# CHAPTER 8 LARAS
At 7:14 a.m., Raka was already at the office.
But the mood that morning felt different.
Several employees stood near the bulletin board.
Some were smiling, some were whispering, and several looked busy checking their phones.
Raka paid little attention.
Ever since receiving Nadira’s message the night before, his thoughts had been fixed on one thing: >Don’t go home.
He hadn’t had a chance to ask for more details.
Nadira hadn’t replied to his next message.
When Raka tried calling, her number was inactive.
“Mr. Raka.”
Someone’s voice made him turn.
Laras stood a few steps behind him.
She looked different.
Brighter.
For the first time in several days, Raka saw someone approach him without fear.
“Good morning.”
“Morning, sir.”
“You look happy.”
Laras smiled.
“Could I talk to you for a minute?”
Raka nodded.
They walked toward the hallway beside the administrative office.
Laras gripped her phone tightly.
“I got some news.”
“What news?”
Laras drew a breath.
“I passed.”
Raka furrowed his brow.
“Passed what?”
“The permanent employee selection.”
Raka fell silent.
Laras had worked as a contract employee for several years.
He knew her as meticulous and quiet.
She had taken the selection process several times.
And failed several times, too.
“Congratulations,” Raka said at last.
Laras smiled.
“Thank you.”
“When will the announcement be made?”
“They said next week.”
Raka looked at her.
“They said?”
Laras showed him her phone screen.
A short message.
There was no sender name.
>Prepare your documents. Your status will be adjusted.
Raka read the sentence twice.
“Who sent it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you even taken the selection test?”
“Not yet.”
Raka raised his head.
Laras was still smiling.
But slowly, her smile faded.
“Is something wrong?”
Raka handed her phone back.
“When does registration open?”
“In two weeks.”
Raka fell silent.
“And you’ve already been told you’ll pass?”
Laras began to look uncertain.
“I thought maybe it was preliminary information.”
“From an anonymous number?”
Laras didn’t answer.
Raka felt something familiar.
An anonymous message.
A changed status.
A decision appearing before the process had even begun.
He looked at Laras for a long moment.
“Don’t do anything yet.”
“What?”
“Don’t upload any documents. Don’t send any data. Don’t sign anything.”
“Mr. Raka, is there a problem?”
Raka shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”
But in his heart, he had already begun to suspect something. -----
At 9:21 a.m., Raka opened SENTRA.
He entered Laras’s name.
LARAS WULANDARI.
Her employee profile appeared.
Status: CONTRACT EMPLOYEE.
Employment history.
Evaluations.
Attendance.
Nothing looked unusual.
Raka was about to close the screen.
Then he noticed a rarely used menu.
SYNCHRONIZATION HISTORY.
He clicked it.
A list of activity appeared.
Date.
Time.
Update type.
Raka scrolled slowly.
Then stopped.
Laras’s name had been entered into the system on: August 3, 2026.
Raka looked at the calendar.
Today was August 26.
Nothing seemed unusual.
But then he opened the official selection announcement.
Registration opening date: August 24, 2026.
Raka looked back at the screen.
Laras’s name had appeared in the database before the selection process began.
Not one day.
Not two.
Three weeks earlier.
He straightened in his chair.
“That’s impossible.”
Raka opened the details.
There was a column that hadn’t been visible before.
PROJECTED STATUS.
Below it: STATUS ADJUSTMENT CANDIDATE.
Raka stared at the screen.
Data creation date: August 3, 2026.
Selection date: Not yet begun.
Raka’s heart began to beat faster.
He opened the log.
The user who had created the entry was not listed by name.
Only a code: USER-01.
Raka froze.
That code.
One of the three users with access to PROTOCOL A-17.
He tried to open the details.
Access denied.
DATA LINKED TO PROTOCOL A-17.
Raka immediately contacted Bima.
Inactive.
He tried again.
The result was the same.
Then he messaged Nadira.
It didn’t go through.
