Panji hopped off his bike, the plate cheekily reading “Awsom.” The engine's roar faded into the background, replaced by the lively sounds of the streets around him. He took a moment to catch his breath and looked up at the sky, where the sun was setting over the Watery Grave, casting long shadows across the half-submerged city.
Despite the waterlogged mess, life was buzzing here. Makeshift platforms acted as roads, connecting the elevated walkways that rose above the murky depths. People moved with purpose, navigating their new reality. In the distance, hovercrafts and giant drones zipped by, their whirring engines contrasting with the rundown buildings around them. These flying machines served as taxis, ferrying folks from one tower to another, showing how resilient the city's inhabitants were.
The vibe felt surprisingly upbeat, especially with the two biggest gangs, James and Blackheart, no longer around to cause trouble. The locals seemed to breathe a little easier. New installations popped up on the towers, including a massive Red Nation monitor blaring typical entertainment for everyone, its bright colors flickering against the dimming sky.
As Panji strolled toward Tharig’s bar, he passed a thin figure cloaked in shadows. The man, Alam, was flanked by two wanderers acting as his bodyguards. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and there was a shared understanding of the city’s rough-and-tumble nature. Panji felt a flicker of recognition, but it slipped away like water through his fingers. "Eh, must be the wind," he muttered, shaking off the feeling as he moved on.
Stepping into the dim light of Tharig’s bar, the familiar scent of stale beer and smoke hit him. “Hello there, jackass,” Tharig greeted him with a smirk, leaning casually against the bar.
“Yo… so who’s that?” Panji asked, lowering his red shades for a better look, curiosity piqued.
“Just a merc like you, looking for weapons. An amateur. I told him to try a different store,” Tharig said, raising an eyebrow with a hint of amusement. “Anyway, ready for the job?”
Panji sighed, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him. The mystery of the man lingered in his mind, but he dismissed it for now, focusing on Tharig instead. He was used to dealing with shady characters, but something about today felt off. The job was the best distraction from the intricate and complex search for meaning that had been gnawing at him lately.
Meanwhile, in a beach mansion adorned with a giant Red Nation flag—once the White House—a man known as Wraith lounged in a leather chair, a VR headset strapped to his head. He was a bulky figure, his presence both commanding and unsettling. His secretary, a sharp-eyed woman in a crisp suit, introduced Panji and Tharig when they entered his office.
Tharig received the documents without a word, nodding along as Wraith remained absorbed in his virtual world. But as they left, Panji stole a last glance at Wraith, a sense of dread settling in his gut.
“Damn… what is that guy?” Panji asked, curiosity piqued.
“Kingpin. A Zion mentor, some say. Others think he’s just another weirdo in this messed-up world. Rumor has it he escaped from shangri laa prison—or even that he’s immortal,” Tharig replied, still focused on the documents.
“Rumors… alright, don’t speak about rumors. What’s the job all about?” Panji stopped walking, turning to face Tharig.
“Simple money. Send weapons to rebels. Make them rely on our market. Go boom boom,” Tharig said, a glint of excitement in his eyes.
“That’s pretty morbid… alright,” Panji nodded, the heaviness of their task settling between them.
As they walked on, a strange feeling washed over Panji. It was as if they were being watched. He glanced around, but the feeling lingered like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
“You feel something?” he asked, uneasy.
“Just the usual paranoia,” Tharig replied, though his tone hinted at doubt.
“Better we start to port now,” Panji insisted.
“Right,” Tharig agreed, but his eyes scanned their surroundings, trying to find the source of Panji’s discomfort.
Later, aboard a cargo ship laden with weapons, Panji stood guard while Tharig assumed the role of captain. The ship rocked gently on the waves, a stark contrast to the tension that crackled in the air. Tharig had forbidden Panji from seeing inside the cargo, insisting it was classified, leaving Panji to wonder what secrets lay hidden within.
