69: Chapter 69 Glory Belongs to Everyone

The horizon turned a pale grey as the first rays of sunlight struggled to pierce the smoke hanging over Tokyo, casting light upon the devastated streets.

After a night of slaughter and chaos, the wave of madness finally began to recede.

Under the light of dawn, the fanatical glint in the eyes of those rioters wearing clown masks gradually faded, replaced by deep fear.

Looking at the blood beneath their feet, the corpses beside them, and the weapons in their hands, they seemed to have just awakened from an absurd nightmare.

"Quick... take it off!"

A man in a suit frantically tore the clown mask from his face, revealing a tear-streaked countenance.

He looked at his blood-stained hands, his stomach churning, and he crouched on the ground, retching violently.

"Go home... let's go home quickly!"

Another woman, carrying a child, trembling, pulled the man beside her, who was equally shaken, and rushed toward home, shielding the child tightly in her arms.

The child's face was still wet with dried tears, clearly terrified by the gunshots and explosions of the previous night.

More and more people removed their masks, threw away their weapons, and scattered like stray dogs.

They dove into alleys, hid in abandoned buildings, or ran with all their might back to their homes, bracing doors and windows with boards and furniture, as if this could shut out the sins of the previous night and the impending punishment.

Masks were discarded casually on the streets, mixed with scattered shell casings, burning car wrecks, and cold corpses, appearing exceptionally ironic under the sunlight.

The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department headquarters, the building that once symbolized order and justice, had now turned into ruins.

The walls were riddled with bullet holes, parts of the floors had collapsed, wisps of smoke rose, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood.

The surviving police officers sat slumped on the ground; some leaned against broken walls, gasping for breath; others held the corpses of fallen comrades, weeping silently; still others stared blankly at the sky with hollow eyes, as if they had lost their souls.

They had survived, but at a heavy cost.

The team, originally numbering in the hundreds, was now reduced to fewer than thirty people.

Everyone was injured; some were wrapped in bandages, some had their arms in casts, and most were covered in blood, making it impossible to tell if it was their own or the enemy's.

"Water... does anyone have water..."

A young police officer shouted in a hoarse voice; his throat was parched from the previous night's screaming and the irritation of the smoke.

The old police officer beside him silently handed over an unopened bottle of mineral water, watching him greedily gulp it down, his eyes filled with exhaustion and heartache.

He had been a police officer for thirty years, having experienced earthquakes and handled serial murder cases, yet he had never seen such a tragic scene.

The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department had been breached, colleagues had fallen one by one, and rioters were roaming the streets... all of this felt like a nightmare from which he could not wake.

"The Chief of Police is here," someone whispered as a reminder.

Everyone looked in the direction of the voice, and saw Police Superintendent General Hakuba and Toshiro Odagiri walking out of the underground command center.

Both men's hair was disheveled, their eyes bloodshot, and their uniforms covered in dust, clearly having not slept all night.

Upon seeing the tragic state of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, Chief of Police Hakuba swayed, his eyes filled with disbelief and pain.

This building he had protected for over a decade had turned into this state.

"Are the casualty statistics out?" Chief of Police Hakuba's voice was so hoarse it was barely audible.

An adjutant stepped forward quickly, handing over a blood-stained report, his voice choked with emotion:

"Chief of Police, we... we have lost two hundred and thirty-seven colleagues, fifty-six are seriously injured, and countless others have minor injuries... also, the armory, the archives, and the evidence room... are all destroyed."

Toshiro Odagiri closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he opened them again, his eyes held only cold fury: "These lunatics... what on earth do they want!"

No one could answer his question.

Just then, the rumbling of tanks and armored vehicles came from afar.

Everyone looked up and saw squads of fully armed Self-Defense Forces soldiers, riding in military vehicles and tanks, slowly driving along the street.

Wearing camouflage uniforms and holding automatic rifles, with serious expressions on their faces, they began to set up defensive positions around the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

Soon after, more soldiers poured into every corner of Tokyo, beginning to clear the battlefield.

They carefully moved corpses, blocked streets, and dispersed the scattered rioters still roaming about.

The sirens of ambulances wailed one after another; medical personnel in white coats carried stretchers, weaving through the ruins, lifting the wounded onto ambulances to be sent to the nearest hospitals.

Fire trucks were also working intensely, water jets spraying onto burning buildings with a hissing sound, attempting to extinguish the last traces of fire.

