Chapter 25: up
The transition from the rugged, rain-slicked slopes of Gunung Salak back to the suffocating luxury of Jakarta’s elite district was a jarring descent into a different kind of wilderness. After their brief meeting with the General, who had provided more questions than answers and a cryptic encryption key, Felicia found herself standing in a high-tech dressing room inside Elena’s latest mobile command center—a disguised delivery truck parked in the heart of Menteng.
Tonight, there would be no tactical cloaks or heavy hydraulic boots.
"The fit is perfect," Elena remarked, her eyes fixed on a tablet screen as she monitored the suit’s integration with Felicia’s evening wear. "I’ve woven the micro-exoskeleton fibers into the silk of the gown. It won't give you the strength to flip a car, but it will stop a 9mm round and allow you to move at three times the speed of a normal human. I call it the 'Second Skin'."
Felicia looked at herself in the mirror. She wore a floor-length gown of midnight emerald, its fabric shimmering like beetle wings. The dress back was open, cleverly concealing the thin, silver filament that ran down her spine, connecting the base of her skull to the hidden power cell at her waist. Her scars were hidden by cosmetics, her calloused hands softened by expensive oils. To the world, she was Felicia Pramono, a wealthy heiress returning from a long "sabbatical" in Europe.
"Remember," Andre’s voice came through a microscopic earpiece. He was already on-site, posing as a high-end security consultant for the event. "This isn't a raid. It’s a surgical strike. The Obsidian Circle's regional donors are all in that ballroom. We need the location of the 'Arsitek' and the server hub he uses to broadcast the Garuda signal. Find the host, find the truth."
"I know the mission, Andre," Felicia whispered, her voice cold. "Just stay alive."
The gala was held at the Prambanan Mansion, a colonial-era estate owned by Haryo Tejo, a telecommunications tycoon rumored to be the Circle’s primary financier in Southeast Asia. As Felicia stepped out of the black limousine, the flashbulbs of the paparazzi blinded her for a fleeting second. She felt the familiar hum of the micro-motors against her skin, a low-voltage vibration that kept her muscles in a state of constant, lethal readiness.
The ballroom was an ocean of opulence. Crystal chandeliers dripped like frozen rain from the ceiling, and the scent of expensive lilies was almost nauseating. Men in tailored tuxedos and women draped in diamonds moved like predatory sharks through the crowd.
"Target spotted," Elena whispered in her ear. "Twelve o'clock. Haryo Tejo. He’s wearing a lapel pin—a black circle with a dot. That’s your key. It’s a physical hardware token. If you get within five centimeters, I can clone the signal and gain access to the mansion’s private network."
Felicia glided through the room. She felt the weight of stares—some admiring, some suspicious. She moved with a grace that was almost too perfect, a mechanical elegance that bordered on the supernatural. She accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, using the movement to scan the room.
"I see the pin," Felicia murmured into her collar.
She intercepted Tejo near a balcony overlooking the manicured gardens. He was a man of sixty, with eyes that looked like two polished stones of obsidian. He was deep in conversation with a foreign diplomat, his laughter sounding like dry leaves skittering across a tombstone.
"Mr. Tejo," Felicia said, her voice a practiced melody of upper-class charm. "The hospitality of the Circle never fails to impress."
Tejo froze. He turned slowly, his gaze raking over Felicia with terrifying intensity. "And who might you be, my dear? I don't recall seeing your name on the inner sanctum’s register."
"I am the daughter of a woman who helped build your foundation," Felicia replied, stepping closer, her heart hammering against her ribs. She felt the 'Second Skin' tighten, sensing her rising adrenaline. "I’ve spent a long time in London, cleaning up the mess the Volkovs left behind."
Tejo’s expression shifted from suspicion to a dark, twisted curiosity. "The Volkov girl. The one who survived The Shard. Mikhail’s last report mentioned a ghost in the machine. I didn't realize the ghost wore such a beautiful dress."
"Five seconds, Felicia," Elena’s voice hissed. "I’m cloning the signal. Just keep him talking."
"I didn't come here for compliments, Haryo," Felicia said, her voice dropping an octave. "I came to see the Arsitek. I know he’s in Jakarta. I know about the Garuda Protocol."
