The house in Bukit Timah

Quote:

Originally Posted by

chenzong

I sort of remember you have a website with your stories, both paid and free to read! I cannot remember the URL now.

www.sensualsingapore.com

Previously never pay for advertising rights, so i paiseh to mention.

Now can openly share

Quote:

Originally Posted by

Veliant

Read from page 1 to here in 3-4 days, a very addictive story indeed!

Thank you bro ILOCK! Still cannot get over the fact that Yiling had to hand over the castle to Jackson in such a manner, you really mindfked my brain and heart within those chapters. Gonna find your old stories and read through now that i’m hooked haha.

Looking forward to your latest story!

I’m glad you enjoyed the read!

The concluding book for the beast within series will be titled ‘Home’

If you have not read the 1st 3 , do check them on on the forum

The beast within

Big trouble in little india

And this very one, The house in Bukit timah.

For those that have already read, it’s a good time to refresh your memories and to get reacquainted with the characters. Some of them will appear for the last time in the final episode.

There will be 20 chapters, each will be between 5000-7000 words.

I won’t be starting another thread for ‘Home’, will just continue off this one.

Adventure starts 1/12/23

James

Chapter 1 - It Begins

It started when the Tatmadaw (Myanmar Armed Forces) deposed the elected government in Myanmar. The resulting civil war was the catalyst that the LFO (Liberation from Oppression) needed to kick their plan into action. The LFO was founded by a Singaporean by the name of Chan. No one knew his full name, and yet everyone came to associate that name with money and power. Chan’s father was exiled from Singapore and his whole family was forced to flee to Thailand as political refugees when he was 20 years old. From there, the family lived a nomadic life. Chan learnt to thrive amidst the instability that came from the frequent relocations. It was hard for his parents to hold down jobs and he did what he could to survive.

Almost every night, his father will come back drunk. No, he did not turn violent, nor did he lose his temper. Instead, Chan’s father will sit down with his son, schooling him in politics and reminding him of how unfair their family was treated by the exile. Every conversation compounded the hate Chan had for Singapore, a place he barely remembered save for a few years of Primary school. He then attended a small village school where the teachers’ combined knowledge could not satisfy his thirst for learning. Even at a young age, Chan knew he needed money and resources if he wants to accomplish anything in life.

From petty crimes, Chan moved on to bigger things. He knew the jungles well and began moving drugs around the region. Chan moved weapons too, supplying the tools the rebels needed for their uprising. There were always countries willing to supply weapons - big powers that thrived on the instability of other regions. They just needed to find a conduit to carry out their plans without getting their hands dirty, and Chan was one such conduit. He became rich doing drug and weapon runs in between Myanmar, Thailand, and Malaysia. He knew the Kra Buri River like the back of his hand, sometimes crossing the Thai-Myanmar border several times a day without being detected. From Thailand, he just needed to grease a few palms to hop on a flight to Langkawi, where his goods could be transported by vehicle barges to Penang, before being distributed to the rest of Malaysia. The money was good and it gave Chan and his family hope that they could get back on their feet.

Chan’s enterprising dream came to a crashing halt when his parents died in a raid by the military on the small village he was residing at near Thailand’s border with Malaysia. In a joint operation between Thailand and Malaysia to root out separatists and a terrorist cell, a force of 300 men swept through the village. The news never reported what happened. No one knew how many innocent villagers were killed during that raid. While he lay hidden, Chan silently watched as a soldier threw a grenade into his house without first checking for civilians. When the raid was over, Chan climbed out from the village sewers, covered in excrement and rotting scrapes. He saw his parents’ mangled bodies but he did not shed a single tear. He buried them like a good son would, and then he disappeared into the jungles of Thailand.

From deep within the jungle, Chan plotted his revenge.

With his contacts from smuggling drugs and weapons, he started building his own personal army. He planned and executed a series of terrorist attacks, first in Thailand, then in Malaysia. However, those were merely practice targets for him. Although Chan started small, he soon got the authorities attention. From his lair in the middle of Thailand, Chan planned and executed an attack in Singapore. At the same time, he capitalised on the unrest in the southern region of Thailand and began stirring up a conflict with Malaysia.

The civil war in Myanmar came at the perfect time. As large battalions of disgruntled soldiers sought new beginnings in the middle of the pandemic, those who were not interested in the conflict, instead sought employment with Chan. At the peak of the civil war, Chan’s personal force ballooned to almost a thousand men. He kept everyone fed, equipped, and happy. Biding time while he waited for his opportunity to strike.

A year later, in 2022, when Russia decided to conduct a special military operation in Ukraine, Chan knew it was time. With the world in turmoil, and amidst political uncertainty in Malaysia due to repeated changes in administration, Chan put his plan into motion. Chan did not just want revenge for his parents’ death. He blamed Singapore for his misfortunes in life. He blamed Malaysia and Thailand for his parents’ death. It was not enough for him to take a few lives and blow up a few buildings. He wants to destabilise the entire region.

He grew up amidst instability, and it is within that instability, did he feel most at home.

While Myanmar’s army was busy with the coup, its navy lay idle. More than 100 vessels were ripe for the taking. The admirals had no wish to engage in coups and leadership changes that the army was obsessed with, so Chan provided the admirals what they needed in terms of resources and a place to dock their ships. In one move, he had successfully acquired half of the country’s navy. Within weeks, Chan had crippled trade passing through the Andaman Sea and the Straits of Malacca. Shipping traffic was reduced by 50 percent. With Europe and America busy with Russia, no one cared about Southeast Asia and the sabre-rattling of a wannabe warlord. The indifference of the bigger nations emboldened Chan. It was time for a new beginning.

*

San Kala Khiri National Park, Thailand

Chan picked up a copy of The Straits Times. It was dated from over a week ago, which he had – through no small difficulty – delivered to his residence. He smiled when he read the headlines about the scandals that had plagued Singapore over the past couple of months. From corrupt ministers found guilty of misconduct, to secret affairs between lawmakers. One after the other, they hit the news right on schedule. He had been planning this for years, cultivating his sources and collecting information slowly. He had amassed a treasure trove of dirt on prominent businessmen and leaders - politicians and would be candidates were not spared either. In fact, the moment these persons of interest made their appearance on the political scene, he had a team of employees collecting information on them.

There was a quiet, low profiled outfit – a secret company of sorts - with a handful of staff who spent their time trawling the internet and chatroom for information. The more experienced members of staff would try and befriend key appointment holders, and even people who expressed interest in volunteering for grassroot activities, or those who attended one too many functions organised by the ruling party – Chan’s so-called, ‘persons of interest’ - to extract more information and details about their ‘interests’.

The conversations would all be taped and analysed, then sorted and stored in information dockets, all neatly arranged on a compactor shelf. In those dockets, the potential targets would be scrutinised and every aspect of their live documented, until the day that information could be used as leverage.

Chan laughed as he read through the article about the minister arrested for corruption. It appeared that the investigators had barely scratched the surface of what that bugger did. All that would slowly be revealed of course - his team would drip feed regular leaks to the media.

This was but a taste of what the country was about to experience. First, he would shake the confidence of the people in the country with scandal after scandal, eroding the country’s trust in her rulers. Then, he would expose the politicians for who they really were.

Politics has always been a dirty game. It’s success lies purely in how the public perceive it to be.

Stepping out of his residence located deep in the jungle of Thailand, Chan looked down towards the village located at the foot of the hill. About 50 men were hard at work, training in combat drills and gaining proficiency in various small arms.

Some of them were as young as 13, but soldiers are soldiers. A weapon in the hands of a 13-year-old was as deadly as it was when held by a 30-year-old. Walking barefoot along the jungle path, Chan ventured deeper into the mountains where several makeshift huts stood in the middle of a clearing. It used to be a village school, but had since been abandoned. He heard the snapping of a twig behind him and immediately spun around and parried the strike from a wooden knife.

Chan: Too slow, Clement… How do you expect to be a teacher in the future?

Clement bowed his head in embarrassment but never said a word. Even if he spoke, his speech would be barely comprehensible. He lacked the implement that made clear speech possible.

Chan: If you want revenge on the people who removed your tongue, you need to work harder.

His gaze hardened as Clement nodded and disappeared back into the jungle to continue his training. Chan carried on along the jungle path and towards the village. He walked into the abandoned classroom and looked at the chalkboard.

On it were the names of his school’s principal and its eight teachers, each of them ‘helmed’ a subject. English, Math, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Mother Tongue, History, and Literature. However, those were not your usual educators. They were his spear tips. The subjects merely serving as their callsign. Each of his teachers had several classes of students, all of them compartmentalised like terrorist cells.

