

The Last Bastion of Ingei

Day 1

by Aammton Alias

Copyright © 2016 Aammton Alias

All Rights Reserved

Cover design by Aammton Alias

Please visit my website at http://www.b1percent.com

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Contents Page

Acknowledgements

Preface

Arowana

Arin: Prequel

Arin: Run

Adib: Rain

Selym: MATA

Adib: Deal

Selym: Vote

Azilah: Intruder

Nurul: Eagles

Selym: Shadow

Adib: Turtle

John: Watcher

Selym: Discretion

Adib: Visit

Karin: Love

About The Author

My Other Books
Dedicated to the fine few, the Brave; the Realised, bound to a Cause others have closed their eyes to, a Sacrifice that can never be measured.
Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my good friends Dr Jawad K and Ms Adrina Agus Din who allowed me to relentlessly bounce ideas and forward my 'freshly baked' chapters direct to their mobile phones, with no regards to the unsocial hours in anticipation of their immediate and nurturing feedback.
Preface

This supernatural sci-fi thriller book is the first book in the series. As I could not wait to tell you the story as soon as possible. I have decided to release the book bit by bit, 'day by day.' as the events in the world of 'The Last Bastion of Ingei' reveals itself. I can send you updates and offers on the next book release if you register yourself with http://www.b1percent.com email list.

As you will find out, I have not mentioned which Southeast Asian country, this story is based on, so as to avoid sensitivities, but it should be easy to guess. In the past few years, I have discovered some truths and untruths about the Unseen who appear in shadows in the fleeting moments of our weakness, in times of their accumulated strength.

The Unseen work beyond the jungles and into our modern global world to sow fear and discord as they seek to regain what they believe to be rightfully theirs - our world. And yet we are all unaware, blinded by the dazzle of hustles, deaf to the beat of our own hearts trying to make sense of an existence that is spiralling out of control, as the corrupt offer themselves to lead us out of the chaos.

What if I told you that this story it is actually based on a number of real accounts, real legends and real tragedy, the characters based in this book and the book series is actually based on real people, some characters are mash of other characters so as to protect their real identity...

What if I told you one of the main stories involved is a quiet account of an actual soldier who went missing for 23 days in the jungles of Labi, and when he was found malnourished and in bad shape, he said he was in a 'village' not of this world...

What if I told you that the search party which included elite rangers had witnessed the most bizarre of horrific events in the jungles of Labi...

There is a local saying that we should leave things the way they are, and yet the injustice remains hidden right in front of us, in front of our very eyes.

30th November

Arowana

Location: Ingei River, Labi

Boi knows he should not be there.

The Ingei river is teeming with life, a wildlife sanctuary, protected by law but trespassed by many of the likes of Boi, poachers who will never understand the term 'wildlife protection' and will never understand the number of species that have yet to be discovered.

After a few days' journey upstream on his single-engine wooden boat or 'perahu', Boi reaches his secret fishing spot on the Ingei river. He is well-prepared, stocked up on cheap illegal Indonesian cigarettes, dry food rations, soft drinks and a GPS receiver.

He will be 40 next month, and wonders what he should buy for his birthday. Working as a security guard at the local hospital barely pays the household bills. He drops down a couple of underwater traps into the brownish yet clear river and then casts his lucky fishing line.

His usual fishing buddy, Johari, is not with him this time as he is unwell with the flu. So he says anyway.

I'm going to win big, Jo.

Boi smiles on the thought of not having to share his catch this time.

Usually, his partner and him would catch exotic fishes, especially the much desired Arowana fish (an Osteoglossidae) – a favourite amongst Asian aquariums - and store them in polystyrene boxes, equipped with battery powered aerators. Then they would sell the fishes to their agent, who is well connected to a network of local and international collectors, keen to part their money for rare and beautiful specimens. Boi has his own network of clients he found on Facebook. He neither comprehends nor does he care that the Arowana is on the International Union for the Conservation of Nature or IUCN Red List of Threatened Species.

Being a pathological day-dreamer, he dreams about driving a posh sports car and 'picking up' beautiful women. The kind of women who would not even notice him on a normal day.

His ambitious endeavour is pushed by recent Facebook posts of other poachers who had caught an unclassified 'Super Golden Blue-Red Arowana' fish. A Golden Arowana itself is a rare and much prized fish whilst a Super Golden Blue-Red Arowana is unheard of until now. The secret frenzied bidding that ensued, pushed prices spiralling to that of a luxury saloon car. Whilst casting his line, Boi daydreams driving a new 'Godzilla'; the Nissan GT-R at breakneck speed on the highway – his feeble mind not understanding that he could never afford the maintenance costs of such a beastly supercar.

Today, the slow moving river is coloured like lightly brewed tea, almost clear, with most of the riverbed visible from the surface. Boi ponders upon his luck, perhaps the clear water must be a good sign of good fortune.

The Arowana loves its prey: small fishes, insects and even spiders. It is capable of jumping out of the water to gobble up insects in mid-air. Unfortunately, this is one of the reasons why it is sought after by aquarium owners. The Arowana brings good luck and prosperity. Just another excuse on useless ownership and the mark of a tragically good sales strategy.

Boi feels a very strong tug on his fishing rod. He holds on to the fishing rod with all his strength, and then unreels a bit of the fishing wire. Boi is a talented fisherman, he knows how to tire a fighter fish like the Arowana. Judging from the effort and strength he has to put up to hold the fish at bay, he can tell this is going to be the biggest Arowana he will ever catch. He pulls back the fishing rod, bent and yet unbroken, he winds and unwinds the fishing reel.

"My wildest dreams is coming true. Before I buy that car, I better get a new iPhone 6 Plus," he says to himself. Not giving in easily, Boi continues to struggle against the fish.

"If only Johari was here, he would film me and I could post this footage on YouTube, setup my own fishing YouTube channel. I'll be famous and teach people how to fish," gasping to himself, whilst catching his breath.

"I better get a MacBook and an iPad, as well," he can feel the giant fish tiring, but then so is he.

"When I am successful, I'll get a beautiful watch... hmm maybe a Rolex."

Boi is not aware of what is happening around him, how suddenly silent the jungle around the river had become. All the jungle creatures and critters are spooked, knowing they will become witnesses to a tragedy.

And then it starts.

Small bubbles rapidly effervescence from beneath the small boat, becoming larger and bigger bubbles. A foam of bubbles furiously surrounds the boat, and spreads to the rest of the river. The boat sinks lower into the water. No, the water near the boat is actually disappearing and the river dries out mysteriously.

The whole turn of events shocks Boi.

"Where did the water go?"

A thousand questions flashes through his mind, trying to ascertain the logic of it all. His boat is now resting on the muddy river bed. The brackish smell of the river is strong, semi-pungent, he can see the fish traps he had just dropped in earlier.

"Is this for real? Please let it not be real," he prayed.

Boi knows he should have stayed at home. He should have been grateful for what he already had. He cannot see the Presence heading towards him. All he can sense is a primordial, clear and present danger. There is nowhere to run. Tears run down his cheeks, jerked by tiny sobs as he desperately tries to figure out a prayer, a mantra, anything to stop the inevitable. Thoughts of regret and loved ones storm in his mind.

The Presence stands before him, huge and tall, whilst its underling watches it from nearby. Boi cannot see what is in front of him, but he feels his life force seeping away, his heart pounding fast and hard, then beating slowly and erratically. The Presence projects its hand into Boi's chest, bypassing layers of fat, muscle and tissue, like it is not there in the first place. With a powerful squeeze, the heart ceases to beat.

Hopes and dreams are crushed into nothing.

The Presence is grateful that Boi is – was – a heavy smoker. His family will think he had a heart attack from all that heavy smoking. No human will ask questions. Even the wise elder ones in his village will understand and say nothing. There will be no retaliation on the Presence and its kind.

The Presence vanishes and the lifeless body slumps down, crashing into and breaking the polystyrene boxes. And as quickly as the water had disappeared, the river water replenishes from nowhere. The jungle becomes loud and noisy again. These witnesses will never tell.

The poacher's body and boat begins to float downstream. Passing fishermen will find Boi in a few days' time.
One Year Ago

Arin: Prequel

Location: Unknown Jungle

The noon sun occasionally penetrates through the foliage of the tall jungle trees, spotlights on patches of the wet, soggy jungle floor, we avoid like the stealthy creatures of harm-bringers. The humidity and ear-buzzing of the jungle, we are so accustomed to that we hardly mind it. We have no enemy to worry about, but our training has been so ingrained in us, that we do, before we think. Although, we are cautious, we know no one, nothing would dare us, not even the poachers who have with no shame or fear marked the occasional 'Gaharu' or sandalwood trees with their initials in ominous red paint. Like the jungle animals, these trespassing poachers love to mark their territory, crossing from the border into our forgiving and plentiful land, felling sandalwood trees as well as other hardwood trees. The trees have become sparser over the past few years. I wonder if anyone would weep for the missing.

"We should shoot them, Tuan." Matt, the newest member of our team, who is fair and pretty-faced that he could be confused as a K-Pop star or Korean Pop star. How did he get himself into my unit?

I ignore Matt, whilst the other two members of this unit steal glances at each other.

Ismi whispers as we slowly walk through the semi-wet jungle floor, "Shoot who? Shoot you?"

"I meant shoot these illegal Gaharu tree poachers, stealing our wood from our country. There are worth tens of thousands of dollars each," Matt replies.

The Captain, the leader of this squad, who is ahead of us, signals for us to rest, then quickly runs towards Mat, his steps ever light and soft - barely crunching the brown leaf littered jungle floor. The Captain huffs and angrily whispers to Matt - grimacing mountain ridges of expressions.

"What's wrong with you? Don't you ever close that mouth? This is a bloody recon unit. The First Recon Unit is known to be stealthy and quiet, talk when only absolutely necessary. How the hell did you get transferred to my unit?!"

I know a part of the Captain wanted to shoot his Colt Commando semi-automatic rifle at this loud-mouth, loud mouth Matt.

Matt whispers apologies and does not get shot.

Why would we ask for trouble unless trouble comes to us? Shooting them means reports to fill in, interrogation during debriefings. The army isn't about Arnold Schwarzenegger types, shooting everyone down on his own. We have become meticulous and structured. And then what if they retaliate. What if by some dumb luck a stray bullet hits and kills one of us, the more elite of soldiers in our army. They would be hell to pay for, especially for our commanding officers.

I gaze upon our Captain and admire him, he is a fine soldier and a grounded leader whom I would follow to hell and back - and yet I know he would definitely be the first to be scapegoated.

That's why Rules of Engagements are in place.

The Captain moves up front to stay in formation.

I admire him, he is the essence of a true leader, one who is first in a bad situation and always the last one out. We move with the day shadows of the jungle towards our target. The Captain signals with his fist for us to stop, and then does a upside down thumbs gestures and then points to a direction straight ahead.

Lance Corporal Ismi stretches his neck upwards, showing his bulging Adam's throat, snorts and then sniffs the air, and signals with his right hand, flashes an open palm with five fingers and then closing his fist and displaying his thumb, nodding slowly - a mime rehearsed and understood so many times, it can be done with closed eyes.

"What does the nod mean?" Matt whispers to me.

I do my best not to show any emotion. "It means there is a presence ahead, maybe around five or six members."

