Outnumbered? I'll conquer America with an unlimited number of suicide soldiers.

At dawn, the sun rises in the east.

The streets of San Francisco were eerily deserted, with hardly any people around.

The gunshots last night terrified most San Francisco residents.

From the Italian Quarter of North Beach to the shantytowns of the harbor, from the garden villas of Nob Hill to the wooden shacks of the mission area, everyone heard the incessant gunfire and the never-ending cries of agony.

That powerful firepower was not the work of a gang of a few dozen people, but rather the result of hundreds or thousands of soldiers firing at once.

Several veterans who had fought in the Mexican-American War were awakened in the middle of the night. In a daze, they thought the Mexicans had returned to fight. They grabbed their guns and took their families into the cellar.

"The gunfire stopped half the night ago, should we go out and take a look?"

Some daring citizens lifted the heavy curtains and peered through the gaps at the streets outside.

Just then, the sound of horses' hooves grew louder as they approached.

Three riders emerged from the street corner side by side, the riders on horseback repeatedly calling out:

"In the name of His Excellency John Bigler, Governor and Commander-in-Chief of the California Militia! The San Francisco riots have been quelled!"

"Rebellion leader William Coleman and his Vigilance Committee have been wiped out!"

The state government urges all law-abiding citizens to remain calm and restore normal life!

Throughout the streets and alleys, official notices issued in the name of the state government were posted, stating:

"A Letter from California Governor John Bigler to All Law-Abiding Citizens of San Francisco:"

In light of the recent serious riots in San Francisco—in which illegal armed groups, led by the so-called “Vigilance Committee,” openly attacked law enforcement agencies, illegally detained elected officials, carried out lynchings, and caused numerous casualties—these actions constitute armed rebellion against federal and state law.

As the highest-ranking executive official of California and commander of the state militia, the governor has authorized legitimate armed forces to enter San Francisco to decisively suppress the insurgent groups.

The ringleader, William T. Coleman, has been executed, most of his key members have been killed, and the remaining forces are being wiped out.

The state government solemnly declares: Law and order are inviolable, and constitutionally guaranteed rights must be exercised within the framework of the rule of law. We urge all citizens to remain calm, support the legitimate authorities in restoring order, and work together to maintain the peace and prosperity of San Francisco.

May God bless California.

At the same time, inside the city hall.

The rescued Democratic lawmakers looked tired and disheveled, but their eyes gleamed with satisfaction as they looked at the American party members in front of them.

This is simply because the tables have turned, and now it's the American party's congressmen and bureaucrats who have been tied up and become prisoners.

An elderly man wearing gold-rimmed glasses looked at Hosea and Sherman and solemnly said, "Mr. Matthews, Mr. Sherman, please allow me, on behalf of all law-abiding citizens of San Francisco, to express my deepest gratitude to you both and your brave men."

You stood up during the darkest hour for the rule of law and upheld the dignity of the Constitution.

He bowed slightly, and the Democratic lawmakers behind him stood up in unison and bowed in unison.

Hosea calmly returned the greeting: "Mr. Ashford, this is what a law-abiding citizen should do."

Sherman gave a standard military salute, his movements crisp and efficient.

The old man named George Ashford sat down again, his gaze slowly sweeping over the bound Americans opposite him. His eyes were filled with rage, like a vicious wolf ready to devour its prey.

"Gentlemen, is there anything else we can do for you?" Hosea asked at just the right moment.

"Of course, Mr. Matthews."

"San Francisco has just experienced a nightmare; its citizens are fearful, confused, and at a loss. They need to hear a clear voice, they need to know that order has been restored, and the law has once again taken its rightful place."

Ashford took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with a velvet cloth, and said slowly, "Announcements and notices alone are not enough; the newspapers must follow suit."

"Please send people immediately to invite all the editors-in-chief and senior reporters from San Francisco newspapers to City Hall. I will be holding a press conference in the square in one hour."

Sherman frowned slightly. "Mr. Ashford, shouldn't we give the gentlemen of parliament some time to freshen up? After all, they're a bit..."

"unnecessary."

Ashford shook his head. "We want all of California and all of America to see that legitimate elected officials, even when illegally detained, remain committed to their duties, and that their disheveled and exhausted appearance is necessary."