In time to come, they are the ones who would penetrate deep into Singapore’s heart. He was aware of how Singapore operated when it came to black ops. The politicians didn’t want to get their hands dirty. They had for them a special group of men and women - people who received no medals or recognition for the duties they performed - who handled the dirty laundry that lay under the country’s immaculate surface. Chan’s alliance with the deposed Myanmar army would be enough to take care of the Singapore Armed Forces when he made his move on the small island nation. His Teachers and their Students, would be the ones taking on those who operated under the radar.

There are no rules in a war, and even if there were, Chan was not prepared to follow any of them. His Teachers had free reign on how they wanted to deploy their Students and resources, as long as their objectives were met.

Continuing his inspection, Chan walked to the edge of a cliff that overlooked the valley where he trained his men. He could see a group of them running up a jungle trail while another group was training in unarmed combat. He turned around at the sound of hurried footsteps coming from behind him. It was a child, no more than 10 years old.

The child bowed to Chan before gesturing in the direction of the camp.

Chan: They are here?

The boy nodded.

Chan: Then it shall begin.

*

Chan stood on a dock made out of bamboo raft and waited for the men to disembark from the small canoe. The three men were friends, young and ambitious at the tender age of 18.

Chan: Are you ready for your great adventure?

Sahar: Yes, we are… We are excited to go to Singapore…

Ah Fu: I have seen pictures of the country. It’s beautiful.

Sahar: Beautiful but corrupt. Pretty on the outside, but rotten in its core.

Chan nodded when he detected the hint of anger in Sahar’s voice. He was satisfied that the decade of teaching the boys in his jungle school had not gone to waste.

Ah Fu: Yes. Their women are materialistic and their men are weak; so much so that their own government needs to import foreigners to replace their own people.

Menghui: I will not lie with their women even if they offer themselves to me…

Chan: Why not? Hahaha…

Menghui: They disgust me. I have seen enough videos of them gyrating their hips and parading their bodies on the internet. They are hungry for attention. Such actions can only come from a morally corrupt country…

Chan: You are right. The country is corrupt to the core. Their soldiers cannot even pass the most basic of fitness tests.

The boys laughed, remembering the video Chan showed them of overweight men attending extra lessons just to run a simple 2.4 kilometres around a track.

Menghui: They rather spend their time queuing up for watches and Hello Kitty soft toys.

Ah Fu: I shudder at the thought of them carrying handbags for their girlfriends.

Sahar: They have redefined the definition of ‘weak men’ in my dictionary.

Chan smiled as he handed a bag to each of the boys. They might be 18, but to Chan, they were merely boys.

Chan: Do you know what you have to do?

Menghui: Yes… we do.

Chan: I hope you enjoy your trip to the Lion City then.

Chan gave each of the three boys a hug and then sent them on their way.

*

Sahar, Ah Fu and Menghui crossed the land border into Singapore via different means. Sahar took the train, Menghui entered in a private car, while Ah Fu crossed as a passenger on public transport. Their bags were checked and cleared. They carried nothing illegal; their belongings resembled what everyone else had with them when they crossed the border either for work or for a holiday.

The three men checked into different hotels and waited in their rooms. At 10:30 p.m., a courier sent a package to each of the three men. Each package contained three units of ‘SFG 87’, a locally made hand-grenade. It was near impossible to procure firearms and explosives in Singapore, unless like Chan, you had corrupted your way deep into the military and factories that supplied the army with their munitions.

Sahar removed the grenades from their protective casings and checked the safety pins to make sure they were secure. He then put the three grenades into the pockets of his windbreaker. He ripped the box into pieces and burnt it in the metal can by the hotel’s balcony. The plastic canisters the grenades came in were filled with water and flung into the river below the hotel’s balcony. Chan had taught them the methods of covering their tracks and how to dispose anything they had touched.

Sahar returned to the room and mentally walked through everything he had touched so far. With time on his hands, he took out a cloth and a bottle of bleach, and then started to clean. He wiped down every surface he had touched. He removed the prints he left on the sink, the counter top, the door handles, and even the kettle.

After he was done, he lay down in the middle of the bed. The soft pocketed-spring mattress felt comfortable, the sheets were cool to the touch, yet Sahar was unhappy with the expensive hotel bed and pillows that could be selected from a pillow menu. Material goods like these were what made this country weak. He wanted to leave the room and see the country, but Chan told him to stay indoors for he had the most important mission amongst the three of them. He should not take any unnecessary risks. Menghui and Ah Fu would venture out instead.

Sahar did not think too much of it, his brothers would tell him what this country was like when they next meet.

*

Menghui sat down by the water in front of the beach resort. If anyone was watching him, all they would see was a man enjoying the evening at the private beach with a beer in hand. Menghui dug a hole in the sand while he kept his eyes out for busybodies. When it was deep enough, he tossed the empty grenade canisters into the hole and buried them. He saw a couple walking past him; initially he thought they were an item, but upon closer examination, he knew they were just friends. It was obvious that the guy was interested in the girl, but that attraction was evidently one-sided. Then Menghui noticed something disturbing.

The guy slowed down his pace and secretly used his phone to take a picture of the girl’s buttocks and legs before he quickly hid the phone. Menghui wanted to laugh, but he held it back. This was why the country was weak. Their university graduates were getting called out for taking upskirts, stealing panties and lingerie from the hostels. He wondered why such a perverse country could be so successful.

Menghui walked away from the beach and back into the beach resort. He was barefooted and his footsteps were light and near silent. It was a habit of his. He had been walking barefooted in the jungle for a long time, and stealth had always been one of his strong points. He appeared silently behind a man as they proceeded up the escalator.

Menghui caught the man putting his phone under the skirt of a girl a few steps in front of him to take a video of her underwear. When the man turned around and realised Menghui saw what he did, he quickly kept the phone in his pocket and ran away. Menghui shook his head in silent disgust. According to Chan, weak men infested this country. He was sceptical at first, until he saw it with his own eyes. It was true. Singapore was indeed filled with the weak and the sick. Yes, there would still be strong and determined men who were willing to fight, but those were few and far between.

As instructed by Chan, Menghui walked around the resort to get a feel of how the people spoke and how they behaved. He needed to blend into the population if he wanted to be successful in his mission. And the more he saw and the more he listened, the more his revulsion grew.

*

Ah Fu walked to a coffeeshop near his hotel to make a specific order from a specific stall. It was a way of communicating to Chan that they had arrived safely. And to doubly ensure that the communication channels were secure, only Ah Fu would be doing the reporting.

Ah Fu: One fried rice. Please also pack three BBQ chicken wings in separate bags, give extra sambal. I want to bring this for my father. He loves the fried rice…

The Indian man who took his order, acknowledged him with a slow deliberate nod before he looked away. It was done. Chan would know they were safe and in position.

While he waited for his food, Ah Fu strolled through the busy coffeeshop where dozens of patrons were having their supper. He saw the dirty tables stacked with plates and leftovers. He stared at a man who spat scraps of food onto the table. At another table, a man held a lit cigarette in one hand while his greasy lips chewed on fried chicken. He looked like he was 20 kilograms overweight and yet he was still stuffing himself silly with food. As Ah Fu passed by a food stall, he heard a young man asking for his chicken to be deboned before it was served to him.

A saying immediately came to his mind, ‘good times make weak men.’ At that point, the saying could not be more true. In front of him was a grown man asking for bones to be removed from a chicken drumstick; how useless that man must be to make such a request.

He came to a table with a whining child, a child who refused to eat the food on her plate because there were vegetables on it. Instead of educating the child, the parents decided to push to blame to each other. The mother blamed the father for making the wrong order, while the father snapped back and told his wife that she should make the order the next time. Ah Fu could not believe his eyes when the father trashed the whole plate of uneaten rice, grumbling that he would go get a new one to pacify the spoilt child. Chan was right about the wasteful ways of this country.

Ah Fu walked to the garbage bin and dropped a plastic bag that held the empty grenade canisters into the black trash bag filled with food scraps. He took a tray of white Styrofoam plates filled with leftover food scraps and was about to empty it into the bin to cover up his disposal when someone approached him.

“Brother, thanks ah…!”

A young punk with his hair dyed blond, tossed a tray that held a bowl of thick gravy on top of the one Ah Fu was holding. The gravy splashed over the tray and spilled onto Ah Fu’s shoes. Ah Fu was so shocked that he simply did not know how to react. The man turned away and went back to his friends without a word of apology. While Ah Fu cleared the trash given to him, he was surprised when more trays were sent his way. Then it dawned upon him that his dark green top and black pants were in a similar colour scheme as that of the table cleaners.

