The air inside the hidden corner of the Sector 1 emergency medical supply warehouse felt utterly suffocated, reeking of carbolic acid, dirty gauze bandages, and the cold sweat of scurrying volunteers. In the cramped room illuminated by a single dim hanging bulb, a young woman with short shoulder-length hair wearing a white medical volunteer coat stood rigidly in front of a small portable CRT television.

Naya’s fingers clamped so tightly onto the wooden table before her that her knuckles turned stark white. Her eyes locked onto the glass screen with a mix of disbelief and a surging fury threatening to burst straight out of her chest.

On the television screen, a national live broadcast was airing a grand press conference hosted at the National Information Center Building. Beneath the glare of dozens of reporters' camera lights and a barrage of flashing camera strobes, Vian Pratama—Aethel Corp's director of operations—stood with absolute composure behind the main podium. He wore a crisp, light-gray designer suit without a single speck of dust, projecting the image of an authoritative, professional, and deeply empathetic corporate leader.

Behind Vian, a colossal screen displayed statistical graphs of the previous night's urban riots under a screaming news headline: MAN-MADE DISASTER - SECTOR 4 SABOTAGE.

"My fellow countrymen,"

Vian’s voice boomed calmly through the television speakers, dripping with manufactured concern. "What we witnessed last night—the devastating micro-quake, the total blackout, and the mass panic in the central district—was neither a natural disaster nor a failure of the infrastructure systems managed by our company. It was purely an act of planned sabotage carried out by an irresponsible internal element."

Naya snorted cynically, her teeth grinding in suppressed rage. "Lying bastard... He's twisting the narrative as easily as flipping his hand!" she whispered sharply, nearly letting her anger explode inside the cramped room.

On the television screen, a reporter from a national news station raised a hand, posing a question in a tense tone. "Mr. Pratama, the military just released a statement claiming that a single municipal public works employee bears full responsibility for the incident. Can you elaborate on who this perpetrator is?"

Vian smiled faintly, striking an expression as though he were carrying a crushing burden for the nation's safety. He stared straight into the television camera lens with cold, calculated eyes.

"That is correct. Based on internal investigations and digital forensic audits we conducted alongside law enforcement, the mastermind behind the emergency valve sabotage and the leaking of sub-surface anomaly data is a young mid-level engineer from Sector 4 Municipal Public Works... an employee by the name of Zulfa Arditama."

Naya recoiled violently. Her breath caught in her throat. "Zulfa... they're actually turning him into a scapegoat!" she gasped softly, clapping one hand over her mouth to stifle a frustrated sob.

The night before, right after successfully escaping the underground evacuation tunnel, Naya had spent hours pulling an all-nighter at an emergency internet cafe to upload all the raw documents, video footage, and proof of Aethel Corp's crimes to the public internet servers. She had believed that effort would open the world's eyes.

Yet, she had underestimated the sheer reach of the corporation's grip.

Less than two hours after the upload went live, every independent server Naya contacted experienced a massive system error. Social media accounts sharing the links were automatically blocked by national censorship algorithms, and all digital data files stored on her phone vanished without a trace—wiped clean by a cyber counter-attack from Aethel Corp's security division.

They controlled the entire flow of public information. Not a single shred of digital proof remained to defend Zulfa.

Bzzzt—

On the television screen, the anchor took over the broadcast as Vian stepped down from the podium. A photograph of Zulfa Arditama—pulled directly from his civil servant ID card—flashed across the screen, taking up half the glass display. Beneath the photo, blazing red bold text declared a horrifying legal status:

STATE FUGITIVE - OMEGA THREAT LEVEL

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE FOR DOMESTIC TERRORISM AND INFRASTRUCTURE SABOTAGE

Naya stared at the photo as tears finally broke, spilling down her cheeks. "Zulfa... what am I supposed to do now? They turned you into a public enemy overnight..." Naya choked out softly, clenching her fists so hard her fingernails dug deep into her palms.

Meanwhile, inside the Sector 1 military emergency medical tent standing tall over the ruins of the Central Public Square, Zulfa Arditama lay rigidly on an iron cot, his wrists chained in steel cuffs.

Before him, a small portable television set atop a nurse's cart broadcasted that exact same press conference. Vian Pratama’s calm yet deceptive voice echoed through the cramped medical tent guarded strictly by two armed soldiers.

The impeccably suited Aethel Corp special envoy standing beside Zulfa's cot broke into a wide smile, crossing his arms over his chest as he glanced at the television screen before lowering his gaze to stare down at Zulfa with profound condescension.

"Well, Engineer Arditama," the suited envoy spoke in a casual tone laden with veiled threat. "You heard it yourself, didn't you, what the world has to say? In the eyes of the law and millions of citizens out there, you aren't a hero trying to save the city anymore. You're a damn terrorist who nearly brought down civilization."

Zulfa didn't answer. He stared straight at the television screen flashing his face as public enemy number one. His chest, still flaring with pain from the shadow entity's grip, felt tighter than ever—not from his physical wounds, but from the searing rage scorching his entire mind.

The corporate envoy leaned in close to Zulfa's ear, whispering a parting sentence that made Zulfa's blood boil to its absolute limit:

"So, enjoy the rest of your life in a military prison's subterranean isolation cell, because tomorrow morning... the world officially forgets you ever existed."