86: Chapter 86 Dirty Political Deals

Twenty-three hours into the lockdown of Tokyo, the conference room in the side hall of the Imperial Palace was still brightly lit, the air thick with smoke, making it almost impossible to breathe.

The cabinet's top officials sat around a long table, their faces etched with exhaustion and anxiety. Coffee cups and crumpled documents were scattered across the table, and the air was filled with an atmosphere of despair.

The 24-hour countdown hung over them like a sword of Damocles; every passing minute and second intensified the sense of suffocation. Outside the window, the barrels of the US military tanks were still pointed toward the Imperial Palace, and General White's cold, urging voice occasionally came over the broadcast, reminding them that time was running out.

“We can't wait any longer!”

The Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry slammed his hand on the table, breaking the stifling silence. His eyes were bloodshot, and his tone carried a desperate, reckless edge.

“White has already said that in another hour, they will force their way into the city! By then, we'll all be finished!”

“But we can't produce the culprit!”

The Minister of Defense grabbed his hair in agony. “Kazami Yuya and his team of Public Security Officers have already gone into hiding, and we can't even find a trace of Amuro Tooru! We can't really let the Public Security Officers be the scapegoats, can we? Who would be willing to risk their lives for us in the future?”

“Risk their lives? Is this the time to be considering that?”

The Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry sneered, his gaze sweeping over the others.

“Protecting our own positions and the safety of His Majesty the Emperor is what matters most! As for the Public Security Officers... if they're gone, we can just hire more. If we fall, we lose everything!”

His words were like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing the last shred of hesitation among the group.

Everyone present knew that once the US military entered the city, they, the cabinet members, would inevitably become the scapegoats. At best, they would be dismissed; at worst, they might face trials for war crimes.

“Then... what should we do?” The Prime Minister's voice was hoarse, carrying a final, desperate struggle.

A glint of malice flashed in the eyes of the Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry, and he lowered his voice: “Find body doubles.”

“Body doubles?” Everyone was stunned.

“That's right, body doubles.”

The Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry said slowly, “Aren't there many death row inmates in the Tokyo prison? Find a dozen or so with similar builds, put them in the uniforms of the Public Security Officers, and fake an ‘execution scene.’ As long as the photos are realistic enough, White won't dig any deeper.”

“Will... will this work?” one minister hesitated. “The US military aren't idiots. Will they believe it?”

“They don't need the truth; they need a way out.”

The Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry was confident. “As long as we provide enough benefits, combined with this ‘culprit has been brought to justice’ charade, they have no reason not to accept it. After all, their goal is to expand their military presence, not really to avenge a few soldiers.”

The group fell silent.

This was a deal so filthy it was nauseating, using the lives of innocent people to buy their own survival. But at this point, they had no better options.

“What about the compensation?” the Minister of Foreign Affairs asked. “White will definitely demand an exorbitant amount.”

“Money is not an issue.”

A flicker of greed crossed the eyes of the Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry. “Deduct it from next year's defense budget, and make those Zaibatsu bleed a little. Consider it... buying peace.”

The “Zaibatsu” he referred to were naturally those families that had suffered heavy losses in the previous turmoil and were in desperate need of government protection.

Using their money to satisfy the US military's appetite would both appease the US side and serve as an opportunity to pressure the Zaibatsu—it was killing two birds with one stone.

“And the matter of the military bases...”

The Minister of Defense spoke with difficulty. “White mentioned earlier that he wants to build two company-level outposts around Tokyo.”

“Agree to it.”

The Prime Minister finally spoke, his voice filled with powerlessness. “As long as we can get them to withdraw their troops, agree to anything.”

This sentence was like a key, unlocking the last line of defense in everyone's hearts.

They began to discuss the details—the compensation amount, the location of the bases, the scale of the troop deployment... as if they were discussing a mundane business deal, not a transaction involving national sovereignty and a dozen human lives.