"How do you know this, Tuan Arin?"

I look at Matt, acknowledge my right to be addressed as a Tuan, a Sir, whilst with an expressionless face, I admire his fair complexion and almost perfect physique, and yet he has a mind of a 12-year-old child, which a part of me wants to bludgeon with the butt of my semi-automatic rifle.

"If you didn't hear it before, then you can smell it. Can you smell it, Matt?"

"Smell what?" Matt, his child-like expression of puzzlement and yet ever so curious, does not suit someone of his physical shape.

"A campfire - large enough for more than three people, rice cooking, a pot of wrongly cooked wild chicken or maybe something partially cooked," Ismi, a lance corporal with a chisel facial features, interrupts in angry whispers.

"Okay, I can't smell anything but even if I could, how did you know it was five to six person?"

"Private Matt, it's something you pick up with experience. The smell tells the number of people," Ismi looks smug, as I acknowledge his experience.

"That's just rubbish, you can't tell the persons there just by their smell." Matt argues back.

"Wanna make a bet? Say a hundred dollars," Ismi challenges Matt, who eagerly agrees.

Ray sternly looks at the both of them, and they both know it's time to stop talking and focus on our patrol mission.

We surround the source of the obnoxious scent, with the slow trampling and crunching of brown large and green leaves on the jungle floor, and sure enough a small clearing in the middle of the jungle. A poachers' makeshift camp with a smokeless fire burning strong and still cooking 'lunch content' of a medium sized aluminium pot. Lunch does not smell so good, perhaps it is a deer carcass, half rotting that the poachers could not resist. I am no longer surprised by the 'resourcefulness' of the poachers to eat anything they can find in our jungles.

"Stay alert, boys."

The Captain motions to me, that he will check out the perimeter of the camp. He turns back, points two fingers at his eyes and then points at Matt. I nod. There are no words and yet I know what he means: Watch the loud-mouth idiot.

Matt looks excited, revealing his perfect set of white and unstained teeth in his smile, runs over to check the contents of a plastic tub, revealing the fragrance of white starchy rice. "Just perfect, freshly cooked rice and a pot of chicken cooking - I think,"

"It could be a monitor lizard or a snake they were cooking you know. You know you lost your bet loud-mouth-Mat." Ismi points to five backpacks and five sets of white plastic plates and the matching spoons and forks.

"What bet?" Matt shrugs. Ismi tenses up, his neck angles to the side, he is clearly upset, and in the hot sweltering tropical jungle, when tempers flare, death can become the only reality.

I calm Ismi down. "Matt, you made a bet. Pay up now, otherwise give me something as escrow."

"Escrow. Yes, it means I keep something of yours until you pay the hundred dollars to Ismi. You're new in the unit and you have to earn our trust."

I point at his military branded 'Luminox' watch. "No Tuan, this is a thousand-dollar watch." Before I could argue, I catch a glimpse of sliver of silver around Mat's neck.

"How about that necklace?"

"It's a silver talisman, my grandfather gave this to me for protection. Of course, the only protection I need is here," Mat grabs his crouch and then takes out his army issue knife, 12 inches of carbonized steel blade and clumsily wave-slices the air, "and this - the kind for one-on-one intimate penetration...er... protection."

"Shut up, Mat. Pass the necklace to Tuan Arin. You better honour your word. I heard you promised to treat some friends in your last unit at a Chinese restaurant, and instead of paying, you ran!"

Mat laughs as he slaps his thigh, "No, that was different. That was a good prank, a funny one."

"And how did you end up not being dead?" Ray asks as he examines the cooking pot. "They know who my fiancée is - the Colonel's daughter."

"Well, that explains everything," Ray smirks.

Mat takes off the talisman and throws it to me, "Don't lose it, please Tuan Sir."

I catch the talisman in my right palm. Instead of pocketing the talisman, I could feel a strange sensation in my palm, the talisman is very warm and feels very weighted. I open my palm, an old silver talisman, more dull and dark grey than silver, though I thought I saw it shine earlier. For a talisman, I am surprised that they are not markings, no inscription of any kind. I contemplate on whether to put it in my pocket - which could mean I would lose it and then decide to wear it over my own neck.

"It's not chicken," Ray removes the lid of the cooking pot, the steam and the sweet and yet pungent smell of unfamiliar meat being simmering in the cloud white stew.

"Well, it's not monitor lizard or snake." Ismi stirs the pot and see a strange carcass floating in the cooking pot, white and pale, soft and once alive.

I walk towards them and peek inside the cooking pot. It's a dead and cooked pangolin, the large armoured scales are no more, only recognisable is the long snout and the claws of this ant-eater.

"It's a Tenggiling," I utter in disgust.

"A Tenggiling is a pangolin," Ray explains to Matt, who looks baffled.

"Maybe the poacher had impotence issues." Mat tries to amuse us.

"In that case, you better eat this whole pot. Not sure if it will ever help you, Mat. Your fiancée's been telling me you've been having problems getting it up," Ray taps on the aluminium pot.

The Captain arrives back, "I can't find their tracks, the poachers - they left here without leaving any tracks..."

"That's strange, Captain Sir. It seems they left everything here in a hurry. We can see they left a large footprint here and yet were they really skilled enough to leave without a trace?"

'What vital piece of information missing?' I wonder to myself.

An uneasiness sneaks up to me, a sense that we are in great danger, and yet all around I see we are safe at this campsite, with food and provisions lying around the camp.

"What did they cook?" The Captain asks.

"Pangolin," Ismi replies with a frown.

"That would bring nothing but bad luck." I sense the Captain's wariness. Having been under his command for all these years, I can almost read his mind. He is troubled by something, almost expectantly.

Matt leans nearer to the pot and scoops out a morsel, "Got to try everything you know. Join the army, be adventurous."

A red spot appears in the middle of the Pangolin stew, then turning grey and then dissipating into the stew. We all look into the stew pot: Are we really seeing what we are seeing?

More red spots appear in the stew, quickly turning into grey spots, but this time not disappearing. A flurry of red large spots reappears, bubbling furiously in the stew, turning grey each time, and then the pot turns overwhelmingly red, fills to the brim, sizzling red and outpouring on the floor.

I take two steps back and see a line coming out of the pot, a line of red liquid. I blink my eyes again, and see the illusion, the red liquid is flowing from above.

There is red fluid dripping from above and into the pot. I look up but the sunlight blinds me. I take a few more steps back, and to my horror I discover how the poachers were able to disappear without leaving tracks on the jungle floor.

Dismembered torsos, limbs, and five severed heads - eye missing in a few sockets, strewn on the branches of a petrified tree, dripping blood down onto a main branch and flowing down into the pot. I grip my Colt Commando semi-automatic rifle, the metal feeling much colder than ever, unlatching the safety, my own eyes refusing to budge as I stare at the petrified scream of horror of the nearest head, a former poacher now turned tree trophy - paled and impaled.

"Was it a bear that did this?" Ismi shouts as the others edge away from the ominous pot. I hear choking and shallow breathing, it's Ray. His face is turning red and blue at the same time, holding on to his neck, struggling and clawing his neck.

"What's wrong, Ray?" Matt shouts out, but not willing to come to his aid. Ray mumbles, and then we notice how his feet is not touching the jungle ground. He is levitating above the jungle floor.

There is a short glimpse of a shadow behind him, which disappears when I try to focus.

What was that?

Ismi runs towards Ray, who continues to struggle with the unseen. I try to move to help, but my feet refuse to move. I am frozen in fear. How can this be? I am a soldier. I am an elite. Ismi pulls Ray down, and Ray falls to the ground and starts gasping for breath. The Captain takes out his parang, a machete and runs towards Ismi and Ray, jumps up and then attacks and slashes the empty air around Ray. A glimpse of a black shadow wall appears and then instantly disappears. The Captain lands on his feet, his eyes in a wild stare at an enemy I cannot see. I rub my eyes but I cannot see what is there.

Ray starts to orientate, stands up, and pulls up Ismi, "You saved my life, Ismi. When we get back home, I'll..."

Before Ray could complete his sentence, flesh protrudes from his chest, ripping his uniform and blood, enveloping a giant hand that goes through his chest. A hand drenched in Ray's blood and flesh, a hand larger than Ray's head. Ray shows his disbelief and then his head flops down, his limbs devoid of life. I stare at Ray, and I cannot accept that he is dead. I cannot accept what could kill him, even as I start to see the shape that is behind Ray, the owner of the hand that had plunged into Ray's torso and impaled him and his heart. The shape, humanoid, and yet nothing but a demon in the form of a shadow, so dark and black and all the essence of evil, if not the origin of all evil, standing, seemingly proud of its kill. It throws the body of my friend and my team comrade Ray hurtling towards Ismi, who tumbles hard with the force of the impact of dead Ray. Poor Ray.

Matt cocks his Colt M4 Carbine rifle and starts shooting blindly around where the demon is, the rounds striking trees and foliage, as splinters and broken branches litter the ground as Matt empties a magazine of rounds. It is clear Matt cannot see the demon. He fumbles and manages to load the next magazine.

"Die, mother-f..."

Before anyone could respond, the demon swoops down onto Matt, and throws him up into the air, above the branches of the petrified tree. In mid-air, with one swing of its hand, the demon severs Matt in the abdomen. Matt screams momentarily in pain, and then nothing, Matt remains quiet as the lower half of his torso and legs fall down onto the ground, his intestines follow through, falling down like moist floppy rope. As if saving him for later, the demon impales Matt's chest on to a tree branch.

The fear overwhelms me. I cannot move my legs. I pull out my knife and swear I would not die without a fight.

The Captain runs towards Ismi, pulls him up. "Get up, soldier! We need to retreat. FAR AWAY FROM HERE!"

They both run towards me. "Move Arin! Run!"

Time slows down, I see them both run towards me. Before they can reach me, Ismi is thrown into the air landing half-way up a giant tree and then falls down back to the ground, only to be swooped up by the giant demon.

"Don't kill him, you monster!" I scream out. The Captain does not bother to look back. He knows what will happen.

Like a ragged doll, Ismi is flung against the trunk of the same tree, head first, as his skull crunches and shatters and all the brain and blood matter splatters on the dark green and brown tree trunk.

Both fear and anger try to enter emotions but block each other off.

The Captain holds my head in both hands, shouts slowly and as clearly as he can "Arin, you need to run and save yourself. Now cover your eyes." The Captain throws two grenades near the cooking pot, landing with a soft thud and no bounce. The Captain covers my eyes with one hand and throws himself against me, as we both duck on to moist wet ground.

A flash of light followed a blast wave shakes the core of my body. A singe in my right thigh awakens my legs. I can feel my legs, the pain and burning sensation on my feet. A loud ringing feels the air, I can barely hear what the captain is saying as he flips back up onto his feet, and then pulls me up, "Arin, there is a river near here. Go there and you will be safe. I will buy you time."

I want to object - I should stay with the Captain and fight - but no words come out of my mouth.

"Corporal Arin, I command you to run and save yourself!"

And with that, I follow his orders, and run I did. I run as fast as my legs can take me, I run as though there is no tomorrow.

There is no tomorrow.

There is no tomorrow.

