Chapter 008: Seconds After It Happened
Soekarno-Hatta Airport Control Tower
That morning, the control tower at Soekarno-Hatta Airport was filled with the hum of monitors, radio chatter, and the constant tapping of control panels. Air traffic controllers coordinated with one another, monitoring departures, arrivals, and the movement of international flights entering Indonesian airspace. Morning sunlight streamed through the tower's wide windows, illuminating the faces of controllers focused intently on their radar displays.
"Garuda 747, cleared for landing, Runway Three."
One controller spoke firmly into his headset.
"AirAsia 320, check altitude... maintain flight level two-three-zero."
Another replied while typing rapidly.
Everything was proceeding as usual—
busy,
organized,
yet completely under control.
Something Strange Happens
A young controller named Rafi suddenly stared at his screen, eyes widening.
"Uh... what's going on? Supadio Airport's radar just lost signal."
The controller beside him turned to look.
"Check it again. Maybe it's just a temporary glitch."
He tapped several controls and tried contacting the internal technicians.
Moments later, more controllers began pointing at their own screens.
"Balikpapan Airport's gone too!"
"Makassar isn't responding anymore!"
The shift supervisor, Pak Hari, leaned forward, swallowing hard.
"It can't be just one or two..."
"There are too many."
Phone calls to airports across Indonesia began immediately.
Some lines connected.
Others were instantly busy.
But one by one, every operator on the other end was replaced by nothing more than static...
before the connection disappeared entirely.
"Pak... communications are completely down!"
one controller shouted.
"Technicians! Move! Check the primary network!"
the chief supervisor ordered.
Seconds passed.
The radar displays remained dark.
Aircraft symbols that should have been moving across the screens vanished one after another without a trace.
"Pak... Flight Jakarta–Pontianak... disappeared from radar!"
Rafi nearly shouted, his face pale.
"That's impossible! Check again! Check everything!"
Pak Hari frantically pressed buttons, struck the control panel, and slapped cables.
Nothing worked.
Across the room, another young controller stared at a backup display, his voice trembling.
"Pak...
everything...
we've lost contact with everything."
The shift supervisor swallowed.
Sweat rolled down his temple.
He turned toward the room.
"Record every missing aircraft."
"Don't panic."
"Stick to procedure."
Panic had begun creeping through the tower, though it remained barely under control.
No one understood what was happening.
Several regions of the radar screen that were normally crowded with aircraft now stood completely empty.
Flights that should have been visible had vanished without warning.
"Pak... Lion 789... last known position over Sulawesi... disappeared from radar."
Another controller's voice shook.
"W-What do you mean disappeared?"
Pak Hari stared at the screen as his heartbeat accelerated.
Controllers continued staring at their empty radar displays.
Their breathing quickened.
Their hands shook as they pressed buttons that no longer responded.
"Pak... every airport radar across Kalimantan has disappeared from the system."
Rafi struggled to keep his composure.
Pak Hari frowned.
"Don't panic."
"Verify everything."
"Backup systems."
"Secondary radar."
"Internal communication lines."
A controller struck his console, checked cables, and hammered buttons.
"Still... no response, Pak!"
Hurried footsteps echoed throughout the tower.
More operators turned toward one another, desperately trying to understand what was happening.
On every display, domestic and international aircraft continued disappearing—
one after another.
"This...
this isn't possible..."
someone muttered quietly, swallowing hard.
Pak Hari turned toward the technician beside him.
"Start over."
"Run every internal procedure."
"Now."
The technician nodded and rushed toward the backup control panels.
He attempted to restart the systems.
Nothing.
The screens remained black.
The buttons remained dead.
The silence inside the tower grew increasingly oppressive.
Only breathing...
and hurried footsteps...
filled the room.
Rapid footsteps.
Anxious whispers.
Harder and harder blows against dead control panels.
One technician nearly shouted.
"Pak! The backup systems... they're dead too!"
Pak Hari looked at them all.
He fought to suppress his own panic, but his voice trembled.
"Every communication channel is down..."
"Write everything down."
"Now."
Another controller repeatedly tapped his headset.
Checked radio cables.
Tried the intercom.
Nothing answered.
Aircraft continued disappearing from the radar.
One after another.
A controller lowered his head and covered his face.
"This...
this is too many..."
"More than five aircraft..."
"The number keeps increasing..."
Tension exploded throughout the room.
Some argued.
Some slammed their desks.
Even the calmest among them had begun trembling.
Collective panic was slowly taking hold—
though everyone was still trying to maintain control.
Pak Hari slammed both hands onto the desk.
"Stay focused!"
"Don't do anything reckless!"
"Record everything!"
"Maintain internal coordination!"
"Anyone who still has a working communication line, use it now!"
Every controller looked at one another with wide eyes.
Their hearts pounded.
No one knew the cause.
No one knew whether this would last only minutes—
or mark the beginning of something far worse.
Several more minutes passed.
The controllers tried everything.
They struck panels.
Checked cables.
Attempted to reboot backup systems.
Nothing.
Every system was dead.
The aircraft were gone.
Not one.
Not two.
But dozens.
Silence.