"Martial law has been declared," Toshiro Odagiri said, looking at the soldiers outside the window.

"From now on, the entire Tokyo area is under military control. The curfew has been extended, and no one is allowed to go out without permission."

Chief of Police Hakuba nodded, his eyes complex: "This is the only way for now. We must stabilize the situation as soon as possible, otherwise..."

Otherwise, all of Tokyo would truly fall completely.

On the streets, soldiers of the Self-Defense Forces were searching house by house.

They kicked open locked doors, carefully checking every corner, looking for the rioters who had participated in the violence and any scattered weapons.

"Come out! Everyone come out!" a soldier shouted at a residential house, his gun aimed inside.

The door opened slowly, and an elderly couple walked out trembling, their hands covering their heads, their faces pale.

"We didn't participate... we didn't do anything..." the old man said, trembling.

The soldier walked into the room expressionlessly, searched it carefully, found no weapons or masks, and then waved his hand: "Go back in. Do not come out without orders."

Such scenes were playing out in every corner of Tokyo.

Although the soldiers' searches were strict, they also brought a hint of long-lost order.

The number of people on the streets gradually increased; they watched the soldiers outside through windows or door cracks, their eyes filled with fear and anxiety.

Just then, a harsh static sound suddenly rang out, breaking the temporary calm.

"Crackle—crackle—"

Immediately after, every loudspeaker in Tokyo, whether it was the emergency broadcast on the streets or the radios in residents' homes, emitted that familiar voice, processed through a voice changer: "Good morning, clowns."

The soldiers who were searching suddenly stopped their movements, looking around vigilantly.

The police officers in the ruins also raised their heads, their eyes filled with anger and disgust.

"It seems that after this night's struggle, those high and mighty elites, those pampered upper-class people, have already tasted our power."

The clown's voice carried a hint of mockery, yet it was full of incitement.

"Listen, the sound of tanks outside, the footsteps of soldiers, and the sirens of ambulances... this is all your doing!"

"Clowns, you have won!"

"You have successfully let those 'let them eat cake' upper-class people know that the rage of us, the people at the bottom, is enough to burn down their palaces!"

The voice on the broadcast paused, becoming more impassioned: "Although the night of revelry was short, I will not enjoy this glory alone. The glory belongs to every clown who dared to pick up a weapon, and to every soul that dared to resist!"

"Remember this night, remember your power."

The clown's voice became low and mysterious.

"The temporary dormancy is for a more violent eruption. Let us wait quietly for the arrival of the next Clown Night..."

"Hahahaha—!" A burst of exaggerated and crazy laughter echoed over the broadcast, then stopped abruptly, leaving only the harsh sound of static.

The entire city of Tokyo fell into a deathly silence.

The soldiers searching looked at each other, their eyes filled with gravity.

They knew that this "Clown" had not been eliminated; he had only temporarily hidden himself, like a beast lurking in the darkness, ready to pounce again at any moment.

The police officers in the ruins clenched their fists tightly, flames of vengeance burning in their eyes.

They had lost colleagues and their homes; they absolutely could not let this riot go unavenged.

As for the rioters hiding at home, after hearing the broadcast, some were trembling with fear, while others had a glimmer of secret excitement in their eyes.

Last night's madness was like a seed planted in their hearts, just waiting for the call for the next "revelry."

Chief of Police Hakuba stood in the ruins, looking at the sky, his fists clenched tightly.

He knew that this battle was not over.

The clown's broadcast was not just showing off; it was a provocation, a manifesto.

The clown's crazy rhetoric and incitement had already planted seeds in the hearts of those who participated in the riot last night; as long as this clown called out again, then...

"Odagiri," Chief of Police Hakuba's voice was cold and firm, "Notify everyone, search with full force for all rioters who participated in the violence, especially the core members who distributed weapons and organized the attacks. Additionally, strengthen the protection of important facilities; we must not give them another opportunity."

"Yes!" Toshiro Odagiri nodded vigorously.

The sun rose higher, dispersing some of the smoke, but it could not dispel the gloom hanging over Tokyo.

The martial law order continued, and the soldiers' patrols remained tight, but everyone knew that the calm was only superficial.

The clown's shadow had already been deeply branded into the soul of this city.

When would the next Clown Night arrive? No one knew the answer.

But everyone understood that when that day came, it would usher in an even crazier, even bloodier storm.

The dawn of Tokyo had finally arrived.

The dawn belonging to this city had come, but the shadows in people's hearts were growing darker and darker.