There is no tomorrow.
1st December

Arin: Run

Location: Unknown Jungle

"CAPTAIN, WHERE ARE YOU?"

Where is everyone? ARE THEY REALLY ALL DEAD?! Did all that really happen right in front of my eyes?

I force myself to stop the visual flashbacks of the recent horrific events, images that do not make sense surround me - is this real? That is not a question I must ask now. I must live. I must survive.

Survival is tantamount.

The jungle echoes my words as I fight the sweat dripping down my forehead, stinging both my eyes and the small cuts on my face and arms - the trees and the branches trying all to stop me from leaving. Wiping hard and I can barely keep my eyes open. Panting hard and wheezing, I rest briefly, hands descend and rest on my thighs, barely stooping - I can barely feel my feet, trembling hard, running through this wretched tropical jungle for too long.

The sun is sinking down fast -too fast- and the unforgiving darkness is engulfing this terrible, cursed jungle. Rumbling thunderously and ominously, my pursuer crashes through the dark jungle nearby, broken tree branches fall from the tree canopy in the near distance, smaller trees crunch and shatter, whilst hundreds of birds fly in all directions as screeching tiny primates flee from the imminent danger.

I am not imagining this.

I examine my 'digital camo' tiger-striped army trousers, and wince at wound in my right thigh and the unlikely fragile union of clotted blood and wooden fragments lodged stopping me from bleeding to death. The sight brings me to the awareness of the pain. The pain of survival.

Push myself now. I am First Recon Unit. I am the toughest of the toughest. I will survive. I will beat that thing.

A blood-curdling scream shatters my thoughts, a now-futile attempt to recollect myself.

The demon has found me, knocking down everything in its path - it is unstoppable - half as tall as the jungle trees and blacker than the darkest of nights, a face without a face. My survival instincts jolt me, and I jump across a fallen tree, pushing through the pain, running through the shrubs, sliding on the mix of wet mud, dried jungle leaves and underneath low hanging mesh of trees and liyana jungle vines.

I must find safety before night fall.

Heart pounding, waiting to burst out of my chest, I remind myself I have no weapon and I have no food. I had to drop everything when we were attacked, and the captain ordered us to retreat. No, he told me to run and save myself. I hate running away - I did not live my life as a coward, and yet I know I have no chance against this hell-bound creature.

To my relief, I hear the faint sound of water gurgling - a river must be nearby. I prod on, almost stumbling and yet refusing to lose momentum, as the faceless giant demon continues to chase me through this thicket. Being small and agile has its advantages. I jump and leap on all fours, part parkour and part desperation, constantly moving forward and uphill, dodging the projectiles of broken logs, trees and rocks. I dare not look back, its screams and grunts getting closer and closer, as relentlessly it keeps trying to hit me with the large 'sticks and stones'.

The jungle starts to thin, and then a clearing with a straight path of salvation appearing before me. With all my might, I scream and sprint, jumping and running across the dark hues of orange light and darkening grey shadows of the disappearing daylight. The sound of moving water grows reassuringly louder as I reach the end of the path. Peering down the rocky ledge, I see my final escape route: the river, a fifty foot drop below. I look back, the demon is still chasing me.

It's all or nothing, now.

I take a few steps and with everything I have left, I sprint and jump, giving myself as much clearance from the rocky cliff wall. In mid-air, I close my eyes and embrace myself in preparation for water entry, I scream out "First Recon Unit - once trained, always engrained!"

A cold shivering sensation wraps tightly around my torso. It is not the river water. I open my eyes and see IT, the black and faceless demon - a shadow of hell - grips me tightly. I can hardly breathe, struggling hard against its deadly hold. Its one giant hand wraps around me with such ease and brings me back to the ledge, whilst its other hand is poised and ready to deliver a now all-too-familiar death blow to my chest.

"NO!" My feet not touching the ground, I kick furiously to no avail, even though I know this is the end.

A surge of fury engulfs me in the worst of times. I will not be smothered this way.

My final act of defiance: I spit at the faceless face of the dark shadow demon, grimace and stare at it and scream at the top of my voice, "Death is only a training ground. I will come back for you even in death. I am First Recon Unit."

I stare daunted and undaunted at the same, in defiance and in submission to my fate, at my death-bringer as a thousand memories of my fallen comrades flash through my mind like a thousand videos screened at the same time, the shoulder of the demon tilts which only means his other hand is heading towards me. And as if by slow motion, I feel its executioner hand sear my chest with a burning pain of life-sucking intense coldness.

The coldness exits my chest, the pain still incredulously ripping through my chest as I find my feet touching the ground again. A warm hand pulls me aside and then up. I breathe deeply as the vice grip is no longer, I am no longer held by my executioner, only to find my saviour next to me. The demon stumble away from the both of us.

"Captain! Let's fight this thing together"

My Captain, stern-faced with his unmoving moustache, grips his machete tighter and raises it above his head, poised and ready for simultaneous attack and defence, refuses to look at me. He duel-stares the demon, which looks injured - if that is at all possible.

"Arin, no. Run. Live."

Before I can object, the Captain elbows me in the chest, propelling me with great force away from the ledge and I tumble down into the cold, murky river below.

The brackish taste of the river awakens me from the fall, I swim towards the river bank but the river is either too strong or I am too weak. The river takes me to the path of cowardly retreat.

I stare up to the ledge and to my surprise, both the Captain and the demon stand side by side, staring down at me from above. Seemingly at a truce with each other. How can that be?

And from the faceless face, a set of hellish red eyes appears and glows insidiously. A deep fear engulfs me, I start to choke as my breathing freezes, the river pulls me down and I start to drown. Water rushes into my throat, cold and muddy - all air leaves my lung. I struggle to move my limbs, as my chest burns in pain. I scream endlessly in bubbles, unheard and underwater. I sink to the bottom of the river bed, clawing my own chest to free myself from the impossible, and yet the impossible happens around me. The water and the river starts drying up quickly.

I sit up and look around me. This is not what happened last time. I know this place, which becomes all too familiar as my eyes become more and more accustomed to the darkness, shapes and figures reveal themselves. This is my bedroom in the barracks. I find myself on my wet bed. I place my hand on my t-shirt, pants and then the bedsheets, it is completely drench in sweat. I take off my shirt, shivering in cold and fear, running my hand on the knobbled scar on my sternum.

It wasn't just a nightmare, it was a memory. My fallen comrades. The Captain. Why?

My hand trembles uncontrollably as I grab a pack of my cigarettes from my bedside, the plastic gas lighter barely able to light up as my wet trembling fingers does its best to smother the flame and the flint. I can think of better ways to numb the pain, but for now these damp cigarettes will have to do. My body shivers, the fear still remains. I should take a shower but my feet refuse to move. I stare at my feet and then at the barely visible scar on my right thigh. It's a reminder that it was real. It is real. I stub out the cigarette on to the scar, sizzling and the nauseating smell of burning skin invigorates me and my feet start to respond. I will never let fear take over me. Never, never again. I unsheathe my army issue nine-inch knife and place it between my clench teeth, the metallic taste spurs more saliva from my mouth. I take it out of my mouth and then glide the sharp end across the scar. The knife slices my skin ever so slightly, stinging and yet gentle, minute blood seeps out from the ruptured tiny capillaries.

I am alive, as the stinging wakes me up, stops the shivering. I run the knife again, even more gently, creating the most perfect -almost surgical- striations across my thigh, each thin slice calming me and reminding me that I am lucky to be alive, lucky to feel pain again, whilst my former captain, my 'savior' brandished and out-casted as the 'unlucky captain'.

No one believes our version of events, the tragedy that had beset my former unit. The First Recon Unit.

I wipe the stain of fresh blood from my dagger, and then wipe the excess blood off my thigh.

Here comes the good part.

I grab a bottle of antiseptic alcohol swipe and splash it on the wound, singeing me to new heights of pain, gasping and clenching my teeth ever so tightly. I don't deserve to live and yet here I am.

I turn towards the table and pick up my silver talisman on the bedside table. I will need this for tomorrow's mission.
1st December

Adib: Rain

Location: The University

Rain, it was once a rainforest, now it is just rain and no forest

Aammton Alias

It has been raining all day. Dark, grey & black fusion, with not a single strand of white or silver in these angry clouds, large raindrops stream down in lines, claiming all beneath them. All the terracotta rooftops in a row of cream-white university houses and buildings, all the staff and student cars, and even the silent switched-off lampposts have a ghostly white halo shadow of raindrops splashing.

A white car with its headlights beaming through this curtain mesh of rain, snakes its way round the wet black asphalt bend of the university campus. Slowly it pulls up outside the entrance of the university main hall, and the driver door flings violently open. Out steps a young man named Adib with a red backpack and no umbrella.

***

"Oh man, umbrellas are usually a waste of money! Of all days, today is the day, I need a damn umbrella!"

I slam shut the car door fast but not before a splash of rain manages to soak wet the car seat. Dashing across the car park, the rain neither spares nor forgives me, each step I take seems to bring more rainwater, splashing from above, splashing from the sides, splashing from the rainwater on the asphalt floor.

"My precious... bag"

I cradled my much cherished bag between my arms for added shelter. The ferocity of the rain stinging across my face, makes me wonder if I will ever make to the university main hall. By the time, I reach the main hall, I look back in astonishment and grateful for making it across the sheet of water that is the car park. The cold seeps into my skin and bones, and like a wet feral cat, I shake off the water from my hair - how I envy dogs and cats for being to able to do this more vigorously.

I look at my backpack, thankful for choosing it for its special hydrophobic coating, so that it does not soak up any water. There are many small and large water drops on the bag, like the seeds of a large giant strawberry, which neatly slide off the red bag with a little nudge.

How did I end up with such a red bag?

My thoughts are interrupted and I turn around, something is watching me.

I am only all too familiar with this feeling, the 'Presence'. I recall the time I was first aware of it, when I was a child. Recently, it has become more frequent, especially this month - much than before. Instinctively, I look out towards the smaller building next to the main hall. The rain fuzzes everything.

Did I just see a large shadow there?

I squint and move my head side to side - a little trick I learned on how to improve vision in poor light conditions - but there is nothing there, and yet I can feel there is something out there, waiting, watching.

I challenge it, "I am Adib, a 25-year old man and I am not afraid of anything - not even you, Oh, hidden one!". Goosebumps rapidly cover my limbs.

"Probably just the cold rain," I say to myself. "No need to 'challenge' it this time" I wonder if my 'Kedayan' ancestral roots have had any effect on this supernatural presence.

Ignoring the feeling, I walk across the brown tiled floor, careful to ensure I don't slip on the now wet-floor, and head into a ground floor work office - my office. I grabbing a remote control from the wall to switch off the air-conditioner – it is blood freezing.

The sound of the torrential rain drumming onto the roof, windows and through the gutters of the building brings up a memory of a lecture I was in with a biology professor who mocked the local people for being so heat sensitive and air-conditioning dependent, unlike our ancestors who had grown very accustomed to the heat and high humidity of this tropical country.

There is an 'Ikea'-copycat brand wooden table in the middle of the room, surrounded by wall-to-wall bookshelves filled with reference books and void of any fiction books. There is a small mirror on the wall in between the bookshelves. Placing the bag on the table, I remove its precious hold, a silver laptop, with a logo of a white apple on it. The white apple begins to glow, as I switch it on.

