The anti-terror special forces moved silently through the cramped, maze-like alleys surrounding Maya's house. Shadows clung to them as they crept forward, their dark gear almost camouflaging them against the dimness of the early morning. This was a neighborhood that had never known such presence, and as they approached Maya's small home, life in the alley came to a startling halt.
An elderly man, feeding his cherished pet bird, froze as he noticed the team approaching. His hands trembled slightly, one reaching instinctively to his birdcage as though he could protect it. Across from him, a woman in a bath towel peered out from her doorway, her face a mix of curiosity and fear. She clutched the towel tighter around her shoulders, her wide eyes reflecting the flickering of the officers' lights.
In a nearby doorway, an old lady stirred her pot over a low flame, only to pause as she heard the whispering of the soldiers' quiet sign language, their gloved hands quickly signaling to the children playing in the narrow path to step aside. One child, maybe eight, stared at them with a mix of awe and fear, the bounce of his rubber ball ceasing as he gripped it close to his chest.
The murmurs began as soon as the special forces moved past each door.
"What's happening?"
"Is it a raid?"
"It's because of that girl, Maya. I heard she was involved in… something dark."
Some neighbors whispered in hushed, scandalized tones, while others simply looked on in stunned silence. Faces peeked from narrow windows and cracked doors, eyes scanning the officers' every move. The neighborhood had its usual gossip, but today the whispers were sharp with suspicion and unease.
One officer moved ahead and gestured silently for the team to surround the house. A mother pulled her toddler close, watching the team with widened eyes as the officers signaled in brief, tense motions to each other. And as Maya was finally escorted out in handcuffs, the murmurs grew louder, filled with shock, disbelief, and excitement. She was led away, the clicks of reporters' cameras capturing the moment that would spread rumors of terror in every corner of the neighborhood.
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Hours later,
the tension followed into the anti-terror office. Maya's stepparents sat across from Rano, one of Handoko's team members, their faces strained with worry. Rano was unyielding, his voice firm as he listed Maya's connection to the scenes of two attacks. But Maya's stepparents were equally unyielding. They argued passionately, speaking of Maya's innocence and the trauma she'd endured since the day she lost her parents in a bombing years ago.
"She would never," her stepmother insisted, her voice shaking. "She lost her parents to an attack just like this. We raised her to be a kind, caring girl. She's been through so much—she would never plan something like this."
Her stepfather nodded. "We never saw any signs of anger, of hatred. She's just a teenager, a talented artist with no connection to violence. This is a misunderstanding."
Rano shook his head, unconvinced. "She's been at the scene of two deadly incidents, both of which she sketched in disturbing detail. I need you to understand the seriousness of this situation. People have died. This isn't about artistic talent; it's about terrorism."
The room fell silent as both sides held their ground, the weight of their opposing beliefs filling the air.
Handoko stepped into the interview room; his face composed but his gaze intense. Sitting across from him, Maya was pale and visibly exhausted, her hands trembling slightly as they rested on the table. Next to him sat an interpreter, ready to translate Maya's sign language.
Handoko softened his expression slightly, his training with the FBI guiding him. He'd dealt with young offenders before—teens who had taken terrifying actions. The way to get through to them wasn't by aggression, but by calculated persuasion.
"Let's start at the beginning," Handoko began, his tone level. "I want you to explain why you drew these scenes."
Maya hesitated before she began signing with her hand, her motions slow and tired. "I was… asked to draw them," she indicated, her expression fearful but steady.
Handoko nodded, acknowledging her answer but not accepting it. "Asked by whom?" he pressed gently. "The Punisher, I assume? How did you know this Punisher? Did he instruct you to be at the scene of both incidents?"
Maya's signs were more urgent now. "I don't know who he is. He contacted me on Instagram, and I just… I just did what he asked. I'm an artist, not—"
Handoko cut her off, using the REID technique's principle of controlled doubt. "You just 'did what he asked'? Why would anyone do that, Maya? Why draw such violent scenes if you're just an innocent artist? What else are you involved in?"
Maya's face grew pale as she struggled to communicate, her signs becoming shaky. "I thought… I thought it was harmless. It was just a drawing order. I didn't know…" Handoko leaned forward, his voice firmer. "I need you to be honest with me, Maya. You were at the scenes of two tragic accidents. People died. This isn't about a hobby or an artistic project. Did you know what was going to happen?"
Maya's hands fell to her lap, her lips pressed into a thin line as she held back tears. She was visibly trembling now, her expression showing fear and desperation.
Handoko waited a beat, then tried a different angle, keeping the pressure steady. "I don't believe you didn't know something. Why else would you be there, at those exact times? Don't you understand the weight of this? These aren't just pictures; these are real people's lives."