But as the day wore on, a storm brewed on the horizon, dark clouds rolling in like a predator stalking its prey. The ship began to sway, the cargo shifting with the tumultuous waters. Panji rushed to tighten the straps, his movements frantic.
Suddenly, a cargo door creaked open, revealing a syringe glinting under the dim lights. Panji’s heart raced as he recognized it—a precision dose, an antidote to a fungi outbreak. Memories of the Third World War flooded back, tales of devastation caused by a similar outbreak.
“What is this?!” Panji exclaimed, spinning to face Tharig, who had just stepped into view.
“Damn it, Panji! What the fuck are you doing? It’s a highly secret cargo! We need to escort it, not open it!” Tharig’s voice was sharp, his calm demeanor faltering.
“No… answer me first,” Panji demanded, gripping the doorframe.
Tharig clenched his jaw, clearly unprepared for Panji’s persistence. “It’s… a special cargo. For a special client. We’re not supposed to ask questions. We just do our jobs.”
“Special client? Don’t give me that crap. What’s so special about this ‘antidote’?” Panji pressed, refusing to let go.
After a tense exchange, Tharig sighed heavily. “Alright… it’s about preparation for World War Four. The Red Nation plans to use a massive fungi outbreak, and only their allies will get the dose. Happy now?”
“What?!” Panji blinked in disbelief, the reality crashing down on him.
Tharig rubbed his temples, frustration evident. “Look, I’m not supposed to say much. But it’s important. A lot of people would kill for that stuff. Including the Reich.”
“What the fuck? What do neo-Nazis have to do with this? Are they your allies now?” Panji’s voice was laced with disbelief. The ghosts of the past are never truly buried, he thought, they just find new bodies to inhabit.
“Ally? Hell no. But they’re always looking to buy anything that gives them an edge. This antidote could be a game changer. We have to deliver it without anyone knowing.” Tharig’s voice dropped as he glanced around, lowering his tone. “If word got out, every damn faction would be after us.”
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“Then let’s ditch this cargo. Let them fucking die when the war breaks out!” Panji’s anger surged as he drew his pistol.
“Woah, woah, hold up,” Tharig said, raising his hands defensively. “You got it all wrong, man. This isn’t about choosing sides. This is about business. If we ditch this cargo, we lose clients, our reputation… everything.”
“You lost your way, Tharig! They slaughtered our families in the past!” Panji shouted, his voice echoing in the chaos of the storm.
Tharig’s expression hardened. “Don’t you think I know that? I lost people too. But we can’t keep living in the past. We’ve got to look to the future. This cargo is what’s going to ensure us a future.”
“Fuck… Wraith… forget it. Just say some pirates stole it,” Panji suggested, desperation leaking into his voice.
“Are you serious? You want us to say pirates stole it?! That’s a death sentence for both of us,” Tharig replied incredulously. “And what about the Reich? You want to deal with their wrath when they can’t get the antidote?”
“I lost my damn childhood to them. Do you think I’ll just help them like nothing?” Panji’s grip on his pistol tightened.
Tharig’s voice dropped to a low rumble. “You think I’ve forgotten? You think I haven’t gone through hell myself? We can’t change the past. All we can do is survive, and live to fight another day. If that means making deals with the Reich or anyone else, that’s what we gotta do.”
“Then why are you betraying your own people?” Panji raised his pistol, the tension crackling between them.
“I didn’t betray anyone! I’m doing what I have to survive, what we all have to survive in this Godless world! Now put down your damn gun, man,” Tharig shot back, his hand hovering near his own weapon.
After a long pause, Panji clenched his jaw and said, “I’ve been Kassandra’s dog for years waiting for my revenge. I don’t give a damn about the Reich. I… I pick my way.”
Tharig studied Panji, disbelief etched on his face. “You’re doing this all for revenge? You’re willing to throw away your life, your future, everything, just for payback?”
