Chapter 2: The Crimson Dawn

The sky still burned with a crimson hue when Max and Teguh resumed their journey. The path led them back to the secluded villa—the place where they had first found Ming. They remembered the moment vividly: Ming dragging Kao’s lifeless body across the cold floor, a twisted smile etched on her face. It wasn’t the blood or the silence that unsettled the officers present that day—it was the look of satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. None of them could believe she acted alone.

They arrived just as the sun hung low, a golden spear piercing the mist. Days like this rarely yielded the answers they hoped for. Still, Max and Teguh pressed on, compelled by duty—or something deeper.

Yellow police tape cordoned off the villa. Two patrolmen greeted them at the edge, stationed to deter trespassers and the ever-hungry media. This was no ordinary crime scene. It was the suspected site of a massacre—and perhaps, an attempted disposal. Every camera lens wanted a glimpse inside. The patrols ensured none succeeded.

Inside, Max and Teguh moved cautiously, eyes alert, thoughts sharper. They weren’t here for routine inspection. Captain Jason had felt it too—something had been overlooked. A detail. A clue. Perhaps an accomplice.

Signs of violence marred the first floor. The dining room was the epicenter—open, adjacent to a European-style kitchen that bore no partition. The villa’s architecture mimicked an old castle left to decay, drenched in a faded classical elegance. A haunting beauty clung to its walls.

“We need to find out who owns this place,” Max muttered, pulling a small notepad from his jacket. “That part slipped through the cracks.”

Teguh only nodded, his gaze following a dark, dried smear of blood that stretched from the doorway to the edge of a dining table.

Crouching, Teguh studied the stain. “Let’s break this down,” he murmured. “Why drag Kao’s body... when Jos was found face down on the table?”

“Maybe Ming planned to move Jos after Kao,” Max replied, scanning the room’s shadowy corners.

Teguh turned to him. “Makes sense. We caught her in the act. Had we arrived later... maybe she’d have moved them both.”

There was a reason for everything Ming had done. But demanding answers from her felt like playing chess in the dark—each move a guess. They needed evidence. A thread to unravel.

What no one knew was that Max carried a secret. A gift—or a curse—he kept hidden: a nose that could scent what others couldn’t. In a world where strange abilities were ridiculed or feared, Max stayed silent. He knew too well that those gifted with such senses sometimes communed with creatures that straddled both realms—beings known only in whispered legends: Siluman, half-human, half-phantom. He prayed this wasn’t one of those cases. But when he’d stared into Ming’s eyes... he doubted she was untouched by them.

He recalled the day clearly—Ming, frail and thin, dragging Kao with one hand. Impossible by any measure. But he’d seen it.

Max followed the trail of blood into the dining room. He masked his face, the metallic tang of old blood too strong for comfort. Teguh, unaffected, remained barefaced—human noses lacked the sensitivity Max cursed.

The blood on the table had turned a deep, blackish red, pooling in abstract formations. One glance, and Max saw it again—Ming’s gaze, devoid of human warmth. She had smiled when the officers found her. Smiled.

“She killed them out of hate,” Max whispered. The mask muffled his voice, but Teguh heard him clearly.

“Did you see something?” Teguh asked.

Max shook his head. “Let’s go over everything again. Every inch.”

They split up. Each one hunted for silent clues. Teguh lingered between the kitchen island and dining table. Blood splattered every object—fruit, glasses, plates. No corner was spared. He tried to reconstruct the scene in his mind, but the more he imagined, the more distorted the images became. Like a surreal painting smudged by trembling hands.

He focused on the marker where Jos had died. The man’s body had collapsed onto the table, skull fractured, throat sliced so deep the veins had been severed. Teguh pictured the blood surging out, the death blow landing after. But even this image blurred with inconsistencies.

“Should’ve been the artery,” he muttered.

The question haunted him—how had Ming brought them here? What connected her to Kao and Jos? How could two men fall prey to one woman? Was she drugged? Or did she drug them? Was someone helping her?

His eyes narrowed, scanning for angles missed before.

Perhaps she used a biological agent—something to paralyze or weaken them. That thought alone chilled him.

While Teguh wrestled with profiles and probabilities, Max hunted like a dog sniffing out a buried bone. He searched for weapons—anything that matched the fractures on Jos or the piercing wound in Kao’s heart. Two different weapons meant two different forces. He suspected they were hidden nearby. Buried, perhaps.

He found no disturbed soil. No blood outside. He wished he could travel back in time.

Eventually, Max stood still, realization dawning. Ming had help. Someone else took the weapons. Someone who didn’t belong to this world.

A faint scent brushed his awareness. Not human. Not animal. Something other.

He pulled down his mask and inhaled deeply, eyes fixed on the valley below. The view was stunning—green slopes undisturbed by the evil that had happened here. Max wondered—had Ming offered something in exchange for strength? Had she summoned a Siluman?

Lighting a cigarette, he let the smoke curl upward, thoughts spinning faster than ever. What had Ming done to gain her power?

Teguh joined him, quiet as mist. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said. Max flinched.

It was rare to share peace in their line of work. The day had drained them—mentally, physically. This case was unlike anything they’d handled before.

Max exhaled smoke. “What baffles me... is her strength,” Teguh murmured.

Max looked over. “Strength?” He had his suspicions but said nothing.

“Yeah... or is it just me?”

“Go on.”

“You saw her. She’s frail. Probably eats once a day. Depressed. She didn’t look like she could lift a spoon.”

Max laughed darkly. “Yeah. She doesn’t look like she could hurt anyone. That’s the problem. There’s a word for that kind of thinking. I’m too stupid to remember it. We all do it. Assume the outside reflects the truth inside. Just like we believe all cops are noble, but some are corrupt. Or that pious men never sin, when they’re the first to hide affairs behind prayers. We’re blind. And stupid. We trust masks.”

He turned to Teguh, voice hardening. “Ming, I believe, knew their weaknesses. She used her mind—not her body. That’s what we need to understand. Her thinking.”

Teguh blinked, impressed.

“You’re the profiler,” Max teased. “Why do you look like I just profiled you?”

Teguh chuckled at himself.

“So, Mr. Profiler... what’s your analysis?”

Teguh drew in a breath, thoughts aligning. “Ming had help. Someone struck the men. Someone took the weapons. Could be one person... or two. I’m counting on the forensics team to find proof of another presence.”

“You didn’t find anything?”

Teguh shook his head, defeated. “The harder I try, the more unclear it becomes.”

Max studied him for a moment.

“Then,” Max said, eyes narrowing, “it’s time we move on to the next phase.”