The warehouse smelled like rust and old concrete. Arka dragged Rikson's unconscious body to a wooden chair and tied him up tight. He checked the detective's pulse—steady and strong. The knockout drug would keep him under for hours.
Perfect.
While Rikson was out cold, Arka went through his stuff like he was Christmas shopping. Phone, wallet, badge, gun—everything a detective would carry. But the real treasure was on Rikson's phone. Emails, messages, case files... it was all there.
"Jackpot," Arka muttered, scrolling through blurry CCTV photos of himself in disguise. They had fingerprint analysis, suspect lists, even the guest list from that party where he'd impersonated Kayla Indriani.
They're way too close for comfort.
Rikson started stirring—little groans, fluttering eyelids. Arka pocketed the phone and sat down across from him, waiting.
When the detective finally opened his eyes, it took him a few seconds to figure out where he was. His gaze landed on Arka, and his whole body went tense.
"Welcome back, Detective," Arka said casually.
"Who... who are you?" Rikson's voice came out rough and scratchy.
"Come on, you've been hunting me for days. Take a wild guess."
Rikson studied his face, and Arka watched the moment it clicked. The detective's eyes went wide. "You're him. The identity thief."
"Bingo!" Arka clapped slowly. "Though I prefer 'master of disguise.' Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"How do you do it?" Rikson leaned forward despite being tied up. "Those disguises were perfect. No mask or prosthetics should fool biometric scanners like that."
"That's because I don't use masks." Arka held up his hand, showing off the ancient ring on his finger. "I use this little beauty."
Rikson stared at the ring like it might bite him. "What is that? Some kind of new tech?"
"Older than you could ever imagine," Arka said, twisting the ring around his finger. "But that's not your biggest problem right now."
"What do you want from me?" Rikson tested his restraints, looking for weak spots like the trained cop he was.
Arka stood up and walked over to him. "I want to become you."
Before Rikson could react, Arka grabbed his face and forced eye contact. Rikson tried to look away—maybe instinct, maybe pride—but Arka's grip was like iron.
"Look at me, Detective."
The moment their eyes locked, Arka felt the familiar warmth spreading from the ring. It started in his finger and flowed through his whole body before concentrating on his face. He'd gotten good at controlling the transformation—speeding it up or slowing it down as needed.
Right in front of Rikson's horrified eyes, Arka began to change. His cheekbones sharpened, his jaw got broader, his black hair shortened and gained silver streaks at the temples. His young features aged into the weathered face of an experienced detective.
"No way," Rikson whispered, his face going white as a sheet. "This is impossible."
In seconds, the transformation was complete. Standing in front of the real Rikson was his perfect twin—another Rikson Panjaitan, identical down to the last detail.
"What do you think?" Arka asked in Rikson's exact voice. "Convincing enough?"
"You're not human," the real Rikson breathed.
"Oh, I'm very human. Just got lucky enough to find a magical artifact that opens doors for me." Arka walked in a slow circle around the chair. "Lots of doors."
"They'll know," Rikson said, trying to sound confident even though his voice was shaking. "My colleagues, my contacts—they'll know you're not me."
"Will they?" Arka's smile was sharp. "I've been watching you for days. The way you walk, talk, that little finger-drumming thing you do when you're thinking. I even know you drink your espresso black with no sugar."
Rikson's face went another shade paler as Arka rattled off detail after detail about his personal habits.
"What are you planning to do?"
"Become you, obviously." Arka picked up the detective's phone and scrolled through it. "As the lead investigator on this identity fraud case, I'll have access to everything. Every lead, every piece of evidence, every theory. I'll know exactly what they know and where they're heading."
"You won't get away with this," Rikson said, trying to sound tough despite being tied to a chair. "Someone will figure it out eventually."
"Maybe," Arka shrugged. "But not before I finish what I need to do. And if someone gets suspicious..." He winked. "I can always become someone else."
Rikson went quiet, his mind clearly racing.
"What happens to me?"
"That depends on how cooperative you decide to be."
Arka stopped pacing and looked at him seriously. "I could start with easy questions, work my way up. But time's running short, so let's cut to the chase—what do you know about me? Who's on your suspect list?"
Rikson pressed his lips together and glared at him defiantly.
"Okay, hard way it is." Arka sighed and pulled out the detective's phone. "Let's see... your daughter Dina, right? Medical student at University of Indonesia. Lives in that boarding house near campus. Straight-A student, real bright kid."
All the color drained from Rikson's face. "Leave my family out of this."
"I don't want to involve anyone," Arka said with fake concern. "But you're making me nervous with this whole silent treatment thing. Imagine how easy it would be for me to become one of her classmates. Or a professor. Or anyone close to her."
"You're a monster," Rikson hissed.