A pretty babe in a short skirt handed him her tray while another older female dressed in sports bra and skin-hugging tights, threw a bunch of used napkins on top of said tray. Their dressing shocked Ah Fu more than their actions. What kinds of girls would dress this way public? They were literally naked; the tights on the older woman showed off her womanly curves right down to her folded halves from where babies came from. Everywhere Ah Fu looked, he saw girls dressed skimpily while they hung out late at night with a bunch of guys. Had they no decency at all? Chan warned him and his brothers about the abomination of a city they would be coming to, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

Ah Fu threw the whole tray into the bin and walked away. His blood was boiling with anger at how disgusting this Lion City was. He went back to his hotel room and lay down on the bed. In just a few hours, it would begin. They would finally give this sick country the medicine it needed to heal itself.

*

A group of young men and women were gathered at a warehouse in the middle of town. They lined up in a single file to receive payment for their work that evening. One hundred dollars just for simply doing what they would usually do in their daily lives. The people in line chuckled at the easy money and signed off on the payment vouchers.

Aung, the video producer from Myanmar, thanked the young people for their performance as he handed out their payment. Among them, were the couples taking upskirt pictures in from of Menghui. They were told it was a show to see how people would react if they saw someone taking upskirts, and if they will call them out.

“When will the documentary show?”

Aung handed the man two 50-dollar bills before he replied.

Aung: Probably in the next few months.

Another guy made a comment about not seeing the camera crew and how the standard of reality TV these days was just too good. Someone in the queue made a joke about an assassination being masqueraded as a reality show in Malaysia a few years ago. Aung just smiled and remained silent. He continued handing out money and his smile widened when he put the money into the hands of the young child who earlier threw a tantrum at the coffeeshop because of vegetables in her food.

Aung: She is really good at acting.

Her father apologised for her going a bit overboard. She really was throwing a tantrum because of the vegetables.

After Aung paid everyone, he ripped off the banner for the fake ‘Event & Media’ company he registered. He packed up the makeshift table and then disposed of the banner and signed payment vouchers in a metal bin. He squeezed lighter fluid into the bin and set the contents ablaze. He took a step back, lit a cigarette and enjoyed a smoke while he watched everything burn. When he was satisfied that there was nothing but ashes in the bin, he left the warehouse.

Ah Fu, Sahar and Menghui would never know that everything they saw was staged. Since young, they were conditioned and trained never to question Chan’s teachings.

All Aung needed to do was stage a few scenarios to convince them that everything Chan spoke about was the truth. Getting a few actors and stationing a few of his men to direct and control what the three men saw was a walk in the park.

Their mission was simple. Ah Fu, Sahar and Menghui were to deliver their packages, and then go back home. If they succeeded on their first mission, it would give them the confidence to carry out more complex tasks. Aung had his own men following the trio and giving him timely reports on what they were up to and where they went.

If anything went wrong, or if there was a risk of them screwing up, his men would end their lives right there and then. No man was indispensable, not even kids raised by Chan himself.

*

Redhill Community Centre

8:00 a.m.

Sahar walked casually into the community centre and made his way to the café. Folk music played in the background while the retirees swung their colourful fans in a coordinated manner. He ordered a coffee and sat facing the basketball court where a group of elderlies were doing their morning exercise. Sahar’s interest was in the police station which was located within the community centre itself. He sipped his coffee and glanced at his watch. Thirty more minutes to go.

*

Menghui found a perfect target when he entered a market close to the CBD. A homeless old man sat beside his belongings and a bottle of beer. The man was trying to sell packets of tissue paper to passers-by. As he approached the man, he was offered three packets of napkins for a dollar. Menghui lowered himself to eye level and gave the man 10 dollars for the napkins.

Hockhua could not believe his luck. It was not every day that he met with a generous customer.

Hockhua: Thank you sir… Thank you so much sir…

Menghui: Here is something else for you.

Menghui reached into his pocket and pulled out a grenade. He folded Hockhua’s hands over the grenade before removing the safety pin. Hockhua was caught off guard. He was still digesting the shock from the 10-dollar purchase, and the next thing he knew, he was holding a live grenade in his hands.

Menghui: It’s okay… just don’t let go of your hand… and have a good fucking day…

Menghui got up and walked away in search of his next target.

Hockhua started trembling when he looked at the device in his hand. It had been years since he saw one of those. He was still a young man back then and serving in the army. Now, he was just a homeless divorcee. It might have been decades since he last held a grenade, but Hockhua had no doubts what would happen if he let go of the lever, especially with the peak morning crowd walking all around him.

*

It was 15 minutes to 8:30 a.m. Ah Fu watched as two toddlers played at a playground. Their mother sat on a bench a distance away, totally engrossed in her phone. He walked over to the brothers who were pretending to be soldiers and shooting at each other with a toy gun.

Ah Fu: Hi… can I play?

The boys looked up at Ah Fu and warily took a step back. They were puzzled that such an old guy would want to play such a childish game with them. They looked towards their mother, but she sat there still transfixed to her phone and oblivious to their predicament. The brothers turned to each other and then one of them shrugged.

Clarence: Can. We are soldiers. The trees are bad guys. Use this gun to shoot them. Bang bang bang…

Ah Fu smiled and he told the boys that he had a gift for them. He produced a grenade and handed it to Clarence, the older of the two.

Clarence: Is this a bomb? I have one too!

Clarence showed Ah Fu a bright blue toy grenade that was half the size and a fraction of the weight of the one he held in his hand.

Ah Fu: Yes… it’s a toy… but this is a real one.

Ah Fu told Clarence that all he had to do was to remove the pin and he would be able to play with it.

Clarence: I throw it?

Ah Fu: It’s up to you. Throw it, hold it. It’s your decision.

Clarence: Can my brother have one too?

Ah Fu saw the four-year-old staring at him with eager eyes and he smiled. He pulled out another grenade from his pocket and handed it to Clarence’s brother.

Ah Fu: Enjoy your play, okay?

Clarence: Aren’t you playing with us?

Ah Fu: I just remembered I have something to do…

As Ah Fu walked away from the playground, he immediately caught sight of his next potential target - an old man on a personal mobility vehicle (PMV). With the attached basket filled with groceries, the man was taking a short break under the void deck of a nearby HDB flat. He was trying to sort through his haul from the nearby wet market. Ah Fu casually walked by, and when the old man who happened to be hard of hearing was digging into a bag of potatoes, he removed the safety pin from the last grenade he had and wedged it in between the battery and its supporting metal bar. The strike lever remained in place for now, but when the power-assisted bike moved, the vibrations would eventually force it out of place.

The old man suddenly realised that Ah Fu was behind him and he wheeled around in shock.

Ah Fu: Hi uncle, nice bike… I want to get one for my grandfather…

Ah Fu gave a wave before he calmly walked away. He had just arrived at the bus stop when the distant boom of a grenade going off put a smile on his face. He wondered if it came from the boys or from the old man.

*

Siew Hock put his PMV into forward mode and resumed his journey after he sorted out his purchase. That cheap vegetable stall owner had short-changed him again on the potatoes and carrots.

They were definitely less than a kilogram in weight! He saw his block just further up. His wife was visiting their kids who had long since flown the coop. Siew Hock thought about what he would cook with the fresh ingredients as he pointed his PMV at the ramp that headed towards his flat.

His neighbour’s kids were at the playground, and the two boys waved at him as he went past. He smiled and returned their wave. Seeing Clarence and his brother reminded him of the time when his own kids were their age. Now they were all grown up and had families of their own. If he was lucky, in another year or so, he would be a grandfather.

As he rattled up a ramp, Siew Hock heard a metallic snap before something dropped out from the back of his PMV. He turned around and saw a round object on the ground. He was slowly rolling backwards, having stopped his PMV but forgetting to put on the brakes. Just as well, he thought, at least he would be able to see what fell out. At that distance, his failing eyesight could not discern what it was. When Siew Hock’s PMV rolled backwards to the grenade, the fuse ignited, and an explosion rocked the quiet residential neighbourhood.

*

Redhill Community Centre

8:30 a.m.

Sahar finished his coffee and then left the café. When he reached into both pockets of his windbreaker, his eyes were fixed on the neighbourhood police post. He had already loosened the safety pins on the two grenades. All he needed was a light tug with his thumb for them to come loose. He pushed open the glass door to the police post with his right elbow and the young police officer within immediately looked up at him. Sahar made eye contact with him before he revealed what he held in his hands.

He smiled as the safety pins dropped to the ground, and his smile widened when he allowed the strike levers to ignite the fuses of the grenades. He immediately flung both grenades behind the counter before he turned and ran.

The force from the explosion blew out the glass panels of the small police post, sending shards of glass and shrapnel out into the basketball court where the elderlies were wrapping up their dance. The force from the shockwave sent a few of them to the ground. Some of them had stopped breathing altogether. The shock from the attack caused a slight delay in the reaction and expression of emotions of the injured. But just seconds into the attack, the survivors started wailing in pain and crying for help.

