Khai walked into the Medan Selera Kita building.

Spacious. Clean.

A two-story structure filled with tables and chairs spread across the open hall. Customers of all races and ages sat eating, absorbed in their own meals, untouched by whatever was happening outside.

Along the sides, rows of food stalls stretched endlessly.

Dishes from different cultures, arranged in bursts of color.

The smell of dhal gravy and curry wrapped around the air. A morning staple for Malaysians.

Forks and spoons clinked softly.

A waiter carried a plate of nasi lemak to a table, steam still rising. Coconut milk and pandan teased the empty stomach.

The space buzzed.

Alive.

But never overwhelming.

Khai walked casually.

Or at least, he tried to look casual.

Steps measured. Breath controlled. Face emptied.

A mask.

Just like yesterday. And the day before. And every day for the past five years.

His eyes settled on a glass-fronted shop.

Kafe CitaRasa Semua.

The sign hung neatly above.

Inside, it was packed. No empty tables.

Khai stepped in.

Cool air brushed against his skin, pushing away the lingering heat from outside.

People passed by, carrying plastic bags filled with takeaway food.

He headed toward a door beside the counter.

“Why you so late?”

A stocky, dark-skinned man walked past him, carrying a tray with two plates of roti canai.

Rash.

Khai raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing.

“You know lah, boss.”

Rash clicked his tongue and walked off, annoyed in a way that had become routine.

A small smile formed on Khai’s face.

Just enough to look normal.

Rash turned back.

“When you gonna watch our café promo video? I’ve been waiting since yesterday for your comment.”

“Sorry. Been a bit busy since yesterday,” Khai replied, his voice steady enough to sound believable.

A lie.

Rash didn’t need to know he had just strangled a pelesit in a back alley.

Ckrakk.

The doorknob turned.

A small office inside the café.

Wooden walls. Boxed files stacked unevenly. A 2026 calendar hung slightly crooked. The air conditioner hummed softly.

A television mounted on the wall played the morning news, though no one was really listening.

Two sofas pressed against the wall.

A man with a thin mustache sat there, absorbed in his phone.

Khai walked past him and dropped into his chair.

“When’d you get in?” the man asked without looking up.

Khai turned slightly.

“Just now.”

He stretched, adjusting his shoulders as if that were the only weight he carried this morning.

“Had something to deal with earlier, James.”

James nodded slowly, eyes still glued to his screen.

“What are you watching?”

Khai leaned back, tone light. Almost casual.

“Something that’s going viral right now.”

“Kenz?”

One of Khai’s eyebrows lifted. A faint smile followed.

James nodded.

Khai’s gaze drifted to a tall shelf on the right.

Four large briefcases, each marked with the Zingforce logo, were lined up neatly.

He stared at them for a while.

Emergency response kits.

Standard issue for field operatives.

Reserve suits for critical situations.

Inside: Zing scanners, neutralizer weapons, protective suits.

Everything needed to fight pelesit.

And maybe… humans.

“So Zingforce can’t hide Kenz from the public anymore, huh?”

James finally looked up.

“Looks like it.”

He slipped his phone into his pocket.

A brief silence settled.

“You ever met Kenz?” Khai asked, smiling slightly. Playful tone. Eyes too calm.

“You’re the Zingforce guy,” he added.

James shook his head.

“Met him? No.”

He paused.

“But the stories about him are getting weird.”

“Weird how?”

James shrugged.

“Some say he saves people. Some say he causes chaos on purpose. Even the videos are cut here and there.”

A faint smile.

“Hard to know what to believe.”

Not fully convinced.

Not fully dismissing.

“Do you think he’s dangerous?”

The question came out softly.

James stopped at the door. One hand in his pocket. The other on the knob.

“I’m not sure.”

He glanced back.

“If he was really dangerous, Zingforce would’ve hunted him down already.”

A pause.

“But if he’s not… why hide so much?”

His eyes flickered briefly toward the Zingforce briefcases, then back to Khai.

“Information about Kenz is too vague. Motive unclear. No one even knows whose side he’s on.”

He gave a small smile.

“I’m talking too much. Don’t leak this to anyone else.”

“State secret.”

“Keep it safe,” Khai replied quietly.

The door closed.

Silence.

Khai remained seated.

If even James didn’t know Kenz’s motive… that meant Zingforce intel itself was incomplete.

Or intentionally incomplete.

Who’s holding the real story?

The name surfaced on its own.

Tan Sri Ghani Ismail.

Khai clenched his jaw.

“James.”

The man paused at the doorway.

“Hm?”

“You ever heard of Tan Sri Ghani being involved with Zingforce?”

James went silent.

A little too long for a normal question.

“Why?”

“Just curious. Viral videos, lots of wild theories.”

James studied him briefly.

“I heard he funds research,” he said quietly.

“But details… I don’t have clearance.”

He left.

Khai leaned back.

Funds research.

Green Zing extract.

Thin threads began connecting.

My enemy… is the country’s leadership.

Not a wild pelesit.

Not a mindless creature.

This is human.

And humans are very good at crafting narratives.

I need someone on the inside.

Mary’s name surfaced.

He shook his head immediately.

No.

Khai lowered his head.

Heavy.

Azazil.

The name crept in.

The most dangerous ally.

Every word like a double-edged blade.

