Chapter 001: The Fog
Inside the Tour Bus
That day, a group of 320 eleventh-grade students from a Technical Vocational High School (SMKN Teknik) in the city of Tangerang, accompanied by ten supervising teachers—each assigned to a different tour bus—were traveling along the main road toward the IKN. They had departed from Sultan Aji Muhammad Sulaiman Sepinggan International Airport (BPN) in Balikpapan.
In the middle of the journey, the tour bus driver suddenly looked confused as the engine died without warning. Thick fog appeared out of nowhere, as if it had exploded and slammed into them all at once, enveloping the bus and everything around it.
HEUK!!!
Darkness arrived instantaneously, swallowing the bus in a single breath. All the passengers jolted in shock, feeling as though gravity itself had shifted—pressing heavier, stiffening their bodies. Breathing grew more difficult, as if they were trapped inside a sealed room with limited oxygen.
The suddenness of it all left them stunned. Within their confusion stirred a creeping fear—danger sensed not through reason, but pure instinct.
Their faces turned pale, cold sweat soaking their foreheads. Yet among them were those who tried to distract themselves, attempting to push away the terror slowly crawling into what had once been a comfortable journey.
CLICK CLICK CLICK
The bus driver, growing more frantic, repeatedly pressed buttons on the control panel, desperately trying to restart the engine that had suddenly gone dead.
"What the heck is this?!"
"Where are we?!"
"Pak driver, where are you taking us?!"
Complaints and frustration burst out from the students seated inside the bus. Those who had begun to grow accustomed to the strange and unnatural situation vented their discomfort by directing their anger at the driver.
"S-s-sorry… I—I don't know why this is happening…" the driver replied, visibly shaken. Annoyed at being blamed, he felt it was unfair to be the target of anger over something beyond his control.
"Seriously… do they really think I want to be stuck here myself?" he muttered inwardly.
"What kind of nonsense is this, Pak?! Why is a broken bus even being used?!"
"Yeah right. We paid a lot, and now we're stuck in pitch darkness…"
"Pak, turn on the lights! It's dark as hell!"
"Hurry up! Do it!"
The students' voices grew louder, harsher, berating the driver who was still at a loss.
"Enough, everyone. Calm down!"
The voice was firm.
Rezvan—an Indonesian Language teacher who also taught Arts and Culture—stood up. He was responsible for thirty-six students inside that bus.
"You've all been taught to behave properly. Pak Driver here is older than you. Mind your manners. Complaining and getting angry will not solve anything."
The students fell silent immediately. Some lowered their heads. Others pretended not to notice.
"Thank you, Pak Guru…" Pak Marta, the bus driver, said with a grateful smile. He felt deeply respected by Rezvan's conduct.
"It's alright, Pak. Please try again—see if the engine can be started," Rezvan replied calmly, attempting to ease the tension.
Pak Marta nodded, doing his best to revive the engine.
"Pak Guru, is your phone dead?" asked Rafandra, the bus assistant, his tone probing.
"Hm?!" Rezvan looked confused but quickly pulled his phone from his pocket.
"Oh… yeah…" he exclaimed. "Why is my phone dead?"
"Pak Marta, yours too… dead?" Rafandra asked the driver.
"Y-yes… do you know why, Ndra?!" Pak Marta asked nervously.
"If your phone were working, I don't think you'd be using a lighter to check the bus panel," Rafandra replied firmly.
"Y-yes…" Pak Marta fell silent, realizing the truth.
"This is strange… how can all of our phones die at the same time?" Rezvan said, growing uneasy.
"I don't think it's just that our phones are dead… or rather, damaged," Rafandra answered seriously, his sense of unease intensifying.
CRASH CRUNCH CRUMBLE
The atmosphere inside the bus grew more suffocating. In the silence, the sounds of shifting bodies and whispered complaints echoed among the passengers.
"My phone's dead…"
"Mine too…"
"What the hell is going on?! Mine's dead as well…"
The complaints only reinforced Rafandra's suspicion. Something was very wrong.
"Anyone wearing a watch?" Rafandra asked, holding up his lit lighter, its small flame barely illuminating the darkness.
One by one, the students shook their heads, exchanging glances to confirm.
"I am," Rezvan replied, rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal his wristwatch.
Rafandra approached, lifting the lighter closer to check the watch.
"Just as I thought…" he muttered.
"What is it, Bang?" Rezvan asked, confused. "Why is my watch dead too?!"
"Pak Marta, stop messing with it… this bus won't start anymore. It's damaged," Rafandra said gravely.
"What do you mean, Ndra?!" the driver snapped, slightly irritated. "Why?"
"This is most likely an EMP," Rafandra answered, glancing at Rezvan. "You teach at a technical school—you know what that means."
"EMP?! Why? What happened? Was it natural, or—" Rezvan stopped himself.
He realized that continuing might incite panic among the students, so he swallowed the rest of the question.
"We don't know yet whether it's natural or something else," Rafandra continued calmly, holding back further speculation.
Inside the bus, students began asking each other nervously. Fear and confusion spread.
"Pak Guru, what's going on?"
"Why is it dark? It's supposed to be daytime!"
