Manila at night was a city of contradictions. Neon lights glared over broken sidewalks. Billboards of smiling politicians towered above shanties patched with tarpaulins. Jeepneys rattled through traffic while black SUVs with tinted windows prowled in silence. Cipher walked among it all, a shadow in a hooded jacket, his backpack strapped tight against his chest.
Inside the bag wasn't just his old, scarred laptop. It was a collection of tools—USB drops, signal jammers, a modified pocket router. The kind of kit that could dismantle an entire office without ever firing a bullet.
Tonight's target was Delgado Holdings' Makati headquarters. Officially, it was just another skyscraper in the business district. Unofficially, it was a gateway node for Project Haraya—one of the servers Cipher had traced during his probe weeks ago. The files he extracted on the jeepney weren't enough; they were fragments. To prove the project existed, he needed more. And to get more, he needed inside access.
He slipped through the crowded Ayala sidewalks, blending with office workers heading home. The skyscraper loomed above, a hundred meters of glass and steel. Security was tight—armed guards at the doors, cameras sweeping every corner. Cipher didn't bother with the front. He never did.
Instead, he entered a convenience store across the street. He bought a soda, sat at a corner table, and opened his laptop. Fingers moved fast, connecting to a hidden network. The building's cameras flickered briefly, a hiccup unnoticed by guards. A backdoor exploit opened, and Cipher slipped in through the feed. Now he could see everything—the guards' rotations, the blind spots.
He didn't just watch. He rewrote.
A guard's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and frowned. A fake message: Emergency in the parking lot. Possible break-in. The guard signaled his partner and they both left their posts, grumbling. Cipher smirked. The doors were still locked, but the cameras now looped a thirty-second feed of emptiness.
That was his window.
Cipher moved fast, crossing the street, slipping into the building's side entrance like a ghost. Inside, the air was colder, humming with electricity. He made his way up a service stairwell, counting steps, checking his watch.
On the 14th floor, he found it: a secured room labeled Data Center – Authorized Personnel Only. Two guards stood watch. No cameras here—too sensitive. Cipher took a breath. He had two options: slip past them with stealth, or end it quickly with violence.
The choice came when one of the guards yawned and turned his back. Cipher struck.
He closed the distance in silence, umbrella shaft in hand. A quick thrust into the guard's throat dropped him to his knees. The second guard spun, reaching for his pistol, but Cipher stepped inside the draw, hooked the man's wrist, and slammed his elbow into the side of his jaw. Bone cracked. The pistol clattered to the floor.
Both men were unconscious within seconds. Cipher dragged them out of sight, his breathing steady. He wasn't proud, but he wasn't hesitant either. He had trained for this. He had survived worse.
Inside the data center, rows of blinking servers stretched like a mechanical forest. Cipher pulled a modified USB from his pocket and plugged it into the main terminal. His screen came alive with code. He bypassed the firewalls, navigated hidden directories, and there it was: Project Haraya – Phase 2.
The files were massive—plans for automated propaganda farms, AI-driven surveillance, lists of targeted civilians marked as "risks to national stability." He copied everything, his chest tight. This wasn't just corruption. This was control.
Then a warning flashed.
INTRUSION DETECTED. LOCKDOWN INITIATED.
Red lights bathed the room. Alarms blared. Cipher ripped the drive free, slung his bag, and sprinted for the stairwell. Doors slammed shut on every floor. He raced down, skipping steps, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
On the 7th floor, a squad of armed security stormed the stairwell. Cipher ducked, sliding under the first volley of gunfire. He tossed a smoke grenade from his bag—cheap, homemade, but enough. The stairwell filled with choking fog. In the confusion, Cipher vaulted the railing, dropping two stories down and landing hard but alive.
He hit the ground floor, shoulder screaming in pain, and burst into the night. Manila traffic swallowed him whole, horns blaring, headlights glaring. By the time security spilled into the street, Cipher was gone—another faceless figure in the chaos.
But in his bag, the drive pulsed with stolen truth.
And somewhere in the government's dark corridors, alarms were still screaming his name.