Rica.
That name—soft as a whisper, sharp as a memory—belonged to the only family I had left in this world. Back when we were just children in the orphanage, Rica had been my light, the only hand I could hold in the dark. Even as time carved scars into our lives, her smile remained the tether to my humanity.
And now… fate dared to stir that memory again.
A familiar presence passed by the café window. A girl in a private high school uniform strolled past, clutching a secondhand purse. Her gait, that gentle smile—exactly as I remembered. The warmth of her presence sent a jolt through my heart.
"Rica!"
The shout escaped me before I could stop it. Heads turned. Conversations paused. I caught myself, swallowed the lump in my throat.
Angel—me—quickly bowed in apology to the startled customers and tossed a few bills on the table before slipping out. His—my—eyes never left the girl.
The picture on his phone screen confirmed what he dared not believe: the same high school uniform, the same face. From behind, she looked like the ghost of a better time.
"Rica!" he called again, softer now. Too soft.
She turned slightly, hesitated... and then walked on.
Angel ducked behind the corner near the restrooms, hands trembling. His heart thundered in his ears.
It's her. It has to be her.
But he didn't follow.
No... I can't. If I reach out, I'll only endanger her. Stupid... I'm so damn stupid.
He clenched his fists, cursed himself silently, and exhaled the pain.
"I'll meet you next time, Rica. When it's safe."
---
Back at his suite, Angel collapsed into his chair and flicked on the television. A breaking news segment dominated the screen: Zenith Pharmaceuticals Announces Project Ascension—Promising Free Global Distribution of New Lifesaving Drug.
He scoffed. "As if. That's too good to be true."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with resolve.
"Well then. Time for me to launch a project of my own."
He dialed a number. The line picked up after a few rings.
"Sir, the Fangs have just arrived in the Philippines."
"Take them to the hotel and let them rest. I'm assigning a mission tomorrow."
"Understood, Sir Deputy."
Angel ended the call. The name "Deputy" lingered on his mind—a mask, a mantle, a shadow. Tonight, he would rest. Tomorrow, he would kill.
---
Evening descended. A knock echoed from the suite door.
"Sir, I've brought the package."
"Come in."
Alfonso entered, dressed crisply as always, a suitcase in hand. He set it on the table and opened it with quiet reverence.
Inside lay a custom-forged .44 Magnum revolver. Its matte black and gold-brushed finish gleamed under the light, the obsidian-blued steel carved with the words: Ultima Parola.
Angel lifted the weapon with slow precision.
"She's as beautiful as I remember."
"This is the second time this year you've used it," Alfonso noted.
"It's a must for this occasion."
Alfonso nodded and excused himself.
Angel opened his phone and began typing the mission orders. Every word weighed like a verdict. He hit send, turned off the lights, and let darkness cradle him into sleep.
---
By sunrise, Angel was suited in obsidian—matte black coat, vest, gloves. No frills, only precision. He slid Ultima Parola into its holster and retrieved a golden-colored jaguar mask from his travel bag.
Another knock.
"Sir, it's ready," Alfonso reported.
Together, they drove to an abandoned warehouse at the city's outskirts. Golden Fangs guarded the perimeter, a silent legion clad in black suits and jaguar-embossed helmets. One stood apart—the Fang Commander.
His outfit deviated from the standard: a sharp military officer's uniform in jet black, beret perched on his head, and a custom mask modeled after the Fangs' own. On his collar, the golden jaguar gleamed.
"The target is secured, Sir Deputy," the commander said.
"Good work, Kazuo."
Angel tapped him on the shoulder and donned his mask before entering the warehouse.
Inside, a woman sat bound to a chair in the center of the room. She wore a pharmacist's coat. Her mouth was taped, her wrists tied.
"Ms. Catalina Dela Rosa, am I correct?"
She mumbled, frantic.
Angel peeled the tape off.
"W-who are you people?! I've done nothing wrong!"
"Not important," Angel replied calmly. "Let's talk about the Zenith Labs explosion. 2003."
Her eyes widened.
"W-what? H-how do you—?"
Angel crouched, face inches from hers.
"So you were part of it."
"I-I don't know what you're talking about! I'm an executive at Zenith! The authorities will—"
"Silence."
He gestured. Alfonso approached, opening a case—Ultima Parola resting inside like a sacred relic. Angel picked it up with ceremonial care.
"You and Rodriguez were partners at that lab," he continued. "One night, the lab exploded. Everyone inside was incinerated. Except you."
She paled.
"Gas leak, they said. But pipes don't just tear without sabotage."
He inserted a single bullet.
"You survived because you weren't in the lab. Why?"
"I—please! I didn't—!"
"Rodriguez's wife went to the police after receiving an anonymous email. She was silenced. Run over by a truck. Coincidence?"
Catalina trembled. Tears welled up.
"Who are you…?"
"The son of the man you killed. The brother of the girl you tried to burn alive."
Angel's voice cracked, just once.
"We were at the playground. That's the only reason we didn't die in that fire."
He leveled the revolver at her forehead.
Catalina sobbed. "I'm sorry! I was offered money and a promotion. Rodriguez discovered Zenith's anesthetic was dangerous. Contained illegal components. When he tried to expose it… they silenced him. I—I only did what they asked...!"
Angel's grip tightened.
A burst of gunfire interrupted.
Kazuo rushed in. "Sir, unknown masked individuals are attacking from vans!"
Catalina laughed through her tears.
"You fools! Did you think they'd let me go so easily? Zenith's going international. You're ants beneath their heel."
Then, silence.
Another soldier entered.
"Sir, enemies apprehended. No casualties. Orders?"
Kazuo turned to Angel.
Angel exhaled through his nose. Cold. Steady.
"Execute them. We already have someone to interrogate."
Catalina's smile vanished.
Angel tilted his head.
"You wanted a promotion."
He pulled the trigger.
Ultima Parola spoke.