Los Angeles.
Ivy stared at the computer screen, eyes gleaming with excitement. He was in the middle of a high-stakes escape in his favorite battle royale game. The Colosseum-style struggle thrilled him. Every victory brought a rush of accomplishment.
Hidden inside a virtual building, Ivy adjusted his scope, searching for targets. The silhouette of an opponent flickered in the distance.
He grinned, finger hovering over the mouse.
Click.
The screen went black.
"What the f—?"
He slammed his desk. Just as he was about to blame the network, a half-black, half-white clown mask appeared on the screen.
Cambridge, UK.
Ellie stared at the screen in disbelief. An evil grin twisted across the face of the clown mask that had replaced her streaming drama. The symbol was all too familiar—recent news had made the image infamous.
The Clown Virus threat had arrived.
Prime Minister's Office, Island Nation.
In the conference hall, more than a dozen high-ranking government officials sat around a long table, expressions grave.
Across the ocean, news had broken: the Clown Organization had launched simultaneous attacks on ten cities—five in the United States and five in the United Kingdom. The shock was global.
The virus had devastated Tokyo after officials refused to pay the ransom. Now, the next target could be them.
The Prime Minister, Anbei—a short, stout man—leaned forward and asked, "Suggestions?"
"I say we pay the ransom," said a man on his left. "The earthquake already wrecked our economy. If our core cities are hit next, the market could collapse entirely."
"We pay now, we open the door to future attacks," countered another official on Anbei's right.
Silence followed.
One man spoke up: "What about using the Termite system from the Marching Ant Company?"
"No!" someone shouted instantly. "It's from China. Who can guarantee it doesn't have a backdoor? This is national security—we can't risk it!"
A hush fell over the room.
"We pay secretly," another voice suggested. "Keep it off the record. If no one finds out, we still have a shot at staying afloat."
Several ministers nodded grimly.
The nation's economy was on a knife's edge. Another wave of Clown Virus attacks could push it over.
Anbei finally spoke. "Reach out to the Clown Organization."
Headlines the next day:
"US Officially Designates Clown Organization as Terrorist Group."
"US Considers Adding Marching Ant Company to Sanctions List."
"Did the Marching Ants Secretly Support the Clown Organization?"
Ten cities, paralyzed overnight—the world was stunned.
The coordinated cyberattacks were unlike anything seen before. No deaths, but the economic damage was staggering. It marked a terrifying new age of cyberterrorism.
Marching Ant Company Headquarters.
Chen Mo stood by his office window, silently watching the growing crowd of media outside the company gates.
His expression was unreadable.
The attacks had caused a PR nightmare. The clown organization's cryptic "thanks" on Twitter had lit a firestorm of speculation—and dragged Marching Ant Company into the crossfire.
Chen Mo picked up his phone.
"Zhao Min, call a press conference."
A temporary press area was set up in front of the company. Over 200 reporters stood by, cameras ready. Around them, private security and local police kept order.
Marching Ant Company had asked the public security bureau for help—tensions were too high, and any spark could cause chaos.
When Chen Mo stepped out of the building, the crowd stirred. Shutters clicked nonstop. All eyes were on him.
He stepped up to the podium.
Silence.
"There have been some serious misunderstandings about our company recently," Chen Mo said. His voice was calm but firm. "Let me state this clearly: Marching Ant Company has never supported the Clown Organization in any form."
He paused, eyes scanning the crowd.
"As for why they made that post? We don't know."
"I didn't plan to respond to baseless rumors personally, but the behavior of certain media outlets has crossed the line. I'll say this now—any article that links Marching Ant Company to the Clown Organization, spreads false statements, or damages our reputation will receive a legal response."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Our legal department is not just for decoration."
Dead silence.
Reporters stiffened. Chen Mo's message was clear: enough was enough.
"You may now ask questions," Chen Mo said. "First one—white shirt in the front, glasses."
A young male reporter lifted the mic nervously. "Mr. Chen Mo, if your company has no ties to the Clown Organization, why did they publicly thank you for technical support?"
Chen Mo's tone remained steady. "The Clown Virus was written using the Chinese character programming language. I created that language—and released it freely. If that alone is considered 'support,' then I have nothing to say."
He narrowed his eyes.
"If a company sells iron ore, and someone uses that iron to build weapons, should we blame the mining company?"
Another reporter stepped up.
"Clown's statement, combined with your use of the same language, does raise questions. How do you explain the connection?"
"I don't see the logic in your so-called logic," Chen Mo shot back. "Why do you believe a terrorist organization's claims over a legitimate tech company?"
He looked around the crowd.
"Is this the logic the media upholds? You'd rather believe a group of criminals who blackmail cities than trust a company dedicated to innovation and public good?"
The crowd went quiet again.
Inside the company, many staff members who watched the press conference felt a wave of pride. They'd endured so much criticism, and now Chen Mo's words gave them a sense of vindication.
Another reporter asked, "Rumor has it Marching Ant Company developed a cure for the Clown Virus but hasn't released it. Is that true?"
"We've already released the Termite system, which includes a smart firewall designed to combat the Clown Virus," Chen Mo replied. "As for a separate antivirus software, it's still under development."
He continued, "The Termite system is the most complete operating system we've ever made. It's based on our existing tech, fortified with next-gen security. The virus spreads through code written in the Chinese character programming language—a language superior to others. That's why current antivirus programs fail."
He glanced at the crowd.
"This is evolution. Survival of the fittest. Chinese character programming is the next step forward."
After answering a few more questions, Chen Mo returned to his office.
Xiao Yu entered quietly, carrying a glass of water. Without a word, she handed it to him.
Chen Mo smiled. "Do I look angry?"
Xiao Yu didn't answer, just watched him.
He chuckled. "I'm not upset about the noise. But I had to respond—if we keep quiet, we'll be seen as weak. You taught me that: People take silence as permission."
"Still scary," Xiao Yu muttered.
"Well, you can reward me later." He leaned in. "A kiss would do."
"Zhao Min said no public displays in the office. Wait till we get home," she teased, gently pushing his face away.
After she left, Chen Mo turned back to the window. The media frenzy outside had finally dispersed.
Just then, Mo Nu's voice echoed in the room.
"Brother Mo, the Clown just released a new message."