For the first time, Raka was truly alone with the data. -----
At 11:03 a.m., Laras came to his office.
“Mr. Raka?”
Raka hurriedly closed the screen.
“Yes?”
“I want to ask you something.”
“Come in.”
Laras sat down.
She looked far more tense than she had that morning.
“Someone came to see me.”
Raka raised his head.
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“From the office?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“He said he represented someone.”
Raka fell silent.
“What did he want?”
Laras took out a folder.
“He gave me this.”
Raka opened the folder.
Inside were administrative forms.
Most of them were blank.
But on the last page was an approval document.
A statement. I agree to be assigned according to organizational needs and will not object to any administrative decision that has been established.
Raka read it slowly.
“Have you signed it?”
Laras quickly shook her head.
“Not yet.”
“Good.”
“Mr. Raka, what’s really going on?”
Raka looked at her.
He wanted to tell her everything.
About A-17.
About employee categories.
About the people who had been transferred.
About Hendra.
About his father.
But he stopped.
Laras wasn’t ready.
And maybe the fewer people who knew, the better.
“Why do you want to become a permanent employee?”
Laras looked confused.
“What?”
“Just answer me.”
Laras lowered her head.
“Because I’ve worked here for seven years.”
Raka said nothing.
“I’ve always waited for the selection process.”
Laras continued.
“Every year, I hoped there’d be an opportunity.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know if I should be happy.”
Raka looked at the folder in her hands.
“That’s the right feeling.”
Laras lifted her face.
“Why?”
Raka closed the folder.
“Because something that comes too easily usually has a reason.”
After Laras left, Raka opened SENTRA again.
He searched for other names.
Contract employees.
Administrative staff.
People who had taken previous selection tests.
One by one.
Then he found a pattern.
Certain names appeared in the database before the official process began.
Some two weeks earlier.
Some a month earlier.
There was even one name that had appeared three months before the positions were announced.
Raka opened the list.
Twelve names.
All had the status: STATUS ADJUSTMENT CANDIDATE.
Some were later officially appointed.
Some were transferred.
Some resigned.
And two names—
had vanished from the system.
Raka enlarged Laras’s data.
At the bottom were hidden parameters.
LOYALTY: NOT YET TESTED.
INFLUENCE: LOW.
INFORMATION ACCESS: LIMITED.
Then one final line.
COMPLIANCE POTENTIAL: HIGH.
Raka stared at the screen.
His hand slowly curled into a fist.
“So that’s how it works.”
Laras hadn’t been chosen because of her achievements.
Not necessarily.
Laras might never have actually taken part in the selection process.
But the system had projected her in advance.
Entered her name.
Waited for the official process to open.
Then made everything look legal.
Just like a transfer.
Just like a promotion.
Just like Hendra’s resignation.
The decision was made first.
The justification came afterward. -----
At 2:17 p.m., Raka found something even stranger.
Beneath Laras’s history was an old record.
A data connection.
REFERENCE: 09/17/2020.
Raka stopped immediately.
That date again.
The date his father had resigned.
He opened the reference.
A warning appeared.
THIS DATA ORIGINATES FROM THE MIGRATION ARCHIVE.
Raka clicked Continue.
A name appeared.
DARMAWAN ADINATA.
Raka froze.
Below it was a note:
DATA RELATIONSHIP: INDIRECT.
Then: SOURCE: PERSONAL RECOMMENDATION.
Raka tried to open the details.
Access denied.
He entered several manual commands.
Nothing worked.
Then the screen flickered.
A message appeared.
YOU DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO KNOW WHY A NAME WAS CHOSEN.
Raka read the sentence slowly.
Then he smiled bitterly.
“No.”
He opened a local copy of the data.
“Not because I don’t have the right.”
He began to type.
“Because you’re afraid I’ll find out.” -----
At 4:42 p.m., someone stood outside the door.
Raka immediately closed his laptop.
“Come in.”
Dimas.
He entered without waiting for an answer.
