From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

"Who is besieging Anson-Wood?"

"The distortion and degradation of the Hollywood entertainment industry."

"Who is unscrupulously 'manufacturing' news?"

In front of the computer screen, in the blue dim light, Harry-Pacey's face could be vaguely seen:

Sometimes anxious, sometimes hideous, sometimes elated, sometimes frustrated, sometimes laughing, sometimes furious.

Like a split personality, he continued to experience great ups and downs, unable to control himself.

A vast expanse of media outlets and online forums were all focused on the "Anson-Wood hospital intrusion incident." While investigations were being fully deployed, discussions were also surging to a new peak of hot topics.

One or two people, like moral guardians, stood on the high ground of justice and morality, conducting judgment condescendingly, but Harry just found it ridiculous.

Because Harry knew that if the real inside story were to be revealed, it would be these same media outlets that would immediately change their tune and start following up with reports. Morality and conscience were non-existent in the face of profit; their current righteous appearance was just a matter of following the trend.

Absurd.

Perhaps the consistently aloof and arrogant "New Yorker" was one of the few exceptions.

"Entertainment to the death! Who exactly is crossing the line, disregarding life, and pursuing sensationalism—

It's you. It's me. It's him. It's everyone. It's the whole society."

As a gathering place for intellectuals, "The New Yorker" still demonstrated its conscience, not simply condemning someone, but including itself, showing the distortion of the entire era, where everyone is excited about gossip, elated about peeping, excited about revelations, etc. The culture of entertainment to the death is permeating into the bones and blood of society—

Perhaps in the end, everyone will become both the perpetrator and the victim of entertainment to the death. When the avalanche comes, no snowflake is innocent.

"The New Yorker's" special report was a full four pages long, using the Anson-Wood incident as a starting point to deeply analyze the ills of the entire society and express deep concern about the future development of society.

This sparked widespread discussion in various forums.

Netizens, one after another, enthusiastically offered suggestions, hoping to catch the real culprit, and the entire news hotspot reached an unprecedented height.

If the "Spider-Man" set uniform photos were released now, the traffic would be unimaginable.

Only a fool would miss such an opportunity.

However, publicizing it would not only mean that he could hand Anson a handle for retaliation, but also mean that he might expose himself to the public eye. The potential backlash and siege that followed would be the real problem.

Harry wasn't stupid; he could see all of these things.

As a result, he was just holding a gold mine, sitting blankly in front of the computer screen in a daze.

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

Annoyance, anger, and anxiety continued to churn in his stomach, tossing and turning without stopping, as if he were on a raging fire.

He hadn't slept for over forty hours. He was clearly exhausted, but still couldn't fall asleep. The thoughts in his mind seemed ready to explode at any moment.

Then, Harry saw a post—

"Doesn't Sinai Mountain Hospital have surveillance? I know there shouldn't be any inside the hospital, but what about the hospital entrance, or the traffic lights there? There are always surveillance cameras around the hospital, right? According to the time and location, can we find potential suspects by pulling up the surveillance footage?"

1st Floor: Genius!

2nd Floor: Yes, yes, yes, the OP's idea is correct. We should look for surveillance footage.

3rd Floor: Doesn't the NYPD know this? Maybe they're already filtering surveillance footage as we speak?

All kinds of discussions unfolded, and they went off-topic as they talked, but this one post made Harry's entire back feel cold, and goosebumps all over his body were screaming madly.

Crap!

The NYPD was one aspect, and the Polaroid photos in Anson's hands were another.

How could he forget about that Polaroid photo!

That was 100% evidence, solid proof! Once made public, that would be the execution day!

In other words, it was only a matter of time before his identity was exposed.

What to do?

Harry grabbed his head with both hands, lightly banging his forehead against the computer desk, trying to calm himself down, but that was clearly not an easy task.

Crap, crap, crap, crap!

Wait, Harry had a flash of inspiration, and the banging motion stopped.

Harry had a bold idea:

Why not just publish the Spider-Man uniform photos?

Of course, anonymously, on the TMZ website.

First, to divert the focus and shift attention. Anyway, the general public's attention span is only three seconds. As long as there is a brand new explosive revelation, it will be easy to shift the firepower.

Like goldfish with a seven-second memory, no one will remember to investigate the entertainment-to-the-death incident of the hospital intrusion.

Second, to shift suspicion. When people are constantly speculating about the suspect in the hospital intrusion, the appearance of the Spider-Man uniform can confuse people and make them realize:

Unwilling.

The more he thought about it, the more unwilling he became. Annoyance, anger, anxiety, entanglement, and other emotions swarmed up, gnawing at his soul.

This might be the most proud representative work of his career, and it had made Anson suffer and stumble, but only he himself could appreciate it?

Too bad.

He longed for people to know his work, he longed for his photos to explode in traffic. When everyone was eager for the new Spider-Man uniform, he not only gave the answer, but also a 120-point answer—without missing any additional questions. How could it be buried like this?

Agony. Pain. Torture.

If hell really existed in the world, Harry believed he was in hell right now.

Involuntarily, Harry closed the browser. Scattered on the computer desktop were his works—

"Spider-Man 2" live photos, Anson soaring into the air, making a difficult leap, perfectly showing the posture of Spider-Man. Although the wires could be seen, it did not completely destroy the imagination, but rather made people marvel that those perfect figures in the movie were not computer-generated but actually filmed.

Not only the uniform, but the whole atmosphere and aura were also 100 points.

This was his work, a work of art, but no one could appreciate it?

"Publish. Publish. Publish!"

Angels and demons were pulling in his mind, demonic whispers resonated on his eardrums, adrenaline slowly ignited, and as if possessed, his right hand reached for the mouse.

A moth to a flame.

Harry finally understood what that felt like. Even if he knew the outcome, even if reason held the reins, he still couldn't control the impulse.

Pa.

With a gentle click of the mouse, the TMZ website was updated.