In the end, they reached an agreement:

Compensation of $500,000 for each dead soldier, plus an additional $1 billion in “security fees”;

Agreeing to allow the US military to establish two company-level military bases in the western suburbs of Tokyo and at Yokohama Port, with the troop stationing period tentatively set for 10 years;

“Executing” 13 “involved Public Security Officers” and handing over the photos of the scene to the US side.

The moment the agreement was finalized, the conference room fell into a deathly silence.

No one spoke; only heavy breathing echoed in the room. They all knew what they had just done—they had traded the nation's sovereignty, the taxpayers' hard-earned money, and the lives of innocent people for temporary peace.

...

Tokyo First Prison, Death Row section.

In the middle of the night, only a dim bulb was lit in the cell block, reflecting off the faces of a dozen expressionless death row inmates.

Among them were murderers, drug cartel leaders, and political prisoners, but at this moment, their fates were bound together.

The warden held a list and read out 13 names.

“Come out.”

The warden's voice was cold, devoid of any emotion.

The prisoners whose names were called stood up numbly; no one resisted, and no one asked questions.

They knew their death dates had long been set; the only difference was whether it would be a day earlier or later, and whether they would die in the execution chamber or somewhere else.

They were taken to a temporarily converted “execution room” and made to put on brand-new Public Security Officer uniforms—the style usually worn by Kazami Yuya and his team.

Someone put hoods on them, leaving only their eyes exposed, and then tied them to cold iron pillars.

Outside the execution room, several officials sent by the cabinet were waiting nervously, cameras in hand.

“Are you ready?” the lead official asked.

The captain of the execution squad nodded and raised his gun.

“Wait a minute.”

A death row inmate suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse. “Can you tell me... why?”

No one answered him.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The gunshots echoed in the cramped execution room, causing ears to ring painfully.

The 13 death row inmates collapsed in response, blood flowing down the iron pillars and pooling into a dark red puddle on the floor.

The officials walked in, checked the bodies, and then signaled the photographer to take pictures.

“Get a better angle, make sure the uniforms and faces are clear... no, the faces don't need to be too clear, just an outline is enough.”

The official directed, his tone as casual as if he were filming a movie.

The photographer scrambled to take photos, the flash going off again and again in the bloody execution room, freezing this filthy scene onto film.

After taking the photos, the officials left with satisfaction, as if they had completed a major task.

The warden then directed his subordinates to clean up the scene, putting the bodies into black bags, preparing to sneak them out for burial.

In the cell block, the remaining death row inmates looked through the iron bars toward the execution room; there was no fear in their eyes, only a dead silence.

They knew they might also become victims of a political deal on some unknown night.

...

US military temporary headquarters, General White's office.

Catherine placed a stack of photos in front of White. In the photos, 13 “prisoners” wearing Public Security Officer uniforms lay in pools of blood; the scene was bloody and realistic.

“General, sent by the island nation's government. They say they've executed all involved personnel.”

Catherine's voice was calm, with no detectable emotion.

White picked up the photos, flipping through them one by one, a mocking smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

He had been in the military for decades; what kind of scenes hadn't he seen? The flaws in these photos were too obvious—the postures of the dead were stiff, the wound locations were deliberate, and several people's physiques didn't match the characteristics of Public Security Officers at all.

“They think they can fool me with this?” White sneered and threw the photos on the table.

“But their terms are very generous.”

Catherine handed over another document. “$500,000 per killed soldier, $1 billion in security fees, and two bases...”

White looked at the terms on the document, a flash of greed in his eyes.

He had never wanted the lives of those few soldiers; he wanted these tangible benefits. Executing the culprit? That was just an excuse.

“Tell them we accept.”

White stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the locked-down Tokyo city area in the distance.

“Have the troops withdraw, keep the garrisons for the two bases, and return the rest to Okinawa.”

“Yes,” Catherine replied, turning to leave.

“Wait.”