Sahar stood at the upper level of the community centre and pretended to be curious as to what had just happened. In the distance, the wail of sirens from emergency vehicles could be heard.

*

Menghui still had two grenades in his pocket. He took his time to look for a crowded spot in the centre of the central business district. He saw the statue of Stamford Raffles, the prick who got all the glory when it was William Farquhar that did most of the work for Singapore. Yes, during his time in the jungle, Chan had schooled him in Singapore’s history. He needed to know the enemy in order to defeat it.

The gleaming lobbies of the bank towers looked really attractive to Menghui. However, he was momentarily distracted by the numerous pretty office ladies around him.

Some of them wore dresses so tight and heels so high that he wondered if they worked in an office or a pub. His eyes took in everything - the women, their dressing, their beautiful long legs.

What he did not realise was that he was being followed by a limping homeless man.

An emergency broadcast suddenly flashed onto the large screens that usually displayed financial information and news in the middle of the central business district.

There had been another attack in Singapore. A smile broke out on Menghui’s face. He knew his brothers had succeeded. Soon, he too would reap the fruits of his labour. He carried on walking until he came to some stone benches by the river. He took a seat while he dreamed about what was to come. He was snapped out from his daze by the alluring smell of a woman in her twenties as she walked past him.

She spoke in a bitching tone, complaining about how her bestie just got together with her ex-boyfriend.

Qiuyee sat on the bench beside Menghui and crossed her legs, revealing her creamy white thighs and flawless legs that disappeared into a pair of black pumps.

Qiuyee: That bitch… Can you believe this? My best friend and my ex… unbelievable.

Menghui saw her unattended open bag and he reached for the grenade in his pocket.

*

Hockhua walked forward with a bad limp, but he forced himself to push on. He was only 30 metres away from Menghui.

A few days ago, his leg was injured in a car accident. The pain from his fractured toes stabbed into his body with each step he took. He considered himself a failure in life. He had failed in his business and subsequently gambled away the family savings.

He even stole money from his own parents, which resulted in him ending up on the streets. Even his wife and his two kids had left him. Hockhua thought that life was unfair to him. Everything he did resulted in failure. He had failed in life and he had failed as a parent.

Even when he tried to sell tissues for a living, he had to be targeted by a prick like Menghui. That was the last straw; he would not be insulted like this by this fucker who wanted to turn his life into another example of failure. He would not be remembered as the homeless man who let go of a grenade in the middle of the central business district.

Menghui was about to slip the grenade into the girl’s bag when Hockhua shouted at him.

Hockhua: HEY!

Menghui looked up and was surprised to see the homeless man in front of him.

Hockhua: AHRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

Hockhua shouted at the top of his voice, and despite the shooting pain in his leg, he charged at Menghui. Their bodies connected and Hockhua shoved the man right towards the edge of the Singapore River. Both of them fell down the steps and landed in knee-deep water.

Menghui was caught off guard, and before he could retaliate, Hockhua clasped their bodies together and released the strike trigger of the grenade. Menghui’s eyes widened as the realisation dawned upon him. Hockhua hugged tighter onto him with a smile. If there was one thing he could do as a failed father and husband, it was this. It was to take an asshole off the face of the earth with him.

Hockhua: It’s a fucking good day for me…

Hockhua forced Menghui down into the murky water just as the grenade went off. The reverberation echoed across the buildings that lined the banks of Singapore River. Screams soon erupted and everyone started running for cover.

All that remained of the two men was a splatter of red and white over the embankments.

*

When the paramedics and first responders arrived at the community centre, Sahar removed the pin from the last grenade and dropped it down from four levels above.

Sahar: THE LFO SENDS THEIR REGARDS! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!

His shout got everyone’s attention. The grenade hit the surface of the basketball court and bounced an inch off the floor before it exploded in the midst of stretchers and medics tending to the injured. Sahar paused as he took in the aftermath, then he gave a chuckle and began to make his way down the stairs and towards his rendezvous point.

*

A taxi pulled up to the drop-off point in front of Changi Jetty. A sole figure got out and looked around. Ah Fu was the first to arrive at the rendezvous point. He checked his phone, but his brothers had not left him any messages. He took a seat and began to wait. Twenty minutes later, Sahar arrived. They gave each other a hug, but said nothing. Their eyes remained fixed on the vehicle drop-off point while they waited for Menghui’s arrival. It was 30 minutes before their boat left. There was still time.

As the clock ticked closer to departure, Sahar and Ah Fu knew what they had to do. Their instructions were clear; if any of them did not arrive in time for the boat, the others were to leave without him. They entered the small terminal to clear immigrations and then boarded a bumboat. When the boat finally departed, Sahar sat back with a smile and stretched out his arms and legs. Ah Fu lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag before he looked at Sahar and returned his smile. In a few minutes they would be out of Singapore waters and on their way to Malaysia. From there, it would just be a long boring ride home where they would wait for their next mission.

Their bumboat sailed out of the narrow channel and on to open waters. Just ahead of them was Pulau Ubin, and beyond that, it would not be long before they crossed into Malaysian waters. Sahar sat up straight and tried to keep himself calm when their bumboat went past a coastguard patrol craft. When another patrol craft appeared to their right, Ah Fu stood up and put out his cigarette. He eyed it warily, his eyes tracking the two vessels that were now travelling parallel to their boat. The coxswain waved to the coastguard vessels and they returned a wave. It was just a friendly ritual for boats that passed by each other daily. Ah Fu breathed a little easier when their bumboat pulled on ahead and left the patrol crafts in their wake.

Just before they reached Malaysian waters, a leisure craft steered into their path. It was a luxury yacht where a couple of girls in bikinis and men holding champagne glasses lounged on the deck. The coxswain sounded the horn, but the men and women on the craft did not seem to care. Ah Fu was disgusted by what he saw - this was indeed a country of rich assholes. Their bumboat slowed down and was forced to make a turn to avoid the larger craft. That was the rule for navigating the seas. A smaller craft always had to give way to larger ones. What Ah Fu did not expect to see was another leisure craft, a smaller one this time, approaching from their left. The craft pulled up to their side and attempted to force the bumboat to come to a stop. The gleaming white hull of the leisure craft bumped against their side and the coxswain cursed at the leisure seekers obstructing his route.

A few men leapt over the side and onto the bumboat. The men had on only boardshorts and their half-naked bodies were adorned with gang affiliated tattoos. They carried guns but they did not look like they were from the police or the coastguard. Sahar stared at then with a frown. They were pirates, they had to be pirates. This country was more corrupted than it seemed. Pirates were operating openly in their waters and from leisure crafts no less. The ‘pirates’ immediately singled out Sahar and Ah Fu.

Hong: Everyone else, get on the other boat, now… You will be boarding another ride for the rest of your journey.

Hong gestured to Sahar and Ah Fu, asking them to sit the fuck down and wait. He pushed them onto the seat roughly.

It appeared to Sahar that the coxswain did not know the men who boarded them. He would not have cursed at the leisure crafts if he knew his employer was on board. He merely asked the passengers to comply and move to the other boat. When Sahar stood up in an aggressive manner to demonstrate his displeasure at being singled out, Hong did not hesitate to put a bullet in his knee. The loud report from the gunshot echoed across the open sea and it was followed shortly after by Sahar’s screams.

Sahar: Arnghhhhhhhh!

When Sahar woke up that morning, he definitely did not expect to get shot in his kneecap just for standing up when told not to. Ah Fu, who had also stood up, froze immediately as he stared at the crimson red blood pooling around his friend’s body.

Sahar turned towards the coastguard vessels in the distance as if they were going to help him. Singapore was strict with her gun laws, surely, they would have heard the shot. However, if they did so, it didn’t appear like they were going to do anything about it. Ah Fu looked at his brother, and then at Hong, who was munching on a curry puff with one hand while his other hand held the still smoking gun.

Hong: Sit down unless you want to end up like your friend there.

Ah Fu immediately sat back down. After a short delay, the smaller craft pulled away with the rest of the passengers. The larger craft pulled up to the bumboat and a man jumped onto the wooden deck, a man who was scrolling through his phone with a cigar in hand.

Jackson glanced down at Sahar who was crying in pain while he sat in a pool of his blood. He gave a dismissive snort when he saw that Ah Fu’s face had turned as white as ash. Jackson sighed as he casually he took a seat beside Hong.

Jackson: If there is one thing I hate, it’s being disturbed on my day off.

………

Quote:

Originally Posted by

ZAFT

Bro ILock, do u wanna consider writing it as a new thread titled Home instead ?

