059. A Final Message

As Bayu stumbled into his home, his heart plummeted into a chasm of despair. His wife's lifeless, naked body, drenched in urine and semen, positioned ass-up on the floor of the living room, her skin marred by countless cigarette burns. A tonfa baton protruded from her vagina while another sunk deeply into her anus.
The CCTV recording revealed the horrific truth: six members of the Patriot Bureau had subjected her to brutal torture and relentless rape, taking turns to defile her until she eventually succumbed to death. Yet, through it all, she had not uttered a single word about Bayu, Jalu, or Division 96. The trail of her tears, still wet, bore silent witness to her suffering.
Blinded by rage, Bayu charged after the Patriot Bureau operatives with a motorbike. He managed to chase their car and, using a machete, severed their heads one by one. His fury was so intense that it took the combined strength of his colleagues, who were driving the container truck, to restrain him.
There was no time for mourning—fifty members of Division 96, stationed in the designated loading zone, had been brutally slaughtered by the Darah Juang Force. Bayu and his team had no choice but to push forward, their every moment laced with urgency.
The man hadn’t left his homeland without a compelling reason. Together with four surviving high-ranking figures, he devised a plan to build a network that would link the remaining members of Division 96 in Indonesia—many of whom were juniors—with EPCU task forces across the globe. Although the list of members, derived from Yanti’s report that guided the Regime’s hunt, had been destroyed by Division 96’s allies, the channels for funding and resource exchange with other nations remained sealed, leaving them isolated.
Any state apparatus receiving foreign funds outside of their official duties faced immediate termination and legal prosecution. Private companies, meanwhile, had to wade through a maze of bureaucratic red tape just to secure permission, only to be assigned a specially monitored account by the Patriot Bureau. Any funds with unclear origins would be swiftly seized by the state. To make matters worse, companies suspected of relying entirely on foreign financial support were forcibly taken over by the Regime, under the guise of transforming them into state enterprises.
“Our country’s got more interdimensional rifts than almost anywhere else. And nearly every entity that crosses through is a Category One or Two,” Bayu reiterated what Jalu had learned during basic training. "We’re the shield, Jalu. Civilians don’t stand a chance without us. Every enhancement, every bit of power we gain, strips away what’s left of our humanity. But we chose this life. You, me, and your grandfather—we made this choice on our own."
His father’s words pierced Jalu’s heart like a dagger. It was true—becoming a member of Division 96 had been his own choice. His father had repeatedly forbidden him, attempting to dissuade him at every turn. Yet each time he granted permission, he raised the stakes, crafting challenges designed to make Jalu fail. But those efforts had proven futile.
“You’re young, and that fire’s still burning hot in your veins. So, if you need someone to blame, blame me! Hate me all you want! Those Regime grunts you took down? They’re nothing but pawns, expendable. I’ve been hoping—praying—that you’d start seeing things from a wider perspective. That you’d put your logic ahead of your anger. Only when you’ve calmed that storm will you understand why I’ve kept so much from you. Every secret, every silence, it’s all been for a reason. But you’ll only see it when your mind is clear, not clouded by rage.”
Jalu let out a deep sigh, struggling to regain control over the emotions that threatened to engulf him. He inhaled slowly, trying to ground himself, but the weight of his father's words lingered, tugging at his heart and blurring his focus.
“Don’t sacrifice your duty for the hollow satisfaction of revenge,” Bayu said, his voice calm yet edged with the weight of experience. “In the end, vengeance changes nothing—it only leaves you with emptiness.”
He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in before continuing. “If you can’t find it in yourself to protect the people, then protect their children. If you can’t save them all, save the ones within your grasp. Do it until you can look into their innocent eyes and know you’ve done everything a man with a conscience can do.”In that moment, Jalu felt as if his father were scolding him directly, the echoes of past conversations reverberating in his mind. The realization hit him hard—he missed the only parent figure he could never see again. A warm sensation spread through his chest, overwhelming him, and slowly, tears began to well in his eyes.
“I know I’ve been a terrible father. I’ve failed you in ways I can never undo. I’m sorry… sorry for letting you carry all of this alone. Sorry I couldn’t save your stepmother. Sorry for every moment you needed me, and I wasn’t there. And the worst of it? I can’t even offer you the peace, the happiness, you deserve. All I’ve given you is this life of shadows. And for that, I’ll never stop being sorry.”
Tears streamed down Jalu’s cheeks as he blinked rapidly, each drop a testament to his turmoil. But his expression hardened, a mask of defiance forming as he grappled with his father’s words.
“You’re stronger than I ever was, Jalu. And despite what the world may think, I know you’re a good man. I’m proud of you—proud to call you my son. Carry that strength with you, and remember: it’s okay to feel. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment. Thank you for being my light in the darkness.”
The voice recording ended with the same subtle, monotonous hiss. Jalu removed the headset from his ears, clutching it tightly before carefully stowing it in his pocket. He wiped away the tears that symbolized his pain, taking a deep breath to steady himself. As Jalu looked into the deep abyss before him, he whispered, “I’m sorry—”
But the words faltered, choked by the swell of grief. He knelt down, trying to contain the flood of tears that broke free, his father’s face flashing before his eyes. Regret surged within him, spreading like a drop of ink in clear water, tainting his heart. The weight of guilt felt heavier than the crushing sadness that enveloped him.
Like every EPCU task force member, Jalu had been trained to navigate grief swiftly and wisely. Yet, as a human, he found it impossible to escape the lingering sorrow. In the wake of loss, the true value of a parental figure became painfully clear. He wiped his eyes again, taking deep, steadying breaths, each one a small attempt to reclaim his composure.
"I’m sorry I wasn’t the son you deserved,” he murmured, rubbing his face as another wave of emotion washed over him. “Rest in peace, Father. Now it’s my turn to make you proud."
As Jalu finished speaking, an electric tension coursed through his body. Instincts honed by years of training screamed at him—danger was near. He sprang to his feet, alert and poised, his eyes scanning the surroundings with an intensity beyond that of an ordinary man. Then, across the abyss, he spotted a humanoid figure, its gaze locked onto him with unsettling intensity.