Chapter 1: Dishonorably Discharged

He was already on his fifth cigarette. The handsome, powerfully built man stared blankly into the distance, his eyes occasionally flashing with sharp intensity. His discarded batik shirt lay crumpled on the ground beside him.

His features carried a striking blend of Middle Eastern and Western heritage. His skin was neither too fair nor too dark, settling into an even, warm tone. His black hair looked slightly disheveled from repeatedly running his fingers through it in frustration.

Wearing his dark brown tactical pants and a tight white t-shirt that accentuated his muscular chest, he glanced back down at the ground. A yellow folder containing his dishonorable discharge papers from the police force lay where he had hurled it, suppressing his rising fury.

His crime? Shooting a suspect. But the alleged criminal's family had fought back in court, and he was the one left taking the fall.

Following a series of ethics board hearings and suspensions, the final verdict came down hard: he was stripped of his badge and dishonorably discharged from the force, ending his service at the rank of First Lieutenant.

What infuriated him beyond measure was how his commanding officer—the very man who had led the unit—washed his hands clean of the whole affair to protect his own career, using him as a sacrificial lamb.

It had been an ambush operation planned and led directly by the commander himself; Brandon had merely followed orders.

In fact, it was the commander who had given the explicit order to open fire if the drug trafficking ring showed any resistance or attempted to flee.

Yet the narrative flipped completely in court. During the trial, the kingpin's family protested, claiming that their relative was unarmed and non-resistant when he was shot down.

His name was Brandon Irwansyah—a young officer whose promising career had come to a tragic, screeching halt at the age of twenty-five.

He could still vividly recall the courtroom proceedings, specifically the piercing stare of the criminal's wife. The strikingly beautiful woman refused to forgive him for the shooting of her husband, who had been a high-profile fugitive on the police's most-wanted list for over a year as a major drug lord in Jakarta.

Brandon was ultimately found guilty and given a six-month probation sentence. More painfully, his career in law enforcement lay in ashes. As of today, he was a civilian once more—no longer a member of the men in brown.

Brandon had been one of the most elite tactical officers in the field, renowned for his marksmanship. It was rare for a target to escape his sights, as he consistently landed precision shots on a suspect's shoulder or leg.

His fellow officers used to call him the Executioner. But now, that executioner sat motionless in a public park, oblivious to the crowd passing by.

His mind drifted back to the fiery argument between his late mother and father over his decision to join the police force—a decision that ultimately required selling a piece of land just to secure his acceptance into the officer academy.

“I’ve already spent a fortune on his college education! Why do we have to pay to get him into the police academy? They said it was free! I’m not selling that land—it’s the only thing my father left me! What will my siblings say if I sell it off?!” Bahar, his father, had fumed in anger.

“Listen to me, Bahar! Brandon said there are only two passing slots left. Physically, Brandon outperforms his competitor, but that boy’s family is using money to buy his way in!” Kanah, his mother, had argued right back.

A week later, Brandon was stunned when his mother handed him fifty million rupiah in cash, instructing him to pass it immediately to the contact who could guarantee his admission into the academy.

Kanah never revealed where she obtained the money. Once the bribe was handed over, Brandon shortly bade them farewell to attend the two-year police academy, having officially passed the selection.

A year later, Brandon found himself kneeling at a graveside with bloodshot eyes. His mother lay beneath the fresh mound of earth, passing away before she could ever see him graduate as an officer.

He only learned the heartbreaking truth the night he returned home, where his father berated him mercilessly.

“Do you have any idea where your mother got that fifty million rupiah?! She borrowed it from loan sharks! She had to pay three million rupiah every month with thirty million in interest! She worked herself to exhaustion as a maid and selling fried snacks until she fell sick and died! And now, because she’s gone, I’m stuck paying off her debt!” Bahar had glared fiercely at his only son, his voice booming with bitter resentment.

Bahar was merely a low-ranking civil servant. Out of his five-million-rupiah monthly salary, barely two million remained after automatic deductions for their motorcycle and the modest house they lived in.

Brandon had stood there in silence, unable to utter a single word. Staying only one day at home, he packed his bags and went straight back to the police barracks in Bogor, leaving behind his childhood home near Pelabuhan Ratu.

TO BE CONTINUED