Three pairs of feet echoed on the creaking stairs. The steps were steady—not rushed—like they knew exactly what they were about to find.
Ari glanced at Sekar. She nodded. Dimas stood quickly, grabbed the folder, and slipped it into his jacket. They all understood—this wasn't a friendly visit.
"Back door," Sekar whispered.
They moved fast. Ari stayed in the rear, ensuring no trace was left. Outside, a narrow alley led to a dead-end—but Sekar, ever-prepared, had hired two trusted couriers. Two motorbikes idled nearby.
"Split up!" Ari ordered. "Don't take the same route!"
Dimas jumped on the first bike and sped east. Ari and Sekar took the second, heading west, weaving through the dense kampung streets.
As they sped off, three men in dark clothing emerged from the bookstore. One of them spoke into a radio:"They're gone. Target carrying a black bag. Repeat—black bag."
Ari caught the voice through his mirror. He memorized the pattern—operation codes, formation, communication—this wasn't street thuggery. This was trained, covert.
"Sekar," he said firmly, "after this, you need to disappear. Go dark."
"But I—"
"No buts. We've crossed into a stage where lives are now currency."
Sekar clenched her jaw. "Alright, sir. But be careful. These people… they know how to take you down without leaving fingerprints."
Ari stared ahead. Jakarta looked normal that afternoon. But behind the horns, the drizzle, and the noise, an invisible war was unfolding—bulletless, yet merciless.
And he wasn't going to back down.
A Meeting in the Shadows
Ari's motorbike stopped at an old rental house on the outskirts of East Jakarta. The place had long served as a neutral zone—not registered under any name, and untraceable by legal systems. Sekar opened the door and immediately activated a signal jammer in the corner.
"For now, we're safe," she said.
Ari sat down, opened his portable laptop, and began transferring files from the flash drive copy to a more secure offline hard drive.
Dimas arrived fifteen minutes later, drenched in sweat—but intact.
"Welcome to the people's bunker," Ari said half-jokingly.
Dimas gave a faint chuckle. "They were fast. I spotted one disguised as a rideshare driver."
"As we expected," Ari replied. "They want the story buried before the facts ever speak."
Ari opened a new file and displayed a web of power connections he'd compiled from the data.
"Look at this. The central point of all funding and legal pressure… it all ties back to one institution."
Dimas stared at the screen. "A ministry?"
Ari nodded. "But not just the minister. There's someone higher. A name you never see in media… but whose hands are everywhere."
Sekar returned with three cups of coffee. Her eyes still scanned the room, alert.
"We have two days," she said, "before Ratna's trial begins."
Ari nodded. "We're not just defending Ratna in court. We're exposing the author of this whole script."
He looked at Dimas.
"And we're going to broadcast it—before they rewrite the ending."
Just as they finished laying out the strategy, a sudden knock echoed at the back door. Sekar and Dimas stood at once. Ari checked his watch.
"Too early for a courier," he muttered.
Sekar peeked through the curtain. "Damn it... two men. And they're carrying a signal jammer too."
"Who knew about this place?" Ari asked sharply.
Sekar hesitated. "Just us three… and the guy who helped me track Dimas."
They looked at each other. Dimas froze. "His name's Bima. Old college friend."
Ari moved quickly, lifting a floor panel. "Hide. Take all the files. Sekar, go with him. Don't use the front door."
"Are you sure?" Sekar asked.
"If they break in, I'll stall. But if all of us are caught, it's over."
No time to argue. Dimas and Sekar disappeared into the underground tunnel that led to an abandoned house in the back alley. Ari took a deep breath. Then opened the back door—alone.
Two plainclothes men stood there, calm expressions but hard eyes.
"Mr. Ari Pratomo?""Who's asking?""We have a request for an interview. From the authorities."
Ari gave a slight smirk. "No ID? No badge? Showing up at an empty house?"
One of them stepped forward. "We know you're holding illegal materials. We have the authority."
"Authority from whom?"
The man pulled back his jacket, revealing a pistol tucked at his waist.
"Our job isn't to explain, Mr. Ari. Our job... is to make sure your story goes nowhere."
Ari slowly closed the door. "Then you've knocked on the wrong door."
In one swift move, he grabbed a small fire extinguisher from behind the door and sprayed it straight into their faces. A cloud of white powder filled the air.
Shouts. Coughing. A shot fired—missed, hit the wall.
Ari rolled to the side, grabbed a small case of decoy documents and burner phones, and slipped out through a side window into the alley.
In the distance, a long motorcycle honk—Sekar's signal—meant she and Dimas had escaped.
But Ari knew one thing now:
This wasn't an investigation anymore.This was a hunt.And he… was now Jakarta's most dangerous prey.
Ari crouched behind a crumbling wall, hidden among abandoned bikes and crates. The footsteps from the safehouse were growing distant. But he knew—they weren't done yet.
He turned on his burner phone and typed one short message to Sekar:"Continue the plan. Don't return to any original point. We're all being watched."
Then he powered it off, tossing it into the nearest gutter.
Rain began to fall. Jakarta turned to mist and concrete—gray, quiet, and full of secrets.
Ari moved quickly to an empty bus stop. From a distance, he looked like any other man. But beneath his jacket were documents that could set the city on fire. And behind his eyes was a storm long restrained.
Inside him, a vow burned quietly:If justice no longer had a seat in court, he would build a new courtroom—even if it meant dismantling the very system he once swore to protect.
The first chapter was over.
And the real war… had just begun.