Central Jakarta 1:00 PM
The warehouse in Penjaringan was still cold. It was really hot outside. As Pistachio and Malik stepped out they weren't greeted by police tape or a quiet area. They were greeted by a lot of people with their phones out. A crowd of angry expectant faces.
"Did he do it? Is the CEO dead?" a woman screamed from the front of the crowd. Her eyes were red, and her clothes were worn out. "He stole my pension! Is he gone?"
Pistachio didn't answer. He kept his head down, holding the two death certificates.
"Detective!" a young man shouted, pushing a phone into Pistachio's face. "The Executioner just posted the biometric feed! He said you were there to witness the 'Balancing of the Scales.' Why are you trying to stop him? Hes doing your job for you!"
"Back off!" Malik pushed through the crowd, his hand on his gun. "This is a crime scene. A double homicide."
"Homicide?" a voice laughed bitterly from the crowd. "It's a miracle! Since the 'Monday Massacre' began, my daughter hasn't been bothered by anyone once. My brother's stolen motorcycle was returned to his doorstep this morning by a really scared thief. The streets are clean, Detective. Why do you want them dirty again?"
Pistachio stopped. He looked at the woman who had lost her pension. He saw the relief on her face—a relief that ten years of lawsuits and police reports had never given her. To her, the Executioner wasn't a murderer. He was a hero.
"He isn't cleaning the streets," Pistachio said, his voice low but loud enough for everyone to hear. "He's just replacing one kind of fear with another. Today he killed a thief. Tomorrow, he might kill you for a lie you told ten years ago."
"I'll take my chances with his scale over your courts!" the woman spat.
The drive back to Headquarters was a nightmare of sirens and heckling. People on the sidewalks wore armbands—the symbol of the Executioner. It was a vote of no confidence against the government.
Inside the office, the air was more toxic. Commander Yanuar was throwing files across the room.
"The Commissioner just called, " Yanuar hissed, his voice shaking. "They want an arrest, Pistachio. Not of the Executioner—they know we can't catch a ghost. They want us to arrest the 'Collaborators.' Anyone hosting the Gardens servers, anyone wearing the armband."
"You want to arrest half the city for being tired of corruption?" Pistachio tossed the CEO's death certificate onto Yanuar's desk. "The Executioner just handed us a 200-page trail of every bribe this CEO ever paid. If we spent half as much energy arresting the names on this list as we do chasing the Executioner, maybe the public wouldn't be cheering for a serial killer."
"It's not about the list anymore!" Yanuar screamed. "It's about the System! If the Executioner wins, there is no state. There is no police. There is a machine and a graveyard."
Pistachio walked to his desk. He looked at the mountain of files. For the time, he felt the weight not as a burden of work but as a burden of guilt. He began to open the "cases—the petty thefts, the harassment reports, the frauds that had been gathering dust for months.
"What are you doing?" Malik asked, sitting across from him.
"The Executioner said the law takes years for a file, " Pistachio replied, his eyes scanning a report on a local land grab. "He's right. We were lazy. We were selective. We gave him the fuel he needed to burn this city down."
Pistachio looked at a photo of a victim from a case ten years ago—the case that had frozen his soul.
"If I want to catch him, I have to be faster than his algorithm, " Pistachio whispered. "I have to find the one person on his hit list who doesn't deserve to die. I have to find the error in his machine."
Suddenly Maliks computer beeped. A new video was trending. It wasn't a crime. It was a countdown.
TARGET: DETECTIVE PISTACHIO.
DEBT: OBSTRUCTION OF UNIVERSAL JUSTICE.
STATUS: PENDING VERDICT.
The office went silent. Every officer in the room turned to look at Pistachio. The "Equality of Sin" had finally found its subject. To the Executioner, stopping the 'Purge' was the crime of all crimes.