White called her back. “Tell the island nation's government to keep their people in check. If there's any more trouble, next time it won't be resolved with compensation.”

“Understood.”

After Catherine left, White picked up a map of Tokyo and drew two circles on the locations of the western suburbs and Yokohama Port.

These two bases were like two nails, firmly driven into the heart of the island nation. From now on, everything here would be under the control of the US military.

...

Prime Ministers Official Residence, the Prime Minister received news of the US military withdrawal. His tense nerves finally relaxed, and he slumped in his chair, drenched in cold sweat.

“It's over... it's finally over...”

He muttered to himself, but there was no joy in his eyes, only endless exhaustion and humiliation.

The Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry walked in, a hint of smugness on his face. “Prime Minister, the US military has begun to withdraw, and the base agreement has been signed.”

The Prime Minister didn't look at him, just asked softly, “Those 13 people... were they really death row inmates?”

“Of course.”

The Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry smiled like a fox. “They were all guys who deserved it; it's no pity that they died.”

The Prime Minister closed his eyes and said nothing more. He knew this matter wouldn't end just like that.

Those 13 lives, those two military bases, that $1 billion—all would be branded onto the history of the island nation, becoming an eternal stain on their cabinet's term.

...

Public Security secret hideout, Kazami Yuya looked at the photos handed over by Amuro Tooru, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

The “dead” in the photos were wearing the uniforms he was familiar with, lying in pools of blood. Although the faces had been tampered with, he could still tell that they were not his subordinates.

“They... they used body doubles?”

Kazami Yuya's voice was choked with emotion, his heart filled with complex feelings—relief, anger, and deep powerlessness.

Amuro Tooru nodded, a flash of coldness in his eyes.

“13 death row inmates replaced our people. The cabinet used their lives to trade for the US military's withdrawal.”

“Those bastards!”

Kazami Yuya punched the wall. “How could they do this?! Those were human lives too!”

“In their eyes, there are only their own positions and interests.”

Amuro Tooru's voice was cold. “Human lives? They are just bargaining chips that can be traded.”

He walked to the window, watching the direction in which the US military armored vehicles were withdrawing, a sharp light flashing in his eyes. “But this matter is not over yet.”

“What do you mean?” Kazami Yuya asked.

“The US military has withdrawn, but their bases are still there.”

Amuro Tooru said slowly, “The cabinet's compromise will only make them push for more. The anger of the public, the dissatisfaction of the Zaibatsu, the Black Organization stirring...”

“This farce has only just begun.”

Kazami Yuya looked at Amuro Tooru's back and suddenly understood something.

They had escaped a disaster, but the entire island nation had fallen into a deeper quagmire. And they, the survivors, were destined to continue struggling in this quagmire.

...

In the monitoring room of the Lin Family Manor, Lin Long watched the footage of the US military withdrawal on the screen, then looked at the public agreement, a playful smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

“How cheap.”

He said softly, “13 human lives, $1 billion, two bases... and they sent this bunch away.”

Ghost stood to the side and whispered, “BOSS, Amuro Tooru and Kazami Yuya are both safe. The cabinet used death row inmates as body doubles.”

“As expected.”

Lin Long was not surprised. “Those old foxes are best at these kinds of dirty deals.”

“After all, they are playing politics; how can it not be dirty?”

Lin Long picked up a new piece of intelligence detailing the Tokyo public's reaction to the agreement—the protests had been suppressed, but anger on the internet was already boiling over, many people began to question the legitimacy of the cabinet, and some even shouted the slogan “Overthrow the government.”

“The cracks are already big enough.”

A light of excitement flashed in Lin Long's eyes. “Next, we just need to give it another push, and it will collapse completely.”

Lin Long looked back at the screen. On the screen, the US military was setting up temporary barracks on the open ground at Yokohama Port, and island nation workers were moving supplies under the surveillance of the soldiers; the scene was filled with humiliation and irony.