They knew they couldn’t kill him, so they cemented him into a standing position in a sub-sub-sublevel of the new monument’s foundation, surrounded by so many layers of cinder block that no one could hear his screams. After a few centuries he’d barely scraped through the first few layers, but the one resource he had was time. So he was almost disappointed when the subway workers broke through 100 years later. And felt genuine sadness when their gaping amazement turned to screams—his radial bones were worn to pretty sharp points by now. Then he made his way toward the light.