March 16, 2007. 22:32
-Main Base, Republic of Byson Indonesia.
Thup.
A big empty beer mug hits the oak table. The mug was wet. A thin film of amber alcohol clings to the sides, reflecting the dim, warm light of the private lounge.
"I'm in a bad mood, you know..." Rafa muttered. His voice was soft, dragging through the air. His face was flushed, but his eyes were gloomy, staring at the bubbles on the glass.
"Don't take it to your heart, Rafa. It's fine." the man sat across from him said calmly.
"How can I not...?" Rafa's hand tightened around the mug. "Almost my entire Squadron is gone. Burnt. Turned to ash for nothing..."
"You know that it wasn't your fault." The man stood up. His hands rested on the table, looking into Rafa's defeated form.
"But..." Rafa's gaze trailed off, turning his head away from him.
"No buts!" The man's tone hardened, a flicker of annoyance breaking the mask.
"Hey... don't be mad... Sera..." Rafa reached out to the man. His hand trembling as he caught his sleeve, then his hand. It was a messy gesture.
Sera sighed, stepping closer to Rafa as he let Rafa hold onto him. "My God, Rafa..."
"It's all my fault, isn't it?" Rafa's voice cracked. He leaned his forehead against Sera's hand, the alcohol stripping away. "I left them there."
"No, no, no." Sera's voice turned soft as he stroked Rafa's hair. "You did what you had to do. You are the best President a man could ask for... wait, no, I mean—"
Rafa laughed. "You're the best President this country has."
Sera was twenty-five years old. The youngest President in the history of the Republic.
"You need to rest, Rafa." Sera looked at his eyes. "Go to your room. That's an order."
"Eehh... I'm not done yet..." Rafa complained.
"The glass was already empty!" Sera said.
"You can get a refill... Right?" Rafa replied, trying to take his glass.
Sera immediately held his hand. "Enough!! Just rest!!" Sera shouted.
"Fine..." Rafa finally gave in, stumbling as he stood up. He left the lounge, his feet dragging on the red carpet. Sera watched him go, then calmly picked up the empty glasses and took them to the sink. He washed them carefully.
"So much trouble," Sera whispered to the empty room.
Rafa reached his room, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. He fell onto the bed, slowly closing his eyes.
His thought were focusing on the silo, the heat, the smell of melting organs and human skin.
At that time, the extraction helicopter arrived with the sunrise. Rafa carried Ethan and Sviat's in his hands.
Ethan is currently being treated in the treatment unit at the Main Base. The Main Base itself is the largest military base for Byson Indonesia and the center of Byson Indonesia's military operations.
Sviat is currently being cared at the Khalaznikov residence, under Sera's supposedly safe supervision. Sera himself is also a Khalaznikov.
Khalaznikov, a family of traitors who were exiled by the Serovians but instead became a government family in Byson Indonesia, ironic, isn't it?
Rafa slowly fell asleep, his eyes closed, and everything became quiet.
Then, a dream came.
In that dream, he wasn't a soldier, he was a king among the stars, treading over the ruins of worlds he had broken. It felt like he was born to be the symbol of evil itself.
Then, the needle, the syringe came and prick his neck, a sharp coldness spreading through his veins.
He began to melt, turning into gold, before a sudden jolt snapped his eyes open.
The silence was deafening.
Rafa sat up, his head was trashed and scattered. He looked at the clock
2 AM.
He then took a cold shower, trying to wash away the thoughts of the dream and the smells of alcohol.
He dressed in a black shirt and cargo pants. He needed some fresh air, he needed to find something to ground him.
He headed to the library across the courtyard. The night air was cold with a light drizzle of rain that drenched his body.
Inside, the library was comforting, it was wide. two floors and not cramped.
He looked around, searching a book at the shelves, then spotted one.
He reached the book and took it.
'Look at his room.'
Such a strange title.
But his eyes felt heavy, his vision began to blur.
Eyes forming around him, darkness indulging.
Someone or something was watching. He knew it.
Rafa rubbed his eyes, a sharp pain stabbing through his skull.
He looked again. The title was different now, it was "Wandering Samurai.' He slowly put the book on the Shield. His heart racing.
He went back outside, to the West Wing. The wing with Sera's room.
The air was cold, mist clinging like a fog. Rafa walked with his hands in his cargo pockets, boots stepping heavy against the puddles. Each step felt like dragging his soul through the deep water.
The West Wing was placed on the far edge of the Main Base, secured by the best soldiers.
The guards at the checkpoint saluted. "Captain Reinarcher. Late night for a walk, sir?"
Rafa nodded, he smiled. "Yeah, i couldn't sleep. I need to clear my head."
"I heard about Leningrad, sir. We're sorry for the loss..." the guard added, his voice genuine.
"It's okay. I appreciate it though, Satria." Rafa continued to walk.
He kept walking.
Every few meters, there's another greeting, and another respectful nod.
"Looking sharp, Cap!" a soldier called out while cleaning his hand gun on a bench.
"You too, boy!" Rafa continued to walk.
