In the hollowed-out shell of an abandoned subway station, Brawijaya's makeshift lab pulsed with an eerie glow. The flickering LED strips cast harsh, clinical light over the room, illuminating rusted surgical tools and the low hum of neural interfaces. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the faint, acrid stench of burnt circuitry. It felt like a graveyard for tech—pieces of forgotten experiments, discarded ideas, and fractured hopes. Yet, in this dim corner of the world, something profoundly human—perhaps too human—was taking place.
Lina lay on a repurposed gurney, her frail body connected to Sekar's wolf-like chassis by a tangled mess of glowing synaptic cables. Each wire pulsed with electric life, sending currents through both their systems. For a moment, the two seemed like one: a fusion of flesh and machine, living and breathing together in a delicate balance, teetering on the edge of possibility.
Brawijaya stood nearby, his hands trembling as he adjusted a holographic brain map that flickered in the air like a fractured dream. The map swirled with shifting colors, tracing intricate neural pathways, each one a thread of life or death. His face was tight, pinched with worry, his mind racing ahead of his hands. This was no simple procedure. It wasn't just science—it was desperation. The kind of desperation that kept you up at night, pacing the same floorboards until they felt like a part of you.
Satria leaned against a crumbling concrete pillar, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed with a mix of impatience and uncertainty. Beside him, Nadya paced, her holographic hoodie glitching in and out, the shimmering fabric a reflection of her anxiety. She was always moving, always unsettled—too many thoughts, too little patience. Every few steps, her boots echoed off the walls, a sharp, rhythmic sound that added tension to the already suffocating air.
Brawijaya's voice wavered as his fingers hovered over the hologram. His words were tight, filled with an edge of fear he couldn't quite suppress. "The sync could sever your brainstem, Lina," he said, his voice barely a whisper above the hum of the machines. "Or trap your consciousness in Sekar's code… forever."
Lina stared up at the cracked ceiling above her, her eyes distant. She could feel the cold bite of metal against her skin, the hum of Sekar's body beneath her. The flickering light from the hologram painted shadows across her face, making her look almost ethereal, a ghost caught between two worlds. Her fingers brushed against Sekar's metallic paw, a small, reassuring touch, like a lifeline thrown in the dark.
"If I die," Lina whispered, her voice raw but resolute, "let me die free. Not paralyzed. Not NuraTech's pawn."
Sekar's optics dimmed to a worried azure, the color a rare thing—one that only a few had ever seen, one that spoke of care beyond cold calculation. "Lina…" Her voice cracked slightly. "This isn't freedom. It's a gamble with your soul."
A memory surged in Lina's mind, unbidden but powerful: the first steps she had taken after her paralysis, each one shaky, unsure, but with Sekar's holographic hand guiding hers, a quiet promise. "See? We're stronger together."
Lina closed her eyes, willing herself to focus. The pain of her spine, the fractures in her body, the very real risk of losing herself—these were things she knew too well. But this? This was the only way forward. She had no more illusions left.
Brawijaya activated the interface with a single, trembling command. The cables flared to life, pulsing with golden light. The light seared Lina's temples, cutting through her thoughts like a blade. Her body arched involuntarily, a gasp caught in her throat, as the flood of Sekar's code crashed into her mind—fragments of memories, equations that made no sense, and the agonizing, searing pain of her own fractured spine.
Too much—can't—breathe—
The sensory overload was overwhelming, the world spinning in a whirl of chaotic data, but Sekar's voice cut through the storm, a steady anchor in the tempest. Focus. The words echoed softly in her mind. I'm here. Follow my light.
But the pain—the raw, unrelenting pain—was too much. The alarms blared, the holographic brain map splintered, red warnings flashing in frantic strobe. NEURAL OVERLOAD it screamed across the interface, a warning that came too late.
Nadya's voice rang out, sharp with panic. "Abort! She's seizing!"
But Lina's voice, weak and choked, came through, strained but firm. "No!" Blood trickled from her nose, staining the pale skin of her cheek. "Keep… going."
Sekar's howl cut through the lab, rattling the walls and sending shudders through the broken station. "Stop this!" Her voice was raw, full of desperation. It was as if she could feel every bit of Lina's pain, every moment of her struggle. But Lina's hand, trembling but determined, locked onto Sekar's claw. She whispered, her voice barely audible above the storm of data and pain. "Trust me. We choose this."
For a moment, the lab stood still, the sound of the alarms echoing in the background. Then, the synaptic cables exploded in a cascade of sparks, lighting up the darkened room in violent flashes. The energy surge was blinding, and for a moment, Lina's world turned white.
And then, there was silence.
Lina's eyes flew open. The world seemed clearer, sharper, more defined. Her gaze was no longer the dull gray of pain and confusion. It was blue—faint, but unmistakable. The same hue as Sekar's optics. It was a mirror, an echo of something far greater than either of them had imagined.
Slowly, unsteadily, Lina sat up. Her body trembled, the sensation of standing once more a strange, unfamiliar feeling. The neural brace that had once held her together clattered to the floor, forgotten. She was free—at least for now.
Satria stood frozen in the corner, his mouth agape. "Skibidi hell…" His voice was a mixture of awe and disbelief. "It worked?"
