The Puppet Master’s Den

A sleek high-rise pierces the smog-laden Jakarta skyline, its tinted windows reflecting the neon chaos of the city below.

Inside, the nerve center of modern warfare hums with life. Massive holographic screens surround the dimly lit space, their blue glow flickering with streams of live social media feeds, breaking news, and carefully crafted disinformation campaigns. Interactive maps of influence highlight public sentiment across Southeast Asia, pinpointing weak spots in the Coalition’s image. AI-driven algorithms scan trends in real-time, predicting reactions before they even occur. This is no ordinary newsroom. This is Tessa’s domain.

She stands before her screens, poised like a queen before a chessboard, her sharp eyes reflecting the shifting data.

—

Tessa’s fingers glide over a holographic keyboard, weaving narratives with surgical precision.

Her lips curl into a smirk as she watches the Coalition’s public image flicker—strong in some areas, but vulnerable in others.

"They think they can control the truth?"

Her voice is a whisper, a serpent’s hiss, curling into the darkened room.

She tilts her head, analyzing the latest footage of Putri, Somchai, and the others.

"They want to be heroes... let’s see how they handle being villains."

A few keystrokes later, news headlines shift:

Breaking: Radical Green Coalition—A Front For Militant Extremism?

Exclusive: Inside The Dark Money Funding Eco-Terrorism In Southeast Asia!

Trending Now: #FalseMessiahs #GreenDeception

Deepfake videos begin circulating—doctored footage of Somchai appearing to incite violence, of Putri in a compromising meeting with a known arms dealer.

The world would believe what she wanted them to believe.

The Red Phoenix spreads her wings.

—

Tessa’s high-tech war room hums with energy, its dark walls lit only by the glow of shifting screens.

Around her, a team of digital mercenaries—hackers, social engineers, media manipulators—operate with machine-like precision. AI-driven algorithms track sentiment in real time, identifying weaknesses in public trust, amplifying division. This isn’t just media manipulation. This is psychological warfare.

A massive screen flickers to life, displaying doctored footage of Somchai. A city street, engulfed in flames. Somchai, face contorted in rage, was hurling a Molotov cocktail. Civilians scream, running for cover. A child’s cry echoes through the footage.

It’s a lie, but a believable one—stitched together from old protest footage, a perfectly crafted illusion.

Tessa leans back in her chair, watching the chaos unfold with quiet satisfaction."They’ll never know what’s real and what’s not... until it’s too late."

Another screen displays Putri, her voice altered, spliced from multiple speeches.

“We must rise... we must destroy those who stand in our way...”

The original context? A call for peaceful resistance.

Now? It’s a declaration of war.

Tessa’s smile widens.

"Fear is the most effective weapon... and today, they will fear the Green Coalition."

—

Tessa’s eyes flick to her team. Her command is smooth, absolute. Tessa commanding, sharp. “Boost the hashtag #EcoTerrorists. Make sure the videos trend on every platform. Target influencers... plant doubts in their minds.”

Digital Analyst watching data spike. “Public sentiment is shifting. They’re turning against the Coalition. Just like you planned.”

Tessa smirks. “Good. Now release the ‘eye-witness’ reports. Make them cry for justice... make them demand blood.”

A flood of fabricated testimonies appears online.

“I was there… the Green Coalition burned our homes!”

“Somchai’s people attacked innocent families—MONSTERS!”

“Putri promised peace, but she’s leading an army!”

AI-generated bot accounts amplify the outrage.

The hashtag #EcoTerrorists trends globally within minutes.

—

Tessa watches the numbers spike, the Coalition’s reputation crumbling in real-time.

Her power spreads like wildfire, consuming their image before they even realize they’re under attack.

She chuckles, whispering to herself:

"Let them burn in the court of public opinion... before they even realize they’re on trial."

—

Putri’s Concert Venue: Once a beacon of hope and unity, now filled with angry protesters.

Kyla’s Laboratory: A place of science and discovery, now flooded with hate and accusations of fraud.

Social Media: A battlefield of cancel culture, threats, and betrayal.

The world that once embraced them has now turned against them.

Putri stands backstage, staring at the empty auditorium.

Where thousands once sang with her… now, there is silence.

Beyond the stage doors, angry voices rise.

“Traitor! Eco-terrorist!”

“We believed in you, Putri! You LIED to us!”

“How could you support VIOLENCE?!”

She grips the microphone tightly, as if holding onto what’s left of herself.

Her own words echo in her mind—but twisted, perverted.

"I wanted to inspire... to unite. How did it turn into this?"