Maya shook her head, clearly distressed, her hands fluttering weakly as she signed, "Check my Instagram chat, please. He ordered it, not me. I didn't know anything would happen."
Handoko gestured to one of his team members. "Bring her phone."
When the phone was placed before him, Maya unlocked it and opened her Instagram messages, showing the chat with the mysterious account, "The Punisher." Handoko's eyes narrowed as he read through the messages, his suspicion growing. He leaned back, tapping the phone thoughtfully.
"This Punisher account," he murmured, more to himself than to Maya. "We'll investigate this. But understand, Maya… if I find any indication that you knew more than you're letting on, things will get much worse."
Maya's face crumpled, but she gave no response, her shoulders slumping in defeat as Handoko's relentless questioning continued.
After a moment of silence, Handoko reached into his file and pulled out a sketch Maya had never expected to see. It was one of her earliest works, a digital sketch of the bombing scene that had claimed her parents' lives seven years ago.
Maya gasped, her hands shooting up to cover her mouth. Her eyes darted from the sketch to Handoko in shock. She began signing frantically, her movements hurried and disbelieving. "How did you get that? I never showed anyone that sketch. It's only in my digital files."
Handoko's gaze was unyielding. "Interesting, isn't it? I had the same question. How did someone else get it? Because this, Maya, is no coincidence. If you're claiming you didn't give it to anyone, then we're dealing with a much larger issue here. A possible hacker. And maybe, just maybe, that hacker is the one who alerted us to Juanda."
He signaled to his team to retrieve Maya's digital devices. "We'll find out soon enough. But I suggest you think carefully, Maya—if you're withholding anything, this is your last chance to tell me."
But Maya, her face etched with helplessness and dread, could only shake her head. She knew nothing more, and for the first time, Handoko could see that her terror was genuine.
After hours of interrogation, Handoko's team delivered their findings. The results were clear: Maya was not connected to any terrorist organizations, and her answers matched the evidence they'd gathered. She had no hidden agenda; she had simply followed the bizarre orders of "The Punisher" without understanding the full implications. Every message and drawing she'd provided was a job she thought was strange but harmless, nothing more.
One of Handoko's team members hesitated, then shared another grim piece of information. "Sir, the same type of bomb that killed Maya's family is the one that took out your family too."
Handoko froze, a wave of shock and sorrow surging within him. He felt the weight of Maya's tragic past as the realization set in. The same blast that had claimed her parents had left her unable to speak, taking away not only her family but also her voice. This young girl, whom they'd suspected and treated with such harsh suspicion, had suffered more than he could have imagined.
With a heavy sigh, Handoko looked at Maya, who was slumped in her chair, her eyes distant and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. His voice softened as he addressed her.
"I'm sorry, Maya," he said quietly. He could see the pain etched in her face, a pain that mirrored his own. And for the first time, Handoko wondered if, in his desperation to find answers, he had dragged her into a nightmare she didn't deserve.
Handoko gathered himself and considered his next move. The Punisher had used Maya as a tool, and she could potentially be the key to setting a trap. But after what she'd been through, he knew asking her for help would be a delicate matter. Taking a steadying breath, he approached Maya and her stepparents.
"Maya," he began, trying to find the right words, "I want to offer you a way to stop this, to help us catch the person behind all this horror. I'm asking you to work with us, to be part of our team and help us set a trap for The Punisher."
Maya's eyes flashed with anger and pain, and she shook her head furiously. Her hands moved sharply as she signed, each motion emphasizing her outrage. The interpreter's voice filled the room as she translated Maya's words: "After everything you've put me through, now you want me to help you? My neighbors, my friends—they all think I'm a terrorist. You did that. And now you want me to work with you?"
Her stepparents nodded in firm agreement, their expressions hardened with disappointment and anger. "She's been dragged through enough already," her stepfather added, his tone cold. "And she's still a student. She has her whole life ahead of her. No, she won't be helping you."
Handoko sighed, feeling the weight of his failure. He knew he couldn't force Maya to join them, especially after what she had endured. He nodded reluctantly, accepting their decision. "I understand. You're free to go."
As Maya stood up, Handoko called after her. "I'll make sure your name is cleared with your school and neighborhood. We'll explain that you're innocent, and that you're not involved in any terrorist activity."
She didn't look back, and her stepparents gave him only a cold nod before they led her out of the room.
Once she was gone, a heavy silence filled the space, and Handoko felt the familiar ache of deadlock and doubt. Was he pursuing the right path, or had he been chasing ghosts, leaving a wake of innocent people hurt and betrayed? For the first time, he wondered if he'd missed something crucial, something that could have spared everyone, including Maya, from this ordeal.
------------------------------------------End of Chapter 8----------------------------------------------