“What am I doing. It’s work time.”

Khai stood up immediately, snapping himself out of it.

He refused to let his thoughts be slowly eaten away.

His phone vibrated.

Rash:
You watched our café promo video yet? Satisfied or not?

A small smile appeared.

The world was still moving.

People were still thinking about promo videos.

Khai looked around the room.

Stacks of files. Unsorted documents.

The hum of the air conditioner filled the space.

Steady. Consistent.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

Inhale.

Holding back the storm in his chest.

Just for a second.

Enough to pretend everything was normal.

The television voice echoed faintly in the background.

A reporter stood in front of a massive spherical building with curved, futuristic structures.

Intelligent Zingforce Malaysia Center.

“An emergency meeting is currently underway regarding the Kenz situation at our national borders.”

The camera zoomed toward the entrance.

“We will wait for Dr. Syarifah for further statements.”

The TV voice faded again into the hum.

And in that small office,

Khai sat still.

Trying to live a normal life.

Even though his world would never be one.

---

Intelligent Zingforce Malaysia Center

The compound was flooded with media vehicles.

Camera lights flickered endlessly.

Reporters shouted questions no one answered.

Microphones were raised like spears.

Inside, the auditorium doors were tightly shut.

The air felt heavy.

The room was filled with Zingforce intel officers in formal attire.

The emblem on their chest was not just a symbol.

It was a promise.

It was a burden.

At the front, a giant screen displayed the Commander’s face.

Age showed in his hair.

But his posture remained firm.

His eyes, sharp.

“We can’t keep this quiet anymore.”

His voice wasn’t loud.

But every word struck.

“Sooner or later, the public will learn about Kenz… the one we’ve been hiding.”

Silence.

Even the air conditioner felt too loud.

“If we keep avoiding speculation, Zingforce’s image will crack. And when trust collapses… we lose control.”

An intel officer stood abruptly.

“But Commander, if we reveal it, panic will spread. Have you seen the comments on those viral videos? People are already paranoid.”

“Paranoia is more dangerous when left without answers,” the Commander replied sharply.

Whispers began spreading.

“Thailand is already accusing us.”

“International media is waiting.”

“If this turns diplomatic—”

“Enough.”

A voice cut through.

All eyes turned.

Dr. Syarifah stood up slowly, tablet in hand.

Her face calm.

But her jaw, tight.

She stepped toward the center.

The Commander moved aside.

“I hope you have more than theory,” he murmured before stepping back.

Syarifah said nothing.

She raised her tablet.

“Kenz. Since his appearance three years ago, we’ve controlled information tightly.”

She paused, scanning the room.

“But now, information is leaking—not through documents.”

“It’s leaking through social media.”

An intel officer stood.

“So we reveal him? That’s reputational suicide.”

“Reputation without trust has no value,” Syarifah replied calmly.

She tapped the tablet.

A graph appeared.

Zing readings stabilized between scale five and six.

“This is Zingforce Thailand data.”

Another graph appeared.

“This is Kenz’s average Zing reading.”

The two lines overlapped almost perfectly.

The room fell silent.

“Graphs can be manipulated,” someone challenged.

Syarifah lifted her gaze.

“They can. But this data is verified with Thailand.”

She stepped forward.

“Videos can be debated. AI can mimic faces. Voices can be synthesized.”

She stopped under the stage light.

“But Zing patterns cannot be fabricated without consequence.”

Another voice spoke up.

“Thailand believes Kenz is a Malaysian Super Soldier serum project. If we stay silent, that accusation sticks.”

“And if we reveal everything, our own people panic,” another countered.

Voices overlapped.

“The media smells blood.”

“Parliament will question this!”

“This isn’t just security. It’s political!”

The Commander stood.

“Enough!”

Silence snapped back instantly.

Syarifah continued, softer now.

“Remember what KENZ stands for.”

She tapped the screen.

Kinetic Entity – Neutral Zone.

“He is a neutral zone. We don’t fully understand what exists within him.”

She looked across the room.

“That is not weakness.”

“That is fact.”

An officer crossed his arms.

“So what’s the strategy?”

Syarifah inhaled.

“We do not reveal everything.”

Some faces shifted.

“We control the narrative. We acknowledge the existence of a stable Zing entity at the border. We emphasize there is no proof of a military project.”

“And the Super Soldier accusations?”

“Claims without evidence are noise.”

She paused.

“And noise can be drowned with consistent information.”

Silence again.

Then a younger officer spoke.

“We use social media as the main battlefield. Standardize statements. Thailand doesn’t want panic either.”

Heads nodded.

The debate resumed.

Still tense.

But now guided.

The Commander stepped closer to Syarifah.

“You handled that well.”

His voice lowered.

“Or are you just used to standing alone?”

Sharper than any argument.

Syarifah didn’t respond.

Voices filled the room again.

And suddenly—

A scream.

Not from outside.

From within her.

Civilians crying. Breath choking. Bodies falling.

Siiiuuung—

“Dr. Syarifah?”

She flinched.

Her vision blurred for a moment before snapping back.

A female intel officer stood below the stage.

“Time’s running.”

Syarifah straightened.

Her face hardened again.

“Alright. We proceed with operations planning.”

Her voice steady.

No one knew—

Inside her,

the real meeting had never ended.