The night air in the Sector 7 slums always reeked of ozone, digital sewage, and burning server dust. Inside a cramped three-by-three-meter attic room, the only source of illumination came from the dull, flickering green glow of a worn-out monitor screen.

Gilang let out a low grunt, taking a deep drag from a cheap vape whose thin vapor billowed faintly under a dying desk lamp. His tired eyes stared at the Occult Exchange charts on the main display. Red numbers shifted wildly, climbing and plunging in sync with the fluctuations of global spiritual energy.

In the top left corner, Ant Corp’s stock chart surged like a runaway rocket, dominating over sixty percent of the global occult market capitalization. The corporation had long ago transformed magic, curses, and ethereal entities into public commodities traded just like fossil energy stocks or crypto assets.

"Damn it. Top-tier curse stocks are rising again, while my wallet balance hits rock bottom," Gilang muttered, swiping a rough hand across the touchpad of his old laptop to close the app window.

As a paranormal problem-solving freelancer, Gilang’s life was far from glamorous. There were no tailored suits or high-rise offices on the hundredth floor. His existence revolved around the vicious cycle of the Gig-Exorcist app—an on-demand platform where desperate people ordered exorcists as easily as booking a rideshare or fast food.

The phone on the desk suddenly buzzed violently. A high-pitched electronic ringtone pierced the silence of the room.

“New Task Alert: E-Minus Class Poltergeist. Location: Rusunawa Apartment, Block C, 4th Floor. Estimated Response Time: 10 Minutes. Potential Reward: 150,000 Digital Rupiah.”

Gilang rolled his eyes in annoyance. "An E-minus poltergeist? That’s not a ghost; that’s just a pile of static energy from a short-circuited fridge. But whatever... a hundred and fifty grand is enough to buy three cartons of instant coffee."

Without wasting time, Gilang pushed himself up from his squeaky plastic chair. He grabbed his faded black bomber jacket, slipped on fingerless tactical gloves, and slid a forty-centimeter short sword into its custom sheath resting against his spine. The blade was lined with pure crystal salt and engraved with digital rune codes that glowed faintly upon detecting astral entities. On his right wrist, he strapped a circular iron digital sensor bracelet adorned with a blinking blue LED indicator.

Fifteen minutes later, Gilang stood before room number 404 in Rusunawa Block C. The apartment hallway was dead silent, illuminated by a dim, buzzing neon light.

With a swift twitch of the handle—using a digital bypass app he downloaded from an underground forum—the door swung open soundless.

"Hello? Homeowner?" Gilang called out flatly, stepping into the messy room.

The atmosphere inside felt cold and damp. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink, while an old cathode-ray tube television in the corner turned itself on, displaying a screen full of noisy white snow static.

Suddenly, a sharp, shrill child's laugh echoed from the direction of the bathroom ceiling.

Clang!

A glass tumbler flew from the kitchen rack, hurtling straight toward Gilang’s head. With reflexes honed by years of surviving peril, Gilang leaned smoothly to the side. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces against the concrete floor.

"Rude. Breaking people's property like that," Gilang muttered coldly.

From the dark corner of the ceiling, a transparent child-shaped shadow with glowing red eyes swooped down, clawing the air with long, black fingernails. The entity shrieked loudly, generating a high-frequency sound wave that made his ears ring.

Gilang didn't panic. He raised his right hand. The digital sensor bracelet on his wrist flashed rapidly, emitting a low-pressure electromagnetic wave that slowed the poltergeist's movements by a split second.

"Go carry your own life baggage, kid," Gilang snapped sharply.

In one fluid motion, Gilang drew the short sword from his back. A swift slash accompanied by a flash of white light from the pure salt engravings struck dead center into the entity's energy core.

A blue flash exploded!

The poltergeist let out a stifled scream as its astral body was torn apart by the combination of digital energy and holy salt. Gilang agilely tossed a small capsule labeled Soul-Trap Capsule into the air. The capsule popped open, unleashing a magnetic vacuum suction that instantly drew the entity’s remaining black smoke into the tiny glass container.

Gilang caught the capsule, which had now shifted to a bright neon green, signaling the entity was safely locked away. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

He tapped the completion button on the Gig-Exorcist app on his phone.

“Task Completed. Payment is being processed by the Ant Corp Gateway system...”

Gilang waited for a moment, leaning against the peeling kitchen wall. A moment later, a brief vibration signaled the deposit had arrived. He glanced at his phone screen to check the final total.

His eyes immediately narrowed sharply.

"Hey, wait a minute. A ninety percent corporate tax deduction?!" he yelled half-aloud in the empty room. "Damn it! Out of a hundred and fifty grand, only fifteen thousand rupiah actually made it to my wallet! How is that supposed to buy a month's worth of coffee?!"

Gilang grumbled extensively, venting his frustration by lightly kicking an empty tin can on the floor. Ant Corp’s monopoly system truly choked independent freelancers like him. Every transaction, every exorcism, got clipped by occult regulatory taxes arbitrarily decided by the corporate board of directors up in the central tower.

He walked out of the apartment unit feeling deeply disgruntled, intending to head back to his attic to sleep. However, right as he descended the third-floor stairs and flicked his phone screen back on to check the walking route home, something strange happened.

Every single app on his phone suddenly shut down simultaneously. The screen plunged into pitch blackness.

Gilang halted mid-step on the dim staircase. "What is this now? Don't tell me the battery's dying..."

Suddenly, a blood-red notification pop-up flashed in the middle of his phone screen.

No app logo, no Gig-Exorcist menu. Just a plain text window framed in striking antique gold, casting a glaring light in the stairwell's darkness.

Gilang furrowed his brow, reading the text line slowly.

“Warning: Out-of-System Emergency Request Detected. Target: Lost Soul User (Sector 0). Reward: 500,000,000 Digital Rupiah + Ant Corp Secret File Access. Meeting Point: Sector 4 Dead-End Alley, 02:00 AM tonight. Note: Come alone, or your sibling suffers the same fate.”

Gilang froze. His heart hammered harder than usual. Half a billion digital rupiah? And a threat dragging someone else's name into it? This wasn't some low-tier side gig just to earn coffee money anymore. This was an open invitation straight into a tiger's den.

Before Gilang could even think to close or trace the origin of the notification, his phone suddenly vibrated violently, emitting a faint burning odor from the speaker port, before going completely dead—leaving Gilang stranded in the cold night darkness of the apartment stairwell.