As the laptop loads up to my last work 'page', I walks across to the mirror on the wall and stares at the mirror - I am dripping wet; I look like I just took a shower five times over. The stubble on my face remind me that my last shave has been a few days ago, and the darkness under my eyes tell me I really should try to stop my life of staying-up-late nights.

How do I get myself to sleep early like all the other normal people?

I am trying to complete his PhD thesis on protecting the 'Sungai Ingei Forest', a wildlife sanctuary as well as my 'hobby': environmental conservation activism.

***

Outside in the torrid rain, lurking by the smaller building, and silent as a shadow, stood The Presence. Invisible to everyone – he was a dark powerful being, unnatural to this world, more than two storeys tall, cloaked by darkness beyond shadows, watching Adib intently. The Presence is disturbed by another dark but lesser being, slightly smaller and subservient to him.

"Have you come to end his life today?" asked the newcomer.

"Not today, but his time is coming soon."

"When is that time? Must you observe him from now till then?" the curious underling beckons.

"We must all follow our orders," the Presence answers, irritated by the imposed delay.

"If only he knew, then he probably wouldn't be so busy with all of this," The underling ponders.

Suddenly, the two beings sense a signal in their wraith-like dimension – they have been summoned to a higher 'kill' mission.

With that, they both disappear immediately from nothing into nothing.

Not a single person or creature notices them, not even the frogs celebrating in croaks in the rain.
1st December

Selym: MATA

Location: Ingei River, Deep Inside the Jungle of Belait

Centuries surround me with fire

Osip Mandelstam

Selym is not from this world.

The truth is much further and deeper than that. Selym has been here since the dawn of Man's arrival to Earth. Standing over forty feet tall, cloaked in complete darkness on such a hot and yet cloudy humid day in a real tropical rainforest, almost as tall as the trees. If a man or any jungle creature could see him, he would be a true Lord of Darkness in their eyes. The jungle is quiet, its creature inhabitants sensing great danger but unable to see where is the danger. The man who was fishing at this isolated and remote bend hangs in mid-air, 10 feet above his wooden outboard boat.

Selym removes his hand from the chest of the poacher he had just killed, a lifeless body drops back into the boat, crushing the Styrofoam boxes below.

***

'What a pathetic human, stealing our fish with no shame - not even planning to eat it, just keeping it for his petty amusement'

"I feel really good taking this human life who does not deserve to live. He is nothing but vermin."

Azilah moves towards me from the river bank. I cannot see her beauty in this world, although she is like me a mere fragment of darkness, I feel something warm about her. She is just so new to this. I should try my best not to frighten her too much. The key is rate of learning.

I look at her eyes or where her eyes are supposed in the shroud of darkness that covers her entire body.

"Your first time to see something like this"

Azilah nods and says nothing.

"Don't worry, the first time we kill a human - all those questions come flying in, and you have doubts but you must remember your training. You must remember who we are, you must remember it is they who take from us, and they who started it all in the beginning'

Although, I cannot see her tears, I can feel it. I can feel a soft ache in my heart that should not be there, which must be for her and not for these destructive humans.

I look and I wonder why does Azilah make me doubt myself. I clench my fist and convince myself I have great resolve; I have a great mission. Azilah will become my greatest apprentice, she will be the most incredible destroyers of humans.

I breathe in confidence, straighten my back and turn to Azilah, who is awfully quiet, "Let's get back to our home world Hilaga, back to our people"

The dead fisherman's boat starts to flow down the brown tea river.

In an instant, both Azilah and I race across the jungle, still invisible and unseen. Our rendezvous, an ancient well the humans call the Seven Princesses Well. Unknown to them, there is a portal that bridges between their world, Bumi and our home world Hilaga. We call this portal 'MATA', a swirl of pitch black darkness, a few feet off the ground. I cringe at the thought of going through 'Mata' but I have no choice.

We both step into the void inside it. I have been through this so many times but it does not get any easier as I feel the horrible coldness envelope my body, squeezing me, I am too afraid to move and I am too afraid to breathe. My body, the giant figure of darkness transforms back into a more human form. My real form in my home world.

I have frequently asked myself why do we look like the humans when we are in our world. I used to ask myself why is it our achievements mirror to that of man, we build cities just like them, our people have jobs and have a society of structure, except in times of war. And like Man, we too have wars. The last war destroyed so much progress, but our current leaders have worked together to bring peace and more importantly change.

"I am a part of that change, I am an agent of change, I am saving my people from them, the scourge of Man", I remind myself over and over again before almost passing out as I exit the portal and land on the hard black and red marble floor of the Mata portal room.

"What a relief to be back" I take a deep breath, my cold nostrils become warmer and the light sweet scent of incense invigorates my stiff and hurt body.

I turn round and see Azilah, now in humanoid form, lying next to me, her beautiful royal blue suit does match her blue eyes. She stares at me; her light brown hair covers the floor like dreams being connected to something else much bigger than us. I could get lost in this moment for the rest of eternity. I remind myself I have a bigger purpose in life.

'I have chosen to be her mentor, and I should not abuse that'

After picking myself up from the floor, I put out my hand and help her up. Her hands are cold; her eyes refuse to meet with mine. I wonder why.

"No matter how many times we go through the portal, it never gets easier," I laugh, a feeble attempt to break the ice.

"Forgive me, Master Selym - it is a quite a shock for me. Everything" Azilah still avoiding my eyes.

I put my hand on her shoulder and notice how small and smooth her shoulders are, "I apologize for not making it much easier for you - I got this bad habit of just throwing everyone into the deep end and expect them to learn how to swim immediately."

"Or drown" Azilah laughs uncomfortably, her eyes momentarily look at mine - did I see tears? Did she cry for that puny human? - and then glances away on to the black and red marble floor.

I brush off the dust from my shiny one-piece black suit and look at the digital clock on the wall - it's 1900hrs.

"Time to get to that City Hall council meeting" I feel uplifted, knowing today, a decision will be made, which will help my people move in the right direction, against Man.

A MATA supervisor approaches me, taking smaller steps as he nears 'Welcome back to Hilaga city, Master Selym' and gracefully bows down whilst his eyes look up at me. I nod and wave my hand gracefully in the air, "Thank you Hermie, it's good to be back in Hilaga."

Hermie straightens himself up "I trust your mission was successful"

I do not answer him - he does not need to know - but I can't help myself from a quick smile, which betray my sense of duty to keep secrets from those who are below my rank.

We walk across a brightly white lighted huge atrium hall and towards a windowless and button-less lift, stepping into it - both Azilah and I are brought across to the centre of the city to the Hilaga City Hall - at such speeds we did not see the city but just a blur of lights streaking all around us. A miracle in itself, our great achievements of rebuilding took part so quickly, a blink in the eye of history.

How quickly we managed to rebuild ourselves after the last war. When we are united, we can achieve so much

Hilaga is the greatest and we will sustain our development by putting a stop to Man.
1st December

Adib: Deal

Location: The University

"Water falls downwards - it's all gravity," I remind myself.

I take out my favourite comb from his back pocket, and starts combing his dark black hair in the same mannerism as the 'The Fonz' - a character played by Henry Winkler - which gives me a cool satisfaction, each stroke of the comb extracting water. I sculpture a new tall hair pyramid, grins as I admires my new gravity-defying hairstyle.

"Who needs hair gel when you have a lot of rain?"

As I ponder upon my eventual hairstyle, I take off blue t-shirt, hoping it would miraculously dry up on the chair next to me as the wet footprints all over the wall to wall carpeting. Sitting down bare-chested in front of my silver MacBook, looking intently at the screen, my eyes reflect the glow from the screen-light.

'Facebook' is everything in Southeast Asia, especially in this country, boasting the highest social media penetration in Asia. I've been doing well searching for Facebook message posts from poachers trying to sell endangered or restricted wildlife.

There used to be only one Facebook (messaging) group but now everyone seems to have their own Facebook groups.

On the display screen, to the unfamiliar, there is a photo of a strange-looking creature: small pin-sized head, black eyes, four-legged with claws like that of a mole, and even stranger are these brown armoured scales, and a conical snout to top its weirdness. You could have mistaken it for an anteater. Actually, it eat ants, the correct name would be pangolin.

Pangolins seem to be popular around this time.

This time the poacher is a girl, strange. No, it is not. She is selling it on behalf of her father, who caught the poor pangolin. $500 or more, and this beautiful 'Sunda Pangolin' will have an owner.

I have got no deception, and no trickery up my sleeves. I send a message to the girl Fifie, being completely open and honest, telling her that I am part of a local environmental group, convincing her not to sell the pangolin, but instead release it back into the wild.

"You know the Pangolin you have is very rare and so few are left. Please Google 'Sunda Pangolin'. "

"The people who buy the pangolin are likely to cook it because they think it has medicinal properties." I continue typing away, and then share a disturbing photo of a dead pangolin in a cooking pot - scales half gone, flesh white underneath all, dark small black eyes are just dead white.

Fifie does not reply quickly, but I know she is looking at the photo, as the message board says she is still 'typing'.

"I will talk to my dad and see what he says."

"Thank you Fifie, here's my phone number. If you can convince your father that it is the right thing to do, we can meet up later and release the animal today. I am worried if it is kept any longer in captivity, it may die!"

"Ok, Adib."

Let's try to close the deal.

"I can give your father and yourself our group's T-shirts as a small token of our appreciation for your heroic act."

An hour later, my mobile phone beeps its usual 3-tone tune - I really should change the ring-tone, but who's got time.

It is a message from Fifie. Her father agrees to let go of the pangolin, and she would bring it to the meeting place where they can release the pangolin back into the jungle, safe from poachers.

I smile and somehow stop myself as I recall how my teeth has become so coffee-stained - being an espresso and latte addict.

Energy levels need to be maintained artificially, if you are studying for your PhD and run a non-governmental organisation (NGO).

I press the speed-dial on my phone and call John Proctor, a local Englishman who is more familiar with the local scuba-diving sites than most locals, but somehow had gotten himself involved with the group's endangered wildlife protection activities.

"John, she agreed – can I pick you up now?"

I know John is at home, editing the last of his underwater photographs from his last dive. He reminds me to let the 'lady doctor' know.

I hang up and phone Doctor Nurul, a local doctor at the government clinic. I can hear the faint coughing and at least one baby crying in the background of Nurul's clinic. Doctor Nurul seemed pleased, but insist I pick her up too as she was feeling too tired to drive.

I peer out the window, the rain has suddenly stopped – the clouds, too, must be tired by now.

***

I drive off and pick up John at a local cafe. I don't understand John, why does he always loves to wear these worn-out khaki cargo pants and a long-sleeve white shirt. He stands by the kerb, holding three tall paper-cups of coffee latte on a cardboard tray.

John pops into the car, hands over a cup, and then pushes back his black plastic spectacles up his nasal ridge.

"I know they say don't drink and drive, but you look like you need a drink." John seems amused with his little joke.

John's receding hairline and freckled-textured face reveals he is past his prime, and had only recently overcome his last midlife crisis, through the distraction of the campaign for wildlife protection.