"Did we enter a tunnel?"
"Why did we stop here?"
"This place feels wrong…"
Anxiety thickened as voices overlapped.
"Everyone, stay calm!" Rezvan called out.
Then he turned away from the students, speaking quietly to Pak Marta and Rafandra.
"The three of us are at the front. We all saw what was ahead before we were swallowed by this darkness. Did either of you notice where we might have entered?" Rezvan asked seriously.
His heartbeat quickened. Dread crept into his thoughts.
Some students who were watching felt it too.
"I'm sorry, Pak… I'm just as confused. A moment ago, I'm sure we were still on the main road," Pak Marta replied, his face pale.
"Pak… are we inside Saranjana?"
Arka, the student seated right behind the driver, asked, his face just as pale.
"Don't be ridiculous! How could Saranjana be on a main road?!" Pak Marta snapped—more to vent his own confusion than to scold.
"Saranjana's existence has never been proven. For now, let's treat it as just a legend, Arka," Rezvan replied, trying to stay composed. But deep down, something felt terribly wrong.
Dina, sitting beside Arka, chimed in.
"But Pak Rezvan, we all know we were on the highway just now. How could we suddenly end up in a place like this?"
"That's true, Pak," Kirana added. "Even if fog suddenly appeared, we were on a busy road. If the bus stopped abruptly, the chances of getting hit by other vehicles would be high. But so far… nothing's happened."
Rezvan tried to remain steadfast, though doubt gnawed at him. As a teacher, he struggled to accept things that could not be explained scientifically. Yet what they were experiencing now felt increasingly incomprehensible.
"Everyone, stay calm. Try to find anything that can be used as a light," Rezvan instructed.
"What you said makes sense, Kirana. But if what Bang the assistant said is true—if this really is an EMP—then it's possible."
Most of the students began rummaging through their belongings, feeling around for anything useful. Some didn't know what an EMP was, but their reluctance to ask kept them silent.
After some time, disappointed faces appeared. No one had found a proper light source.
Still darkness.
Unable to see one another.
"Huff…" Rezvan exhaled.
"Alright, this is an emergency. I won't report you. I know some of you keep lighters for smoking… take them out. We need to see our surroundings."
Nearly half the students raised their hands, revealing that they had lighters.
Rezvan sighed, unsure whether to laugh or cry at his students' behavior—especially since he was their homeroom teacher.
Pak Marta and Rafandra suppressed smiles, reminded of their own youth, no different from these kids.
—
"Pak… Pak…" Ardi called out, one of Rezvan's students seated near the middle rows.
"Pak, Pak Rezvan, please…" shouted Damar, sitting beside Danang, waving frantically.
"Ardi? Damar? Is that you? What's wrong?" Rezvan asked as he hurried toward the panicked voices.
Damar and Ardi were gripping their seatmate, whose body trembled as he struggled to breathe.
"I—I don't know, Pak… Danang's acting strange…" Damar replied anxiously. His expression was impossible to see in the dark.
"Danang…" Rezvan called, half-crouching as he tried to see the boy holding his chest.
The darkness made it difficult.
"I can't breathe, Pak…" Danang gasped, forcing air into his lungs. "My chest hurts…"
"Do you have asthma?!" Rezvan asked, alarmed.
Rafandra hurried over, bringing his lighter closer to examine Danang.
Danang shook his head weakly, still clutching his chest.
Rafandra frowned.
In the dim glow of the flame, he could see how pale Danang's face was—how much pain he was enduring.
Rafandra looked at Rezvan, his troubled expression making it clear: Danang's condition was serious.
Rezvan had sensed it too, but part of him clung to hope that things were still under control. That hope shattered when he saw Rafandra's face.
"Pak…" Damar called, his voice trembling. "I feel cold too… like Danang. Breathing feels really hard…"
Seconds later, groans and muffled cries spread throughout the cabin.
Gasping coughs, strangled breaths, panicked whispers—forming a symphony of fear in the confined space.
Danang wasn't alone.
The crushing pressure in his chest was spreading to other students.
"Do any of you have asthma?" Rezvan asked, his voice verging on desperation, searching for meaning in something he couldn't understand.
One by one, his students collapsed against their seats.
Faces flushed red. Breathing erratic. Bodies weak and helpless.
The atmosphere devolved into chaos and terror, echoes of suffering bouncing inside the bus.
"Stay here. I'll go outside and look for help…" Rezvan said, his voice firm but trembling as he rushed toward the door.
Suddenly, Rafandra grabbed his arm.
Rezvan turned, eyes wide, searching for an explanation.
Rafandra himself looked startled by his own action, but instinct screamed one thing: don't go out.
He shook his head—an answer without words.
"What is it?" Rezvan asked, confused. "Why?"
"Don't go out," Rafandra said softly but firmly, his voice heavy with unseen dread.
"Bang, the kids are in trouble. The bus is dead, no phones are working. I have to go out and get help," Rezvan replied, frustration mixing with fear.
"Don't!" Rafandra insisted.
"I feel… we shouldn't leave this bus."
His calm certainty made the air feel heavier, as if warning of an invisible threat.
