The Meeting in the Shadows

Bintang and Felix met in secrecy, hidden away from the eyes of the Nine Dragons and their endless surveillance. The Resistance had grown, but so had the power of their enemy.

"Can we even win this?" Felix asked, voice low. "Or are we fighting an illusion?"

Bintang exhaled, fingers tapping against the worn table between them. "The Nine Dragons control everything—the economy, the media, the government. We strike at them, but they regenerate, stronger than before. Every move we make, they already anticipate."

Across the room, Pandu and Rangga, ever the warriors, scoffed at the doubt. "This fight stopped being about winning a long time ago," Rangga said. "It’s about surviving."

Pandu nodded. "We don’t need to defeat them all at once. We need to outlast them. To make sure their empire rots from within."

Meanwhile, Lia worked the diplomatic channels, navigating a political minefield in search of allies. Every door she knocked on came with a price—some too costly to pay.

"If we don’t find leverage soon," she warned, stepping into the room with a grim expression, "the Resistance will be nothing more than a fading memory."

The Nine Dragons weren’t just an enemy. They were a force embedded into the world itself. To fight them was to challenge the very structure of power.

And yet, none of them were willing to walk away.

—

Bintang had never been afraid of war. He had grown up in its shadow, learned its language long before he understood diplomacy or strategy. But this was different. This wasn’t about territory. It wasn’t about ideology.

This was about control.

The Nine Dragons didn’t just rule Jakarta’s underground—they were the system. The economy bent to their will, the media shifted to their narrative, and the government? A puppet show they orchestrated. And now, here he was. Fighting something that didn’t bleed.

Bintang sat at the edge of the table, staring at the scattered intelligence reports spread before him. Data leaks. Surveillance records. Bribery chains. Each one an attack they had launched. Each one a wound inflicted on the Nine Dragons. But every time they struck, the syndicate recovered. No—it adapted.

Felix sat across from him, arms folded, watching him closely. Felix low voice. “You’re thinking it again, aren’t you?”

Bintang’s fingers tapped against the table—a steady rhythm, calculating. “Thinking what?”

“That this fight is impossible.”

Bintang didn’t answer.

But Felix leaned forward anyway. “We hit them, and they reform. Like cutting the head off a hydra.”

Bintang exhaled slowly. “No. Worse. A hydra just grows new heads.”

He tapped one of the files. “They don’t just regenerate. They predict our next move before we make it.”

Felix was quiet for a moment. Then, finally—b “Then we stop hitting where they expect it.”

His voice was sharper now, edged with something darker. “We don’t just fight them.”

“We make them doubt themselves.”

Bintang studied Felix for a long moment. Felix wasn’t just another fighter. He had been one of them once. A Nine Dragons enforcer. A man who had walked in their world followed their orders. And now— Now he was here, fighting to tear them apart.

Bintang's low voice. “You think they can be broken from the inside?”

Felix’s expression darkened. “I know they can.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, Bintang nodded. Because maybe, just maybe— The only way to destroy the Nine Dragons was to make them destroy themselves.

—

Bintang glanced down at the reports once more. Felix’s words had sparked a new idea. Not just an attack. Not just another strike in an endless war. A fracture. A seed of doubt. One well-placed whisper. One carefully planted lie. And maybe, just maybe— The Nine Dragons would begin to turn on each other. The storm hadn’t arrived yet. But tonight, they would send the first lightning strike.

—

The warehouse was silent except for the low hum of a flickering lightbulb overhead. Bintang and Felix weren’t alone anymore. Across the table, Rangga and Pandu sat like soldiers waiting for a command. They weren’t strategists. They weren’t diplomats. They were warriors. And they had one question:

“Are we here to talk, or are we here to fight?”

Bintang leaned forward, his fingers interlacing. “We’re here to win.”

Rangga’s expression remained unreadable, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Then let’s stop pretending this is anything else.”

