The mission started clean.
Fast briefing.
Clear target.
Immediate movement.
Perfect—
on paper.
But something was already wrong.
Arga stood at the front.
"Two entry points."
His voice short. Direct. Controlled.
"We split."
Sinta nodded.
Bimo hesitated—
just a second.
Rani didn't move.
That one second—
was enough.
"…Rani."
She looked up.
"I heard you."
But she still didn't step forward.
Arga didn't repeat himself.
He just turned—
and moved.
They followed.
Not together.
Not separate.
Just—
misaligned.
Inside—
the corridor was narrow.
Dark.
Tight.
Every step echoed.
Every shadow felt closer than it should.
"Movement."
Bimo's voice dropped.
A shape shifted—
then exploded forward.
WUSSH!
An unstable Guardian.
Fast.
Violent.
Uncontrolled.
"Back."
Arga moved instantly.
No hesitation.
Intercept.
Clean.
Direct.
Rani saw it—
the pattern.
The signs.
The same moment—
again.
"…wait—"
Too late.
Arga struck.
Precise.
Controlled.
Rani stepped in—
trying to stop him.
BOOM!
The hit didn't land on the enemy.
It landed—
on their timing.
Everything broke.
The Guardian slipped past.
Energy burst outward.
Walls cracked.
Debris rained down.
"WHICH PLAN ARE WE FOLLOWING?!" Bimo shouted.
No answer.
Because there wasn't one.
The Guardian ran.
Fast.
Clean.
Gone.
Silence.
Dust settled slowly.
"…we lost him."
Bimo's voice felt smaller now.
"…you hesitated."
Arga's voice was low.
Cold.
Controlled.
"You attacked too fast."
Rani didn't step back.
Silence tightened.
"…he could've been saved."
"…he could've killed someone."
"And now we'll never know."
"…and now no one's dead."
That landed.
Harder than anything else.
Because now—
there was proof.
"Stop."
Sinta's voice cut in.
No one stopped.
"You don't trust me."
Rani said it.
Clear.
Direct.
Arga didn't deny it.
"…not when it risks lives."
Silence.
That wasn't strategy anymore.
That was personal.
"…say that again."
Rani stepped closer.
Arga didn't move.
"…we don't have time for mistakes."
"And I'm a mistake?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
The air shifted.
Too tight.
Too close.
One step—
and it wouldn't be words anymore.
"OKAY—ENOUGH!"
Bimo stepped between them.
For once—
no humor.
No deflection.
"…we're falling apart right now."
That—
finally stopped them.
"Enough."
Sinta again.
Different this time.
Not emotional.
Not reactive.
Final.
"We failed."
No softness.
No excuse.
"Not because we were slow."
She looked at both of them.
"…because we weren't together."
Silence.
That hurt more than blame.
No one defended themselves.
Because everyone felt it.
The ride back—
was worse than before.
No anger.
No shouting.
Just distance.
Pak Rahmat listened.
Didn't interrupt.
Didn't react.
"…target escaped."
Arga nodded.
"…yes."
Silence.
"…this is how teams die."
No one moved.
"Not because you're weak."
His eyes sharpened.
"…because you're divided."
Silence.
"You think the enemy doesn't see this?"
No answer.
They didn't need one.
Far away—
a screen flickered.
The man in the hat watched.
The hesitation.
The conflict.
The failure.
He smiled.
Slow.
Certain.
"…perfect."
A tap.
New targets appeared.
Closer.
More aggressive.
"…they're slower now."
A pause.
"…and that's all we need."
That night—
no one trained.
No one talked.
No one made a plan.
Because something more important—
had already broken.
Not their strength.
Not their power.
Their timing.
Their trust.
Their unity.
And without that—
they weren't a team.
They were just—
individuals
standing on the same side.
And against what was coming
that wouldn't be enough.