Heavy breathing filled the room as each person struggled against growing anxiety.
Pak Hari slowly stood and looked across the tower.
"If we don't report this...
thousands of lives..."
His voice faded into a hoarse whisper.
One senior controller stepped forward and picked up the emergency phone.
"We're notifying the proper authorities."
Pak Hari spoke firmly.
"But don't panic."
"Report only the facts."
"No speculation."
The next several moments became an improvised emergency meeting.
Phones rang constantly.
Backup radios were activated.
They contacted the national aviation authorities.
The operator on the other end sounded stunned.
"What do you mean...
dozens of aircraft disappeared at once?"
Pak Hari forced himself to remain calm.
"Supadio, Haluoleo, Sam Ratulangi, Frans Kaisiepo, and Rindani Airports."
"Radar."
"Communications."
"Backup power."
"All dead."
"We've lost contact with every aircraft currently in flight."
"Every system is down."
A long silence followed.
Finally, someone exhaled.
"That's absurd...
it can't happen simultaneously."
Pak Hari suppressed his frustration.
"It is happening."
"We're looking at it ourselves."
"We're not exaggerating anything."
"Please initiate emergency procedures."
At the other end of the line, officials immediately began contacting other airports.
Some reacted with disbelief.
Others panicked as they hurriedly organized emergency responses.
Back inside the control tower, controllers recorded every detail.
The exact time each aircraft disappeared.
Flight numbers.
Last known positions.
Pak Hari studied the growing list before lifting his radio.
"Prepare all evacuation protocols and international coordination procedures."
"Don't wait until lives are already being lost."
Despite the air conditioners running at full power, the room felt unbearably hot.
Everyone stared at blank radar screens, scarcely breathing.
Every ringing phone.
Every burst of radio static.
Added to the pressure.
They all understood one thing.
A single mistake...
could cost thousands of lives.
"Should... should we suspend all flights?"
another controller asked tensely.
"Not yet."
Pak Hari cleared his throat.
"We need confirmation first."
"Don't make panic decisions."
"No one knows what's happening yet."
The intercom rang.
Another airport reported in.
"We've also lost contact with several airports... every system failed without warning..."
Instantly, the tower became the center of growing anxiety.
Controllers exchanged worried looks before turning back toward the silent radar screens.
This was no ordinary technical malfunction.
"Prepare manual communication procedures."
Pak Hari ordered.
"Send teams into the field."
"Document everything."
"We... we still have time to mitigate this."
"But the situation is critical."
At every workstation, the controllers realized the same terrifying truth.
Hundreds of thousands of lives were in the air—
and they had absolutely no idea what was happening.
Control Towers Across the World — A Wave of Chaos
Inside Singapore Changi Airport's control tower, controllers monitored radar screens and international air traffic.
Everything appeared normal.
Busy.
Professional.
Constant radio traffic with neighboring countries.
Airline communications.
Weather reports.
Then—
the radar screens flickered.
Aircraft symbols began disappearing.
One after another.
"Wait...
something's wrong."
A controller stared at his monitor.
"Every flight heading into Indonesia has stopped responding."
Another controller immediately tried the backup communication line.
"Trying airport communications..."
Only a busy tone answered.
Several seconds passed.
Nothing.
Only the sound of the operator's own breathing remained.
The same scene unfolded in Bangkok.
Narita.
Kuala Lumpur.
Control towers scrambled to verify radar data and communication channels.
Every affected airport across Kalimantan—
and several others—
had gone completely silent.
A controller in Kuala Lumpur swallowed nervously.
"We've lost contact with every flight scheduled to cross Indonesian airspace!"
"Report it to the regional aviation authorities."
The tower chief tried to steady his team.
"Continue monitoring every other route."
"Don't panic."
Back in Changi, another controller attempted to contact Tokyo and Hong Kong.
Panic was already creeping into the conversations.
"We're experiencing communication failures with Indonesia as well!"
The supervising controller struck his desk.
"Focus."
"Log every missing aircraft."
"Use backup channels."
"Do not spread panic until everything is verified."
Yet on every radar display...
the red aircraft symbols continued disappearing.
The voices of controllers blended with international phone calls...
urgent shouting...
uneasy breathing...
and the frantic clicking of communication switches.
Across Europe, aviation authorities began receiving reports.
Aircraft bound for Southeast Asia had suddenly disappeared from radar.
Every attempt to contact Indonesian airports had failed.
Emergency discussions erupted inside control centers.
"Is this a systems failure?"
"Impossible. Our radar and communications are functioning normally."
"Then how can every connection to Indonesia be gone?"
Within minutes, international confusion evolved into tightly controlled panic.
Every control tower attempted to verify the situation.
Report it to higher authorities.
Prepare emergency procedures.
But one fact had become unmistakably clear.
Something extraordinary—
and extremely serious—
was unfolding along the Equator.
Every controller understood the stakes.
Hundreds—
perhaps thousands—
of lives now depended on incomplete information.
And critical decisions would have to be made...
before anyone truly understood the facts.
Meanwhile, as the outside world slowly realized that something impossible was happening...
those who had already passed through the curtain of mist still had no idea...
that they had disappeared from the world.