"Evening, Captain. Need an escort to the President's quarters?" another asked.
"Nah, i'm good." Rafa answered.
Everything seems to be fine.
The soldiers also smiled back at him. They are not unaware that he was walking with a mind full of static.
The deeper he go, the tighter the security became, yet the doors opened for him without a single ID check. His face was the only key he needed.
He reached the final bridge of the West Wing. A long, walkway with windows that connected the military sector to Sera's private room. The wind outside was gentle, throwing the cold little drizzle aga
There's two guards talking to each other at a mahogany door. Then, they saw Rafa. They didn't move to block him. They moved to open the way.
"The President hasn't called for a meeting, Captain. Do you need something to do inside the President's room?" one of them asked with a respectful tone.
"Yeah, may I?" Rafa said.
"Of course," the other replied. They moved aside, letting Rafa to walk past.
"Thanks," Rafa entered the door.
He stepped inside. The transition was instant. The smell of the base, the grease, the jet fuel, the sweat, was replaced by the scent of sandalwood and the chill of the air conditioning.
Everything was fine. Everything was normal.
Rafa stood in the silent foyer, his heart racing fast, irregular beat against his ribs. He felt like a predator that had accidentally wandered into a trap, or a ghost haunting his own life.
Rafa walked past the ornate vases and the portraits of past leaders. He reached the door to Sera's personal room. There was no guard here. But as he touched the door handle, the static in his head screamed.
Creeekkkk....
The room was vast and dim, dominated by a king-sized bed and a wall of books that reached the ceiling. The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. Sera wasn't there.
Rafa moved to the bookshelf. His fingers felt heavy, guided by the twitch in his brain. He found the trigger, a small gap behind a leather-bound book.
Click...
The sound was small, but in the silence of the room, it sounded like a gunshot. The bookshelf screaching, a hidden hydraulic system expanding as the section of the wall and bookshelf cut in half, revealing a secret room with dim yellow light.
Rafa swallowed his own saliva, then he stepped inside.
The walls were covered in maps, each one scarred with red pins. Every nation was marked, stabbed like prey. The pins reflected the dim light.
Strings wrapped around them, stretched across continents like a crimson spiderweb. The threads connected to USSR, Byson Indonesia, Germany, France Republic, the Italian Kingdom, the American Federation, and the Brittan.
On the desk lay a single folder, bound in black leather.
'The Plan.' its title.
Rafa's fingers pressed against the leather cover of the folder. He hesitated. The static in his head had returned, larger this time, he can't stop it, he opened it.
Phase I, Becoming the Hero
Gain global recognition during the Cold War.
Actions:
Build reputation as the Hero during the Cold War.
Support Allied operations against the Reds.
Assist in stabilizing conflict zones.
Phase II, Developing Byson Indonesia.
Strengthening Byson Indonesia in various fields.
Actions:
Upgrading Byson Indonesia economy.
Expand military capability rapidly.
Advance technology, intelligence, and logistics.
Phase III, Build Global Trust and Influence.
Establish strong relations with all sides.
Actions:
Form relationships with other nations.
Expand influence to all nations.
Help them without asking for anything in return.
Phase IV, Silent Infiltration.
Targets:
The German.
The Italian Kingdom.
The Japanese Empire.
Actions:
Manipulate internal politics.
Reach governments in silence.
Place controlled individuals in key positions.
Phase V, Win.
Declare war to all nations except the targets.
Actions:
Kill.
Assault.
Win.
Phase VI, New Government.
Unite the world into one nation
Actions:
Rule the world in one absolute order.
Fair and great.
Make sure that there will be no more war and rebellion.
"You weren't supposed to see that..." it was Sera. His voice cracked, panicked. He stood at the doorway, his eyes wide, sweat glistening on his cheeks. He was unsettled and scared.
Rafa turned his head, he was surprised to see Sera. His grip tightened on the black folder. "What is this?" he asked.
Sera's breath hitched, his words stumbling. "I-It's… nothing you should concern with."
Rafa's eyes narrowed, his voice cutting through the tension. "You want to rule the world?"
"Put it down, Rafa…" Sera's tone hardened, but his hands trembled.
"Why would you—" Rafa tried to talk, but Sera snapped.
"Put it down!!" He shouted, echoed against the walls, breaking the silence.
For a moment, none of then moved. The air was heavy. They were sweating cold. Like a silent bridge between them.
Sera's voice dropped, softer, more like a pleading. "Look… it's… it's nothing personal, okay? Just put it down, walk away, and forget it, okay?"
Rafa shook his head, his grip firm on the folder. "I'm not going to let you rule the world…" his eyes softened
Sera's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. "Don't do this, Rafa… don't make me do this…" his eyes almost cried.
Rafa tried to step past him, the black folder still held tight in his hand. But Sera's arm raised, blocking the way. His grip on Rafa's shoulder was firm.
"Let me go…" Rafa muttered, his voice low, strained.
"Forget it, please…" Sera's tone cracked, his eyes wet. He was on the edge of breaking.
"I'm not going to…" Rafa's words came heavy, sweat dripping down his face, his chest tight, he is breaking from the inside but refused to yield.