Tejo laughed, a wet, rattling sound. "The Arsitek doesn't see people, Felicia. He creates them. You, more than anyone, should understand that. You are his masterpiece. Why would he want to talk to a masterpiece that is trying to shatter its own frame?"
"Signal cloned!" Elena cheered. "I’m in. My god, Felicia... the mansion isn't just a house. The entire basement is a server farm. And there’s a sub-level... it’s a medical lab. A nursery."
Felicia’s grip on her champagne glass tightened until the crystal began to spiderweb. "A nursery? For what?"
"For more like you," Elena’s voice was trembling now. "They aren't just making suits. They’re 'seeding' infants with neural lace. They’re trying to build a hive mind."
The rage that Felicia had been suppressing since the orphanage erupted. The 'Second Skin' responded instantly, the micro-motors whining as her strength tripled. She reached out, her fingers closing around Tejo’s throat with the speed of a viper.
The ballroom went silent. The music stopped.
"Where is the Arsitek?" she hissed, lifting the tycoon off the ground.
"You... you’re too late," Tejo gasped, his face turning a bruised shade of purple. "The integration... has already begun."
Suddenly, the lights in the ballroom flickered and died. Red emergency strobes began to pulse, casting the room in the colors of a slaughterhouse. From the shadows of the ornate pillars, six figures emerged. They were dressed in white tactical suits, their faces hidden behind porcelain masks that mimicked the face of a Garuda bird.
"The White Guard," Andre’s voice shouted over the comms. "Felicia, get out of there! They’re not human—they’re fully integrated!"
The guests began to scream, a chaotic tide of silk and perfume rushing for the exits. Felicia threw Tejo against a marble pillar and braced herself. The 'Second Skin' began to hum with a violent intensity, the green emerald fabric glowing as the energy cells pushed to their limit.
The first White Guard attacked with a retractable baton that crackled with blue plasma. Felicia spun, her movement a blur of emerald light. She caught the guard's wrist and snapped it with a single, brutal twist. But the guard didn't scream. He didn't even flinch. He simply pivoted and delivered a side-kick that sent Felicia crashing through a banquet table.
The taste of blood filled her mouth. The suit’s HUD flickered red.
Internal integrity compromised. Neural feedback at 95%.
"Felicia! You’re red-lining!" Elena screamed. "The Arsitek is using the mansion’s broadcast towers to override your suit! He’s trying to shut you down!"
Felicia struggled to her feet. The other five guards were closing in, their movements synchronized, a literal hive mind in action. She felt a phantom weight on her mind, a digital voice whispering in the back of her consciousness. Submit. Return. Be whole.
"Never," Felicia growled.
She reached into her hair and pulled out a decorative silver pin—a gift from the General. It wasn't jewelry; it was a manual override. She slammed the pin into the port at the base of her neck.
The world exploded in a burst of static. The digital voice vanished, replaced by a raw, unadulterated fury. Felicia’s eyes flared with that terrifying electric blue light. She lunged forward, her fingers digging into the stone floor for leverage.
The battle was a whirlwind of silk and steel. Felicia was a dervish of destruction, her movements no longer governed by human anatomy. Вshe tore through the White Guard with a ferocity that turned the beautiful ballroom into a ruin. She used the environment—shattered glass, heavy silver platters, even the chandeliers—as weapons.
As the last guard fell, his porcelain mask shattered to reveal a face that was young, perhaps no more than eighteen, his eyes vacant and glowing with the same blue light as hers.
Felicia stood in the center of the carnage, her dress torn, her skin bleeding, her chest heaving. She looked at Tejo, who was crawling toward the balcony.
"Where?" she demanded, her voice sounding like a chorus of ghosts.
"The... the Sudirman Tower," Tejo whimpered. "The penthouse. He’s waiting for you. He’s always been waiting."
Felicia turned toward the window, seeing the distant silhouette of the Sudirman Tower piercing the Jakarta sky like a jagged tooth.
"Andre, Elena," she said, her voice flat. "The banquet is over. We’re going to the penthouse. We’re going to kill the father and burn the house down."