arrived right on time.
A portable playback device was presented to the Deconstructionist.
It contains a variety of images depicting the panic of New York City residents.
The news anchor delivered sensational headlines in an exaggerated tone.
On social media, countless videos of people screaming, crying, and cursing were quickly edited together.
Politicians' blatant lies at press conferences, and the relentless questioning from reporters in the audience.
"Look, this is the harmony your work evoked."
Hannibal's voice was gentle.
"Their fear is the best proof of the value of your art."
But they don't understand yet.
"They're just afraid, like they're afraid of earthquakes, tsunamis, or other incomprehensible natural disasters."
"They weren't appreciating, they weren't understanding, the sublime aesthetic of destruction and return in your work."
"To move them from fear to worship, we need a grander, more soul-stirring performance."
"A grand ceremony that allowed them to witness firsthand that destruction itself is a form of Rebirth."
The Deconstructionist ' breathing began to quicken.
worship.
Yes, what he wanted was not fear, but worship.
He wanted the world to look up to his art as they would to a god.
Under Hannibal's guidance, the work of " Deconstructionist " entered a completely new phase.
He was no longer content to remain aloof and self-absorbed in his own "sanctuary."
The entire city of New York became his gallery.
He wandered through the city, randomly selecting buildings that carried history and emotion, and then "artistically transformed" them.
Harlem, a century-old Gothic church.
Early in the morning, the choir children screamed in terror as they entered the church.
The cross at the top of the church, which should have pointed to the sky and offered solace, was reconstructed overnight into a figure with its hands clasped behind its head, wailing in pain.
Not a single hero from Vought International was mobilized.
The public relations department simply released an official statement. "We are conducting a comprehensive threat assessment of the Deconstructionist ' behavior, and any rash action before the assessment is complete could have unforeseen consequences."
This feigned professionalism and arrogance is more disheartening than any explanation.
It sent a clear signal to all citizens: even Vought was finding it difficult.
Some of the excluded "wild" heroes could no longer sit still.
In a car repair shop in Queens.
A boy Richie was angrily banging on the tires with a wrench.
He can manipulate any rope-like object, from shoelaces to high-voltage cables.
In Vought's evaluation report, his abilities were defined as "street performer, lacking commercial development value."
An underground bar in Brooklyn.
A motorcyclist nicknamed " Will-o'-the-Wisp " is downing a glass of whiskey in one gulp.
He could set his body and car ablaze with hellish Flame, but was rejected because his "image was too violent and did not meet family entertainment standards."
"What are those Vought doing?!"
The man holding the phone slammed his Will-o'-the-Wisp on the bar, making the glasses clink.
"Are they just going to stand by and watch that madman turn New York into his playground?"
Richie responded, "They're waiting, waiting for the public's fear to reach its peak, then they'll appear like saviors, and incidentally increase the severity of the regulations tenfold. My sister's school is right next to that church, and she's too scared to go out now."
"I'm done!"
The Will-o'-the-Wisp stood up.
"We can't wait any longer, someone has to do something!"
Richie paused for a moment, then picked up a brand-new roll of steel cable beside him.
Count me in.
A boy who can manipulate ropes and a motorcyclist who can transform into Flame —these two formed a seemingly ridiculous alliance.
They quickly identified " Deconstructionist ".
A long-abandoned sugar refinery located along the East River.
The Deconstructionist stands beneath the refinery's silos, his eyes closed, sensing the "breathing" of this industrial relic over the past century.
He is preparing to begin his "creation".
"Hey! Monster! Your game is over!"
A loud shout shattered the silence.
" Will-o'-the-Wisp " roared as he charged towards them on his Thunder motorcycle, leaving a trail of burning Flame in his wake.
At the same time, dozens of steel cables shot in from all directions, whistling through the air, and wrapped around the Deconstructionist's limbs and neck.
This was a tactic they had agreed upon.
Richie is in charge of controlling it, Will-o'-the-Wisp is responsible for delivering the fatal blow with its Flame.
Faced with this sudden attack, Deconstructionist frowned in disgust.
He had an idea.
"Now!"
A confident look spread across Richie's face; his cable was about to entangle its target!
But he soon discovered to his horror that his mental connection with those steel cables had been forcibly severed.
Those sturdy steel cables began to crumble in mid-air!
Before reaching the Deconstructionist's body, each steel cable was reduced to the finest metallic powder.
"What?! No... impossible!"
Richie gasped in disbelief; the backlash from the brutal severing of his mental connection gave him a splitting headache.
In the instant he was distracted, the " Will-o'-the-Wisp " had already rushed close.
"Go to hell!"
He roared and unleashed the full force of his Flame, transforming himself into a burning meteorite as he crashed into the frail figure.
The Deconstructionist raised his hand and spread his five fingers.
The raging flames on the Will-o'-the-Wisp did not go out, but the heat of the Flame was forcibly drawn away!
The Flame continued to burn and flicker, yet they emitted an eerie glow.
They can no longer ignite anything, no longer transmit any heat; they've become a gorgeous but useless visual effect.
The " Will-o'-the-Wisp " car, along with the Deconstructionist and crashed to the ground.
He stared blankly at the Flame engulfing his body.
Deconstructionist glanced at these two overconfident intruders with the same disdain one would give trash.
He couldn't even be bothered to kill them.
That would tarnish your own art.
The Flash went off like crazy.
Suddenly, several reporters who "happened" to be passing by rushed out of the Shadow of the ruins and pointed their cameras at the disheveled Richie and Will-o'-the-Wisp.
The news headlines the following day took the entire city by storm.
"Street heroes' reckless actions fail miserably; who will be responsible for our safety?"
This report perfectly complements Vought's previous statement.
It ruthlessly declared to the public:
See, this is what happens to "heroes" who haven't been certified by Vought; they can't solve problems, they only create more chaos.
Order can only be defined by Vought.
Security can only be sold by Vought.
The top floor of the Vought Tower.
Motoko Kusanagi was giving her daily report.
"Public opinion guidance has been completed; citizens believe that Vought International should be granted greater law enforcement powers to address the threat posed by Deconstructionist."
"Street heroes' approval ratings have plummeted to an all-time low."
Everything is going according to plan.