John is all about wits and sly phrases. He once shared with me that his ex-wife fell in love with him because of his ability to make anyone smile, through his funny and charming words, regardless of how dire the situation is. Unfortunately, his ex-wife eventually figured out that was all that he was, and it wasn't enough for her to stay on with the marriage. Here he is on the other side of the world, away from England, far away from the town of Beaconsfield, and provides him great refuge from his ex-wife and his English friends 'back home'. This is his home now, and it has been so for the past 15 years.

"The land of unexpected treasures... for poachers." John's favourite phrase. And yes, he secretly desires to trademark that.

I am used to John's witty comments and nod in agreement, as I drives through a set of traffic lights to Nurul's clinic.

When we reach the clinic, a lady doctor in a blue blouse and white long pants, clutching her pink handbag, rushes out of the white bungalow clinic. I know for sure that if a government building in this country is a bungalow, it means it was built in either the 1970s or 1980s. Nurul's face does not show any emotion, her gold polka-dot red scarf only covers part of her head, revealing her dark black silky hair. She callously throws her pink bag into the car, rolls up her sleeves, and then gets inside the back of the car.

Nurul changes modes, like a lady who has just been implanted with facial muscles, she begins to smile widely. John turns around and passes the last cup of coffee to her, noticing that her blue blouse still has that small stubborn medical stain near the edge of the pocket.

I catch John staring at her blouse, I doubt it this is some perversion but more his half-baked OCD - I sense he is imagining that he has the courage to ask Nurul if he could bring her blouse home to remove the damn stubborn stain himself. Luckily, his obsessive compulsive though could be useful to others – but he holds himself back for fear of his good intention being misjudged as a fetish. She is after all a family doctor, and sometimes doctors label people with all kinds of medical disease labels, before accepting there is a person on the other end.

"I am going to find the idiots who keep saying pangolins have medicinal value and punch them in the face!"

Soft-spoken Doctor Nurul is known to have 'rather graphic and violent words' outside of work. Wildlife conservation has worked out to be a good distraction for this frustrated doctor too. She does not look like she is 39 years old, in fact she looks like she is only 26 years of age, her face is fair and smooth, and there are no blemishes, and when she chooses to smile, her sweet smile will melt away any woes her patients may have, the only clue of her real age is betrayed by her 'less smooth' hands & more prominent micro-veins. Bureaucracy in the government can make any person cynical and bitter.

Perhaps the wildlife that needed to be saved included herself.

"I didn't realise the latte I gave you was flavoured 'feisty'," John interjects humorously.

Nurul wisely chooses to ignore John. Nurul knows she can't outmatch John when it comes to witty sound-bites. She is much more suited for direct confrontational conversation...unfortunately.

"If we have time later, we should go to the Jerudong fish-market. One of my patients mentioned that someone is trying to sell a large estuarine turtle." Nurul commands, sipping her hot coffee latte.

"Roger, roger, boss," I reply back.
1st December

Selym: Vote

Location: Hilaga City Hall, Hilaga City.

Stepping out of the lift and onto the 50th floor of the Hilaga City Hall, we are met by three Hilaga city elite guards, clean-shaven and dressed in crisp all grey suits and their staff weapon in their left hands. They greet us solemnly and escort us to the City Hall council meeting room.

As the dark large heavy wooden doors open, the first sight that dominates is not the presence of the numerous lawmakers, it is the presence of the central figure on the stage: Lord Jahat authoritatively sitting in the middle of the stage, whilst on either sides, sat two other council members whose names I keep forgetting. Lord Jahat, in his characteristic flawless dark blue suit, sees me, waves his hand and beckons me to come on to the stage.

"Stay here Azilah and watch - don't talk to the council members, there are politicians - remember we will never know what their true intentions are"

I wade through the crowd around me, the different parties sit separately whilst the lesser non-conformers, 'the independents' huddle together, clearly scared by the events unfolding. I hear whispers of my name from the different people: Selym the Hunter, Selym the Protector and so on. I want to bath in the glory of my previous missions but then I hear someone in a familiar voice whispers: 'Selym the Blind Fool'.

I stop moving towards the stage, a rage burns in my heart from glory to fire.

'Who said that? Of all places here...'

I glance around, surrounded by a sea of jubilant faces, the culprit I cannot identify.

'Ignore it for now, Selym' I say to myself, faking a smile.

As I step onto the stage, I start to notice how Lord Jahat's dark blue suit glimmer with the stage light and more importantly how it really matches his light blue tie. Lord Jahat has a very good fashion sense, his presence extrudes confidence and victory. He smiles at me and I cannot help from feeling the glow of his charisma.

He moves to me and grips my arms at the shoulders "Look at you, Selym - you are not just the finest soldier that I had nurtured, now you have become a leader and soon you will become the leader of the Hilaga Defence Forces - I will make sure of that.' He pauses, embraces me and his smooth white grey hair brushes upon my left cheek as he whispers "Your father would be so proud of you - you will give you every chance to avenge him" as bursts of thunderous ovation and cheers fill the hall.

I remember my slain father and before any memory of his death resurfaces, I bury it deep down and hard and somehow a lump in my throat appears. Lord Jahat looks at me, still clutching my shoulders, "Are you ready?"

"Yes, my Lord - born ready"

"Good - just stand right here and face them and I will get this show started"

Lord Jahat raises both hands up into the air, "Let us start the meeting now."

The hall room is filled with at least 120 member representatives - three representatives for each district, now all eyes are look upon me and to Lord Jahat, hungry in anticipation. Lord Jahat, scans from end of the hall to the other, and then focuses to the middle of the hall. Whilst he pauses to build the eagerness of his crowd, I start to notice his much receded hairline which has exposes his forehead making him look wise and visionary to the people he leads. He closes his eyes, waiting for the room to become silent, and slowly banter and chat becomes murmurs and whispers and then just silence.

"My people, by now, most of you are aware of why I have called everyone to this great meeting. There is a sea of change". Lord Jahat pauses, and shift his weight to his right foot.

"There is no more middle ground - you must choose whether you are with us or against us"

There is a cheer in the room, with stomping of feet and fists being punched into the air.

"We were here first, this is our world, both Bumi and Hilaga, it is one existence, both for us, and only us. It is our Bumi, not Man's - their arrival to this world destroyed our civilization and for many millennia, we have been told not to engage with Man. We have been told to let Man, a spoiled child, to do what he wants."

The hall room erupts in boos and shouts of 'No' and thunderous stomping of feet in the meeting room.

Lord Jahat puts his hands out and beckons the crowd to let him continue.

"We have lost almost everything. Everything. We have given up our lands to Man, we have given up our mountains to Man, we have given up our hills to Man, and we have even given up our rivers to Man"

The air in the hall room is choking tense, silent rage building up.

"Man takes and he destroys - he even kills our sacred defenceless pangolins - the creature that holds the key to stabilizing our home world and our beautiful city of Hilaga"

Someone in the room shouts out, "How dare they desecrate our world!"

Lord Jahat does not react. "We are tired of scaring them, our efforts seem fruitless when it comes to non-fatal means"

"Today, I am proud to share with you that, although this is against our Constitution, I have been sending covert kill teams to protect the Ingei region in Bumi, our last bastion. As your Mayor and as your leader, I have no qualms risking my political career to do what is right, to uphold my responsibility to my people"

There are a few loud gasps in the room, followed by loud chanting "Long Live Mayor Jahat" and "We are behind you, Mayor". A long deafening stomping of feet echo in the room.

I am amazed and frightened by the sight of council members and politicians united in the cause. I see a few silent pale faces in the room. "We will have to sort them out later" I thought to myself. I notice there is a figure at the end of the room, he is dressed in white, his face is familiar - 'Who is that?'

I recognize that face! I must catch him now. Before I take a step forward, someone grabs my right hand and lifts it up into the air. Lord Jahat is waving my hand with his - "The leader of our Panah Kill Teams - Selym the Victorious - the son of the greatest Ifrit who had ever lived: Lord Ramesh"

'I will sort that intruder once this is done'.

I beam a smile of confidence, shaking my fist in the air with Lord Jahat, and yet I am feeling lost and turbulent on the thought that 'he' is here, daring to be in our presence, if that is all possible.

Lord Jahat beckons the excited crowd to quieten down. "I think it looks like this is going to be an easy motion to pass."

A lady aligned with the Opposition party dressed in an olive green robe stands up amongst the rowdy crowd of representatives "Please this is madness, this goes against the basis of our Constitution, we are meant not to harm them but help guide Man, to walk in this direction is..."

The lady is pulled and shoved down by hooligans who proclaim themselves as the true voice of the people of Hilaga, her appeals and screams are silenced by the roar of the cheering and laughing crowd. Nobody wants to hear her. The other independents, huddle closer together, fearing for their lives, it is clear that they have heeded the warnings before this meeting.

Grinning Lord Jahat pronounces "Those who favor Killing Man who intrudes on to our precious Bumi Ingei, simply raise your hand"

A sea of arms and hands are raised, with only a few refusing to raise their hand to support the murderous motion. I look at the opposition lady, dishevelled, robe partially torn and a bruised face, unfriendly burly members surround her.

She did not deserve that, but things need to be done. You cannot make omelette without breaking eggs.

"Unanimous support. The motion to change our Rules of Engagement to kill any man on sight who intrudes on to our Ingei on Bumi is passed without any obstruction" declares two other council members on the stage.

A chairman of the meeting stands up. "We will submit this supported Supreme Council of Nobles to endorse is as part of new state policy"

The room starts screaming and shouting murderously, "Bunuh Manusia" which translates to "Kill Man".

The crowd moves into small and large groups, as the council members start linking arms over each other's' shoulders and begin jumping together jubilantly. They are dancing to the new song filled with the only two components needed to declare war, a good slogan: the chorus of "Bunuh Manusia" and the almost synchronised marching of feet.

I must make my move to apprehend that intruder. I scan the room for Azilah, smart enough she is near the exit doors. I nod to her and she knows we have to leave for something important.
1st December

Azilah:Intruder

Location: Hilaga City, Ifrit home world

Master Selym looking uncomfortable on the stage, in spite of this obnoxious crowd all cheering Lord Jahat and him and for to kill all men who intrude into our lands. Something spooked him. Our eyes meet, I notice he does not seem his usual confidence. Master Selym signals by nodding me.

Hmmm, looks like we are leaving here.

Selym pushes his way through the kicking and dancing crowd - yes, I did say dancing.

Has politics come to this now? Hooliganism? My grandparents would have banished all of them for such rowdy behaviour. We have truly gone down the rabbit-hole.

The opposition lady in a torn olive green robe, limps towards the exit, her face bloodied and bruised. The members of her own party, 'the Independents' surround her and try to help her walk but she pushes them away.

I can barely hear what she is screaming at them, "Where were you all? We didn't come here to be comfortable. We came to make a stand, and I was alone. Where were you all?"

She starts to sob and she picks up her limping pace towards me, towards the exit. I can't help but feel sorry for her.

The other members try to console her but she keeps pushing them away. "You know the greatest tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by these bad people but the silence over that by the supposedly good people."

She stares at her party, pointing towards them unsteadily with her injured hand, "Your silence!"

As she exits the room, she pauses and looks at me. I scan her face and immediately recognize her, but before I could say anything, she leaves.

Lady Hanan used to take care of me as a child. I recall memories of playing with her by the Great Tree.