Meanwhile, in Kyla’s Laboratory…

Her inbox is overflowing. Hundreds of emails. Thousands of social media comments. Discrediting her research. Calling her a fraud. A liar.

“Your science is fake. You’re a pawn for terrorists.”

“We’re revoking funding. Your reputation is finished.”

“You should be ashamed, Dr. Kyla.”

Kyla slams her laptop shut, her breath ragged. Tears burn in her eyes.

"Years of work… ruined by lies."

Her voice trembles: "They believe her... they believe the monster."

Across social media, the Coalition is being dismantled.

Public figures distance themselves. Organizations retract support. News anchors demand action against them.

“Government must investigate the Green Coalition’s crimes!”

“Is Putri’s group fighting for the environment—or just an excuse for extremism?”

“BREAKING: Leaked ‘evidence’ links Somchai to violent attacks.”

The world that once cheered for them is now condemning them.

Elsewhere, Bintang watches the chaos unfold.

He leans back in the shadows, expression unreadable.

"Checkmate."

—

The ancient temple, once a place of power, now feels suffocating.

The blue flame at its center flickers weakly, struggling to stay alive—just like their unity.

The weight of betrayal, public hate, and self-doubt hangs in the air.

The silence is heavy.

Too heavy.

Then, like a dam breaking—

Tensions explode.

Putri clutches her arms, her voice trembling.

Putri's voice breaking. “This is my fault... I made us a target. I should have been more careful.”

Siti kneels beside her, squeezing her hand.

Siti soft, reassuring. “You didn’t know... none of us saw this coming.”

Somchai’s voice slices through the fragile calm—sharp, unforgiving.

Somchai is bitter, angry. “Didn’t see it coming? Or didn’t want to? You were too busy singing about peace to realize we were at war!”

Putri flinches as if struck.

Putri defensive, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I was trying to unite people, not destroy them!”

Somchai’s fists clench. His voice is cold, his anger barely contained.“Your words gave Tessa the ammo she needed. Now they see us as monsters... because you were naive!”

Putri stares at him, wounded.

Kyla steps between them, her voice urgent.“Fighting each other won’t solve anything. That’s what Tessa wants... to divide us.”

The words hit, but they don’t heal.

The damage is already done.

A painful silence fills the temple.

The flame flickers weakly, mirroring their fractured trust.

Putri’s shoulders shake. She crumbles to her knees, broken.

Somchai turns away, fists still trembling, and storms off into the night.

The others remain, but their eyes say what their lips do not.

Doubt has taken root. The Green Coalition is falling apart.

—

The temple’s inner chamber, where history whispers through the stone walls. Siti moves gracefully, lighting incense—a sacred ritual to cleanse the space. The fragrant smoke coils through the air, easing their restless minds, cooling the embers of anger still burning in their chests. The blue flame flickers—weak, but not extinguished.

Putri wipes away the last of her tears. But something has changed. Her eyes burn—not with sorrow, but with fire. She steps forward, her voice steady.

“We won’t let her win. We fight... but on our terms.”

Kyla’s fingers tighten around her notebook, her mind already racing.“Tessa manipulates perception... so we show the truth.”

Mira leans against the wall, arms crossed, her voice cold, measured.“She trusts her power... but that makes her vulnerable. We exploit that arrogance.”

A silence hangs between them. Then—

Putri’s gaze sweeps over them.“We set a trap... during her live broadcast. We’ll reveal her lies to the world.”

Somchai hesitates, arms folded. His anger hasn’t fully cooled, but he nods.

Somchai grudging respect. “Turn her weapon against her... poetic justice.”

Sebastian smirks, rubbing his chin.“She plays with shadows... but she’s forgotten how bright the light can be.”

Mira tilts her head. A slow, approving nod.“She’ll never see it coming.”

They step closer, circling the flame.

It burns brighter, feeding off their resolve.

They are no longer scattered.

No longer lost.

This is the moment they reclaim their purpose.

Putri’s voice carries through the chamber, resolute.“She made us villains... now we’ll make her face the truth.”

Yet in the shadows, a silent figure watches.

Bintang.

His expression is unreadable, his thoughts a mystery. His whisper barely stirs the air.

Bintang murmurs to himself. “They’re stronger than I thought... but is it enough?”

His gaze lingers on the flame, as if seeing something no one else can. Something approaching. Something waiting.

Tessa’s psychological warfare has shattered the Green Coalition... but only for a moment. From the ashes of doubt, they rise anew. But the battlefield is bigger than they realize.

And they are not the only players in the game.