Dawn broke over Rajawali High in a pale gray hue, as if the sky itself hesitated to bless the day. Morning mist still blanketed the asphalt courtyard, where five giant tour buses—High Deck Double Glass types—were parked neatly like sleeping iron monsters. Their engines hummed softly, spewing thin white smoke from their exhausts, creating an atmosphere that was a mix of holiday excitement and military tension.
The clock struck 06:00 AM.
Hundreds of 12th-grade students had gathered with their large suitcases. Colorful casual clothes replaced the monotonous gray-and-white uniforms. Some wore beach hats, sunglasses, and even thick winter jackets—wrong costumes due to over-excitement.
"Crazy, Lim! Look at the bus!" Dani exclaimed, eyes sparkling at Bus Number 3 which they would be boarding. "There's Wi-Fi, a toilet, the seats have leg rests. This isn't a bus, this is a road plane!"
Salim only nodded slowly, tightening his jacket. The morning air felt colder than usual, piercing the bone. He looked around. There were no teachers busy organizing lines with megaphones as usual. The teachers—including Mr. Bambang and Mrs. Ratna—were seen standing near Bus 1 (the staff and teacher bus), their faces looking... stiff. They didn't smile warmly to welcome the students. They looked like they were being watched.
And sure enough. At every bus door stood a man in a black suit with an earpiece. They didn't help lift suitcases. They just stood there, hands folded behind their backs, scanning every face that approached.
"Attention," Mr. Adrian's voice was heard through the central PA system, cutting through the students' chatter.
Salim turned toward the ceremony podium. Mr. Adrian stood there, accompanied by several medical staff wearing pristine white lab coats—too clean, contrasting with the dusty field.
"Before you board the bus and begin this journey," Mr. Adrian said, his voice calm yet intimidating, "There is one mandatory health procedure we must go through. Considering our destination is a private island with a unique endemic ecosystem, we must ensure no biological contamination is carried by you, or vice versa."
"Therefore," he continued, signaling the medical staff behind him. "Every student is required to receive an adaptation serum inoculation. This is a special vaccine to prevent tropical fever and allergic reactions to the island's local flora."
Whispers began among the students.
"Injections? Ugh, so annoying," complained Nadia standing in the Group 37 line. "What if my arm swells up?"
"Relax, Assets... I mean, Students," Mr. Adrian corrected quickly, a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes etched on his face. "The process is fast. Painless. We have set up a Sterile Tent on the left side of the field. Enter according to your group number. After injection, you will receive a Boarding Pass to board the bus. Without the injection, there is no departure."
Sterile Tent. A large, tightly closed white platoon tent had been standing there since last night. There were no gaps to peek inside.
"Groups 1 to 5, please enter," the field coordinator ordered.
Salim watched Group 4 walk in. Rinto led with an arrogant face, though his steps were slightly hesitant. Maya walked behind him, her face pale. She glanced toward Salim in the distance, holding her own left arm anxiously.
Ten minutes passed. No screams were heard from inside the tent.
One by one, members of Group 4 exited from the back door of the tent. Their faces looked a bit blank—confused, like people who had just woken up. They held their injection spots. None spoke to each other. They walked straight to the bus as if guided by instinct, not full consciousness.
"Weird," Udin muttered standing beside Salim.
"What is?" asked Rehan, who was busy hiding his jammer deep in his backpack.
"Look at the way Sucipto walks," Udin pointed to his friend in Group 4. "Sucipto is a Karate kid. His walk is sturdy, his footing is solid. But just now... he tripped over his own shoelace and didn't reflexively correct his balance. Like... his motor nerves are lagging."
"Maybe a side effect of local anesthesia?" Alya tried to give a rational diagnosis, though her brow furrowed. "Mass vaccinations usually don't have sedative effects that fast. Unless the dose is extremely high."
"Group 27! Enter!" the officer's shout called them.
Salim's heart raced. He looked at Salma. The Student Council President nodded firmly.
"Let's go. Don't look scared. We go in together," Salma ordered.
The five of them walked toward the mouth of the white tent. A sharp antiseptic smell—the same scent as when Salim met Mr. Adrian—immediately assaulted their olfactory senses as the tent flap was pulled aside.
Inside the tent, the atmosphere was like a field operating room. The floor was covered in thick plastic. Blinding white neon lights hung from the tent roof. There were five separate cubicles guarded by five masked medical officers.
"One person per cubicle. Roll up your sleeves. Don't ask questions," one of the medics ordered. His voice was heavy, not the voice of a friendly nurse. Behind his white lab coat, Salim could see a black shadow at the man's waist. A gun holster? Or just a walkie-talkie?
Salim entered cubicle number 1. He sat on a cold metal chair.
The medic in front of him didn't greet him. The man took a glass vial containing a clear, slightly viscous liquid. There was no trademark label on the bottle. Only a barcode and small text: N-M PROTOTYPE V.4.2.