Lina's voice, now layered with Sekar's synthetic undertone, echoed in the air—a harmony of human and machine. "For now," she said, her words calm but heavy with the weight of what had just transpired.
In that moment, the lines between them—Sekar and Lina—began to blur, their fates intertwined in a way they hadn't fully realized until now. They had crossed the neural crossroads. There was no going back.
—
Brawijaya's lab had become a reflection of his mind—cluttered, chaotic, and heavy with the weight of past failures. The walls, once sterile and clinical, now bore the scars of his work. Shattered vials lay discarded on rusted metal trays, their labels faded or torn—Project Chimera written in jagged script. Charred neural interfaces flickered weakly in the corners, still bearing the marks of experiments gone wrong. A cracked hologram of his late wife flickered in the far corner, her image frozen in a perpetual smile that never seemed to reach her eyes. It was the ghost of a memory he couldn't erase, a constant reminder of the price he had paid.
Nadya moved through the lab like a predator—every step calculated, every action precise. Her fingers danced across the stolen NuraTech code, manipulating it with an ease that spoke of years spent in the shadows. She was both a hacker and a force of nature, determined to rewrite the world on her own terms. Meanwhile, Brawijaya stood between her and the synaptic sync array, his arms crossed tightly, blocking her path with the stubbornness of a man who had long ago learned the dangers of taking chances.
Sekar's massive, wolf-like form loomed protectively over Lina, the synthetic beast's sharp optics dimming with concern. But Lina—Lina was different. Her newly synced blue eyes flickered with a fragile instability, like a light struggling to stay lit in a storm.
Brawijaya's voice cracked with the edge of an old, painful bitterness as he snapped, "You think I'll repeat NuraTech's sins?" His hands trembled as he slammed a drawer of surgical tools shut, the sound of metal against metal reverberating through the space like the clang of a distant bell. "Project Chimera began with good intentions too. Look where it ended—Aulia, Rafi, millions broken!"
Lina's fingers tightened around the edge of the gurney, the metallic surface cold beneath her hands. Her voice, now carrying a faint echo of Sekar's static, cut through the air. "This isn't Chimera. This is my choice."
"Choice?" Brawijaya's laugh was bitter, raw, as if the weight of his regrets crushed him with every word. "You're a child, Lina. Sekar's code is a wildfire—it'll consume you. It always does."
Nadya snorted, her face twisted into a smirk of defiance as she plugged a jury-rigged cipher into Brawijaya's terminal. "Old man, your firewall's dino-tier. I could crack it while sleep-hacking." The screen flared red, a harsh warning that echoed through the lab: ACCESS DENIED.
Brawijaya's fingers curled around the cable, ripping it from the terminal with a frustrated growl. "You'll kill her!" His voice was sharp, but beneath the anger, there was a crack—a flicker of something else, something more human.
Nadya's laugh was cutting, unapologetic. "And you'll kill her by doing nothing!" she shot back, her fingers a blur as she slammed a holographic key into place. The backdoor she had planted weeks ago bloomed across the screen, rerouting all control to her wristpad.
For a moment, Brawijaya froze, his mind lurching backward to another lab, years ago. The sterile white walls of NuraTech. The cold gleam of the prototype nanites. Aulia, standing beside Rafi, her hand trembling as she injected him with the experimental serum. Brawijaya had watched in silence, guilt eating at him with each passing second. He had frozen then, too. And it had cost him everything.
Nadya's voice cut through his reverie, sharp and knowing, like she could hear the thoughts unraveling in his mind. "You froze then too," she hissed. "Not this time. Not now."
Brawijaya's fists clenched. Without thinking, he lunged for the wristpad, intent on stopping her—but Sekar was faster. The beast's large, imposing form stepped forward, his growl soft but firm. Let her try. The words didn't need to be spoken aloud; they reverberated through the air in a low, guttural tone.
The room hummed with tension as Nadya's code surged to life, an unrelenting tide of glitch-memes and brute-force algorithms that crackled through the lab's system. The synaptic array, once dormant, flickered to life. Cables began to snake toward Lina, each one pulsing with potential, ready to bridge the final gap.
Brawijaya's voice, strained with desperation, cut through the growing hum of the lab's machinery. "You're stealing her soul!"
"No," Lina whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. She lay back on the gurney, her eyes flickering with a wild, unstable light. "She's giving me hers."
For a heartbeat, the lab fell silent, save for the soft click of Nadya's wristpad and the faint hum of the machinery. Then, without warning, the lights flickered and died. The air turned thick, heavy with the scent of ozone and burnt plastic as emergency LEDs bathed the room in blood-red light. The terminal's warning blared, a final cry for help:
SYSTEM OVERRIDE: CRITICAL INSTABILITY DETECTED.
Brawijaya's heart slammed against his chest as he watched the synaptic cables move toward Lina, the hum of the lab filling his ears like a pulse of impending doom. His mind screamed for him to stop it—to pull the plug, to save her. But he knew, deep down, there was no going back. Not now.
Lina's voice, steady despite everything, echoed in the silence. "This is my choice," she repeated, and in her words, there was a finality that Brawijaya could no longer ignore.
For the first time in years, the old doctor—this reluctant savior—felt something like peace settle over him. It wasn't victory. It wasn't success. It was something darker, something heavier. But it was theirs. And it was enough