“I don’t give a damn about money. I’ve been dead for years!” Panji replied fiercely.
Tharig’s laugh was bitter. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch, you know that? You want to trade your life for revenge against the Reich? You think that’s gonna bring your family back?”
“Just… lower your gun, man. I don’t want to lose another family. We will find a way,” Panji's voice softened, his resolve wavering.
Tharig stared at him, the tension palpable. Finally, he sighed and lowered his weapon. “Fine… I’ll lower mine, but you damn well better do the same. We’re not gonna solve anything by killing each other.”
“Good…” Panji took a deep breath, relief washing over him.
“Listen, we’re in a tough spot here. The Reich won’t forget about that cargo. They’ll come after us. They might not even believe our lie about pirates taking it,” Tharig cautioned.
“I’ll talk to Kassandra. She’ll back us up,” Panji replied, hope flickering in his chest.
“Kassandra? Are you serious? You think she’ll be willing to help us?” Tharig’s eyes widened.
“I’ve worked with her for a long time. She’ll help me… or I’ll bash her smirk on her own desk,” Panji replied nonchalantly, a hint of defiance in his tone.
Tharig chuckled darkly, a begrudging respect creeping into his voice. “You’re a bold one, I’ll give you that. Fine. Go talk to Kassandra. But if she says no…” He let the threat hang in the air, his gaze unwavering.
“Good. So let’s ditch this to the sea.” Panji’s eyes flicked to the cargo, determination hardening his resolve.
Tharig nodded, moving toward the cargo hold. “Alright, let’s get this done and out of the way. The quicker we get rid of this, the better.” He signaled to his men, and they sprang into action, preparing the cargo for jettison.
Later, at a secret port, the ship was docked. Panji turned to Tharig. “Alright, you just stay low until all is finished.”
Tharig grunted, arms crossed defiantly. “I know how to keep low, Panji. I’ve been doin’ this longer than you have.”
“Thanks,” Panji replied, the tension between them easing slightly.
Tharig waved a dismissive hand, a smirk creeping back onto his face. “Don’t mention it. I ain’t doing it out of the goodness of my heart, you know.”
“So, why are you doing it?”
Tharig’s smirk faded, replaced by a grim look. “Let’s just say I have my own score to settle. The Reich ain’t the only bastards I hate.”
Panji raised an eyebrow and smirked. “So… I clean your eyes, huh?”
Tharig chuckled, giving Panji a sharp look. “Don’t get too cocky, kid. My eyes have been clear for years. Yours are still clouded.”
later Panji stood before the White House, he dismount his bike. the looming structure casting a long shadow over him. He had accepted his fate; he could die today at the hands of Wraith. To prepare, he strapped a bomb vest tightly around his torso, a drastic measure if things went sideways. With his heart pounding in his chest, he pushed through the ornate doors.
Inside, he was led to a room that felt more relaxed than the last. The walls were adorned with tiger leather wallpaper, and a sense of luxury hung in the air. Wraith sat behind a polished desk, his VR headset finally removed, revealing a man whose presence was both captivating and unsettling. On his back was a grotesque painting of a woman, her features twisted in agony.
“Mission failed,” Panji said, his voice steady even as his finger rested on the ring of the detonator. “The cargo was stolen by pirates.”
Wraith regarded him coolly, flanked by his bodyguards. “Well, that’s unfortunate. It’s okay.”
Panji blinked, taken aback. “What? You’re not angry?”
Wraith’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion. “For what? My anger won’t bring my cargo back. So, what happened to the ship?”
Panji cleared his throat, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “It’s all stolen. They boarded the ship during the storm, and only a handful of survivors managed to flee.”
Wraith nodded to his secretary, who quickly relayed the message to others. Alarm bells rang in Panji’s mind. “What are you going to do?” he asked, trying to keep his tone calm.
Wraith smiled, but it was a smile that sent chills down Panji’s spine. “Retaliation.”
