Godzilla sits in the bay looking thoughtfully at Tokyo, he has not moved for an hour. The armed forces, having rushed to the shoreline with their truck mounted rocket launchers and such, wait for the monster to advance. A team of scientists scurry around the consoles that control a "Hyper-Electromagnetic-Atom-Thundercannon" checking dials and maintaining charges and pressures while a smaller team of scientists frantically declares to anyone who will listen that to fire the weapon would only make the monster stronger. News helicopters, made confident by the monster's apparently placid nature, fly ever closer to the giant lizard, reporters make redundant observations about the scene and offer unfounded theories and opinions for the break in the regular routine of destruction. A seagull settles on Godzilla's right shoulder.
A long moment of tense tranquility. The monster speaks:
"My home closed to me,
both your hero and villain,
I seek peace elsewhere."
Silence. The bird flies away.
The monster slowly turns and leaves, wading deeper into the ocean, futher and further away from the city. He does not look back.
Tokyo is destroyed by guilt.
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