In a secluded villa basement on the island of Hokkaido, Tomoki Amami sat hunched over his computer, fingers dancing rapidly across the keyboard. Lines of code streamed down the screen like a waterfall, but his face remained blank, deep in thought.
He was a member of the Clown Organization.
When the Chinese character programming language first emerged, someone had created a discussion group on a hacking forum named "Clown" to study it. Tomoki, whose father was Chinese, was fluent in the language and joined out of curiosity, eager to master the new language.
Together, the group had written countless tools and scripts using the Chinese character language, refining their knowledge over time. When the virus responsible for the Jiangnan incident in Huaxia appeared—rumored to be written in this same language—they were intrigued. Curious about its insane spread and firewall-penetrating capabilities, they hatched a plan to steal the virus's source code.
Once they got their hands on it, they were ecstatic. To showcase their skills to the world, they staged a cyberattack that shut down an entire city. The success brought them both pride and a sense of guilt. The founder and several members left in protest, while the remaining group reorganized and continued under the same name.
After the kidnapping incident, the group went quiet—until recently, when the "Clown Organization" suddenly reemerged and hacked the CIA.
Tomoki and the others were blindsided.
They knew their limits. Kidnapping a city's network? Doable. The firewalls of average civilian systems weren't particularly robust. Add in the powerful Clown Virus, and they could spread it quickly with careful planning.
But breaking into the CIA's secure systems? That was something else entirely.
Yet someone had done it—in their name, no less. The style, arrogance, and language used were identical to their own. They initially suspected a rogue member, but after contacting each other, they realized none of them were involved. Even worse, their official Twitter account had been hijacked.
Someone had stolen their name, their platform, and used it to carry out the most notorious cyberattack in modern history.
It was a slap in the face.
Admitting publicly that their account had been compromised would be an even bigger humiliation. They had once proudly crippled a city's infrastructure to show the world their technical prowess. How could they now admit they had been hacked?
So they collectively decided to stay quiet about the truth and focus on regaining control of their account. At the very least, reclaiming it would salvage a sliver of their pride—and ensure the CIA hack credit remained with them.
That's why Tomoki was here, locked in a week-long battle to crack their own account back.
Every trick he knew had failed—until now.
Ding!
A system alert snapped him from his thoughts.
Crack successful.
Tomoki's pupils dilated. His heart pounded as he stared at the screen in disbelief. After days of failed attempts, the lock had finally been broken. This success felt even more exhilarating than hacking into a government agency.
He hesitated for a moment, then logged in.
CIA Command Center — Same Time
Inside the CIA's high-security Network Intelligence Center, part of the Digital Innovation Division (DDI), tension thickened the air. The hall was packed with top agents from the CCI (Cyber Communications Intelligence), COG (Computer Network Operations Group), and specialists from the Office of Science and Technology.
Since Linna's return from the White House, she had summoned every elite under her command. The mission: monitor the Clown Organization's activities 24/7 and find any trace of them.
It was the largest digital mobilization in the CIA's history—a desperate bid to erase the shame of the Clown's invasion.
Their deadline: one month.
Then suddenly…
"The Clown Organization's Twitter account just went live again!"
The sharp call broke the heavy silence. Everyone jumped to attention.
"Trace it now!" Morrison, one of the CIA's top cyber warfare experts, rushed to the console. "Give me the tracking code!"
Last time, during the city-kidnapping incident, he had personally gone up against the Clown Organization—and failed. This time, he was back, hungry to reclaim his reputation.
"The IP will likely be spoofed again," a nearby analyst cautioned. "They've always used downtime masks. All our previous attempts ended in dead ends. Their obfuscation methods are highly advanced."
"I know," Morrison said coldly. "But we're doing it anyway."
"Tracking code sent."
"Received. Let's go."
Morrison's fingers flew over the keyboard. The world map on the massive LCD screen lit up with crisscrossing dots as the system pinged IP addresses around the globe.
Each dot represented a hop—a diversion, a fake server, a bouncing point.
They'd seen it all before.
But then—
Ding!
"IP lock successful."
The red dot landed on Vancouver, Canada.
Gasps rippled through the command center.
"It's locked. Trace the address."
"The location's been cross-checked—it's a private villa in Tenri, Hokkaido."
A satellite image zoomed in, displaying the villa.
"We have a match," said the agent scanning through records. "Owner is Tomoki Amami. Local citizen. Graduated from Kyoto University, Computer Science. Former engineer at a software firm. Resigned last year—currently freelancing."
"That's our guy," Linna said coldly. "Mobilize the field agents in Hokkaido. I want him apprehended—fast. Ignore exposure risks. Use full force."
"Understood."
"Prepare to breach his system," Morrison ordered, his eyes still locked on the screen.
Dennis, another elite cyber specialist, took over. This was personal for him too. The Clown Organization had humiliated him once. Today, he was going to fix that.
"System vulnerability found. There's a backdoor."
"We're in."
Inside the Villa
Warning: Unauthorized access detected.
Tomoki Amami's eyes widened in horror.
"Pantsu lock da-re?!"
(Swearing under his breath)
His heart raced as he realized what had just happened.
The Clown Organization's account had been under global surveillance. The moment he logged in, the CIA must have pounced. He had underestimated their speed—and overestimated his ability to stay hidden.
His location, his identity—they were now exposed.
If the CIA caught him, he was done.
Frantically, he began patching vulnerabilities in the system, scrambling to fight off the digital intrusion. But it was too late.
Beep!
The villa's intrusion alarm triggered. Switching over to the surveillance feed, he saw several black-clad operatives breaching the perimeter.
They were already here?
His face went pale. It had been less than thirty minutes since he logged in.
"Idiot!"
Without hesitation, Tomoki yanked the hard drive from his desktop, bolted to the basement's rear exit, and fled.
He knew the CIA's reach. Their intelligence network might be crippled, but their resources were still formidable. Hiding anywhere in the world wouldn't be enough.
There was only one hope now—government asylum.
Better to surrender to an official power than fall into the hands of the CIA.