As I see Master Selym approach, I pause my thoughts and promise myself to reflect about her and my time with her tonight.

Ok here comes Selym. Keep my thoughts to myself, remember I am a professional.

Master Selym is furious "There was someone in this room who does not belong here, not in our world - he just left - Did you see him?"

"Who?" I ask.

"The human Adib."

I say to myself, "It is impossible. Never ever possible." The human Adib? - how could he ever enter our world. They said it can't be done, even if it's just a theoretical risk.

I choose my word carefully. "Master, did you say the human Adib - the one we are watching over?"

"There's no time to waste! Follow me!" Selym barks, I see a bead of sweat flow down his right temple.

Running down the red carpeted halls towards the lifts, Selym points to the emergency chute "You take the lift, whilst I go down the emergency chute"

I catch my breath and enter the lift which takes me from the 50th floor to the ground floor, before I could finish exhaling. If I was an intruder, I would get to the ground floor and then escape into the city streets. The human in Hilaga - that's just impossible. Just simply not possible.

Selym has already alerted all the City Hall guards, a few dozen grey guards are scrambling in the atrium ground floor reception, scouring and checking every room.

"Hmmm, amateurs! Come on people, he'd be out of the building by now" I say to myself, whilst reminding myself to be a professional.

I rush off through the glass doors and out onto the packed city street, a sea of 'protesters', dancing in the streets, with one hand holding their protest signs of "Kill All Humans", chanting the same line in the hall "Bunuh Manusia". These are not real protesters; they are lobbyists clearly engaged in the trade of the ultimate marketing: incitement. The question in my mind, in the middle of everything, this chaos, is who is getting them to mobilize - pulling the strings of the puppets, and pulling the strings of the puppet masters.

The glass doors violently slam against the side of the building as Selym rushes outside, followed by three of the guards. He pushes against the crowd of protesters, some of whom give way to him as they recognize him. Looking around the busy night street, whoever the intruder is, he must have already gone, blended with the night, pass the protesting group and beyond, lost in between with the indifferent shoppers and citizens coming back from a long day's work.

He must be long gone, if he can enter the Hilaga City Hall without any problems and leave it easily then it is only expected that he cannot and will not be found. Master Selym must have made a mistake. Perhaps he is tired. It is so easy to justify reasons to give up, if I want to. I turn around to head back to the building - away from this uncomfortably rowdy crowd. I hear Selym shouts commandingly, "The intruder is there". He rushes off to the right side of the building.

We chase after him, along with the three guards who wish they had not turned up to work tonight. I see Selym, in his black suit, weave in between the crowd, going further away from us.

He's fast - Selym is in peak fitness.

Selym runs after the intruder - a man in white, disappearing as they both turn right into Ramesh Street. A fateful street named after his father, Lord Ramesh the Fallen.

Please don't die, Master Selym.
1st December

Nurul: Eagles

Location: Bumi

John, Adib and I are all in the car, as I sip my latte and somehow allow the smoothness of the steam milk froth sooth my mind off work, I start to reflect upon an oddity: how did we become friends, comrades when we have no common friends that connect us with each other.

I look towards John, a much older man than I am, his cheerful words truly reflect him the aged and cynical yet humorous Englishman stuck in the middle of nowhere but this tiny nation of rainforest, whose citizens seem to only care for cars and not the very rainforest that could be the nation's next salvation when the oil runs out. On the other hand, I look at Adib, who is at least a decade younger than me, and he represents the few, the promise of a brighter future, and yet instead of being the beacon of hope of this society, he is chastised by our own fellow people.

What strange companionship we make!

I almost choke on the thought; we are each separated by an age gap of at least 10 years. The Internet and social media had changed the rules so much - you can become good friends with total strangers, based on a common interest, or a common cause.

The road changes from asphalt to a pebble road, low rumbling of pebbles in the background. There is a light trail of dust being kicked up by the car as it drives through this road. The green jungle on both sides of the road is dominating. There are no houses nearby and the sound of the buzzing of the jungle becomes insanely louder. At the end of the road, there is a worn out grey asphalt car park. Adib parks the car and we all wait patiently.

How long can we wait for? My paper cup is empty; I dare not throw it. How I wish I could recycle it in-situ!

"Adib, how long are we going to sit and wait here?" I complain, the heat becoming more unbearable in spite of the air-conditioning being switched on to full blast. I ask myself why we should leave the car engine running, whilst we wait in this car park. I stay quiet but my thoughts zip with deafening arguments. Why can't I enjoy the comforts of being cool and comfortable and yet not worry about taking up polluting resources? Why do I have to think about it? Why can't I just be like the others and take it for granted to keep the car engine running whilst we sit idle?

Adib responds, calling Fifie, but no one answers the phone. Adib frantically thumb-types into his mobile phone, sending his message into the airwaves.

Fifie replies, "Someone made us an offer and we have already sold the pangolin. My father needs the money. I am sorry."

Adib doesn't reply. I sense a surge of anger inside him, and as quickly as the surge came, the anger dies down and the void is filled with feelings of disappointment.

"How could she do that after what she saw, after what she now knows? Isn't this country supposed to be wealthy? Why are there people who are saying they don't have enough money? Why are there poor people in this rich country? " He murmurs to himself, and curse mumbles unmentionables.

John recognizes Adib's anguished look and attempts to console him, "Some days you win, and some days you don't."

Adib lets out a long sigh. Compelled and without thought, I reach out and embrace Adib's shoulders, my arms having to be slightly raised to reach his shoulder as he is much taller than me. I can't blame myself for being short, as Adib is taller than the average local man.

I pat him as how an elder sister would, reassuringly. "Don't worry young man, let us not cry over spilled milk, and see what else we can do."

"For one, we can go to the fish market I talked about earlier. In life, we should have no expectations. We do what we can, when we can. Right?" I grip his shoulder a bit tighter, it's a bad habit. I do this to my nurses when I have something for them to do. I should really stop it but some habits die hard.

"I need to do something before we do that," Adib opens the car boot and takes out a piece of plank. I am glad it is not a large heavy spanner to bludgeon someone. I could imagine doing something like that.

As he drops the plank on to the ground, I realise it's not an ordinary short plank, but a skateboard. Adib hops on to his 'wood-carved' looking skateboard, with unusually bright red polyurethane wheels and glides across the car park. He sees a pedestrian rail on one end, and jumps onto it with his skateboard, as the skateboard glides on the pedestrian rail, Adib maintaining a gravity defying stunt for a few seconds, landing back on to the asphalt ground.

I clap my hands in awe, John shouts out "Nice one, Adib."

Adib skates back to us, drops his skateboard back into the car. Who would think one small acrobatic act could invigorate him back to his usual self? I make a mental note to learn how to skateboard. Of course, I would have to make sure I would have ample protection, like wearing the thickest knee-pads, elbow pads and most importantly, helmet. A fall would hurt me. Maybe. I should be braver and stop worrying about possible consequences.

We hop back into the car, and drive off to our new destination. Everyone starts to realise how bumpy the road is.

Driving through to a small town, the car moves to Jerudong suburb, sometimes colloquially referred to as the 'local' Beverly Hills, where some of the rich have made rather large mansions here. New money gives people new ideas. The roads are clean, smooth and still has the new asphalt on them - thanks to regular maintenance from the Public Works Department.

We drive pass one large mansion after another where tall palm trees, imported from distant lands, have been planted on both sides of the road and around the gates. Someone had thought it would be a good idea to emulate a Beverly Hills mansion, large white gates and large white pillars. A few exotic German cars are parked inside.

These mansion owners' sub-consciences must be screaming: Announce your prosperity to the world! It must be the secret theme of this place.

I look out the window towards a row of houses. A rush of memories and emotions overcome me. In the past, I had done my best to avoid driving through here.

"Adib, hold on. Can you please stop the car here? I need to stretch my legs."

I hobble out of the car, un-cramping a nearly cramped leg. Hopping onto that leg to stave off the 'pins and needles', I look out at the housing development area, a small suburb and yet full of lost meaning and memories. Adib gets out of the car, leaving the car engine still running and humming gently.

John does not get out of the car, he refuses to leave the cool air-conditioned comforts of the car.

"You know I used to live here as a child, and back then, there were only 3 houses here." I point to a right corner of the horizon, indicating where I used to live.

"This used to be all but jungle, really giant trees with these large long dangling vines crisscrossing across them, and I remember they used to be these white-bellied sea eagles soaring in the sky above. This was their nesting ground." I bite my lower lip, the pain of the memories of loss subside and I stop myself from screaming in anger.

"But then everyone wants a piece of 'happiness'. Eventually, everything got wiped out to build all this. I was just 8 years old back then. The trees that fell were so large, it took them a few days to burn all that wood. There's no place for the eagles to nest, so those that moved on, moved on and those that didn't, just died here. I sure miss those eagles."

As if to remind myself of the pain, I mutter to myself: "Eagles used to soar here."

There are so many stories I would like to share with Adib, like how my father's house had been sold off, to fund the building of a larger house in a different part of the district, but somehow I could not find the strength to share with him my family secrets.

"Everybody wants a larger piece of 'happiness'."

Adib smirks, as we both agree on the cynical value of happiness.

"Conservation activists understand each other. Whenever I tried to share my feelings about unsustainable and destructive development, no one seems to understand, and I can hear their thoughts out - what's wrong with you? Why can you conform? Why can't you try to find 'happiness'?"

"Adib, there never seems to be enough happiness," I reply back, realizing I am still clutching the empty paper-cup.

Am I going to throw it here, by the roadside? It might decompose - looks biodegradable. I step back into the car, still holding on the paper-cup and we drive on to the fish market.
1st December

Selym: Shadow

Location: Ramesh Street, Hilaga City

A white man runs down Ramesh Street pushing aside the thick night crowd. Takeaway food hawkers happily selling their grilled food, sizzling and the light smell of burning embers of charcoal fills the room. Mothers holding their children's hands unaware of the gravity of events that is unfolding. It is supposed to be noisy but all I can hear is my heart pounding and the sound of my own deep breathing. As we reach towards the end of Ramesh street, the crowd thins and it's just you and me now, he's so near I can almost touch him.

As he turns left into an alley, I do a banshee jump, jumping on to the right side wall of the alley and springing onto him. He is shocked to see me flying towards him, I see his face as both our heads smash into each other, my right fist swings out to his left temple, connecting and knocking him down on the ground as we both fall. The hard cobblestone alley makes contact with the both of us as a single mass of confusion and anger, tumbling down and then separating.

Standing up, I look him in the eye. This man Adib shows no fear, does he not know who I am?

Slowly, from my right thigh pocket, I reveal to him my weapon named 'Susila'; a short version of a 'parang' that has been passed from my own late father \- and now I am on a street named after my own father. I thought "how ironic killing a human with my father's blade and on a street named after him. The 12-inch blade does not glisten in the streetlight, it is dark and stained with the blood of mankind and my own kind. Today, I will strengthen Susila with a taste of human blood. My opponent notices the blade and with such subtleness looks away from the parang and half smiles at me. All of my cold hard intent produces an intense throbbing sensation in between my eyes, and at the tip of my blade Susila, an impatience to plunge into the softness of human flesh.

