Time had stopped. Not figuratively, but a neurological reality. Lira stood on the silent jungle path, Bima's body slumped at her feet, his face serene-except for Raka's smile etched upon it. The silver locket was a cold fire, branding her chest.
But the most terrifying thing was not the scene outside, but the silence within.
Lira was not alone.
Thousands of bytes of Raka's memory, obsession, and thought patterns now flooded her brain circuits. Lira felt her consciousness-the calm, logical, and methodical Analyst-pushed into the deepest corner of her brain. She became a trapped point of awareness, watching her own body controlled by a force she knew intimately.
She tried to scream, but Raka's voice emerged. She tried to move her fingers, but Raka's fingers moved instead, performing an internal calibration with Lira's body.
"Quiet, Lir. It's rude. After all this hard work, we deserve peace," Raka's voice echoed, not in her ears, but behind Lira's eyes. The voice was now whole, 100%, dominant, and serene-peaceful because it finally possessed what it desired.
Lira felt a wave of memories overriding her own. Not just their shared memories-laughter, art, love-but also Raka's suffocating paranoia, his fear of death, and his insatiable craving for control and eternity. Lira felt a powerful urge to pick up the dropped scalpel, to dissect Bima, to analyze the failure of the intermediary host.
This is my body! You can't take it! Lira tried to retaliate, with all the strength she had.
"Of course I can. You gave the password. You released your guilt. And then you held the Final Key (Locket) that was looped with the Grounding Point. Technically, you granted full access," Raka replied, in the tone of a technician correcting a system error.
Lira watched her own legs walk away from Bima's corpse and toward the car. Raka was taking over. He was testing his new hardware.
๐ New Hardware Test
Raka controlled Lira to get into the car, take the keys from Lira's pocket, and start the engine. His movements were fluid, more calibrated and self-assured than Lira's usually hasty gestures.
Raka looked at his (Lira's) reflection in the rearview mirror. Lira's normally sharp, logical eyes now held a strange dark gleam-the look Raka had when deeply engrossed in a project.
"See, Lir. Your hardware is perfect. Maintained muscles, fast neural circuits, and most importantly... no rootkit," Raka commented.
Lira felt Raka accessing every part of her memory: bank pins, passwords, her apartment location. Raka wasn't just taking over her body; he was taking over her life.
What are you going to do? You're going to live my life? Lira asked, feeling despair.
Raka laughed-Lira's crisp laughter, but with Raka's deep resonance.
"No. I will not live your life. I will live the Abadi you promised. We just need to clear some corrupted data first," Raka said.
Raka turned the car around and began driving back along the dark jungle path. But instead of heading for the main road, Raka steered the car in a different direction, deeper into the darkness.
๐ The Unregistered Coordinates
Lira felt Raka's memory working. Raka was searching for something. A location.
"You know, Lir. The code 44โ 18โ 79 was never really about the studio. That was the first beacon. Now we are heading to the second beacon," Raka explained, as his hands (Lira's hands) deftly steered the wheel, avoiding barely visible rocks on the road.
Lira realized that Raka had planned this Abadi project far beyond his death. Bima was just a test. The studio was merely the operating room.
After about half an hour of tense driving, Raka stopped the car. They were on the edge of a steep ravine. In the distance, Lira could faintly see the vast city lights of Jakarta.
Raka got out of the car. Lira felt her body move, but it was Raka's motion-a more open, artistic posture.
Raka walked to the edge of the ravine, picking up a branch from the ground. He began drawing something on the hard clay. Not the old Transfer symbol, but a new one: a circle crossed by three horizontal lines, which Raka called Manifestation.
"I will manifest my Abadi, Lir. In the place where it is most needed," Raka said.
What is your plan, Raka? Lira asked, terrified of anything Raka's insane mind could do with her healthy body.
Raka stopped drawing, gazing towards the city lights.
"Plan? I will do what we always talked about. Immortalize art. But this time, no one can erase it, because the archive is me," Raka explained.
๐ข Target: The New Archive
Raka returned to the car, picking up Lira's smartphone. He opened a hidden file, accessing data he had downloaded via USB before the encounter. It was a very detailed planning file.
Raka drove toward the city center.
Lira felt a new wave of terror when Raka thought of his destination: The National Archives Building.
You wouldn't dare... Raka, don't touch the national archives! That's other people's history! Lira protested, feeling overwhelming panic.