"As you wish, Mr. Ashford."

Hosea bowed slightly. "Within an hour, all the important pen holders of San Francisco will gather in the square."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Eight o'clock in the morning.

The San Francisco Gazette, the California Register, the San Francisco News, the Daily Evening Post...

Within an hour, editors and reporters from every well-known newspaper in San Francisco were invited and gathered in the square in front of City Hall.

A middle-aged man wearing a worn but clean silk vest turned to look at the blond youth beside him, his eyes filled with professional curiosity: "Sir, you look unfamiliar?"

He was a blond, blue-eyed young man. He was tall, robust, and well-proportioned, with a sculpted, angular face.

The middle-aged man swears to God that no woman can hide his face!

"I am Robert Guilliman, the editor of the Daily Evening Bulletin."

Guilliman gave a warm smile and extended his hand. "And you are, sir?"

The smile was like a warm breeze, and the middle-aged man quickly extended his hand to shake it: "I am Ryder Burns, the editor-in-chief of the San Francisco News."

"I had heard that Mr. Thomas sold the newspaper to pay off his bank debts, but I never imagined it was you, Mr. Guilliman, who bought it."

Guilliman said, "Because I am very interested in journalism, I really like this quote from the French newspaper Le Figaro: 'If there is no freedom of criticism, then there is no meaning in praise.'"

Burns' eyes lit up, as if he had found a kindred spirit: "Yes, yes, that's right! A democratic country should be able to tolerate different voices."

"Some people call me a lackey of the American Party because I criticize the Democratic Party. When I criticize the American Party, they say I'm paid by the Democratic Party."

He sighed, "God is my witness, I just want to be a journalist who reports the facts objectively, even if these truths are unpopular."

The two were chatting and laughing when they suddenly heard a curse coming from the side.

"Bullshit!"

They turned to look and saw a young man with freckles on his face. He glared at Burns with disdain in his eyes.

"Mr. Guilliman, don't be fooled by this liar next to you."

"He's just a political prostitute; he only reports negative news about whichever side pays him. If neither side pays him, he'll bite both sides until someone pays him to shut up!"

Burns' face darkened, and he cursed, "Charlie Page, shut your filthy mouth!"

The young man ignored him and extended his hand to Guilliman: "Charlie Page, acting editor of the San Francisco Gazette."

Guilliman shook his hand solemnly: "My condolences, Mr. Page. Editor James King was a hero in journalism."

Paige forced a smile: "The murderer has been hanged. Mr. Kim can rest in peace in heaven."

He paused, then said with resentment, "It's a pity we couldn't drive all those corrupt Democratic bureaucrats and members of Congress out of San Francisco, and the concerned citizens of the Vigilance Committee were slaughtered by the evil army."

"I must write an article and publish it in the newspaper so that all of California, and even the whole of America, knows about the evil ways of the Democratic Party!"

Burns quietly moved a little further away, not for any other reason than to avoid getting blood on himself.

Anyone with eyes can see that the American party has lost its momentum this time, and those who are still stubbornly clinging to it are afraid that the Democratic Party will not retaliate.

Thinking about this, his anger subsided somewhat.

Perhaps Page's voice was too loud, because two soldiers around the square immediately surrounded him.

Without saying a word, one of them swung the butt of his Springfield rifle and smashed it hard into Page's left cheek!

The muffled sound of bones breaking was clearly audible. Peppa screamed and fell to the ground, spitting out three bloody teeth. Half of her face instantly swelled up into a bluish-purple color.

But the two soldiers hadn't had enough, and they raised their rifle butts to smash it again!

"stop!"

With a shout, Guilliman rushed forward, grabbing the two heavy rifles with both hands and blocking Charlie's path.

"By what right do you resort to violence against an upright gentleman?"

One soldier sneered, "On what grounds? On ...

Another soldier glanced around, grinned, and said, "Gentlemen, I suggest you watch your mouths and hands. This time it's just a few teeth, but if you write something like that in the newspapers, hehe..."

He didn't explicitly state the threat, but his final laugh convinced all the editors and reporters in the square that it certainly wouldn't end well.