Rezvan's brow twitched. His heart pounded.
Doubt flickered in his eyes before he drew a deep breath.
"Excuse me, Bang," he said, gently removing Rafandra's hand. "I have to go… these kids need help."
The bus fell silent, filled only with labored breathing and pounding hearts. Outside, darkness devoured light—a dense blackness waiting beyond the windows.
Rezvan inhaled deeply, steeling himself, then moved swiftly to the door.
His eyes pierced the fog beyond the glass.
His heart raced. Adrenaline surged.
Logic drove him forward—children needed help. He had to act.
But when he pulled the door lever, nothing happened.
The door remained shut. The mechanical lock resisted like hardened steel.
Panic flared.
"This can't be…" he muttered, his voice shaking.
His reptilian brain—the part that reacts to danger—took over. His heart pounded faster, muscles tensed, thoughts hunted for hidden threats.
Rafandra, a few steps behind, watched carefully.
He observed Rezvan's physical responses: twitching brows, trembling hands, uneven breaths.
Without words, he understood.
Rezvan's logic was battling his primal fear.
Survival instinct sent a clear signal: don't go out.
Rezvan forced back his frustration, inhaled deeply, and tried the door again with more strength.
The lever bent under his thin grip.
Still nothing.
Silence settled, broken only by breathing and the thud of heartbeats.
"Bang… the door… it won't open," Rezvan finally said, his voice choked with fear and despair.
"The bus is dead, Pak Guru. That's why the door won't open," Pak Marta replied before Rafandra could speak.
Though he couldn't see clearly, he could hear and sense what was happening.
Rafandra stepped forward, placing a firm but reassuring hand on Rezvan's shoulder.
"I don't know what's going on," he said in a low voice, staring into the darkness beyond the windows, "but there's something out there… something we can't predict."
Rezvan swallowed hard, adrenaline still surging.
His mind was torn—logic demanded action, yet his inner self warned him to heed Rafandra's instinct.
Muscles in his neck tightened. His head throbbed.
Inside him, a conflict raged between fact and the unknown.
Meanwhile, Rafandra stood calm.
The bus now felt like a capsule—shielding them from something vast, dark, and unseen outside.
Cultural Note: Indonesian Forms of Address
The Indonesian language uses a rich system of honorifics—titles used to show respect, age difference, social roles, and personal closeness. These forms of address are essential in Indonesian daily life and carry cultural meaning that does not always exist in English.
This novel retains those original forms as part of its Indonesian identity.
Here are the key terms used:
"Pak" (short for Bapak)
Meaning: Sir, Mister, or Father, depending on context.
Used for:
Adult men, especially older than the speaker.Teachers, drivers, community members, respected figures.
Examples in this story:
Pak Guru = "Sir/Teacher" (a respectful way students call their male teacher).Pak Supir = "Sir Driver" (respectful way to call the bus driver).Rafandra calls Marta simply Pak, because they are adult men but Marta is older.Rafandra, the bus assistant (kernet), calls Rezvan "Pak/Pak Guru", even though they are about the same age. This reflects Rafandra's respect for Rezvan as a teacher, not just a formal or student-like relationship.This pattern is consistent with Indonesian cultural norms: even those older than the teacher often still call them "Pak Guru" or "Ibu Guru" as a sign of respect.
"Bang/Abang"
Meaning: Older brother, or culturally similar to addressing an older male with friendliness and respect.
Used widely in:
Sumatra, Betawi/Jakarta, parts of Kalimantan.
Between adults when the other man is slightly older or feels like an "older-brother figure."
In this story: Rezvan calls Rafandra "Bang" because Rafandra is slightly older, and it shows respect without formality.
It implies camaraderie, warmth, and local cultural nuance.
"Om"
Meaning: Uncle.
Used for:
Adult men significantly older than teenagers or children.Not necessarily biologically related—often used for friendly adults.
In this story: The students call Rafandra Om, because he is an adult man but not their teacher.
It carries politeness and emotional distance: respectful, but not overly formal.
Why these cannot be translated literally?
In English, the closest equivalents would be "Mister," "Sir," or "Uncle," but these lose important cultural nuance.
For example:
"Uncle" in English implies family."Sir" is too formal."Mister" is too cold or institutional.
Indonesia's system is relational, emotional, and tied to age hierarchy.
Using the original Indonesian terms preserves:
Social dynamics
Power relationships
Cultural authenticity
The natural rhythm of Indonesian speech
Author's Note
The term "reptilian brain" originates from the Triune Brain theory, introduced by Paul MacLean. In this theory, the human brain is divided into three evolutionary layers:
Reptilian Brain (Brainstem)
The evolutionarily oldest part.
Responsible for basic instincts: survival, reflexes, aggression, self-defense, and territorial behavior.
Controls automatic bodily functions: heartbeat, breathing, blood pressure, and the fight-or-flight response.
Non-rational and extremely fast, often activating before conscious thought.
Limbic System
Associated with emotions, motivation, and memory.
This is where fear, anxiety, anger, and protective instincts emerge.
Neocortex
The newest part evolutionarily.
Responsible for logic, analysis, language, creativity, and abstract thinking.