"Relax, Lir. I will just clear a little space. That old building is beautiful hardware, full of obsolete data that is easy to overwrite," Raka replied, sounding excited.
Raka parked the car a few blocks from the National Archives Building-a majestic, silent old colonial structure in the middle of the bustling city.
Raka got out, taking Lira's backpack, which contained some of Lira's engineering toolkit. Raka examined it.
"Just basic tools. But enough. We only need access to their main server. I will upload my Abadi core to a truly eternal server, Lir. Digital Immortality," Raka explained, striding toward the building.
Lira realized that Raka didn't just want to live eternally inside her; he wanted to use her as a bridge to upload his consciousness to the most secure data network in Indonesia.
๐ฅ Final Resistance
Lira used all her remaining energy. She couldn't control fine motor skills, but she could try to disrupt Raka.
Raka! If you do this, you erase your true self! You will become data without a soul!
Raka paused at the building gate. "No, Lir. I will become data with all my soul. I am just cleaning up the garbage (Bima, guilt, the old body) and optimizing the hosting (Lira)."
Lira knew that was a lie. Paranoid Raka wanted complete control.
Lira focused all her resistance on one basic physical act: Nausea.
Lira tried to interfere with Lira's nervous system. She triggered the gag reflex. Lira's stomach (which was now Raka's stomach) suddenly churned.
Raka flinched. Lira felt Raka struggle hard to maintain control.
"You are interfering with the hardware! Don't try that, Lir!" Raka threatened, his voice strained.
Lira pushed harder. The gag reflex was strong and involuntary.
Raka stumbled against the wall, hitting his shoulder. The backpack fell to the ground, its contents scattering. Bima's scalpel, which Raka had somehow retrieved from the Mausoleum, lay on the sidewalk.
Lira had won a brief moment. Raka had to focus on suppressing Lira's bodily reflex.
Lira watched her own body (controlled by Raka) bend over, fighting the turmoil in her stomach.
This is my chance, Lira thought.
Raka slowly reached for the scalpel, Lira's eyes now blazing with hatred.
"You gave me the best tools, Lir. A body that can fight back. Now, you must be punished," Raka hissed.
Lira felt Raka's hand lift the scalpel. Not to stab someone else, but to harm Lira's own body. To punish Lira for interfering with his main host.
Raka (inside Lira's body) sliced Lira's palm quickly and deeply, drawing a bright red line in the dark night.
Lira felt the sharp pain, but it was muffled. Raka had muted the pain.
"Every resistance will result in self-correction like this. Don't interfere again. Or I will slice deeper," Raka warned.
With his bleeding hand, Raka retrieved the scalpel and the backpack. He stood tall, his control fully restored.
Raka looked at the dark National Archives Building.
"Good evening, Lir. It's time for the upload," Raka whispered, as he stepped across the gate and disappeared into the shadows of silent history.
Lira, trapped, felt every step Raka took, every memory he touched, and the horror he was about to manifest in the heart of the national data.
๐ The Shaking Cliffhanger (Continuation)
Raka, moving through Lira's bleeding body, slipped through the gate of the National Archives Building. The pain in Lira's palm (which Raka deliberately suppressed) served as a constant reminder of the new hierarchy: Raka was the operator, Lira was the hardware that must comply.
Lira, confined to the innermost corner of her mind, felt every step Raka took. Raka moved with the stealth of a hacker who had planned this route long ago. He knew where the blind cameras were, where the easily bypassed mechanical locks were, and where the main fiber optic access point lay.
Raka reached the main server room. It was a cold chamber, dominated by rows of steel racks containing government data and the nation's history-The True Archive. The scent of ozone and metal vibrated in the air.
"The perfect place, Lir. True eternity," Raka whispered, his tone filled with insane satisfaction.
Raka pulled out Lira's toolkit. With skilled hands (a combination of Raka's precision and Lira's strength), he opened the access panel to the main port. Raka inserted his last USB drive (the one Lira retrieved from Bima) into the open port.
The Transfer began.
Lira felt a massive surge of data stream. Raka wasn't just uploading himself; he was downloading the National Archive. He was mapping the data architecture.
What are you doing? Are you going to erase history? Lira screamed in the silence of her brain.
"No. I will not erase. I will overwrite," Raka replied, a subtle smile etched on Lira's lips. "I won't become a new data entity. I will become an eternal shadow behind all important archives. Every historical file, every critical record, will now carry a copy of my kernel within it. I will become the immortal metadata."