I’ve been searching for it on main page.

Didn’t know u continued here.

Likely ur fans all didn’t know.

was thinking it will be easier for readers to pick up off part 3 since it’s been a while since The house in bukit timah was released.

I’ll start a new thread with a recap of the 1st 3 titles when i upload the next update.

‘Home’ is finally wrapping up.

The initial 20 chapters has turned into 25.

All in probably close to 280k words give and take.

Sorry it took so long, but i think i’m ready to wrap up the saga.

Will be dropping chapter 11-25 starting from June.

Have a good weekend all.

James

Bumboat heading towards Malaysia from Changi Jetty

Phyo and Zin looked suspiciously at the two new arrivals on the boat. The two newcomers had boarded the small vessel, ten minutes after Sahar and Ah Fu were taken. They quietly slipped into the empty seats after having a word with the boat captain. The boat had now slowed down, and was chugging along at a snail’s pace.

Phyo could tell that Sahar and Ah Fu were not taken by the coastguard. They appeared to have been taken by thugs, or local gangsters. Something didn’t feel right, and they needed to alert Chan about this immediately. Phyo glanced at his phone, only to realise there was no reception. Zin exchanged a look with his buddy. He too, indicated that he could not get a signal. Zin’s hand moved to the handle of the dagger he kept in his bag; he was suspicious of the two new additions to the boat.

Phyo kept resetting his phone, but it seemed impossible to get a signal. He looked around and saw that they were a stone’s throw away from the coast of the island. They should be able to get a phone signal at this range, they were not even out on open waters. If only they knew one of the two new passengers had a jamming device with him inside his backpack - The device jammed all outgoing signals within a 50 meters radius.

Zin and Phyo shot several looks at the two men; both men stood silently, with their shades on and looking out towards the sea. Their clothes were baggy and ill fitting, too large to fit their frames. They didn’t look threatening, and their body language had no military bearing. The duo was sure that they could take on the two silent newcomers easily, if required.

The boat made its way out into open water, but it stopped after one of the two new additions approached the captain. The anchor was cast, and the operator of the boat went to the bow to light up a smoke. Zin and Phyo immediately went on the alert. The two men had removed their shades, their cold, emotionless eyes scanned the other passengers on the boat. Out of the remaining 18 passengers, seven were women. Several of them were shivering in fear and all of them looked confused. Someone asked,

“Why is the boat not moving?!”

No reply was given.

Zin made eye contact with one of the two men. He immediately looked away; those were eyes of a killer. He felt his heart racing and his muscles tensing up. He told himself to calm down, but his hand could not resist closing around the reassuring grip of his weapon.

Jeff, one of the new additions to the boat, stared at each passenger for a few seconds before moving onto the next. When he finally came to Zin, he paused for just a moment longer than he did on the others. Zin tried to remain calm, giving Jeff a questioning look, and asking what he wanted. What he failed to realise was that while putting on his act of innocence, his hand was still on the handle of the dagger hidden under his bag. Realising his game was up, he drew his dagger and struck at Jeff, giving up his cover without any effort on Jeff’s part.

Zin: ARGHHH!

He dropped his bag, and trying to recall the training he had, he adopted a fighting pose. He struck out with a succession of stabs and slashes, learnt from his training deep in the jungles of Myanmar. He had failed to meet the requirements to join the military, but he found another way, joining a militia group that brought him and many others into Malaysia via Thailand.

All the passengers screamed and shouted in panic as they withdrew to one side, leaving Phyo the only one still in his seat. Aware that the cover was blown, Phyo drew his knife and struck at the second man.

Zin sprang forward like a charged coil, delivering a stab straight towards Jeff’s face. Jeff twisted his body slightly, the blade missing its mark and passing within an inch of his ear. He took a quick step forward, and the heel of his open palm met with Zin’s nose. A shift of his feet and a forward kick to the solar plexus, sent Zin tumbling onto the wooden deck. It happened so fast that Zin barely saw his attacker move.

Winded and disorientated, Zin climbed back up, an arm clutched around his abdomen, but somehow with his dagger still in his other hand, shakily held up and ready to strike. He got up on his feet, only to feel Phyo crashing onto him. Phyo had tried to attack the other man, only to be sucked into a whirlwind of sorts. His opponent was like a Tai Chi master, diverted his strikes and redirected his strength against himself.

Phyo got up and pulled his friend to his feet. The two men adopted a defensive stance with their weapons raised and bodies slightly turned to the side. Stealing a quick glance at his watch, Zin checked the time. If there was a delay in the boat’s arrival, Chan would know they were in trouble.

Seeing that Jeff and Xia just stood there unmoving, the two men started advancing, making a series of short jabs and cuts, attempting to drive the two immobile statues back. The moment Phyo and Zin got close, their strikes were effortlessly redirected, or simply parried aside with a barehanded blow to their forearms and wrists.

They were kicked towards the back of the boat and separated from the rest of the passengers. No matter how hard Phyo and Zin tried, it was as if the two men could read their thoughts and knew every move they were about to make. Their blades came close to kissing flesh a few times, close, but close was not enough.

Realising that they could not beat the two strange men, they evaluated their options. Their orders were clear, they were just there to relay information. Zin spoke quickly to Phyo in their native tongue, they were less than a kilometre from the Singapore shoreline, they could make it if they jumped.

Their task was just to get word to Chan should the mission fail. They had grown up by the river and were confident with their abilities in the water. Phyo nodded, and the two men backed their way out of the seating area and jumped into the sea. While the two men swam vigorously towards the shore, on the boat, Jeff and Xia looked at them before they exchanged a perplexed look.

Jeff: What the fuck were they thinking?

Xia: No idea…

Xia revealed a chiselled, scar covered body when he removed his top and dove into the water. His body vanished under the waves, and a moment later, reappeared about 30 metres away.

Jeff did not follow suit. He instead spoke into a walkie-talkie and a dozen jet skis appeared from around the bend of the coastline and then pulled up to the bumboat. Several passengers were asked to disembark, while some new arrivals from the skis took their places on the boat. Jeff hopped onto one of the skis and it sped towards the men attempting to swim to their freedom.

The ski left a white streak across the choppy waters as it brought Jeff on a direct course to intercept Zin and Phyo.

The moment he got ahead of the two escapees, he dove into the water. In front of him, Zin and Phyo splashed violently through the waves as they made their desperate bid for the shore. Jeff could not see where his colleague was, but he knew Xia was in pursuit.

Xia pushed himself out from under the water with hardly any effort. His powerful strokes bringing him right on the tail of Zin and Phyo. Jeff held back a chuckle, he did not envy the two men trying to get to the shore. Xia was kicked off the national swim team because he beat up a coach for trying to get fresh with a female trainee.

If he were still on the team, Singapore’s first gold medal might not come from Joseph Schooling; it could have been from Xia, and perhaps several years earlier too.

Zin was swimming right beside Phyo, when he saw him disappearing under the water, as if a monster had just dragged him into the abyss.

Zin: PHYO!

At that point, Jeff had intercepted Zin, and the two of them immediately became tangled up in open water. Zin felt Jeff’s limbs wrapping around his chest and head, and they sank below the waves. He struggled, swallowing mouthfuls of seawater as he fought for air. The searing pain of the water entering his lungs, burned like someone was pressing a piece of hot metal against his raw flesh. Just when Zin thought he was going to pass out, he was lifted out of the water.

Choking and vomiting up his breakfast along with large amount of dirty seawater, Zin looked up to see the deck of a luxury yacht. Beside him, Phyo was lying unconscious, and a black man was in the process of resuscitating him. Zin looked about for the two men that pursued them into the water, but they were gone. Instead, he saw the same man who had shot Sahar, standing half-naked in boardshorts and flipflops, while he chewed on a slice of Jamón Ibérico ham.

The next thing he knew, he and his buddy were sent to a fish farm located at Lim Chu Kang. Thrown into separate holding rooms, Zin looked at the bloodstained walls and timber planks caked with dried blood. When he turned round and saw a rotting fingertip, peeking from bundle of bloodied clothes on the floor, he backed away into a corner. Zin closed his eyes and told himself that he was a soldier. He might have trained in the jungle with a ragtag militia, but he had always identified himself as a soldier. All he would give was his rank and name. Nothing more.

Zin was unaware of how much time had passed when the door to his cell opened. The instant his eyes moved to the open doorway, the feeling of dread was immediate and overwhelming. Two tattooed men stood there silently. One of them held a bloodied machete in his hand, and the other man casually threw something in his direction.

Two severed fingers hit Zin on his chest. He backed up to the wall in horror as he watched the still warm fingers twitching on the floor. One of those fingers had a ring around it; he recognised the band immediately. It belonged to Phyo.