“You keep talking about how the Nine Dragons control everything. The economy, the media, the government.”

He gestured toward the files on the table. “But you know what they don’t control?”

Bintang raised an eyebrow.

“Time.”

Felix exhaled, folding his arms. “Meaning?”

Rangga leaned back in his chair. “This fight stopped being about winning a long time ago.”

His eyes sharpened. “It’s about endurance.”

Silence stretched between them.

“The Nine Dragons expect resistance. They’re prepared for counterattacks, infiltration, sabotage.”

He tilted his head. “But you know what they’re not prepared for?”

Bintang was already beginning to understand. “An enemy that refuses to break.”

Rangga grinned. “Exactly.”

—

Pandu, ever the sniper, had been quiet, watching, listening. Now, he spoke.

“A clean shot at their heart doesn’t exist.”

His voice was calm, measured. “But if we chip away at the armor long enough, it will crack.”

He glanced at Bintang.

“The real question is—who lasts longer? Us or them?”

Bintang exhaled.

Rangga and Pandu weren’t wrong. This war wouldn’t be decided by a single battle. It would be decided by who could last the longest. Who could take the pain and keep moving? And if they couldn’t win outright… Then they had to make sure the Nine Dragons lost.

Bintang finally spoke. “We don’t need to defeat them all at once.”

He looked at each of them in turn. “We need to outlast them.”

Felix nodded. “To make sure their empire rots from within.”

Pandu and Rangga exchanged a look—then, slowly, nodded. They understood now. This wasn’t just about fighting back. It was about becoming an enemy that never disappeared. One that broke their will. One that they could never erase. And the first strike was coming soon.

—

Lia had spent her life navigating corridors of power, where words were sharper than knives and alliances shifted like sand in a storm. She wasn’t a warrior like Rangga. She wasn’t a tactician like Bintang. Her battlefield wasn’t the streets. It was the negotiation table. And right now, she was losing.

She had spent weeks reaching out—business leaders, foreign diplomats, politicians who claimed to stand against corruption. Every meeting ended the same way.

Official smiling. “We sympathize with your cause, Miss Lia. But our hands are tied.”

Sympathy. Worthless. They weren’t scared of the Nine Dragons. They were part of them. Even those who weren’t directly involved owed too much to the system to break away. And those who wanted to resist?

They were afraid.

Lia adjusted the sleeves of her blazer as she walked out of the latest failed meeting, her expression composed, her mind burning. They needed leverage. Or soon, the Resistance wouldn’t exist.

Her phone buzzed. A single encrypted message.

Unknown Contact: Meet me. Midnight. The Old Quarter. I have what you need.

Lia frowned. She didn’t trust unknown sources. But right now, she had no choice. And something about this message… It wasn’t a trap. It was an opportunity.

The Old Quarter was a relic of Jakarta’s past—a place of forgotten buildings and whispered deals. Lia arrived alone, though she knew Bintang and Pandu were nearby, watching from the rooftops. A figure stood waiting in the shadows. Lia talks calmly.

“You have something for me?”

The man stepped forward, his face still hidden beneath the glow of a flickering streetlamp.

And when she saw him, her breath caught. She knew him. He wasn’t just an informant. He was part of the Nine Dragons. Man quietly. “I want out.”

Lia’s pulse steadied. “And in exchange?”

He exhaled, glancing over his shoulder before handing her a small, untraceable data drive. “Proof. Of everything.”

Lia took it carefully, her mind already working. If this were real… If this was what she thought it was— Then she had just found the first real crack in the Nine Dragons’ armor.

Lia turned the drive over in her palm. This wasn’t just information. This was a declaration of war. She looked up at the man.

“Once we do this, there’s no turning back.”

His expression was hollow, but his voice was steady. “There’s already no turning back.”

And deep down, Lia knew he was right. The Resistance wasn’t just fighting for survival anymore. They were about to go on the offensive. And Jakarta would never be the same.