Red Mist Jakarta: Second Chance

Fortress Under the Monas

Budi stared at his reflection in the grime-streaked mirror of his bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. The reflection looked back with a predatory intensity that hadn’t been there yesterday. He checked his burner phone. The balance was still there. One billion rupiah. It was a drop in the bucket for a man like Adiwangsa, but for Budi, it was the fuel for his survival engine.

“Okay, step one: Get the hell out of this cardboard box,” Budi muttered, grabbing his jacket.

He dialed a number he had memorized from a past life a life where he had died screaming. This time, he was the one making the calls.

“Dedi? It’s Budi. Yeah, Budi Santoso. Don’t act surprised I’m alive. I need a place. Now.”

Ten minutes later, Budi stood at the base of the Kencana Heights, a shimmering needle of glass and steel in the heart of the Sudirman Central Business District. Dedi, a man who wore too much cologne and even more anxiety, was waiting by the revolving doors.

“Budi! My man! I heard you were… uh, indisposed,” Dedi said, extending a hand that Budi completely ignored.

“I was busy not dying. Do you have the keys to the penthouse? The one the Sentosa group dropped because of the ‘bad feng shui’?”

Dedi blinked, his mouth hanging open. “How do you know about that? That listing isn't even public yet. They literally pulled it yesterday because the CEO’s psychic said the North direction was cursed.”

“The only thing cursed is your breath, Dedi. Show me the unit. If it has the reinforced floor joists for the grand piano they never moved in, I’ll take it.”

“It does, but… Budi, that’s a twenty-billion-rupiah property. You’re a mid-level analyst. Did you win the lottery or rob a bank?”

Budi stepped closer, his shadow looming over the smaller man. “I’m a consultant for ‘high-risk disaster management’ now. And I’m paying the first six months upfront in cash-equivalent transfers. Are we walking, or am I calling your competitor?”

“Walking! We are definitely walking! Right this way, boss!”

The elevator ride to the 52nd floor was silent, save for the hum of the motor and Dedi’s heavy breathing. When the doors slid open, they stepped directly into a cavernous space of raw concrete and floor-to-ceiling windows.

“It’s unfinished,” Dedi apologized, waving a hand at the exposed wiring. “The owners went bust before the marble arrived.”

Budi walked to the window, looking down at the Jakarta traffic snaking below like a river of doomed ants. “It’s perfect. It’s a fortress with a view.”

“A fortress? Bro, it’s a luxury apartment. The view of the Monas is the selling point.”

“The selling point is the private service elevator and the fact that the walls are double-thick reinforced concrete for soundproofing,” Budi said, tapping the wall with his knuckle. “Dedi, I want the lease signed by noon. Use the shell company name I texted you. ‘Phoenix Logistics.’ Don’t ask questions.”

“No questions! Phoenix Logistics. Got it. But seriously, why the rush?”

“Because by next week, the only thing people will be 'logistics-ing' is their own corpses. Get the paperwork. Now.”

By 2:00 PM, Budi wasn't alone in the penthouse. A crew of five men, led by a burly foreman with a mustache that looked like a dead squirrel, was hauling heavy crates through the service entrance.

“You’re the boss?” the foreman asked, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’m Ageng. My cousin said you pay in crypto and don’t call the building inspector.”

“That’s me,” Budi said, checking a digital blueprint on his tablet. “Ageng, I need the internal doors replaced. Steel cores. Three-point locking systems. And the windows.”

Ageng laughed, a gruff sound. “Boss, these windows are high-grade tempered glass. You want to see the sunset, not hide from a riot.”

“I want ballistic-grade polycarbonate overlays,” Budi countered, his voice flat. “I want this place to survive a Molotov cocktail and a sledgehammer. And I want the ventilation system fitted with HEPA-grade filters and an independent oxygen supply.”

Ageng stopped laughing. He looked around the empty penthouse, then back at Budi. “You expecting a gas attack? Or just a really bad case of the smog?”

“Have you seen the news, Ageng? The ‘flu’ in North Jakarta? The one where people are biting the nurses?”

“Yeah, I saw it on TikTok. Fake news, right? Just some crazies on drugs.”

Budi leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “If it’s fake, I’ve wasted some money. If it’s real, and you finish this job by Friday, I’m giving you the keys to the panic room I’m building in the basement for your family. Think about it.”

Ageng’s skepticism wavered. He looked at the intensity in Budi’s eyes and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. “Friday? That’s three days, boss. That’s impossible.”

“Triple pay. And I’ve already ordered the materials. They’re downstairs. Start with the reinforced door. If anyone from building management asks, tell them I’m a paranoid billionaire with a phobia of germs.”

“Triple pay?” Ageng spat on his hand and held it out. “I’ll make this place a tomb. A very expensive, very safe tomb.”

As the sound of power drills began to echo through the penthouse, Budi retreated to the corner room his future command center. He sat on a crate of canned beef, his laptop open.

“Gery, you there?” he typed into an encrypted chat.

A second later, the reply popped up. Always, ghost-man. Why are you calling from a Sudirman IP? Did you move up in the world?