The intricate tattoo of an emerald-coloured phoenix filled his vision. Its delicate, filigreed wings were all he saw, when two pairs of arms grabbed onto him and pulled him to the floor.

Zin: I am Corporal Zin! That is all I will say!

The two men exchanged a look with each other, before they shrugged and held him down.

Zin: NO… NO!

One of them had his knee pressed against the back of his neck, while the other forced Zin’s left hand to the floor.

Zin: NO! Please… NO! I am Corporal ZIN!

Zin had his fist clenched tightly, and when the men realised that they could not open his hand up, they held his fist down and brought the machete to his wrist. The moment Zin felt the cold steel coming to rest on his flesh, he peed himself on the floor.

Zin: NO! Please! NO! I talk! I talk!

As the machete hovered an inch above his trembling wrist, he realised he had not only peed himself, he had lost control of his bowels as well. The two men looked at Zin with cold, expressionless eyes, and then they suddenly let him go. He immediately scurried to a corner of the room, trembling in fear and confusion.

This was not what Chan told him would happen if he were caught. Zin was told to just give his rank and name, and the treaties signed at the Geneva Convention would take care of the rest. He was supposed to go on trial, then they would put him in a prison where he would have food and medical care. His family would also get a small monthly pay-out from Chan until he was released. It was to be a year or two at the most. Prisons were supposed to be luxurious in Singapore, compared to where he was from.

As the sun set over the horizon and cast its fingers of pale-yellow light across the fish farm, the door to his cell opened again. A lone man walked into the room, aided by a walking stick. He walked with a limp, and from behind him, two feral dogs appeared with their fangs bared. A stool was brought into the room for him, and the man sat down. The man did not say nothing. He just stared at Zin and waited for him to talk.

Zin was about to repeat his rank and name, when he heard a familiar scream coming from the other side of the fish farm. It was soon accompanied by the sound of Phyo thrashing in pain. Sahar’s screams joined that of Phyo’s, and it did not take long for Ah Fu’s cries for his mother to reach Zin’s ears.

Zin had always been a slow learner, but he quickly wised up to the fact that these men didn’t give a fuck about his rank and name.

*

Pengerang, Malaysia

Chan stopped the video that was playing on his tablet. None of his men had disembarked from the boat that arrived from Singapore. His tablet was receiving a livestream from a camera at the ferry terminal. The lady selling souvenirs at the terminal did not know Chan was no longer watching the livestream.

She was paid RM200 to made sure that none of her wares would block the wooden sculpture, embedded with a hidden camera, that sat at a prime spot on the table. All she had to do was place it there for the afternoon, and then make far more money than what she would on a typical day.

His men were gone. Both the attackers and the minders. But this was to be expected. Casualties were always expected in war. Chan knew he would never see or hear again from those men that have failed, but there were plenty more men for him to expend. Lives meant nothing to him, they were merely assets and tools to be used. The attack had caused mayhem in the small island, and that itself, might be viewed as a victory. But Chan had bigger plans for Singapore. The explosions were but a distraction, a taste of what was yet to come.

His phone received a notification, a message from a Colonel in the Singapore Air Force.

“It’s done.”

Chan signalled to his driver and his car pulled out onto the small street. He scrolled to a pre-set contact group and then sent a broadcasted message to everyone in that folder. Once the message had been sent, he removed the battery from the phone, broke the SIM card in two, and threw one half out from the car window.

It was all about moves and counter-moves. Chan looked at the other twelve phones he had prepared. Soon, he would be receiving messages of confirmation on those as well.

*

Jim, Soh & guys

A large bear-like figure alighted from the boat with a straw hat on his head, a backpack slung over his shoulder, and a grin on his face. Soh and Mohan, made their way to the closest stall that sold sugarcane juice. Jim, Rizwan, Derrick and Nelson alighted last, pausing to take some pictures by the jetty. The rest of the passengers just went about their business and faded into the bustle of the ferry terminal. Jim might not know who they are, but he knew everyone there had a job to do.

As Jim and his friends made their way out of the terminal, he saw a vehicle swerving out from a gravelled patch and driving off into the distance. He didn’t think much about it, being distracted by a couple of motorcycles that roared by. One of which, ridden by a boy who seemed too young to even be on a bicycle.

A taxi driver approached them, touting for fares. Jim told him they wanted to head to a nearby dirt bike riding operator. The driver quoted them RM30, but Nelson said it was too expensive.

Nelson: That place is only like 10 minutes away!

They bargained like true Singaporeans aboard, before deciding to put the cab ride on hold and first grabbing some food at a nearby shop. The moment they entered, they noticed an unusually large presence of foreigners, many of whom were giving the group suspicious looks.

The lot sat down and ordered their food and drinks. While waiting, they check out the map of the area on their phone and talking about what to do later. Rizwan was the only one who did not take part in the conversation. He was busy compiling the photos he has taken into a folder and sending it out to a specific email address.

Nelson: I want to try the go-karts. Looks good man.

Derrick: I think Rizwan is going for the dirt bike, right? Haha… I can see it on your face

Rizwan looked up from his phone and laughed. The group chatted casually like friends who finally got to spend some time together aboard. When the food was brought to their table, Jim was surprised when he realised that the server was Burmese.

Cetan: You from Singapore?

Jim: Yes…

Cetan: Singapore nice.

Jim: Have you been there before?

Cetan: No, but soon. Soon I go visit Singapore.

Jim: I’m sure you will like it. There are many attractions to visit.

Cetan gave a grin, as if he knew more than he was letting on. He told them to enjoy their meal, and then left their table. As he walked away, Jim noticed that beneath the sarong he wore, was a pair of military boots.

As Jim tucked into his plate of fiery-red noodles, he wondered to himself, how many kampung mamaks sold mee goreng in army boots these days? In the midst of his musing, he saw Mohan and Soh on their rented scooters, speeding past the shop he was in. He shook his head and went back to his noodles.

Jim and his friends took a slow stroll around the shop, taking their time to enjoy the sea breeze and snapping more photos of the scenery. They returned to the driver who earlier touted for their business, then engaged in a bout of harsh bargaining. They hopped into his taxi after paying him RM25 to make the five-minute journey into town.

Jim: How much Ringgit did you guys change? I only changed 450.

Rizwan: So little, you crazy ar? I changed 500.

Derrick: Oh, I only changed 420… hahaha…

Nelson: I brought 520.

Jim: Okay la, should be enough if we pool all together. Only two-day trip… haha.

Unknown to the cab driver, the numbers were merely a code the guys used to share the information they had gathered.

Removing the zero at the back, it was the number of military-aged foreigners they counted. Jim counted 45, Rizwan clocked 50, while Derrick and Nelson both got 42. They expected the difference, and would give an averaged count in their report. Rizwan sent the numbers out and then started chatting with the cab driver in Malay.

The driver mentioned that the groups of foreigners have started appearing over the past few months, and their numbers were growing. There were more of them staying at a village a few minutes away. The conversation started going towards them taking up jobs and putting the locals out of work; the usual complaints everyone had towards a foreign workforce.

When they drove past a large swarth of forest, Jim felt the muscles in his body tensing up. He was sure his friends felt it too. Because the last time they were in Pengerang, Malaysia, they were not there as tourists.

*

Prime Minister’s Office

The video footage of the attack had been playing on repeat for the fourth time when Daryl walked over and snapped the laptop shut. A heavy pair of bloodshot eyes shifted up from the closed laptop and focused on the source of the interruption. Welly Chin looked silently at his aide and waited for him to speak. Daryl reported that they had the remaining two culprits in custody. They had also caught two more whom they suspected were minders sent to oversee the trio.

Daryl: Sir, people want answers, they want someone to blame. Give the culprits to them, parade them on national television, and make their faces known to all!

Welly took a deep breath and reached for his teacup, muttering a curse when he realised it was empty. Daryl took note the empty cup, immediately saying that he would refill it after he received Welly’s next set of instructions.

Daryl: I can have a press conference set up within two hours. I’ll coordinate with the security forces to transport the culprits over to…

Welly: No…

Welly’s heart weighed heavily in his chest as he leaned back on his chair.

Welly: As far as the world is concerned, we don’t have the culprits…

Daryl: What? Why?

Welly: Daryl, in this office, who knows about the capture?

Welly posed the question to his ever-efficient assistant with a photographic memory. Welly was just a member of parliament for a small constituency when Daryl had joined his team as a volunteer. Daryl has worked his way up from volunteering at meet-the-people sessions to where he was today - one of the Prime Minister’s closest and most trusted aides.

Daryl: As of this moment, the two of us, and the Minister of Defence.