"Just practical." Arka went back to scrolling through the phone. "Anyway, I'll just get my answers from your emails and messages instead. Let's see... interesting. You've narrowed it down to five suspects."
Rikson stayed silent, hatred burning in his eyes.
"Don't worry though," Arka smiled. "As the new Detective Rikson, I'll make sure this investigation goes in completely the wrong direction."
For the next few hours, Arka worked on Rikson systematically. Threats mixed with promises, pressure followed by brief relief. Slowly, the detective started talking. Access codes, important contacts, investigation plans—piece by piece, Arka extracted everything he needed.
"This won't work," Rikson said finally, his voice hoarse from hours of interrogation. "Modern surveillance is too advanced. There'll be digital evidence, witnesses who'll come forward eventually..."
"Maybe, if I were just some regular criminal." Arka pointed to his face—Rikson's face. "But as you can see, I'm special."
"Whatever you're really after, it won't work," Rikson stared at him intensely. "You're not doing this for money or thrills. What's your real goal?"
The question made Arka pause. He looked out the small window at the dark night sky.
"You don't need to know that," he said finally. "What you need to know is that I'll do whatever it takes to achieve it. Including—" His voice went cold. "—eliminating anyone who gets in my way."
The threat hung in the air between them, making Rikson swallow hard.
---
The next morning, Detective Rikson Panjaitan—or rather, Arka wearing his face—walked into the police station like he owned the place. Thanks to the all-night interrogation session, he had everything he needed to pull off the perfect impersonation.
"Morning, Detective," a young officer called out respectfully.
"Morning, Tono," Arka replied, nailing Rikson's characteristic slight nod.
In the criminal division meeting room, officers and forensic analysts were already gathered for the identity fraud case update. The case was getting more media attention by the day.
"Rikson, there you are," Commissioner Budi greeted him. "We were just discussing the partial fingerprint analysis from the latest incident."
"Sorry I'm late," Arka said smoothly, taking Rikson's usual seat. "Had some things to handle last night."
"Right, so the lab managed to enhance that partial print we found on the pen used by our suspect when he was disguised as Devina Hartono. We got a partial match, but not enough for a definitive ID."
Arka nodded thoughtfully, his mind already spinning. "A partial match is still something. Have we tried cross-referencing with university databases? This level of disguise skill suggests theater or performing arts background."
"Good thinking," Commissioner Budi agreed. "Forensics, can you run it against art student databases across Jakarta?"
"On it," the forensics team leader confirmed.
Arka smiled inwardly. Perfect—his chance to plant false evidence. "While they work on that, I've got a theory I want to pursue. What about that stalker we nabbed last month—Gunawan Prabowo? He's got basic makeup skills and a grudge against the system."
"Gunawan?" Commissioner Budi frowned. "He's still in custody, Rikson."
"Maybe he's got accomplices on the outside," Arka suggested casually. "Or this whole thing was planned before his arrest. Point is, we need a suspect to calm the media, and Gunawan's profile fits our perp's MO."
"Isn't it premature to focus on one suspect?" a female analyst asked.
Arka put on Rikson's characteristic impatient expression. "This isn't focusing, it's following evidence. Partial prints, motive, capability—everything points to Gunawan or someone in his circle. Check his visitor logs and communications while he's been inside."
After the meeting, Arka spent the day accessing police databases with Rikson's credentials. Carefully, methodically, he began planting false digital evidence. Manipulated CCTV images, added notes to Gunawan Prabowo's file linking him to the identity fraud case, even inserted fake audio recordings that supposedly matched the suspect's voice.
Late afternoon, forensics called. "Detective Rikson, we found a fingerprint match with a student named Rajendra Kusuma from Jakarta Institute of Arts."
Arka grinned. Perfect—a name he'd never used, someone completely unconnected to him. "Excellent work. Get me his complete profile immediately. Keep this quiet for now—no media leaks."
That same afternoon, one of Rikson's informants called—a security guard who'd been a key witness in the Arjuna Wijaya impersonation.
"Detective," the voice said, "I just remembered something about that suspicious guy. He had a small scar behind his right ear. Really faint, but I caught it when he was talking to the receptionist."
Instinctively, Arka touched behind his own right ear—where he did indeed have a small scar from a childhood accident.
"That's very valuable information," Arka replied calmly, "but keep this between us for now. Could be an important clue we need to keep from the media."
"Yes, sir."
The moment he hung up, Arka added the informant's name to a mental list—people who would need to be "handled" later. If he wanted to succeed completely, there couldn't be any witnesses who could identify him.
---
At the end of the day, Arka returned to the warehouse where Rikson was still tied up. The man looked exhausted but his eyes still burned with anger and determination.
"How was your day being me?" Rikson asked sarcastically.