Panji’s heart raced, dread pooling in his stomach. After a tense pause, Wraith added, “You can leave now.”
Panji exited the White House, his mind racing. He checked his phone, and his blood ran cold. A message read: “Tharig’s port is blown up.” His eyes widened as he looked toward the southern sky, the direction of Tharig’s hidden port. Gritting his teeth, he knew what he had to do.
He rode to Tharig's house knowing his wife and child were still alive,later in elite complex which only rich people who had enough influence and money to can living along side with their family. He knocked on the door and left a bag of money on the front steps before stepping back. At least this was something he could do for now.
With a heavy heart, he turned and rode off, determined to seek answers.
---
Panji hit the road to Arizona, passing countless ads urging folks to join the military—everywhere from the city streets to the desert, even plastered on the walls of nightclubs and Caesar temples. Finally, he parked his bike outside a bar lined with motorcycles, its entrance adorned with a picture of a woman riding a bike, complete with a Viking helmet.
Panji arrives at the bar, his movements sluggish, his eyes unfocused. He sits heavily at his usual spot, barely registering the bartender's greeting. He fumbles in his pocket, pulling out a small vial and taking a quick sniff before ordering his usual drink. The initial numbness gives way to a forced joviality as he tries to engage in conversation.
“Oh, look who’s here,” the bartender chuckled, sliding a familiar blood-red milkshake toward Panji.
“Heh, thanks,” Panji replied, taking a sip. “What’s new?”
“Depends on what you mean,” the bartender grinned. “What are you asking about?”
“About the crew,” Panji clarified, leaning forward.
“Things have been quiet since you left,” the bartender said, his gaze drifting to the wall adorned with faded photographs. “But…” He pointed at the pictures. “You know…”
Panji’s heart sank as he recognized the faces. “Robert... James... Layla... Cisco... and…”
“Ardo,” the bartender finished softly.
Panji closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the bittersweet memory. “I hope they’re resting in peace.”
“Of course,” the bartender replied, his voice heavy with understanding.
“I heard there’s something brewing in Siberia,” Panji continued, a flicker of intrigue sparking in his eyes.
“Ah, you’ll get yourself killed there,” the bartender warned. “This isn’t just another gang war; it’s going to be a bloodbath.”
“Is Vita upstairs?” Panji asked, changing the subject.
“Of course, cowboy,” the bartender replied, but a note of caution colored his tone. “Wait... don’t take her with you to damn Siberia. I’m warning you, Panji. Don’t take her from me.”
“She’s not a robot,” Panji shot back. “She has her own choices.” He walked away, leaving the bartender’s worried gaze behind.
---
In a small room upstairs, a woman strummed a guitar, her fingers dancing over the strings.
“Tadaaa... I’m back,” Panji announced, a grin spreading across his face.
Vita looked up, her brow furrowed. “Oh? What happened to your ears?”
Days later, Vita was busy fixing Panji's ear implants.
“You rely on painkillers too much. They mean nothing if this isn’t fixed!” she said, smacking Panji on the shoulder after finishing the final operation.
“Hehe, yeah...” Panji replied, taking a sip of his beer.
Vita sighed. “You know how long you can keep this up? Sooner or later, you’ll become a borg.” She rubbed Panji's arm, half of which was made of composite implant.
Panji lowered his beer. “I don’t know... but I’d be cool with being a robot, right? Hehe.”
Vita rolled her eyes. “Fool. Those implants will alter your psychology too. You’ll become unstable... no longer human, just like those wind-up girls.”
Panji nodded. “Yeah, wind-up girls. That’s messed up. So, is my ear fixed?”
Vita confirmed, “Yes. This tech probably comes from Blue or White Nation, judging by its high-tech simplicity. The guy who put it on your ear was an amateur.”
Panji chuckled. “Yeah, just some alley doctor. What do we expect? Unlike you, the expert combat medic.” He winked at her.