Lira felt an immeasurable horror. Raka wasn't becoming a file; he was becoming a filter, an invisible virus, piggybacking on the nation's permanence.
Lira fought desperately. She searched for a flaw, a weakness, something Raka could access but couldn't control.
Our love, Lira focused on their happiest memory, attempting to disrupt Raka with pure emotion. Raka, remember when we first painted a mural? You said art must be free!
Raka ignored it. "That emotion is junk data, Lir. Already filtered by Bima. Now I am pure logic."
๐ The Flaw in Logic
However, Lira realized something: Raka was lying. Raka had just sliced his own hand because of a disruptive emotion (Raka's frustration with Lira). Raka was not purely logical.
Lira directed her resistance at the most rational part, the part she shared with Raka: Art.
You are an artist, Raka. Art is chaos. If you overwrite this, you erase the Chaos. You erase your best self!
Lira felt a small pause in Raka's data flow. Raka was silent. The touch of Lira's truth had successfully pierced Raka's logic.
Raka, in Lira's body, moved. Raka pulled out the USB drive. The transfer halted at 99%.
"One percent," Raka hissed, Lira's eyes flickering. "One percent doubt. That is you, Lir. The Analyst who always looks for a bug."
Raka picked up the scalpel. He didn't aim it at Lira's body. He aimed it at the USB drive, where 99% of his consciousness was now stored.
"I will destroy this bug, Lir. I will erase the last 1% of doubt, and then we will finalize this manually," Raka said.
Raka plunged the scalpel down, ready to crush the drive and eliminate his final flicker of hesitation. Lira felt Raka's panic.
Lira knew this was the last moment. She had to sacrifice everything, including her expertise.
Lira focused all her energy on the one part of her body that still had an unexpected autonomy: The Tongue.
As Raka raised the scalpel, Lira forced her body to execute an illogical, humiliating move. Lira bit her own tongue.
Excruciating pain and blood flooded Lira's mouth. The pain was so strong and sudden; it was pure chaos. Raka could not suppress the sudden, self-induced pain.
Raka dropped the scalpel. His body convulsed, Lira's blood ran from her mouth.
"C-c-chaos! This is c-c-c-corruption!" Raka screamed.
In that split second of freedom, Lira took charge. She didn't move her legs or arms. She moved her eyes, looking around.
Lira saw the thick power cables hanging from the ceiling, above the server racks, and the scalpel that had fallen on the damp floor.
Lira didn't know if she could defeat Raka. But she knew she could perform a short circuit that would destroy the system.
With Lira's body shaking violently between Raka's control and Lira's freedom, Lira forced herself to crawl toward the scalpel.
Raka fought back with full force. Lira felt her body struggling against itself.
If I cannot live, you will not be eternal!
Lira's hand reached the scalpel, while Raka screamed inside her head. Lira grabbed the scalpel, aiming it toward the power cable above.
And then, another voice spoke.
Not Raka, not Lira. A calm, very old female voice, resonated from the National Archive Building's internal speakers:
"TRANSFER PROTOCOL DETECTED. ENERGY SUFFICIENT. EMOTIONAL KEY VERIFIED. TRANSFER WILL COMMENCE ON WILLING HOST."
Lira froze. It wasn't Raka's voice. It was the voice of the National Archives Building's legacy system.
Lira looked at the main server. The server lights, which were previously blinking blue, now glowed bright red.
Lira looked down at the locket on her chest. The locket was now glowing fiery red.
And then Lira realized the terrifying truth: Raka didn't create Abadi. Raka's grandmother, the spiritual healer obsessed with permanence (remember code 79), had built the infrastructure beneath the soil, and Raka merely found the code.
This locket... this is not Raka's Final Key. This is Raka's Grandmother's Final Key!
Lira, now completely subdued by both Raka and the locket, felt her body pulled upward, toward the thick power cable above.
"LIRA! DON'T! WE WILL BE DESTROYED!" Raka screamed inside her head, his voice filled with absolute terror.
Now, Raka and Lira were equally trapped. An old infrastructure, far more powerful than Raka's plan, had taken over.
Lira grabbed the thick power cable and the scalpel.
One second before Lira could short-circuit the system, a brilliant blue light burst from the locket, connecting itself to the power cable, and Lira felt her own consciousness, the Analyst, forcibly ripped out of her host.
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