"Very productive," Arka smiled, loosening his tie. "I'm building some interesting suspects for this case. Gunawan Prabowo—that stalker you already caught—is about to become the prime suspect, even though he's locked up. And there's also Rajendra Kusuma, an unlucky art student whose fingerprints mysteriously match evidence from the crime scenes."
"What?" Rikson looked confused. "Gunawan couldn't possibly be involved, and I've never heard of Rajendra Kusuma."
"Of course you haven't," Arka chuckled. "Rajendra is just some random student who was never involved in any of this. But his fingerprints are now in the system as a match with crime scene evidence—thanks to a little digital magic on my part. And Gunawan? Just plant some suspicious documents in his seized belongings, and voilà—instant suspect."
Rikson shook his head in disgust. "You're destroying innocent people's lives to cover your tracks."
"Classic misdirection," Arka shrugged. "The question now is what to do about... your situation."
Rikson met his gaze steadily. "You're going to kill me."
"Killing is too crude and unnecessary. Besides, how could I be you if you turned up dead? No, I have a more elegant solution."
He pulled a syringe from his bag. "This is a special cocktail—several drugs that will damage parts of your memory and make you appear to suffer from severe amnesia. When you're found—and I'll make sure you're found—you'll look like an accident victim who lost his memory."
"They'll know," Rikson said desperately. "Toxicology tests will show the drugs."
"Not these drugs," Arka smiled. "They break down within 24 hours and leave no trace. What remains will only be brain damage consistent with severe head trauma."
Arka approached with the syringe. "And when you finally start recovering your memory and tell the crazy story about someone who can change faces and steal identities, who's going to believe you? They'll think you're delusional from post-traumatic stress."
"Wait," Rikson tried to buy time. "If your whole plan is to let me live with amnesia, why tell me all this?"
Arka paused, then smiled. "You're right. This is a tactical error on my part. Maybe it's ego—I wanted you to know how perfect my plan is before you forget it forever."
"Or maybe," Rikson made one last desperate attempt, "deep down, you want to be caught. You want someone to stop you."
The words made Arka hesitate. For just a moment, doubt flickered in his eyes.
"Interesting psychological theory," he finally said, "but unfortunately wrong."
Without warning, Arka injected the liquid into Rikson's neck. The detective struggled briefly before his body went limp and his eyes lost focus.
"Sleep well, Detective," Arka whispered. "When you wake up, the world's going to be a very confusing place."
---
Three days later, shocking news dominated every major media outlet: Detective Rikson Panjaitan had been found in a confused and injured state on a remote road outside the city. According to preliminary medical reports, he was suffering from severe amnesia due to head trauma, possibly from an accident or assault.
Ironically, the person giving press statements about Rikson's condition was Arka himself, having already eliminated Rikson's informant and taken his identity.
"We're deeply concerned about Detective Panjaitan's condition," Arka told the cameras with perfect expressions of grief. "The medical team says his amnesia is severe and possibly permanent. This is a major blow to our identity fraud investigation, but we're committed to continuing the work and catching this perpetrator."
When reporters asked about case developments, Arka confidently announced two main suspects—Gunawan Prabowo, the detained stalker allegedly running operations from prison, and Rajendra Kusuma, a performing arts student whose fingerprints were found at crime scenes.
Two days later, police raided Rajendra's boarding house based on "strong forensic evidence" that Arka had fabricated. The arrest team found only Rajendra's roommate—Dimas, a theater student who panicked when police burst through the door.
"Rajendra's not here!" Dimas screamed in terror. "He went home to Surabaya this week!"
But the evidence "discovered" in the room—fake ID cards, professional makeup tools, and notes about potential targets—convinced police they'd found the criminal's headquarters. Since Dimas shared the room with the main suspect, he was arrested as an accomplice.
"We have identified the network behind these identity fraud crimes," Arka announced at a press conference, still wearing Rikson's face. "Rajendra Kusuma, currently at large, is the primary perpetrator with advanced disguise capabilities. His associate, Dimas Saputra, has been apprehended and proven to have assisted in planning these operations. We're also investigating Gunawan Prabowo's role as the intellectual mastermind of this network."
All the evidence had been carefully fabricated by Arka, using his complete access to police labs and evidence databases.
A massive manhunt for Rajendra Kusuma was launched. Police distributed photos of the innocent young man nationwide, asking for public assistance in his capture. Meanwhile, interrogation of Dimas continued, with the unfortunate student desperately denying involvement in crimes he didn't even understand.
Perfect, Arka thought as he watched the news coverage from Rikson's apartment. Three innocent people taking the fall, and I'm completely in the clear.
But deep in his mind, a small voice echoed Rikson's last words: Maybe you want to be caught.
Arka pushed the thought away. He had work to do, and nothing—not guilt, not doubt, not anyone—was going to stop him from achieving his ultimate goal.