"What vaccine is this, Sir?" Salim asked, trying to fish for information while rolling up his jacket sleeve. "I have a penicillin allergy."
The officer didn't answer. He drew the liquid into a syringe. The needle looked thicker than a regular vaccine needle. More like a blood donor needle.
"Quiet and relax," the officer said coldly.
From the next cubicle, Udin's voice was heard.
"Oy, Sir! Easy there! Are you injecting a human or a horse? So rough!" Udin protested.
"Quiet!" snapped the officer in Udin's cubicle. A soft thud was heard, like a body being forcibly pushed against a chair backrest.
Salim swallowed hard. He felt cold alcohol cotton wiped on his upper arm. The smell pierced his nose, making his head dizzy instantly.
Stab.
The needle pierced the skin. Painful. Much more painful than a regular shot. It felt like hot iron forced in tearing muscle tissue.
But what was more terrifying was when the liquid was pushed in.
Salim gasped. The liquid wasn't warm. The liquid was... cold. Freezing cold. Like liquid ice flowing straight into his veins.
"Sshhh..." Salim hissed holding back the pain.
He felt the cold flow spread quickly from his arm to his shoulder, then to his neck. His heartbeat suddenly slowed one beat, then raced twice as fast.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Salim's vision blurred for a moment. The neon light lines above him seemed to break into digital pixels. In his ears, a painful high-pitched ringing sound was heard. Eeeeeing...
"Done. Get out," the officer ordered, pulling the needle out roughly and slapping on a small round plaster.
Salim stood up, his legs felt shaky. He held his head.
What drug is this... Salim thought.
He walked out of the cubicle, rejoining his friends at the tent exit.
Rehan's face was deathly pale. He massaged his temples.
Udin held his freshly injected arm, his jaw hardened. "That wasn't a vaccine, Al," Udin whispered to Alya. "I know what a vitamin or anti-tetanus shot feels like. This is different. It feels... heavy. Like liquid metal entered my blood."
Alya checked the injection mark on her own arm. She stared at the small plaster with horror.
"No blood came out," Alya murmured softly. "A needle that big should leave minor capillary bleeding. But this closed instantly. The coagulation is too fast. There's a coagulant agent in the mixture."
"And the bottle had no FDA label," Alya added, looking at her friends seriously. "That's illegal. We were just injected with an experimental substance."
"Too late to protest," Salma cut in, her face tense but still trying to control the situation. "We've been injected. Now our focus is not to get separated. Whatever the side effect of this drug, we face it together."
A suited officer approached them, handing out five Boarding Passes with unique barcodes.
"Board Bus 3. Back seats. Move," he ordered.
They were herded out of the tent toward the bus. The sun had risen higher, but to Salim, the world looked slightly dimmer. The colors lacked saturation.
Climbing the bus stairs, Salim felt a wave of intense nausea. He held onto the handrail. In front of him, Dani (who had boarded earlier and was in the front seat of Bus 3 because he was in Group 17 which happened to share the bus) waved weakly.
"Oy... Lim... my head is spinning..." Dani complained, not as cheerful as before. "The vaccine kicks hard... like just getting off a rollercoaster."
Salim stumbled toward the backmost seats. The bus seat formation was 2-2. Salma sat with Alya. Udin sat alone in front of them. Rehan sat in the window corner, immediately covering his head with his jacket. Salim sat next to an empty seat—place for his bag.
He leaned his head against the cold glass window. Outside, he saw the school scenery starting to blur.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Salim tried calculating simple multiplication to test his consciousness.
12 times 12 equals 144. 25 times 25 equals 625.
His brain still worked. His logic still functioned. But his emotions... his emotions felt dull. The fear he felt earlier slowly evaporated, replaced by a strange artificial calmness.
He looked at his wrist, seeing the prusik bracelet Maya gave him. That bracelet was the only thing that felt "real" right now.
The bus started moving slowly. Diesel engine vibrations traveled through the cabin.
"Safe travels, children," Mr. Handoko's voice was heard faintly from outside, waving with a forced smile. Beside him, Mr. Adrian didn't wave. He just watched the buses leave, then pressed a button on his tablet.
"Sleep..." Salim whispered unconsciously. His eyes felt heavy, not from normal drowsiness, but because his body system was being forced to reboot.
In the seat across the aisle, Rehan was already fast asleep—or unconscious. Alya leaned on Salma's shoulder, eyes closed. Udin still tried to stay awake, staring at the bus door warily, but his head drooped lower and lower.
The convoy of five luxury buses rolled out of Rajawali High's gate, escorted by two black SUVs without license plates in front and back. They weren't heading to the airport as promised. They turned toward the toll road leading to a remote cargo port at the edge of the province.
Inside the silent bus, the AC hissed softly, blowing cold air that seemed to freeze the fate of the 200 students inside.
The journey to hell had begun. And the entry ticket was already flowing in their blood.