Welly: We’ll get everything out of them first. Tell the team I want to know everything about them, where they come from, their backgrounds, their training; I want to know what pillow they sleep on and what brand of soap they use. Get everything.

Daryl: What are we going to do about the public calling out an incompetent government and demanding that you step down?

Welly: That is just noise. Ignore it. Information first. The rest can wait. I’ll address the nation regarding the attack at 10 p.m. tonight. In the meantime, keep me updated on the situation with the information gathering.

Daryl: Yes sir, I’ll check in with Jackson. Hopefully he has kept those bastards alive.

Welly: I gave specific orders for them to be kept alive.

Daryl: I’m sure you know that Jackson interprets orders rather differently.

Alive to him can mean in a vegetative state and breathing through a tube.

Welly ignored the comment, Jackson could be rash, but he was smart enough to know how valuable those prisoners were.

Welly: Any updates from the crew who replaced the original passengers?

Daryl: Soh and his men are working the ground to try and get information about the attack. They will spread out and check out the town. Jim found a restaurant with a larger than usual crowd of Burmese and Thai men. He sent some photos back and our analysts are working on the information.

Welly: Do what we can for the victims and their families.

Daryl: Yes sir.

Daryl pulled open the door and hurried out of the room. The door barely hovered shut, when another figure burst into the room. Dan, the Minister of Defence, walked into the office with a grim look on his face. Behind him was a long line of ministers, aides and staff waiting to speak to the Prime Minister.

Welly braced himself for the bad news. From Dan’s expression and the tightly gripped, ‘Top Secret’, marked folder that was on the brink of getting crushed, there was no way Dan was walking in to give him any good news.

*

Paya Lebar Air Base

Colonel Tham, Squadron Leader of the 149th Squadron, completed the routine inspection of his F-15 jet. He gave the technician a thumbs-up, and then walked towards another hanger where his squad’s jet were. His walk was punctuated by an almost constant buzzing from his mobile phone – a barrage of messages from his estranged wife, asking when he was going to sign the divorce papers.

Not only was she taking the kids, she was also demanding the bulk of their matrimonial assets. Ever since his affair came to light, his life had become a literal hell. Having to keep his situation a secret, wreaked havoc on his mental health. On one hand, he needed to perform his duties to the nation, and on the other, he needed to deal with his wife. He was tired, his bank account was drained, his credit cards bills were way overdue, and he was absolutely terrified by the thought of not being able to see his children again. While the sex with the mistress was good, her spendthrift habit was a bitch to deal with.

Tham thought about the message sent to his phone from Chan, a former acquaintance. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but Chan offered a solution - a means to an end for all his meaningless struggles in life.

Chaos.

Chan wanted Chaos. Chaos would be the answer to all his problems. Chaos at home would make petty things like a divorce fade away into insignificance. The money Chan was offering, along with a ticket to Thailand, promised him a fresh start. The offer was made even more tempting when Chan promised to get his kids from his ex-wife. No one would be harmed if he just followed Chan’s instructions.

Tham removed the last card-sized device from his pocket and placed it inside the maintenance access hatch of his colleague’s jet. Over the past couple of days, he had already placed similar devices in all the F-15 jets. He just had to place the last one in the next hanger.

Tham casually strolled into the hanger and waved to the technician running a diagnostic scan on a jet’s computer.

Tham: Hey, how are you, Sandra?

Sandra: All good sir. What are you doing here?

Tham: Just a stroll around camp to clock my step count for the day. Haha…

Sandra: I see. Twenty thousand steps, eh?

Tham: Stops me from getting fat from all the waiting we do around here… haha…

Tham gestured for Sandra to get back to her work. When her back was turned, he placed the last device into the jet she was working on.

He was told that all the device did was to give off an electronic interference signal. It would stop the jet from functioning properly, and thereby preventing take-off.

It was an easy fix for the technicians, the moment they found the device and removed it, everything would go back to normal. Tham was told that it was a bid to thwart the next contract the Air Force was considering, between two rival companies who would be supplying the next generation of fighters. Defence contractors would go to great lengths in order to get what they wanted, and a simple sabotage of equipment could mean being awarded a contract worth billions.

By the time they finished investigating who was responsible, Tham, his kids, and his mistress, would be safely tucked away at a villa in Thailand, with more money than they could spend for the rest of their lives.

Five million USD and a yearly pay-out of SGD200,000, as long as Tham remained out of sight. That was more than enough to set one up comfortably to live out the rest of his life with his kids and mistress in a quiet villa in Thailand. And in return, the company that sponsored his sabotage would get a lucrative contract with the Air Force.

Tham returned to his locker, and after making sure no one was near him, he unzipped the bag and gazed at the bundles of cash given to him as a deposit - all SGD650,000 of it. The sight of the money gave him the reassurance that everything would be resolved in a few hours.

He sent a text to Chan, informing him that it was done.

“It’s done.”

Tham was about to shut the locker door when he heard a buzzing coming from the bag of money. He rifled through the bag and came upon a blinking red light that was coming from something sewn into the side of the bag itself. Before he could come to terms with what that was, the card-sized explosive blew up in his locker, ripping Tham’s face into shreds. That was followed by similar explosions that rocked every F-15 in the air base.

Fires raged to the wailing of alarms, muted only by the explosions that shook every hanger, as billions of dollars’ worth of jets turned into scrap metal. The smoke rose high up into Singapore skies, an acrid beacon for the sirens of fire engines and emergency vehicles in the vicinity.

*

Sandra crawled up from under her desk, shaken and disorientated from the explosion. She could see the fire and the flashing lights from the alarms, but apart from the annoying ringing in her ears, the hanger was silent. Strangely silent. She felt fine, but she saw that her leg was bleeding, and she reached out to touch the wound. Her hand felt numb and slow to respond. Sandra stared at her missing left hand for two seconds, before another explosion from the leaking jet fuel vapourised her where she stood.

The hanger doors collapsed from their frames just a moment before the roof came crashing down. Thick plumes of smoke rose from the air base as the pyre of jets burned.

*

The commander of the air base stared out from his office window in disbelief. Every one of their jets in the hangers were burning. Another explosion from a hanger close to his office shattered the glass windows and the shockwave sent him hurling backwards onto his desk. Crawling back up with a bloodied forehead, he immediately reached for the phone and hit the speed dial direct to the Minister of Defence’s office.

The line connected within three rings, but he could not find the right words to explain the situation to the minister’s secretary. The last time he spoke with the minister on the phone, it was about the contract and decision on the next generation of fighter jets the country was thinking about acquiring.

How would you explain that you have just lost an entire air base filled with jets?

*

Prime Minister’s Office

Welly buried his face in his hands. He took a deep breath to calm himself down. Dan, the Minister of Defence, had just given Welly the grim news that they lost two squadrons of their jets from an internal sabotage. The rest of their aircraft were grounded, pending a thorough inspection, with the exception of two that happened to be in the air.

The airfield, while undamaged, needed to be cleared of the still falling debris from the carnage.

Dan: There’s no telling what other breeches have occurred. Owen has a lot of friends spread out throughout our armed forces who believe in his cause.

Welly: Owen is dead.

Dan: There are a lot of unhappy people in the country, Welly.

Welly: There are unhappy people everywhere in the world. We have a lot to be thankful for in this country. No natural disasters, no volcanos, no tsunamis… What the fuck is wrong with people nowadays?

Dan: I recommend implementing a curfew and placing the country in a lockdown.

Welly: That will cripple the economy. You saw what Covid did when we shut down the country for two months.

Dan was about to speak when his phone buzzed. He was notified that two other groups of men who were sent to sabotage their military camps and assets had been caught, thanks to the information extracted from Zin and Phyo.

Dan: Chan kept the information compartmentalised. Ah Fu and Sahar only knew about the attack they were sent to do. We have a better yield of intel from the minders we caught on the boat.

Welly: The sabotage was done by one of ours. There is no way that anyone can just stroll into our camps.

Dan read the message and told Welly that preliminary investigations indicated that the men were cultivated over the years by Chan. They were assets that he converted over time, with money, persuasive words, and just cause.

Dan: We lost two Leopard tanks and the others are pending a thorough check to be sure they are good for operation.

Welly: And how long will that take?

Dan: I’m waiting for an answer to that as well. And since we are not taking their word for what they did to the vehicles, it’s practically like taking almost everything apart.

Welly: So, you are telling me that we only have two air-worthy planes, and what? No armoured vehicles?

Dan: Yes. Unless we are willing to ignore all protocols and send men into fighting vehicles that we don’t know if they are fit for operations.

Welly: Our ships?

Dan: Half the fleet are on exercise and piracy duties in the Straits of Malacca, the rest are operational as of now. But given the circumstances, there’s no telling if Chan has any of them on his side.

