The piercing wail of police sirens tore through the skies above Koba, cleaving the roads with urgency as the convoy surged forth, bound for a single destination, the Koba Baru Pharmacy.
At the helm was Sergeant Bowo, his convoy of patrol cars a blur of flashing lights and resolute motion, trailing a wake of unease that rippled through the entire district.
From alleyways and shopfronts, residents and shopkeepers emerged, drawn by the clamour, their faces etched with alarm and speculation.
What calamity now had befallen Koba Baru Pharmacy?
That very morning, it had been the epicentre of chaos following the discovery of a rat carcass.
Now, as midday barely tipped into afternoon, the law had returned in force, carrying with them an air of gravity that pressed heavily upon the atmosphere.
Felzein, Cherlyn, Rosa, Melati, Dewi, Rasya, and Wina turned in unison as the sirens crescendoed near.
Without hesitation, they flung open the bolted entrance, hearts drumming wildly within their chests, ready to meet the storm.
A surge of nearly fifty uniformed officers spilled into the forecourt, their presence formidable, their purpose unquestionable.
Sergeant Bowo alighted from the lead vehicle just as Felzein swung wide the glass doors of the pharmacy.
"Good afternoon, Mr Felzein," Bowo greeted him, his tone clipped and formal.
"And to you, sir," Felzein returned, his voice calm though taut with tension, his hand lifting to gesture inward. "They’re in the back."
Wasting not a moment, Sergeant Bowo inclined his head in a curt nod.
With firm, deliberate strides, he led a handful of officers into the building, their boots echoing across the tiled floor, while others formed a strategic perimeter at the pharmacy’s entrance.
Their gazes swept every alley and rooftop, alert and unwavering.
Mere moments later, another vehicle skidded to a halt before the premises.
From it emerged Heru, Ibrahim, Vania, and Vera, seasoned journalists of no small reputation in Koba, veterans of many a breaking story.
They moved briskly, burdened with cameras, notebooks, and the silent urgency of professionals who knew news waited for no one.
“How’s it looking, mate?” Heru asked, his voice low and weighty.
Felzein offered a measured smile thin, but calm, “They’re in the back. Do your job,” he said with quiet resolve.
“These are my colleagues! Ibrahim, Vania, and Vera,” Heru said, nodding towards them.
Felzein inclined his head in greeting, “A pleasure,” he said simply.
Vania, taken aback, felt her thoughts scatter, “That face! Utterly unreasonable…” Her eyes widened slightly in disbelief.
Beside her, Vera’s mind echoed the sentiment, if more composedly, “Surely this man must be famous.”
“Go ahead, Heru. The rest of you too. Please, come in,” Felzein said, his voice warm but clipped, stepping aside to allow them passage.
Heru nodded once and entered without hesitation, Ibrahim following with the air of a man both grounded and purposeful.
Vania and Vera entered more slowly, as if reluctant to turn their gaze away. Their expressions gleamed with curiosity, perhaps something more.
From a short distance, Rosa and Melati observed the scene with narrowed eyes, their posture still but their thoughts sharp as razors.
Without exchanging a word, each echoed the same silent decree, “Don’t even think about it. Felzein belongs to me.”
In the dimly lit back room, Sergeant Bowo and a handful of officers halted in their tracks, eyes widening at the unexpected tableau before them.
There, lying motionless on the cold tiled floor, were the five perpetrators.
Each one expertly restrained with rope knots of such meticulous detail and elegance that they resembled the handiwork of a seasoned sailor rather than the impromptu efforts of a civilian.
A hush fell over the group as they took in the sight.
The bindings were not only secure but symmetrical, calculated to restrict movement without causing harm.
For a brief moment, they exchanged silent glances, half in wonder, half in quiet amusement.
It required no discussion to determine who had orchestrated this unorthodox display of restraint.
All thoughts instinctively turned to the young man known as Felzein.
Sergeant Bowo exhaled softly, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “A remarkable lad,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.
Not long after, footsteps echoed from the corridor, and in came Heru, flanked by his colleagues, Ibrahim, Vania, and Vera.
Their cameras and recording gear were at the ready, their faces alert with the curiosity of those accustomed to chasing stories yet unprepared for the strangeness of this one.
“Good afternoon, Officer,” Heru offered courteously.
Sergeant Bowo turned, recognition flickering across his face, “Ah... You're the journalist from earlier today, aren’t you?”
Heru gave a modest nod, “Yes, sir. I’ve brought my team with me. This is Ibrahim, and these are Vania and Vera.”
“Very well,” Bowo replied genially. “You’ve my permission to film and document. Just mind where you step.”
Heru inclined his head in thanks and motioned to his team to begin.
But as their lenses focused on the bound figures sprawled across the floor, a ripple of disbelief passed through them.
