Night fell heavily over Tokyo Bay, but the metropolis was far from quiet.
Inside the emergency public relations headquarters of Kurokawa Tower in Roppongi, phones rang without stopping. Dozens of frantic executives in disheveled suits screamed into their receivers. They were desperately trying to scrub the viral video of Patriarch Kurokawa’s exploding boils from the internet.
“Tell the national press it was an allergic reaction to bad makeup!” an executive yelled, sweating through his expensive silk shirt. “Tell them it was an unauthorized deepfake created by foreign criminals! Threaten any television station that airs the replay with lawsuits and immediate advertising boycotts!”
Emergency radio bulletins began broadcasting Kurokawa’s official statement across the city. The announcer claimed that the live press conference had suffered a minor digital glitch caused by solar flares.
Down at Shibuya Crossing, Lin Mo stood on the open roof deck of the Taichu command vehicle. He looked out across the bustling square. Neon signs reflected off the wet asphalt from an earlier afternoon drizzle.
Beside him, Kenji Sato adjusted his communication headset. The young director’s eyes shone with intense, righteous focus. Behind Kenji, forty animators worked across portable holographic terminals. Their fingers danced over glowing array keys with practiced speed. They had slept eight full hours in clean Taichu apartments, and their spirits were soaring.
