Long before the name "Cerebrum Shift" became known only to a select few in the academic circles, a secret meeting was recorded between a group of scientists and high-ranking government officials. The meeting took place in a windowless room on the lower floors of the Ministry of Defense building, soundproofed with paneling.
At that time, Professor Laksana was still a promising young researcher in the field of neurobiology. He attended with his old mentor, Professor Arlo Vellan, who brought with him the early blueprint of the Cerebrum Shift project—a synthetic neural system aimed at repairing brain tissue damaged by degenerative diseases.
The initial presentation was met with skepticism, until Laksana introduced a military application scenario: "What if we could not only heal the brain but also control it externally? Imagine soldiers who fear nothing, obeying orders without question." The room's atmosphere shifted immediately. Several officials exchanged glances, and then a man at the back—dressed in civilian clothes but flanked by two armed guards—nodded slowly.
"Proceed," he said. "But this project is no longer about science. It belongs to the state."
From that moment, the alliance was formed. The state, through a special department named Division Delta, began funding the Cerebrum Shift project in secrecy. Vellan objected, but Laksana quickly accepted the offer. He saw this as a shortcut to worldwide recognition, even if it meant crossing ethical lines.
A secret research facility was constructed beneath the campus, utilizing an old bunker from the New Order era. The researchers were carefully selected, mostly overseas alumni who were loyal to the government. The experiments began with animals, then political prisoners, and eventually... students.
Anjani and Vanrah were not the first victims. They were just the subjects who managed to slip through random selection. Prior to them, five other students had vanished, but their disappearances were covered up as suicides, transfers, or personal reasons. Laksana wasn't deterred. Every failure was seen as another step toward perfection.
The campus head eventually "cooperated" after pressure from Division Delta. Funding letters, overseas scholarships, even promotions were used as bait. Anyone who refused would be gently— or harshly—disposed of. It was at this point that Vellan began to compile secret records, including maps and emergency access codes. He knew the project would spiral out of control. And one day, someone had to stop it.
Dim light hung from the ceiling of the old warehouse, which had become Narey's temporary hideout. In front of her, an old metal suitcase lay wide open on a steel table, hiding the secrets of a long-buried past. The suitcase belonged to Professor Vellan—found by accident in a crumbling basement behind the old biology faculty lab. Among the experiment notes, scientific diaries, and underground campus maps, Narey found a bundle of documents wrapped in black velvet cloth. She opened it slowly, almost reluctantly.
The papers inside had yellowed, some stained with moisture that blurred the ink. But one page stood out: a thick sheet embossed with the Garuda bird symbol, overlaid with a secret logo recognized only by a select few— the logo of the National Emergency Strategy Committee. A red stamp read "OPEN ONLY WITH ALPHA LEVEL AUTHORIZATION" in the top right corner. Below it, the title was clear: "Authorization for the Implementation of Project: CEREBRUM SHIFT."
Narey's hand trembled as she read its contents. The document detailed a summary of a secret meeting between the Ministry of Defense, national research officials, and intelligence agencies. It stated that the project initially began as a multidisciplinary collaboration to investigate the potential of neuroenhancement in medical fields, but was redirected toward the development of a mass consciousness control tool for "ideological crisis management during a power transition."
Narey took a deep breath as her eyes reached the last page. There, she found five signatures of high-ranking state authorities.
One of them made time seem to stop.
Dr. N. R. Wibawa — Director of Strategic Operations, National Intelligence Agency.
Narey froze. She knew that name. A senior figure she had admired from afar—and the one who had personally recruited and trained her when she first entered the world of intelligence.
But it wasn't Dr. Wibawa who had sent her to the campus. It was Brigadier General Ahmad Suwiryo—her current superior—who called this mission an "independent investigation." The one who had asked her to investigate covertly, as though he knew nothing about Cerebrum Shift.
Narey's world crumbled in silence. She sat down slowly, her shoulders slumping. The suitcase was still open, but the world around her shrank into a piercing silence.
"So... you all knew from the start," she muttered softly, her voice almost drowned by the whisper of the night wind seeping through the cracks in the wall.
The sense of betrayal ran colder than the truth about Rafi, Anjani, and Vanrah's disappearances. What she thought was a search for justice turned out to be just a pawn in a power game.
Everyone—Professor Laksana, Vellan, campus officials, even intelligence directors—was part of the inner circle that had known about the experiment for a long time. Maybe the only reason she had been sent here wasn't to stop the project... but to ensure that nothing leaked out.
Narey closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tremors rising from her chest. Now, only one big question remained:
If all the authorities are involved... who can she trust?
And in the darkness waiting at the end of those underground hallways, would she still find the truth—or only remnants of lies polished as facts?
The government's involvement didn't end with funding. Over time, Division Delta handed over the project's oversight to a higher joint unit: the National Emergency Strategy Committee. This committee consisted of military leaders, heads of technological research, and—secretly—key members of the national intelligence agency.
Supervision turned into control. Every experimental protocol now had to be approved by this committee. Even methods once considered too extreme by the scientific community were internally legalized. Laksana, once just an ambitious scientist, had now transformed into the field project coordinator with near-unlimited authority. He had laboratories, personnel, and most importantly: immunity from the law.
At that time, the government was entering a period of chaotic transition. Student protests erupted on various campuses, opposing revisions to laws seen as threatening civil rights and academic freedoms. Amid the turmoil, Cerebrum Shift was seen as the solution: a tool to map, influence, and ultimately suppress the potential for rebellion from within the mind.
Reports of missing students were considered collateral damage. There was even an internal memo from the National Emergency Strategy Committee stating:
"If 1,000 students could spark a revolution, then controlling the minds of just 10 could prevent it."
Amid all this, Professor Vellan began to feel an unbearable moral burden. He was not just a scientist—he was a living witness to the transformation of science into a tool of power. Slowly but surely, he began archiving all forms of deviation: recordings of failed experiments, lists of missing subjects, and internal committee communications. He hid them in various concealed locations, one of which was the metal suitcase now in Narey's possession.
This alliance was not just between scientists and the government. It was a dark symbiosis between technology, power, and human ambition. Each actor in this network thought they were in control of the situation, but in reality, they were all being controlled by their creation: Cerebrum Shift.
And as the project approached its final phase—the one called "Interlink"—where human minds could be synced to a central network, only then did they realize: one mistake could make the entire system spiral out of control. But by then, too much had been sacrificed to turn back.
In the present day, beneath the dim glow of the hanging night light in her hideout, Narey closed the last document from the old suitcase. Now, she not only held evidence, but she also understood the scale of the conspiracy.
She stood slowly, her breath heavy. Everything had changed. She was no longer investigating the disappearance of three students. She was diving into the heart of a system that viewed humans as experiments and the state as a vast laboratory.
And the most terrifying part—some of them were still watching, waiting. Including the one she had once considered her superior.