"That damn mirror… good thing my investigation was right."
The man's footsteps echoed down the long, brown hallway. He carried a bag in his right hand, wore a blangkon1 on his head, and dressed in a plain white suit. He walked—steady, unhurried—and stopped in front of a wooden door. Above it, a sign read: "GENERAL SECRETARY."
Tok, tok, tok
A soft knock came from the door. "Assalamualaikum, Mr. ████████—it's Djoko. May I come in?" the man said from outside the door. "Please, come in," came the reply from inside. The door opened, and Djoko stepped in, then closed it behind him. Inside sat an old man in a black songkok, with stacks of papers all over his desk. He looked up at Djoko, still standing by the door, and said, "Have a seat, Djoko!"
Djoko sat where he was told and placed his bag to the right of his chair. "Djoko, do you know why I called you here?" pointed the pen he was holding at Djoko's face. "The second revision of document AN/011 only adds that the experiment on him is temporarily suspended—and you want me to sign this? Is this a joke?" the old man added, his tone sharp.
"No, sir—this is no joke. The suspension was necessary because the effects have proven highly dangerous, and we're getting no new useful data from it," Djoko replied. He reached into his bag and pulled out several documents—reports on the subjects' conditions over the past three weeks. He handed them to the old man. At the end of the report, it was written clearly, three out of ten subjects had died by suicide. "Hah? Nonsense!" the old man barked. "Since when do we care about those communist traitors? Resume the experiment. It's only thirty percent—barely a loss." A smile curled across his face.
"But, sir…" Djoko said quietly. "No buts. Resume it until we get new results!" the old man shot back, firm and final. "Sir, that's not why I made that decision," Djoko said, his voice steady now. "Then what? Stop wasting my time and get out!" the old man snapped. Djoko took off his blangkon and turned it inside out, showing it to the old man. Inside the headpiece, a small fragment of AN/011 was embedded in the fabric—and on it, a dark, shadowy figure stared back, smiling.
The old man caught a glimpse of it—and immediately broke into a cold sweat. Seeing that, Djoko turned his blangkon back around, glanced at the AN/011 fragment, and said, "Wow, sir—I had no idea you were working with MC&D. How much are they paying you?" The old man jolted at the words. His foot accidentally kicked the underside of the table, sending piles of papers crashing to the floor. "How dare you, Djoko—are you playing me?" the old man said, his voice trembling.
Djoko looked back at the AN/011 fragment and replied, "Tell you what, sir—if you don't want your name dragged through the mud over that little affair of yours, I suggest you sign the document right away. I promise I won't spread it, as long as you do exactly as I say." With a face twisted in frustration, the old man signed. "There—it's done. You keep your word!" he said, fear creeping into his voice.
With the matter settled, Djoko walked out of the room, putting his blangkon back on. The moment the door closed behind him, he bolted to the bathroom—and vomited. Pale-faced, he muttered to himself "That damn mirror… good thing my investigation was right."