“Still working?”
“Still working.”
Dimas looked at Raka’s desk.
“Good.”
Raka looked at him.
“What is it, sir?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you come just to make sure I’m working?”
Dimas smiled.
“I just wanted to see how you were doing after this morning.”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Dimas walked toward the desk.
His gaze fell on Laras’s folder.
Raka quickly picked it up.
“What documents are those?”
“Administrative forms.”
“For whom?”
“An employee.”
Dimas looked at Raka.
“Laras?”
Raka didn’t answer.
Dimas smiled faintly.
“She’s a good employee.”
“You know her?”
“Not everyone personally.”
The answer made Raka even more suspicious.
Dimas continued.
“Sometimes an organization has to recognize potential.”
“Even before the selection process begins?”
Dimas’s smile slowly disappeared.
Raka didn’t blink.
“You know her name has been in the database for three weeks?”
Dimas fell silent.
Only for a few seconds.
But that was enough.
Raka had gotten his answer.
“You’re still digging through the data.”
“And you’re still trying to stop me.”
Dimas pulled out a chair.
He sat down.
“You think Laras is a victim?”
Raka didn’t answer.
“She’s been given an opportunity.”
“One she hasn’t even gone through the process for.”
“Does that make the opportunity a bad thing?”
“If the outcome was decided before the process began, it isn’t an opportunity.”
Dimas stared at him sharply.
“Not everything has to start from the same point.”
“So the selection process is just a formality?”
“Sometimes a formality is necessary for something to be accepted.”
Raka felt his anger rising.
“Accepted by whom?”
“The public.”
“Not by the people going through the process?”
Dimas stood.
“You still don’t understand.”
“Help me understand.”
Dimas straightened his jacket.
“People don’t always need a perfect process.”
Raka looked at him.
“They need results.”
“And who determines the results?”
Dimas stopped at the door.
He turned.
“Whoever is strong enough to make sure those results happen.”
The door opened.
Before leaving, Dimas said without looking back:
“Keep Laras safe.”
Raka turned at once.
But Dimas was already gone. -----
As evening approached, Laras sent a message. >Mr. Raka, I’ve decided not to sign those documents.
Raka replied. >Save everything. Don’t delete any messages.
A few minutes later, Laras replied. >Am I in danger?
Raka stared at the screen for a long time.
He wanted to say no.
But after Hendra—
he could no longer give an answer he couldn’t prove.
At last, he typed: >I don’t know yet. But from now on, don’t trust any decision that arrives before its process begins.
The message was sent.
A few seconds later, Raka’s laptop powered on by itself.
Even though he had shut it down earlier.
The screen displayed SENTRA.
A notification appeared.
LARAS WULANDARI’S STATUS HAS BEEN UPDATED.
Raka opened the data immediately.
Previous status: STATUS ADJUSTMENT CANDIDATE.
New status: RE-EVALUATION.
Then one parameter changed. COMPLIANCE POTENTIAL: HIGH
became: COMPLIANCE POTENTIAL: LOW.
Raka froze.
Laras had just refused to sign the documents.
And the system—
knew.
A few seconds later, a message appeared. CANDIDATE CAN BE REPLACED.
Raka snatched up his phone.
He tried to contact Laras.
Inactive.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Still inactive.
Then a message came in from an anonymous number. >Don’t get too busy saving other people, Raka.
A second message followed. >The system always has a backup.
Raka stood.
On the SENTRA screen, Laras’s name slowly disappeared from the list of candidates.
Replaced by a new name.
Raka read the name.
And his entire body instantly froze.
BIMA PRADANA.
Status: STATUS ADJUSTMENT CANDIDATE — INFORMATION ACCESS: HIGH.
A note appeared below it: RECOMMENDATION: PROCESS IMMEDIATELY.
Raka stared at the screen without moving.
Bima wasn’t being nominated.
He was being chosen.
And Raka knew that in a system like this—
being chosen didn’t always mean being saved.