Not one of the suspects stirred. Still tightly trussed, they lay unconscious and inert, as though plucked from a painting, frozen in time and utterly subdued.
Heru frowned, puzzled, “Sir, this… this can’t be standard procedure?”
Sergeant Bowo chuckled under his breath, his gaze drifting towards the doorway, “Ask your friend there,” he said with a knowing look, just as Felzein stepped into view.
His gait calm, his expression unreadable, like a man returning not from battle, but from a brief stroll through the garden.
Felzein drew near, a plastic pail sloshing with water gripped in his hand.
Procured, with no great ceremony, from the apothecary’s modest lavatory.
With an air of unhurried calm, he offered the vessel to a nearby officer, then turned his gaze towards Sergeant Bowo, a rakish grin flickering across his lips.
“Sir,” he murmured, voice laced with mischief, “it seems our guests have enjoyed quite the extended nap, wouldn’t you say?”
Sergeant Bowo allowed himself a low chuckle, eyes glinting with amusement. He turned to the officer now clutching the bucket.
“Bani… rouse them,” he commanded curtly.
“At once, Sergeant!” came Bani’s prompt reply, bracing himself.
SPLASH!
The water descended with satisfying finality, drenching Welly, Diga, Abdi, Gaga, and Aryo.
Each bound fast in ropes so precise they might have been the work of a sailor rather than a pharmacist’s apprentice.
“Son of a... who the hell...?!” Welly roared, sputtering in disbelief, his eyes wild.
“You bloody soaked me, didn’t you, Abdi” Diga spluttered, half-dazed.
“Your own damn fault, you donkey!” Abdi shot back, grimacing.
“Flood! Oh, Lord, we’re drowning!” Gaga shrieked, wriggling pitifully.
“I was dreaming of a beach holiday! Why the bloody hell would you wake me?!” Aryo bellowed, his expression a portrait of soggy outrage.
The five of them remained blissfully unaware that they were now the star attraction of a very public spectacle.
They had not yet noticed the cluster of officers, nor the press, cameras raised and ready, faces unreadable.
Dishevelled, soaked to the bone, and utterly ridiculous, they continued bickering and writhing like schoolboys caught in a prank gone wrong.
CLICK!
The sharp strobe of Ibrahim’s camera flared, freezing their incredulous expressions in time.
“That will do!” Sergeant Bowo’s voice rang out like a pistol shot. “The curtain’s down on this little play.”
The five captives turned in tandem, startled by the flash and the weight of dozens of eyes suddenly upon them.
Before them stood the law in full force, cameras recording, lenses unblinking.
And in that moment, as the last vestiges of sleep and confusion lifted, panic set in slowly, visibly, etching itself into every one of their pale, drenched faces.
“Ah… What on earth is going on here?!” Welly cried out, his voice pitched with frantic hysteria.
Abdi suddenly came to, the memory of his earlier scuffle with the young man flashing sharply in his mind.
One by one, Welly, Gaga, Diga, and Aryo began to reconstruct the fragments of their ordeal, each piece falling into place with grim clarity.
In unison, their eyes locked fiercely onto Felzein, the composed, handsome youth standing before them.
“You scoundrel! This is your handiwork, isn’t it?” Abdi bellowed, his anger barely contained.
“Come here and face us! Don’t drag the police into this!” Welly shouted, goading them on.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Before they could utter another word, five sharp, resounding slaps echoed through the room like gunshots.
They stood frozen, stunned beyond belief as the realisation dawned upon them, who had struck them with such force.
Melati, eyes blazing with fierce indignation, stood poised before them, her hand still raised from delivering the blows.
“You five are nothing but contemptible wretches!” she cried, her voice trembling with righteous fury.
Felzein, Sergeant Bowo, the assembled officers, and the journalists, Heru, Ibrahim, Vania, and Vera, watched, wide-eyed and silent, utterly unprepared for Melati’s fearless outburst.
“M-Melati…” Welly stammered, utterly shaken, mirrored by the shock on the faces of his companions.
SMACK!
Another slap struck sharply across Welly’s cheek.
“Silence, Welly!” Melati snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Enough of this disgrace! Stop embarrassing yourself!”
“Melati, I can explain...”
SMACK!
Yet another fierce blow rocked him, nearly unbalancing him.
“You open your mouth again, and I’ll keep slapping you till you’re silent,” Melati warned, her tone icy and unyielding.
Felzein and Sergeant Bowo exchanged glances tinged with disbelief, scarcely able to fathom the spectacle before them.
Around them, the other officers watched in silent awe, their expressions a blend of surprise and bemusement.
Meanwhile, Heru, Ibrahim, Vania, and Vera busied themselves, diligently capturing every fleeting moment.
“Quite the drama, isn’t it, mate?” Ibrahim quipped, fingers deftly working the camera.
Heru shook his head with a weary sigh, “A woman’s wrath is a formidable thing indeed.”