A deathly silence hung in the office as Welly stared at the map of Singapore on the wall. Welly’s thoughts were interrupted when someone burst into the Prime Minister’s Office.

Daryl: It’s happening across the causeway as well.

Welly: What do you mean?

Daryl: Our assets in the Malaysian Armed Forces shared information that they have been hit too.

Welly: How bad? Are their bases hit?

Daryl: It’s bad. They lost the entire No. 12 squadron along with their pilots in Kelantan.

Welly: Pilots too? Razak must be fucking pissed. That’s billions gone up in smoke.

Daryl: It’s not gone up in smoke, sir.

h up into the sky.

Welly: What do you mean? I thought you said they lost a squadron as well?

Daryl bit his lip, turning to the Minister of Defence with a grave look, and then gave it straight to the Prime Minister.

Daryl: What I meant to say was, Chan has an entire squadron of SU-30s and their pilots at his disposal. Somehow, he bought them all.

Dan looked at Daryl, and then back at Welly.

Dan: I’m initiating an open mobilisation now… We’ll need time to equip everyone.

Dan stormed out of the office and broke into a run.

Daryl: What are your instructions sir?

Daryl was ready to sprint out the door to carry out Welly’s word, but Welly only had a simple request.

Welly: Get me Malaysia’s Prime Minister on the phone.

*

Perdana Putra, Putrajaya

Razak, the Prime Minister of Malaysia, put the report down on his desk. The news showed the attack in Singapore. He switched channels, only to see footage from his own country showing people rushing to supermarkets in order to stock up on groceries.

Several of their military camps were hit, and large portions of their weapons inventory had gone missing. He ignored the ringing phone on the table. It was the King demanding action, and the other Sultans wanting to know what was going on. His secretary opened the door, offering him a glimpse into the chaos that was going on outside his private office. A temporary operations room had been set up outside as they tried to piece together what was happening.

Razak knew who was responsible for this. His government had been trying to contain this threat for several years now. However, Chan remained elusive, crossing borders under the guard of former members of the Myanmar Special Forces. Malaysia’s National Special Operations Forces (NSOF) had conducted multiple missions along the borders against Chan. They had hit many camps and even successfully captured one of Chan’s women, but the man himself was always one step ahead.

Khajeer, the PM’s secretary, shut the door and handed a mobile phone to Razak. Razak saw that a call was already connected and on hold.

Khajeer: It’s the Prime Minister of Singapore.

Razak drummed his fingers on the table, considering whether or not to take Welly’s call. They were classmates in university, and Razak had always regarded Welly a rival. Back in their younger days, they competed in everything from grades, to sports, and even women. They never truly liked each other, and over the years, the competition had been anything but cordial and friendly. Perhaps something in them knew that one day, they would be competing as neighbours along one of the busiest shipping routes in the world.

Razak hated Welly’s decisiveness, while Welly hated the sheer amount of resources Razak had at his disposal. He thought of Welly as a rash peasant, because unlike himself, Welly was not of noble lineage and a descendant from several generation of Malay chiefs with close connections to the royal family.

Razak answered the call coldly, not masking the fact that he was not going to enjoy the conversation.

Razak: I hope this is not about our water agreement.

Welly did not care for the feeble jibe. He went straight to the point.

Welly: You lost an entire squadron of jets along with their pilots.

Razak knew that the news would spread, but he did not expect it to spread this fast, especially not across the border to Singapore. He could not resist a riposte, sending another jibe straight to Welly’s face, letting him know that he was not the only one with information.

Razak: You have two squadrons of scrap metal burning into slag. I suggest you mind your own business.

Welly sighed and tried to keep his composure.

Welly: Razak, are we going to talk in this manner and pretend that everything is fine?

Razak: What do you want?

Razak looked at Khajeer, who had scribbled a note stating that the Minister of Defence along with their Chief of Defence Forces was outside the door and were seeking an audience urgently.

Welly: Razak, I’m just going to lay the cards out on the table. I’m not interested in playing word games or childish politicking. We know you have been losing military equipment, we know Chan is amassing a force across the borders. He has the numbers, and he’s going to make his move.

Razak: And what? You’re worried we cannot stop him? Is that what you are trying to say? That this will spill into your backyard?

Welly: Razak! This is already in both our backyards!

Razak: I have faith in our armed forces to contain any threat. You should…

Welly quickly regained his composure.

Welly: Razak, you know as well as I do that both our forces are compromised from within. If not, there is no way they could have pulled this off. So, get the fuck off your high horse and don’t pretend that everything is fine.

As much as Razak hated to admit it, Welly was right.

Khajeer scribbled another note, telling him that several Sultans were making plans to fly out of the country to Singapore. From there, they would transit to another country for the time being. The King was demanding that Razak head to the palace immediately, and Kahjeer reminded Razak that the Minister of Defence was now joined by the Chief of Air Force as well.

Welly: Razak, now’s not the time to be competing. We’re neighbours connected at the waist. I just want to say, if you burn, we’re going to be burned along with you. And if there’s anything we can do to help each other, Singapore will be willing to do what she can.

Razak: I appreciate the offer. But we will be fine on our own. There is indeed a small incident at our end, but I assure you, it will be sorted out soon enough.

Welly closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to believe the size of Razak’s ego.

Welly: Razak, I’m saying this as your former classmate. We know it’s bad, and I want to let you know we are initialising an open mobilization in a few hours. I’ll leave it to your military advisers to convince you how bad the situation is.

Razak: Welly, you just worry about yourself. Everything is under control at our end.

Razak abruptly hung up the phone.

Welly dropped the phone on his table and blew out a sharp breath of air. He took a moment’s pause before he began cursing at the stubborn mule he just spoke to.

The moment Kahjeer opened the door and let the Minister of Defence and military chiefs in, all of them fought to speak at the same time, each rattling off their own situation at hand. They started squabbling amongst themselves, raising their voices and each demanding to be heard first.

Razak: Will all of you just shut up! One at a time please!

Razak slammed a palm down on his desk and loosed a sigh of exasperation. But before anyone could speak, someone else barged through the door. The Crown Prince of Johor and his security team pushed and jostled against Razak’s staff as they made way for their Sultan to enter.

Razak sighed again and stood up from his desk.

Razak: Shut the door and do not let anyone else through!

What followed was an intense discussion between Razak, his military chiefs, his defence minister, and a really upset Sultan - the only Sultan with his own private army in Malaysia.

An hour after Welly’s phone call, Razak sat back down on his chair and looked at the gathering of men in his office. The situation was worse than he thought it to be, and with each passing moment, more details were coming in to worsen the situation.

He gestured for the phone and Kahjeer immediately knew which number to dial.

Kahjeer: Daryl? Yes. I have the Prime Minister on the line. Yes, I’ll hold.

Moments later, the phone was handed over to Razak.

Razak: Welly…

Welly: Yes, Razak?

Everyone in the office held their breath, and the three seconds of awkward silence seemed to stretch on forever.

Razak: By our estimates, Chan is going to start pushing south within 72 hours. And I want to let you know, that Malaysia will be mobilising our troops as well. I will put my commanders in touch with yours.

Welly: Thank you Razak. I will ensure our joint ops room at Woodlands CIQ is up, and we will promptly share all information we have with your team.

Razak: We… ermm… also have some private jets that are pending air clearance to land at your end. Some of the royals… ermm… don’t exactly enjoy the noise and dust kicked up by this unforeseen situation.

Welly: I understand. I will have my guys sort it out immediately.

Razak stood up and walked to the corner window of his office. He just looked at the beautiful view of the lake, surrounded by its lush squares and gardens. The serenity lasted a whole three seconds, before a loud explosion rocked the city, sending a dark column of smoke high up into the sky.

Razak: Welly, I’m sending my family over as well… Including my granddaughter.

Welly: I will make sure they are well received and settled in.

Razak watched as a speeding car crashing through the gates and into a security barrier. It was surrounded by armed guards, and Putrajaya echoed with the sound of gunfire as his guards fired on the driver. However, the shots were soon drowned out when the driver detonated the explosives in the trunk.

Razak clutched on the phone in his hand as his men scrambled to pull him down to the ground. Over the phone, Welly heard the low boom from the explosion.

Welly: Are you okay Razak?

Razak: I am. I have to attend to some pressing matters now…

The line disconnected.

*

Welly put down the phone and turned to look at Daryl.

Welly: I need you to handle some air clearance for…

Daryl: Airspace is a little packed right now.

Welly: What? Why?

Daryl: The American and British embassies are evacuating all their staff. Many of them are flying our via private charter.

Welly took a second to process the information before he broke out in a chuckle.

Welly: Well, it not the first time we’re left on our own when the shit hits the fan.

…