Wang Zhi sat at his desk, reading a tutorial on the Chinese programming language developed by the Marching Ant Company. Ever since that mysterious intrusion into their system — when the virus software was stolen — there hadn't been any follow-up.
The internet was a complex battlefield. The intruders had routed their attacks through IPs scattered across the globe. Tracing them back was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
During previous global virus crises, even top international agencies struggled to pinpoint the culprits. Their small police division had even less chance. Even if they managed to identify the hackers, it wasn't in their jurisdiction to act. At most, the case would be handed off to Interpol.
Fortunately, the damage last time had been minimal, and after a few internal reports and a public notice, the matter was shelved.
Still, the incident left Wang Zhi with a heightened sense of urgency. He had started taking the Chinese programming language more seriously. Whoever hacked them last time was no ordinary hacker — that virus software clearly had a deeper purpose.
"Wang Zhi, look at this news," said a female colleague beside him, pointing at her monitor. "There's a hacker group calling themselves 'Clown' that just posted a warning on Twitter. They say there'll be an unprecedented global cyberattack this Friday — calling it 'Black Friday' for the online world. Their logo is that same creepy clown mask from the attack on our system."
Wang Zhi immediately perked up and leaned closer to her screen.
Sure enough, a video accompanied the news article. His English was decent, and he quickly scanned through the contents.
"What are they trying to do?" he muttered, frowning.
The video featured a stylized message. A mask — half white, half shadow — stared back at him with scarlet, gleaming eyes. That eerie smile etched into the mask gave off a mocking, almost theatrical vibe.
"You think they'll release the virus they stole from us?" the female colleague asked nervously. "That thing spread like wildfire."
"Unlikely. We already developed antivirus software for it. If they try to unleash it now, it'll be useless. Hackers — at least the smart ones — don't waste time on predictable moves."
There was a short pause.
"Wang Zhi… are you free tonight?"
"Eh?"
He blinked, caught off-guard, but the news left little time for distraction.
The warning from the "Clown Organization" began making rounds in international media. The name was unfamiliar — this group hadn't appeared in any prior intelligence briefings. And now, they were brazenly threatening the world with a countdown.
Initially, people treated it like a joke.
No hacker group had ever successfully pulled off a full-scale global cyberterrorist attack. Most media outlets called it a publicity stunt.
As Friday approached, the Clown Organization posted daily updates, their messages reading like cryptic countdowns. Public interest began to fade, and most people brushed it off.
Then Friday came.
The group updated Twitter again:
"My heart is like this face — half pure, half shadow. I can choose what you see. This circus is about to begin. Let us first pay tribute to Master Chaplin."
A strange tribute — referencing Charlie Chaplin — confused many journalists.
London, England.
At the University of London, a world-renowned institution, Alice was in her dorm room working on her doctoral thesis — a paper analyzing the future of the internet economy.
She had already saved her data when the computer screen suddenly flickered.
Then a mask appeared.
Half white, half shadow — with piercing red eyes. The sinister grin stretched across the face like a taunt. Alice froze, her heart pounding. She clicked frantically, trying to close the window — nothing happened.
Panicked, she attempted a restart. No change. The mask stayed.
Moments later, every computer on campus displayed the same mask.
In banks, hospitals, subway systems, supermarkets, stock exchanges, corporate offices — the mask appeared. Within one hour, half of London's service infrastructure had been hijacked.
The city was paralyzed.
The news spread like wildfire. Panic took hold.
Never in the history of computing had such a widespread and instantaneous attack occurred. The world watched in disbelief as one of its financial capitals was taken offline.
"London Falls!" — The Times
"The Era of Cyber Terror Begins!" — The Wall Street Journal
"Damn Clown!" — European Daily
"Network in Chaos — Marching Ants Issue Warning" — Global Times
The situation escalated fast.
The true shock came from how easily London was crippled. The stock market stumbled. Financial institutions halted operations. Trading was suspended indefinitely. No one knew how long the crisis would last or what the total losses would be.
This attack dwarfed past threats like EternalBlue and EternalHeart.
In a televised address from 10 Downing Street, the British Prime Minister urged all domestic cybersecurity experts to converge at the University of London to counter the threat.
Governments across the globe issued emergency orders to bolster network defenses. What happened to London was a wake-up call.
An hour after the attack, the Clown Organization posted again:
"The London incident was orchestrated by us. We take full responsibility. We have successfully kidnapped the city. Our ransom is 100 million pounds — paid in Bitcoin within three days."
The world stopped.
Bitcoin prices surged — doubling within the hour.
Never before had a hacker group so publicly extorted a nation.
This wasn't just a data breach.
This was the kidnapping of a city.