The building stood tall in the heart of the city. From the outside, it looked like any other public institution: an official logo, tight security, and a long line of citizens still believing justice could be found.
But on the third floor, behind a soundproof glass room, a meeting was taking place—one never written in any official schedule.
A slim man in a neatly pressed suit sat at the head of the long table. Across from him were two women and a man in plain clothing, their faces devoid of emotion.
"Your name has resurfaced," one of the women said coldly. "That's not good."
The man—Judge R.B. Wirawan—exhaled slowly. "I thought we erased everything after Project Door Four."
"So did we," the younger man snapped. "But now, there's a lawyer—one we thought had been silenced—and a journalist who vanished years ago… both are back."
Wirawan stared straight ahead. "You want me to take care of it?"
"We want you to ensure," the woman replied, "that Ratna's trial doesn't become a gateway to hell."
Wirawan stood, walking toward the window. He gazed down at Jakarta through the blinds.
"If Ari Pratomo keeps going… be ready for war. He's no longer just a lawyer. He's an enemy of the system."
No one disagreed.
Because out there, Ari was planning—not just to win a case, but to dismantle the corrupt structure from within.
And his greatest enemy… wasn't a stranger.It was the very system he once swore to protect.
Meanwhile, in a mid-tier psychiatric hospital on the outskirts of Depok, Ari moved down a hallway with a small flashlight in hand. Not because the lights were out, but because he didn't want to be seen on any surveillance footage.
Beside him, Sekar carried a yellow folder with one name: Arman Darwis — a former prosecutor who once mentored Ari before mysteriously vanishing after a major Supreme Court case.
"Are you sure he's still capable of talking?" Sekar whispered.
"He's the only one who knows who's really pulling the strings," Ari replied. "If his mind's still intact… he'll speak."
They stopped in front of Room 208. The wooden door was cracked near the bottom. Inside, an older man with graying hair sat staring at a permanently sealed window.
Ari knocked softly. "Mr. Arman…"
The man didn't turn.
Ari stepped inside. Sekar waited outside.
"Do you remember me?" Ari asked.
It took a few seconds before the man moved his eyes. "Ari… Pratomo."
Ari smiled. "I didn't come to open old wounds. I came to stop the new ones they're creating."
Arman slowly turned his head. His eyes were swollen, but sharp.
"You've gone too deep, Ari. This isn't about law anymore. It's about survival."
"I know."
Arman took a long breath. "I once tried to expose everything. But they silenced me first… in ways you can't imagine."
Ari sat beside him. "Now it's my turn."
Arman looked at him for a long moment. Then he whispered:
"If you want to bring them down… don't go to court. Look for someone named Bungas. He's not part of the system. But he knows where every crack in it lies."
Ari wrote the name down.Bungas.A new door... toward the heart of the legal system's poison.
That night, Ari and Sekar navigated the narrow alleys of Tanah Tinggi. Based on Arman's cryptic clue, Bungas lived "beneath the rail that never sleeps"—a metaphor only insiders could decipher.
"This isn't a normal street," Sekar whispered, glancing around. The alley was too quiet. The scent of iron and oil mixed with the hum of passing trains.
At the end of the path stood a small repair shop with a wooden sign: WELD & METAL FIX – OPEN 24 HRS. Ari knocked gently.
Moments later, an older man with dreadlocked hair and piercing eyes opened the door halfway.
"Who you looking for?"
"Bungas," Ari answered softly. "Sent by Arman Darwis."
The man stared for a long moment, then opened the door without a word. They followed him into a space that looked more like a hidden lab than a workshop. Computers, digital maps, shortwave radios—all tucked among welding machines and rusted metal.
"How long has that mad old man been alive?" Bungas muttered, still not facing them.
"Long enough to tell me about you," Ari replied.
Bungas sighed and sat on a wooden stool.
"If Arman sent you, then time's up. The system's cracked too deep to patch."
Ari stepped forward. "I want in—deeper than we've ever gone. But I need a map… and a weapon."
Bungas stared into his eyes. "Your weapon isn't bullets. It's the truth—untouched and unfiltered."
He grabbed a metal box and threw it onto the table.
"Inside that… are the dark connections between judges, politicians, prosecutors, and corporations. But it's encrypted. You'll need a code only one person has."
"Who?"
Bungas looked at him and spoke quietly:"Your father."
Ari froze. For a moment, the world fell silent.
Ari sat in the corner of Bungas's workshop, fists clenched on his knees, his jaw tight. Sekar stood nearby, watching him silently.
"You have no idea what you're saying," Ari said quietly, trying to contain the storm inside him.
Bungas raised an eyebrow. "I know more than you think."
"My father left us when I was in middle school. He disappeared—only to resurface… as part of the very system I've spent my life fighting."
"And that's exactly why he has the key," Bungas replied. "He wasn't just part of the system. He helped design it."
Ari lowered his head. Inside his chest, old wounds he thought he'd buried cracked open again—like an old scar reopened by rain.
"His name never came up," Ari whispered. "Even Arman never mentioned him."
"Because everyone fears him. He wasn't just a shadow prosecutor. He was the bridge between politics, law enforcement, and corporate power. And now, he's the only one who can prove who orchestrated all of this."
Sekar stepped closer. "If you can't face him as a son, then face him as a lawyer."
Ari looked at her. "But how do I look into the eyes of a father… who sacrificed my mother for his career?"
Silence.
Bungas stepped over to a small radio and flicked it on. Static filled the room, then a news anchor's voice broke through faintly:
"—the trial of Ratna is scheduled to begin in two days. The public demands full transparency. Yet the lead prosecutor has still not been officially named—"
Ari closed his eyes. His breathing was heavy.
"I'll go see him," he finally said."Not as a son. But as a man who knows... his secrets won't last forever."
In a dark room hidden atop a privately-owned parking structure, three figures stood around a large screen showing thermal surveillance footage.
"Location confirmed?" asked a man in a tailored suit.
"Tanah Tinggi. Near the northern tracks," replied the woman in a black jacket. "He met with Bungas."
Silence fell.
The older man, dressed in fine batik and wearing a gold watch, gave a thin smile. "He's digging his own grave."
"Orders?" the third agent asked.
The older man turned his chair toward the window. The Jakarta skyline glittered like a war zone of light and shadow.
"Don't touch Ari. Not yet. But erase Bungas. And make sure he understands… Ari Pratomo cannot protect anyone holding secrets."
"Even his father?" the woman whispered.
The man turned slowly. "Especially his father."