The crowd beneath Tokyo Tower surged like a black tide, angry shouts overpowering the torrential rain.
Some held up photos of missing loved ones, some waved posters of politicians torn from televisions, while more simply clenched their fists silently, letting the rain wash over their reddened eyes.
The police cordon snapped in the pushing and shoving, riot shields of the mobile unit dented by stones, high-pressure water jets overturned as soon as they shot out—students in uniforms with heads wrapped in school uniforms carried makeshift iron railings to charge at police cars.
Kujo Yua's cigarette tip flickered in the rain; she saw office workers in raincoats smashing shop windows with briefcases, housewives stuffing flyers about politicians' scandals into police car wipers.
In the distance came the shattering of glass, someone set the first car alight, orange-red flames illuminating the blood-red "Heavenly Punishment" graffiti.