Sera's voice trembled, desperate now. "Rafa… just give it back. You don't understand what this means. If you walk out with that folder, everything... everything changes. Please… don't do this."
Rafa shook his head, his grip unrelenting. "No. I won't let you."
Silence pressed between them, the air thick with tension. Sera's hand still held Rafa, but his strength faltered.
With a sudden push, Rafa shoved him aside.
Sera hit the bookshelves with a sickening thud, the wind knocked out of him. The physical gap was clearly very different, a small, weak politician against a monster.
Rafa grabbed a PDW from the wall-mount in the secret armory and a grappling kit before Sera could even gasp for air.
"Rafa, Don't!" Sera screamed, his hand reaching for an alarm button under the desk.
The alarm shrieked.
Red lights bathed the corridors.
Rafa sprinted through the red lights corridors. Guards scrambled, their rifles raised but their hands shaking.
"Capture him! Don't let him leave!" Sera's voice boomed over the intercoms, hysterical.
Rafa hit the main hallway. Four guards stood at the corner,
"Rafa, stop!"
Rafa didn't stop. He raised the PDW.
Thmpr-drr
Two hit the lead guard's shins.
Drrr-drr
Two more hit the other guard's shoulder.
Two of them fell to the ground, while the others dropped their guns.
Rafa moved through them before they shot at him. His face was a mask of cold iron. He didn't killed the guards.
But then, steel gates slowly slammed down from the ceiling, one after another, blocking the exits. The grinding metal echoing through the corridors.
Rafa could hear the footsteps pounding against the floor, growing louder each time as they coming closer. A swarm.
"Reinarcher! Drop your weapon!" a voice shouted through the corridor. Bullets tore into the wall beside him, sparks flying. Rafa had already taken cover, his breath shallow.
The only winning move was the elevator. He sprinted down the corridor. Red lights flashed his face. The sound of boots chasing him from behind could be heard like a symphony.
He stopped and slammed his hand against the button.
The elevator arrived at his floor. The doors slowly slid open—
five soldiers.
Rifles raised, trembling eyes locked at him.
Rafa didn't hesitate. He lunged forward.
Rafa pulled the front soldier with his left hand. Right hand shot two soldiers arms behind, non lethal, gun dropped as they held the wounds.
His right foot swept the first soldier off balance, sending him crashing to the floor, weapon clattering away.
"Leave..." Rafa told the wounded soldiers, they left.
Gunshot.
One round grazed Rafa's arm, his PDW fell. Pain flared, their eyes trembling apart. The other didn't dare to shot.
The soldiers surged forward, guns abandoned, fists raised.
The first swung. Rafa blocked. Second strike, Rafa ducked under then drove a brutal right uppercut into a soldier's jaw. He fell. In the same motion, Rafa pivoted, his left fist smashing into the other face, dropping him hard.
The first soldier got up, desperate, throwing a wild punch. Rafa stepped aside, then his fist punched into the stomach.
The soldier bowed over, choking. Rafa's boot snapped up, kicked his head side. His body throwed into the wall, limp.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Rafa didn't wait. He stepped into the elevator, pressed the buttons, doors shut.
The elevator went upward, carrying him to the seventh floor.
Rafa waited, his hand pressed against the grazed arm. Blood soaking through the sleeve, the elevator stopped. The doors slid open. No one there.
He ran down the corridor, red lights flashing against the walls. The nearest treatment unit was ahead. Rafa rushed inside, tore open the cabinet, and poured alcohol over the wound. The sting burned deep, but he gritted his teeth, then wrapping the bandage tight.
The elevator doors clanged open again. Soldiers' boots stomped, searching for him.
He didn't have a choice. A window.
Rafa sprinted, glass reflecting crimson light.
Cring!
The window shattered as he leapt through, shards scattering into the night.
Mid-air, he raised the grappling gun. He fired, the hook shot across and locked onto the nearest rooftop.
The line snapped tensely. Rafa body swung hard. He was pulled, shoulder crashing first onto the rooftop.
He rolled with the impact, glass shards scattering under him. In one motion, Rafa rose to his feet, battered and bleeding, but still standing. Ready to move again.
Behind him, a soldier shouted from the broken window. He lights Rafa through the dark with his flash light.
Rafa sprinted as soldiers behind coming up from the broken window. Gunfire chasing him down the rooftop.
He jumped off, hooked the grappling gun to another window, and crashed through. Glass shattering around him.
He rolled hard across the floor, rising up in one motion.
Inside, a soldier stood, trembling, pistol aimed at Rafa. Rafa stared at him, cold eyes, then,
He shoot, piercing Rafa's left shoulder. Pain flared again, but he didn't falter.
As the soldier tried to slide the pistol barrel, Rafa rush forward and swing his right fist, punching him hard. He flew across the room.
The pistol fell to the floor.
Rafa scooped it up, steadying his breath, then moved to the front door.
He peeked.
The hallway was empty.
Then, Rafa slipped out, boots pounding down the stairwell.
#6 End.