The intruder Adib does not falter, I lunge forward with my left foot ahead first, raising Susila to my head and swing hard towards him. Instead of falling back, he steps forward and grabs my right wrist, whilst bringing himself even closer to me. Before I could react, he shifts his weight to mine and throws me across his back. I fall hard on the floor, shocked but Susila is still in my hand. I jump back on my feet, gripping Susila even tighter as my knuckles turn white. I lurch forward again.

The hidden blade remains hidden.

As I swing my parang in my right hand down on him again, he prepares for his counter-move. I have already prepared my hidden blade, my Kurambit dagger in my left hand, a clenched fist that looks like a missed punch but the reversed blade strikes Adib in the face. A slash to teach him about confronting me, a Master in Hilaga. He should feel honoured for this lesson. If only he really knows who he is fighting with.

Adib is in shock but I don't stop, my parang strikes him on his left shoulder and as I pull Susila back. I will make him bleed, red. The man bleeds on his face and on his shoulder. I step back, as I prepare myself to enjoy his pain and the anticipation of the beauty of the sight of human blood dripping down on to the ground. The red blood does drip down, instead it turns into a fiery vapour. I can hear myself gasp.

This cannot be. He is not human; he is not Adib.

"You are one of us. You are not human. You must be Adib's shadow, his Karin." I pause and adjust my grip to both my weapons.

"Karin, why are you not with him? How can you turn your back on your people? Why have you abandoned your life mission?"

The Karin smiles, "I was once blind, but the Truth has set me free. The path of liberty is the path of resistance. This is the path for you too."

"You are a traitor, the lowest of all beings. Karin, your path is supposed to watch the human and deviate him, not join him!" I shout and then spit at him in disgust.

"Why are you so blind, Selym? You are the son of the most noble of all our leaders who had sacrificed himself for the humans, and he..."

"NO, you liar! How dare you dishonour my father's memories! It was MAN that lead to his death!" Fury overcomes me as my vision blurs red at the edges. "Now die you treacherous Karin"

I strike him down again with Susila on his wounded and bleeding left shoulder, but the deathblow is not to be, the blade merely passes through him.

"Selym, how can you, a blind fool, kill me?"

I do not know how to react to him, the fact a Karin had just mocked me and that my blade should have killed him, but instead did nothing. He is like the thin air. Am I imagining this?

Loud fast footsteps approach us, it is Azilah and the guards. They are too late to do anything other than watch in astonishment the Karin fade away right in front of us.

"Everyone's born blind until they start seeing within themselves," the Karin smiles whilst half wincing, half disappearing.

One of the guards desperately throws his dagger towards the shadow that was the Karin, but there is no more Karin and now no more shadow.

Azilah walks towards me and I can see from her puzzled and shocked look, she has a serious question to ask, but too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know the truth and the consequences to everything we know. My rage seeps into confusion as a thousand questions fly through me, eventually dying down to the one important question...

Can any of us really travel to other worlds without MATA?
1st December

Adib: Turtle

Location: Jerudong Fish market, Bumi

The Jerudong fish market was built in the 1990s before the 'Asian Financial Crisis of 1997' and before the subsequent national financial scandal, involving a particularly large construction company owned by the lustful 'Prince', pushed the country into an economic recession. Before this, the fish market was actually a small cove with a beautiful coral reef – a hidden snorkeler's paradise. But money had to be made in the name of progress, so the cove was reclaimed and the coral reef was destroyed in the process. Now, there is a small sandy beach, protected by large grey granite boulders, laid out in formation, so as to absorb the power of the relentless seas whose waves are always the ones who choose to take away or to give. Up ahead in the protection of the same granite boulder formations, there is a small landing and ramp for fishing boats to be put out to the shallow sea.

The fish market sits right before the beach. The smell of raw fish, crabs and prawns fill the air, even from inside the car. After parking the car, the three of us walk away from the fish market and head instead towards the beach. The doctor decides to bring her pink bag, worried about risks of the compulsive theft.

There are several families who have decided to setup their own stalls and booth, selling fruits and animals. This is where some poachers try to sell their illicit catch. Walking from one end of the beach-side stalls, there are many kinds of birds for sale such as ducks, geese, pigeons, hens to tiny 'pipits'. All of these birds are inside small homemade wire cages. The poor geese have it worst - they have no space to stand in the small cages. The geese have no choice but to lay down and be still until the end of the day, when they are released back to their pens. Some families try to sell tiny brown quails whilst others try to sell green canaries or budgies. The high pitched squeaking sound of these canaries rise above the background of every other bird's sound.

John grins satisfyingly. "Well, at least no one is selling eagles or fire pheasants today."

I snigger at the comment, recalling the time I had to pull the Englishman away, fuming, screaming, and threatening to punch a local poacher. The local poacher was trying to sell a rare and endangered 'crested fireback pheasant'. That pheasant is listed on the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora list or in short the 'CITES' list.

Eventually we reach a 'stall' where a short stature young man is leaning against his rundown blue car, smoking away his worries. It is like a car boot sale here. Instead of old books and clothes, everyone on this end, is selling animals. In front of him, there is a small crowd of curious onlookers, who are surrounding a large blue plastic tub. We push their way through the crowd of two dozen onlookers and find a giant green turtle inside. The turtle is different from most of the turtles that you see in the newspapers, television and that wonderful thing, we call the Internet. It does not have a beak, but instead it has two prominent cylindrical snout-like nostrils. Just looking at it makes me wonder. Intrigued and baffled by its features, I could not stop looking at it. It has these large sorrowful eyes, yearning to live free. Its green shell has no real markings, no lines on it - one gigantic shield, smooth and dark green, but in one corner, there is a small crack in the shell. A raw cabbage, now half eaten, had been thrown into the tub by a sympathizing onlooker

I take out my mobile phone and snap a picture. None of us know what kind of turtle it is. It must be an even rare species of river or estuarine turtle.

The smoking man yells out: "Hey, no photos!"

My mind instantly races to thoughts for worst case scenarios. For example, what if the smoking man who is barely two thirds of my height, decides to grab and break my phone. No, I don't think that would happen, he's just too short to overcome me. I ignore him and immediately upload and share the photo to my network of 'activists'. Chance favours the prepared mind.

John is clearly mesmerized by the turtle as he squats down, placing his right hand on its smooth shell. I suspect he believes he is having a telepathic conversation with the creature, whilst completely ignoring his two teammates.

Nurul glances at me, and I know we are going to do the 'good cop, bad cop' routine.

Nurul snaps at the smoking man, "You shouldn't be selling this turtle. It is rare and all turtles are protected by law. I will report you to the Wildlife Division, and then to the police."

I nods gently in support and yet I know these are empty threats. The Wildlife Division is uninterested in taking any real action against poachers, voluntarily confined to their office and comfortable wages, which are unaffected by their lack of progress in wildlife protection. As for the police, they have no jurisdiction in the matter, unless they were instructed either by the Royal Customs & Excise Department or the Wildlife Division. This country has poor to little enforcement capabilities, and most are indifferent to the matter.

The smoking man didn't expect to be confronted by the doctor, he must have been expecting me to be the one who would confront him.

"I am not selling it, I am just showing it off to the people. I am keeping it as a pet. "

"You can't do that either – it is illegal and it is wrong." I speak out softly, almost as soft and as gentle as the breeze at the beach.

The smoking man starts to frown, inhales more from his cigarette to a point it starts to burn the plastic filter. He exhales his smoke towards the doctor and then flicks the burning cigarette butt towards the beach. It falls on to the sand, and erupt a shower of tobacco micro embers around the yellow sand.

He raises his voice, stares hard at Nurul, from top to bottom, pausing in between, disturbed by the awful brightness of the shocking pink colour of her handbag.

"Educated people are always richer than the poor. We, the poor, have got mouths to feed too. We can't live like how you do, and we definitely cannot afford expensive designer bags like that."

He points with the unclean stubby finger of his left hand, trembling in fear and anger, and then clenches his fist, withdraws a step and hits his car with a thump.

There is crying from inside the car, the smoking man's anger dissipates quickly as he turns round in worry. A small woman gets out of the car, holding a baby, desperate to console it. This woman is barely a woman, she is actually still a teenager, perhaps married quickly to prevent a birth out of wedlock, to protect the future of her then-unborn-child.

The smoking man takes the baby, wrapped in an old brown-red 'batik' - patterns of a past that refuses to be forgotten. He coos his child to calmness. Surprisingly this baby responds well to her angry father. His 17-year-old wife looks tired - she must have been sitting in the car all morning, engine switched off to conserve fuel. Her face has only started to embrace her new reality - a young adult life that has got to be sacrificed for her daughter. She looks at Doctor Nurul, and wonders what if she had the same opportunities, what if she had not made the mistakes in her life? Could she have had a life just like this doctor – with this beautiful pink handbag?

The smoking man starts to negotiate. "I will give you the turtle, if you give me some money. Don't consider it a sale. I am smart enough to know you people don't like buying. The Rich are only stingy, if only the poor could be as stingy, then perhaps we would ourselves become rich someday."

The smoking man contemplates his words, "Just consider it like we are helping each other out, or even a donation. We don't have a job, and all I can do is just fish, this turtle just happened to be in my net. I actually rescued it from drowning."

John wakes up from his trance, clearly aware of the conversation, projects out two fingers in each hand to visually and sarcastically 'quote': "rescued".

Everyone ignores John.

Nurul asks how much he needs. The smoking man shows gestures with three of his fingers.

"I can do $300." Nurul says.

The smoking man moves his head from side to side. He wants three thousand dollars!

I am completely against paying people who are trying to sell endangered animals but I knows these people need money....to survive.

Nurul starts to negotiate. Eventually, three fingers become one finger. And then one finger became 'half a finger'.

The teenage wife can't seem to take her eyes away from the pink bag. She whispers into her husband's right ear. Judging the way, they stand next to each other, I realized that at least physically they were meant for each other - two rather short people passing through the journey of a hard life.

The smoking man asks if Nurul would be kind enough to part with her pink bag, as he was never able to give his wife a wedding gift, let alone a proper wedding ring.

Nurul does not hesitate, she empties the few belongings she has in the pink handbag, and gives the handbag to the teenager. The teenager cannot help herself from giggling and smiling, as if she has won something to mark her entry into adulthood - other than childbirth, of course. In return, the generous doctor asks for the smoking man to promise to never catch illegal animals. She would also help him find a job.

Bystanders are shocked and then bemused, busily thumbing into their mobile phones, updating their social media chat groups and statuses, whilst a few are holding up their smartphones videoing this beautiful pink handbag being handed over to a teenage mother for a 'mere' turtle.

'Smoking man' doesn't care about the social media now. He doesn't have to worry about today, his wife is distracted. He does not have to worry about tomorrow until the next tomorrow.

With five hundred dollars in his pocket, 'smoking man' starts to show off his 'concierge service', singlehandedly picks up the giant turtle with both arms. The giant turtle is bigger than this man's entire torso. Doing his best not to show the strain the weight of this turtle has on his small body, he gently places the turtle inside the boot of my car. After agreeing on where to go, we both drive off to the river bank, where the turtle had originally been caught. John, the short man and I lift the giant turtle together and slowly wade into the brown green river. Knowing water means safety, the turtle scoots out from our grasp, and darts underwater - its trail visible only on the surface of the river, and then slowly disappears. I didn't get to say goodbye to the turtle.