The two soldiers retreated, leaving Paige standing there, wailing in despair.

Guilliman sighed, pulled a bottle of tincture from his pocket, and handed it to Paige. "Drink this; it'll ease the pain!"

"Thanks."

Charlie took the tincture of opium with trembling hands and then drank it all in one gulp. He thanked him through gritted teeth, but the anger in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest.

Suddenly, the crowd in front began to stir.

Guilliman looked in the direction the sound came from and saw that Democratic lawmakers were coming out of City Hall.

Even more striking was the end of the procession: American Party members and municipal officials, including the mayor, were bound with ropes and gagged, staggering out as soldiers escorted them.

George Ashford stood on the steps of City Hall, looked around, and slowly said, "Gentlemen, just a few days ago, a disgraceful riot broke out in San Francisco!"

"Led by Mayor Stephen Pavli Weber, a mob of the American Party openly used lynching and even instigated thugs to imprison council members..."

The Democrats on stage spoke passionately, while the people in the audience had their own thoughts.

American Party-funded newspapers scoffed, while Democratic Party-funded newspapers wrote swiftly, and neutral newspapers merely recorded some statements, preparing to include them with what the American Party had said a few days earlier.

No one noticed that, with the deliberate indulgence of the guards on the perimeter, the number of people in the square was increasing.

"For America!"

A shout rang out like thunder in the square, interrupting Ashford's speech.

Then came the sound of gunfire.

boom!

Ashford's chest burst into blood.

He looked down in astonishment, trying to cover his wound with his fingers, but his body staggered back a few steps before collapsing to the ground.

The square instantly erupted in chaos.

Meanwhile, more people pulled out their revolvers and shouted at the Democrats on the steps, their cries chaotic yet deadly:

"Avenge Mr. Coleman!"

"Rescue the mayor! Kill those Democratic bastards!"

Bullets flew everywhere. The Democratic lawmakers on the podium became sitting ducks; two were shot and fell to the ground, while the rest scattered and rushed for cover.

At this moment, the soldiers around the square finally reacted, drew their revolvers, and began to enter the area to rescue people, while simultaneously engaging in a fierce firefight.

He once placed his hopes on the many suicide soldiers in the square, and incidentally pointed out their targets.

"That Democratic congressman isn't dead yet, give him two more shots."

"Hey, hey, hey, stop hitting the guy lying by the steps. The skill worked, he's one of us now."

"One of them ran into the city hall. Those who are nearby, go and give them a piece of your mind."

After being used eight times in a row, the skill "Fear of Death" turned gray.

And today, even the heavens are on his side; he successfully used all eight of his skills, and six Democratic congressmen and two American congressmen have become his loyal followers.

Keep in mind that at that time, San Francisco only had fifteen city council members. With these eight, the passage of all future bills and funding would depend on their will!

He nodded in satisfaction and said, "The assassins who originally belonged to the Vigilance Committee can die now. Hosea and Guilliman need your corpses as evidence."

"The rest of you, get out of here! Hosea's main force is closing in soon. With Sherman watching, it's not good to take advantage of the chaos."

Three minutes later, the gunfire in the square subsided.

The square was filled with wails of agony as Democratic and American congressmen lay on the ground, their fates indistinguishable.

Seven or eight of the rioters who came to attack were killed, and the rest escaped. Soldier reinforcements had arrived and began calling for the rescue of the councilors on the ground.

The survivors were either squatting or lying down, still shaken.

Guilliman emerged from a forgotten corner, took out his film camera, and began photographing the scene strewn with corpses.

The film will freeze all the deaths of this morning. And tonight, when these photos are published, there will be no possibility of reconciliation between the American and Democratic parties in California anytime soon.

He took the last photo and was about to put the camera away when he suddenly heard a familiar voice.

"Mr. Guilliman, what is this in your hand?"

Guilliman turned his head and saw Burns hiding behind a stone pillar in the southeast corner of the square, his eyes full of curiosity.

"A camera? Haven't you seen one before?"

Guilliman put away his camera and reminded him, "Mr. Burns, we should get back to the office. Such a big thing happened today; we need to publish it quickly to tell all the people of California."