In the city of Makassar, women are being assaulted and murdered. But these are not normal crimes: there are some who say the "Kolor Ijo" has come to South Sulawesi, and that the women are victims of a demon.
It is only by accident that Kadek Bagus Surya Buana reunites by with old friend Indriani Baskoro, who came to Makassar to investigate. But what follows is no accident, as they delve deeper into the supernatural world of Indonesia, searching for the truth behind the Kolor Ijo.
He accelerated towards the pete-pete, then cut to the left as if he were going to pass. He held back on making a move, to see what the other van would do—and wasn’t disappointed. Before he could get into position, the pete-pete cut over to the left, blocking Buana from moving up.
“Just like I thought,” he mumbled as he back away about five meters. He tightened his grip once more. “You ready?”
Indri nodded. “Do it.”
Buana pressed the accelerator to the floor and ran up on the pete-pete. Once more he cut sharply to the left, and the pete-pete moved into the lane. At the moment Buana cut hard to the right and keep the accelerator pressed down, shooting into the right lane before he was cut off. He pulled the van even with the pete-pete. “Okay, get your pictures.”
Her window had been rolled down for some time, so she didn’t need to waste time clearing the view. She began filing the the driver-less vehicles next to her. “Pull closer,” she said. Buana moved a few centimeters to the left, but no further. “Come on!” She turned around to look at him. “I want to see inside.”
Buana shook his head. “We’re going a hundred and ten . . . hundred and fifteen.” His eyes fixed upon the highway, he said, “Isn’t there a curve up here before we get to the river?”
“Yes, and the Town Square shopping mall . . .” Indri sighed. “Keep us steady, then.” She hooked the seatbelt around one leg, then leaned out the passenger-side window before Buana could say anything.
Indri’s waist cut into the window frame as she hung half-way out of the van, with her camera less than a meter from the driver’s window of the pete-pete. She had the compartment perfectly framed, and was capturing what she could now see clearly:
The driver’s seat was empty. No one was behind the wheel of the pete-pete.
There was yelling behind her. She caught, “Are you insane?” but paid no attention to Buana. Let him drive; you do this, she thought. You only need ten, fifteen seconds of footage—
The pete-pete swerved towards her, and she twisted to the left best she could. She felt the van jerk her away as Buana reacted instinctively. Indri’s instincts were just as good: she straightened herself, and continued to capture the scene of the ghost pete-pete as they followed.