Jakarta – Subianto’s Private Office. Subianto poured himself a glass of aged Javanese whiskey, staring at an old military photo on his desk. A younger version of himself stood in the center—surrounded by the Commando Elite Group. Among the faces, one stood out.
Shen Ai.
A soft knock at the door.
Subianto, please reply without turning.
“Enter."
Shen Ai stepped inside, her movements silent as a shadow. The room smelled of leather, smoke, and history.
“You’re drinking again. That means you’re thinking about the past."
Subianto chuckled, taking a sip.
“Aren’t we all?"
A tense silence. Then—
Shen Ai asked him with a low voice.
“Do you regret it?"
Subianto without hesitation replied. “
“Every damn day."
—
(Jakarta – May 1998)
The streets burned. Smoke choked the air. The sounds of riots, gunfire, and screams echoed through the capital.