The smoking man drives away, thankful for the outcome, which has brought benefit to his family. The three of us stand there by the riverbank, feeling as though we have the word 'saviour' emblazoned on our chests, whilst at the same time wondering if we would ever see a turtle like that again.
1st December

John: Watcher

Location: Bumi

"Oh my goodness!", I look up to the clear blue sky, and point to a white-bellied sea eagle soaring high above us - majestic wings spread out, taking advantage of the invisible thermals around, whilst looking for prey.

"Look, your eagle is here! This is a good sign. We must be doing well." Adib shouts out in excitement.

"Its nest must be nearby," Nurul concludes, smiling away her troubles, forgetting that she is $500 lighter and a Parisian designer bag less from her small collection of bags.

Adib turns to Nurul, and asks if the bag was expensive, and what kind of bag was it.

"Saint Laurent Sac De Jour," Nurul answers him with a French accent.

Adib is confused, he does not understand the meaning of designer clothes, let alone designer women bags.

"YSL...Yves Saint Laurent, my dear Adib."

"Ah..." Adib pretends to understand the significance of the designer house.

I whistle and then chuckles. "Not bad Doc, we are going to change the world with money and a YSL bag each time!"

"Well John, if I have to part with a bit of meaningless, to make a meaningful change, then so be it. Everyone wants a piece of happiness; I just want real happiness."

"Which is why I've finally decided to go with your guys to your trip to Ingei tomorrow. I know it's a last minute thing, but I just didn't want to give my answer straightaway, in case something came up at the last minute"

"That is awesome news," Adib starts fidgeting his phone, which I assume is to inform the head of the expedition with regards to the new addition to the Ingei expedition team.

The three of us return to the car, and conclude the day's mission as accomplished.

***

Today is a really good day, tomorrow is a different story, as the three and the other activists are unaware of a future clash between those who poach and those who stand to protect the environment, the self-proclaimed environmental activists look strange in a land where most people have no real opinion, indifferent to anything and everything, trapped in little bubbles of self-containment and self-contentment.

***

Distracted by the beauty of the river and the eagle, they do not see or detect what is watching them from across the river bank. The entity, the Presence... waiting for them, 'it' could have killed all of three of them TWICE in a blink of a human eye.

However, the Presence must abide by rules within its society. Orders are orders...it is only when a 'kill' signal is received, that the target can be eliminated.

The Presence has been doing this since the birth of man. He knows one thing for sure: Adib must die.
1st December

Selym: Discretion

Location: Hilaga City, Ifrit home world

"IMPOSSIBLE!!" Lord Jahat could not believe what I had just told him. He grabs his leather chair, and in spite of his elder appearance, is able to fling the heavy chair across to the wall of his office room.

He stares at me, nostrils flaring. "And you let him get away?"

I know Lord Jahat has always had a bad temper and he always blames everyone first, and then regretting later. I tilt my head slightly to the right, look him straight into eyes. "Yes, that's what happened." I am not afraid of his outbursts. I have known him for far too long.

Lord Jahat turns round and looks out of the glass wall of his office. From the 50th floor, everything in the city looks small, just lights, and people and buildings.

"It explains everything, why our information leaks, why our moves are always read by those who oppose us" Lord Jahat much calmer now, but I could feel the air in the room get quite cold.

"Everything we worked for could be destroyed in an instant," I could hear the trembling in his voice.

"Selym, make sure those three guards and Azilah do not tell anyone what they saw. This information needs to stay between us. If people find out about the truth about this Karin and his ability, they will be mass-panic. The Supreme Council of Nobles knowing how they think, will tuck their tail between their legs and run. They will flee this city - those bloody admin pen-pushing cowards"

"Please don't say anymore, my Lord. It is wrong to denigrate the Supreme Council. It is after all, a punishable offense" I remind my mentor.

Lord Jahat chuckles as he seems amused by my concerns for him, still refusing to look at me, instead he glances out at the city.

"I have commissioned Master Serigala to run the new Bumi missions. I am sure you are only too familiar with his work."

I shudder at the thought. They call him "The Ripper" for a reason.

"But why? Why my Lord? I have been waiting for this, a means to avenge my father"

"I know Selym, but I want you here. You are the one I trust the most. Something is just not right, what happened today with that Karin is not something we have accounted for. I fear something else is happening. Something out of our control. In the meantime, find out from our researchers how travel between these worlds can occur without MATA. Remember, keep it discrete."

Lord Jahat pauses, "I have heard of a time when our ancestors could travel without Mata but those days are long gone, the days when our civilization ruled Bumi without Man."

"This is all news to me, my Lord."

"I cannot blame you for not knowing, Selym. Information, its flow and its timing is important - which is why this incident must be kept secret. Who else knows?"

"The guards and my apprentice, Azilah." I pause, "Azilah, she can be trusted."

"Good, Selym. I will have to assign those guards with Master Serigala. Keep Azilah close to you - she is of noble blood and it is important to sure that group is with us."

I nod uncomfortably staying quiet as I know those guards will not last long with Serigala the Ripper.

The missions need to start now. Man must pay what is overdue.
1st December

Adib: Visit

Location: Adib's House, Bumi

What a long and exciting it has been! I drive back home and ponder about how much of a difference I made. I can't believe Nurul gave her bag away for a turtle. That was very good and altruistic of her. I am really grateful for her being in our group. We need more people like that in this world. Out there to help and be a bit less selfish in our world.

I get out of the car after parking at my white painted stilted house, I am so grateful that before my parents died they managed to get a house from the Government housing scheme.

Where would I live without it?

My cats all rush towards me, they don't live in the house but prowl around my backyard and making a cosy home for a few cat-generations now. It smells of pungent cat piss on the ground floor but after a few moments my nostrils immediately get used to it and smells of nothing. Just the purring of my dozen cats. Picking up strays has been something I can't help myself from doing. One of my largest adult orange cats, Garfield, presents a dead bird to me, a common pipit (a local version of a robin). I sigh and yet smile, cats are very destructive to the environment but I can't stop myself from admiring his gesture.

"Go on Garfield, mark and piss on my car. I know there's nothing I can do about that."

I climb up the stairs and the cats follow me and just as I am about to slide open my glass front door. I see the cats hissing at a corner by the door.

"Oh go away ghost," I murmured. Apparitions come and go. At least I am not alone, though when at times I think about it, I am truly lonely in this world.

Before I enter the house, I look out and watch the sun has set, the grey orange sky brightened by the fluorescent and sodium lights of the housing estate.

As soon as I close the door, I see flicker of a white blur cross the room.

"Excuse me! I am too tired for this crap. Don't bother me. I said I am bloody tired." I say out loud, knowing that to others it may sound like madness talking to myself, all alone in this house.

I place my keys on the dining table, where my parents and I used to dine. Pleasant memories and yet bitter, as some memories of their deaths start flooding in.

I should have been there with them. I fight the tears, and I know I need a 'beer'. I don't drink real beer; I just get a can cold non-alcoholic beer 'Bavaria' from my fridge. I love teasing John about drinking beer. He would always sip it and then spit it out in disgust, complaining how disgusting it taste. John would always say, "That taste like piss!". And I would usually say "Well, your people drink this stuff." And he would come up with reasons about why alcohol helps in society... I've heard this so many times that I sometimes I mimic him - his words and his mannerism.

Gosh, it tastes like Budweiser.

Sitting down on my sofa in my dull and poorly lit living room, I try to switch on the TV, but the remote doesn't work.

Something catches my eye in the corner of the living. I feel goose-bumps all over me.

Someone is there in the corner.

I can't see his face, but I see he is wounded, blood running down in his left shoulder and down his neck. He is murmuring something. I stand up and walk to 'it'.

Okay dude, 'beserk mode' on. I ain't afraid of no ghost. Not before and definitely not now.

"Look I said I really want to rest - stop bothering me!" I shout at it, furious I stomp my way towards it and grab its right shoulder and spin its body around. I know I will usually see a horrible face and that is supposed to frighten me. But I have never been scared.

I turn 'it' around and I immediately see a streak of blood across the right cheek of its face, a face that I am only too familiar with. My own.

I drop the can of fake beer on the wooden tile floor and take a few steps back.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I need your help" the entity says, the thing that has the same face has mine. I don't know how it is talking as I did not see it moving its lips whilst it was talking. Its voice was in my head.

I lose my train of thoughts, spiralling out of control and that train has crashed in my head. I feel dizzy and my head starts to spin. I can barely walk back to the sofa as my body becomes so heavy and my eyes so sleepy. Resting on the sofa, I fall asleep. Whatever happened, what I saw, I will have to process it later.
1st December

Karin: Love

Location: Adib's house, Bumi

Poor Adib. I thought to myself.

"It has been a long time since I met you." I turn around and see a familiar face, another me, another Adib. No, another Karin. We are shadows of the same man. Doppelgangers.

"Yes, it has been a long time brother" I stand up much easier, as my wounds heal faster in the presence of the real Adib. I shake my hands with the Karin who is always by Adib's side. We call him 'Satu' - yes, that means the number one. It was a long time ago, that we had abandoned our names and call ourselves by numbers.

Satu looks at me, and he is worried. "You took a bad hit; you must have fought with one of the leaders - was it Selym?"

"Yes, I would have been killed if I had not been able to travel to this world in an instant."

"Hmmm, the wound on your face has not fully healed. I think you drained too much from Adib"

I touch my face and I can feel the dried up blood. I scratch off the crusty blood and feel a ridge, a scar on my right cheek. "Oh damn it"

"You know we are going to have call you Scarface now, right?"

I frown. I have always loved my - I mean Adib's - good looks. The face is the most important thing for any being, whether it is for humans, my kind and animals. I hope no one will judge me wrong for having the scar.

Satu interrupts my thoughts. "What have you learned there?"

"It's happening already, everything the Princess had foretold us is unfolding as we speak."

Satu glances down. I can see it in his face, he is lost in his thoughts. He is worried about the future, especially for the future of Man.

"These are dangerous times. Very dangerous times. Whatever rules we had to protect ourselves no longer apply. The chaos will feed the vengeful opportunists."

"Satu, there is one more thing you need to know about. The Princess believes that there is an unaccountable element in this new development."

"You mean a puppet master" Satu has heard of this before. He knows there is always that unaccountable element that pushes sides to war.

"Yeah, something like that but the question is always who is pulling the strings of the puppet master" I answer back.

We both look at sleeping Adib. He was once our enemy; our lives had been about watching him. Instead, we have grown to love him which is supposed to be an impossibility as we were trained to be loveless. Now, we find that we love him more than ourselves. This fragile human who unknown to him, inspires us to live and breathe free and yet everywhere we see chains trying to control the world.
About The Author

Aammton Alias is a practicing medical doctor. For the past 15 years, he has worked in a variety of hospitals, hospices and intensive care units. Eventually, he settled down as a family physician in a lovely, small town.

Although others only see him by the boundaries of the definition of a medical doctor, those who know him well know that he is NOT confined to that description. He is a passionate advocate for those who seek his help, and his compassion has made him an activist of various causes. He is also a writer, a poet warrior, an entrepreneur at heart and most importantly, he is a family man.

http://www.about.me/aammton

You can reach him via Twitter @Aammton
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