Indah looked down at Jakarta from the top of the building, a labyrinth of light and shadow, glittering yet faceless. After the operation at Dirgantara Tower, Indah had no time to savor her victory. Her leap from the conference room window she had just turned into a miniature grave was not the end, but the beginning of her escape.
She free-fell for several seconds, not in panic but with precise calculation. Her body was aerodynamic, as if it had already merged with the night air. A small device blinked red on her wrist.
Click!
Thin carbon cables shot from both her specialized gloves, each ending in a small grappling hook. They sank perfectly into the concrete wall of the adjacent Dirgantara Tower, pinning her there like an eagle's talons.
Indah swung wildly, a human pendulum in the middle of a storm. The wind lashed her face, while the heavy rain soaked her clothes and drastically slowed her movements. But Indah didn't need her eyes to know where she was going. The city map was etched into her mind—every alley, every rooftop, every back alley.
BOOM!
The roar of helicopter rotors split the sky. A massive searchlight swept across the high-rises. "Air unit closing in," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. It was a Rapid Response Unit helicopter from The Nine. Too fast. They must have predicted this possibility.
Using exactly the right thrust, Indah kicked hard against the wall of the building across from her, launching herself sideways. She released one hook, then pulled on the other, swinging between concrete-and-glass buildings like a modern Tarzan. Every movement was a perfect mathematical calculation, making use of every protrusion and every gap, as if the city were a playground she had built herself.
She landed smoothly on the roof of a forty-story office building, rolling to absorb the impact. Without looking back, Indah ran. She was no longer the hunter. She was the prey. And this time, she was her own target.
The helicopter's searchlight continued to track her. Automatic gunfire rang out, clashing with the sound of the rain. Hot bullets struck the wall behind her, shattering the concrete into crumbs. Indah changed direction, leaping across gaps between rooftops that would have been impossible for an ordinary person. Her heart pounded—not from fear, but from the adrenaline surging through every cell in her body.
She spotted an opening. A narrow gap between two buildings where electrical and telephone cables hung like a giant spiderweb. The helicopter couldn't get in.
With a final leap that nearly killed her, Indah dove into the maze of cables. She used her specialized gloves, which could generate a low electrical current, to slide along the cables like a surfer. Tiny sparks flashed with every movement. The helicopter roared overhead, frustrated.
After several tense minutes, Indah finally landed in a dark, narrow alley. The stink of garbage mixed with the rain soaking the asphalt. She leaned against the wall, breathing hard. She was clear. For now.
She activated the communications device on her wrist. There was no signal from The Nine. They had blocked her. That meant she had officially been designated a "rogue asset."
Indah drew a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Her thoughts drifted to the flash drive secured in the waterproof pocket of her clothing. That was why she had sabotaged the mission. That was why she had run.
She walked through the narrow alleys, slipping between piles of garbage and street food stalls that had already closed for the night. Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at an old row house hidden behind a traditional market. It looked decrepit from the outside, but inside was a secret room she had prepared for emergencies like this.
A small steel door was hidden behind a battered cabinet. Indah entered the code, then stepped inside. The room was small but functional: a foldable bed, a small desk with a monitor and keyboard, and several supplies of food and water. Soundproof. Bulletproof.
Indah stripped off her wet clothes, revealing the black dragon tattoo coiled around her left arm. It wasn't just a tattoo. It was her secret identification. Her personal code.
She took out the silver flash drive and stared at it for a moment. This was what had turned a "killing" mission into a "rescue" mission. Its target, an elderly man named Prof. Hendra, had slipped the flash drive into her hand before she "killed" him, along with a brief message: *"This is about you. Don't let them take it. Run."
Indah inserted the flash drive into the laptop's port. Her heart pounded. This was territory she had never entered before. She had never questioned an order. She was a tool, the perfect hired killer. But Prof. Hendra... the man had looked at her strangely, as if he saw something in Indah that The Nine was trying to hide.
A folder appeared on the screen, labeled: PROJECT NIGHT.
Indah opened the folder. It wasn't a secret government report or a terrorist plot. It was a video.
Prof. Hendra's face appeared on the screen. The wrinkles on his face, his old eyes filled with sorrow. "If you're seeing this," he said, his voice hoarse, "that means I'm already gone. And you managed to escape."
Indah felt her chest tighten. For some reason, something felt terribly wrong.
"They lied to you, Indah," Prof. Hendra continued. "They told you I betrayed the country. That's not true. I was trying to correct our mistake. The mistake I made when I created 'Project Ghost.'"
Indah froze. Project Ghost? The name was deeply familiar. It was her code name. It was her.
"You're not just a weapon, Indah," Prof. Hendra said, his gaze piercing the screen as if he were speaking directly to Indah's soul. "You... you're my daughter."
The video stopped. The laptop screen went dark, leaving only the reflection of Indah's face imprinted there. The cold face was now cracked, her eyes widening in disbelief. My daughter?
Indah rose from her chair and took a step back. The word continued to echo through her mind. My daughter.
All this time, she had lived without a name, without a family, without a past. Nothing but missions. Nothing but orders. Now, a fleeting glimpse of a deeply personal past suddenly broke in, like a sledgehammer crashing into her.
"It's a trap," she whispered, trying to convince herself. But tears began to flow, warm against her cold cheeks. Tears whose sensation she had long forgotten.
She was no longer an asset of The Nine. She was a daughter who had just lost her father, a daughter from whom the truth about her identity had been hidden. And she knew, without a doubt, that she would find that truth. Whatever the cost.