The Cost of Rebellion

A dimly lit safehouse on the outskirts of Jakarta, far from the chaos of the city center. The building is old and worn, with cracked walls and creaking wooden floors. Dust hangs heavy in the air, and the faint hum of distant traffic is a constant reminder of the world outside. The room is cramped and cluttered with makeshift supplies and broken furniture, a stark symbol of the rebellion’s dwindling resources. Shadows dance along the walls as a single light bulb flickers above, casting an eerie glow on the exhausted faces of those who made it out alive.

The safehouse felt like a coffin. Its walls closed in around them, suffocating in their silence. Outside, the city continued to breathe, blissfully unaware of the war raging in its shadows.