“I moved to the top of the world. I need the ‘Eye in the Sky’ package. Satellite access, hacked CCTV feeds for the main arteries of Jakarta, and a direct link to the BMKG seismic sensors.”

Budi, that’s high-level stuff. That costs more than your soul.

“I’ve got the credits, Gery. Just do it. I need to see the city. Every corner, every alley. I need to know the moment the first bridge falls.”

You’re acting like the world is ending, man. My T*****r feed says it’s just a bad flu season.

“Gery, listen to me. By Sunday, T*****r won't exist because the servers will be on fire. Get me the feeds. Now.”

Fine, fine. Check your secondary monitor. I’m patching you into the TransJakarta traffic cams. Consider it a freebie.

The screen flickered to life. Dozens of small squares showed the bustling streets of Jakarta. It looked normal. People were eating bakso on the sidewalks, motorcycles were weaving through cars, and the sun was shining. But then, Budi saw it.

In a small window labeled ‘Kota Tua Station,’ a man was slumped against a pillar. A crowd had gathered. Suddenly, the man lunged, his movements jerky and inhuman, sinking his teeth into the neck of a bystander. The camera feed cut to static almost instantly.

“It’s starting,” Budi whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Night fell over Jakarta, but the penthouse was a hive of activity. Budi walked through the construction zone, checking the welds on the new door frame.

“Ageng! Why isn't the secondary power grid online yet?”

“Boss, the batteries are heavy! We had to bypass the main breaker so the building doesn't see the draw. Relax, we’re ahead of schedule.”

“I don’t have a schedule, Ageng! I have a countdown!”

Budi’s phone buzzed. An unknown number. He answered it.

“Mr. Santoso?” a raspy voice asked. “I have the… ‘gardening tools’ you requested. Meet me in the basement p4 level. Alone.”

“I’m coming down. If I see a single uniform, the deal is off and your bank account vanishes.”

“Don’t worry, kid. I like my money more than I like the cops.”

Budi grabbed a concealed holster from a bag and tucked it into his waistband. He headed for the service elevator, his mind racing. He had the food, he had the water, he had the fortress. Now, he needed the teeth.

In the dimly lit basement, a black SUV sat idling. A man in a leather jacket stepped out, popping the trunk. Inside were rows of crates, the cold steel of assault rifles and handguns glinting under the flickering fluorescent lights.

“Direct from the Pindad factory ‘overflow,’" the man grinned. "SS2-V1s, some G2 pistols, and enough ammo to start a small war. You sure you know how to use these?”

Budi picked up a pistol, checking the chamber with a practiced ease that surprised even himself. The muscle memory from his years in the wasteland of the future hadn't faded.

“I know enough,” Budi said, tossing a thumb drive to the man. “There’s the crypto key. Check it.”

The man scanned the drive on a tablet. “Damn. You’re a fast mover, Santoso. Most people just buy gold and hope for the best.”

“Gold is heavy and you can’t eat it,” Budi said, slamming the trunk shut. “And you can’t use it to stop a man who doesn't feel pain.”

“Whatever you say, boss. Good luck with the… ‘gardening.’”

Budi watched the SUV peel away, leaving him alone in the cavernous garage. The silence was heavy, oppressive. He looked up at the concrete ceiling, imagining the millions of people above him, oblivious to the tidal wave of blood that was about to hit them.

He returned to the penthouse, the weight of the crates in the elevator a grim comfort. Ageng and his crew were finishing up for the night, packing their tools.

“We’re done with the main reinforcements, Budi,” Ageng said, looking exhausted. “The door is a beast. You could hit it with a truck and it wouldn't pop. We’ll be back tomorrow for the tech install.”

“Stay here,” Budi said, his voice echoing in the empty space.

“What? I gotta go home, man. My wife’s making rendang.”

“Call her,” Budi said, handing Ageng a stack of cash. “Tell her to bring the kids and come here. Now. Don’t go back to the suburbs.”

Ageng looked at the money, then at Budi’s deadly serious face. “Why? What’s going on?”

Budi walked to the window and pointed. In the distance, towards the north, a column of black smoke was rising into the starlit sky. Then, the sound reached them a faint, rhythmic thumping.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Is that… helicopters?” Ageng asked, his voice trembling.

“Military transports,” Budi corrected. “They’re setting up the first quarantine zone. And by morning, they’re going to lose control of it.”

Budi turned away from the window, his face a mask of cold resolve. “The 'flu' just evolved, Ageng. Welcome to Day Six.”

As the first sirens began to wail in the distance, Budi’s laptop chimed. A message from Gery appeared, flashing red across the screen.

BUDI. GET OUT OF THE STREETS. DATA CENTERS ARE GOING DARK. SOMETHING IS IN THE WATER. IT’S NOT A VIRUS. IT’S A RESET.

Budi gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles white. He looked at the elevator, then at the reinforced door. It wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough.

“Ageng,” Budi whispered, “get your family. Because the city just died.”

Suddenly, the lights of Jakarta below them flickered once, twice, and then plunged into a terrifying, absolute darkness. In the sudden silence, a scream erupted from the street below a long, agonizing shriek that was joinedby another, and then another, until the air was thick with the sound of a city being devoured.

Budi reached for his rifle. The game had truly begun.