The night air was heavy with smog and exhaust, Manila's heartbeat pounding through the chaos of jeepneys, vendors, and neon-lit clubs. Cipher moved through the crowd with a hood pulled low, ribs aching under tight bandages. He wasn't running anymore. Tonight, he was hunting.
His target: Salonga.
The twitchy knife-fighter had been easy enough to track once Cipher cracked into gambling forum chat logs. Salonga was reckless online, boasting under an alias about fights he'd fixed and debts he'd collected. Cipher cross-referenced timestamps with closed-circuit cameras near Quiapo cockpits. The pattern was clear: every Wednesday night, Salonga visited a gambling den hidden behind a rundown pool hall near Avenida.
A vice was always a leash. And Cipher intended to pull it tight.
He slipped into the pool hall, its air thick with cigarette smoke and the metallic tang of spilled beer. Men shouted at a televised boxing match, slamming pesos onto the table. Cipher didn't pause. He slid past a beaded curtain in the back and down creaking stairs into the den beneath.
The underground was alive—roosters in cages crowed, bets exchanged hands, knives gleamed under flickering fluorescent lights. And there, leaning against a post with a knife spinning in his hand, was Salonga. His broken nose hadn't fully healed. He laughed loudly, a stack of bills stuffed into his pocket.
Cipher felt the heat rise in his chest—not rage, but focus.
He moved to the shadows at the edge of the pit, laptop under his arm. He didn't need to fight Salonga head-on—not yet. Instead, he slipped onto an empty table, opened the machine, and connected to the den's unsecured Wi-Fi. Within seconds, he hijacked the betting system, rerouting digital bets through shell accounts. Then he looped the security cameras, planting a few damning frames into the stream.
By the time Salonga noticed his phone buzzing with alerts, Cipher was already moving. The Shadow's grin faded as he saw his gambling accounts drained, his debts inflated fivefold, and—most damning—video clips showing him skimming payouts.
Murmurs spread quickly through the den. Angry bettors turned toward Salonga. Someone shouted, "Hoy, niloloko mo kami?!" ("Hey, you're cheating us?!") Chairs scraped. Knives were drawn. The crowd pressed closer.
Salonga's grin twisted into fury. "Lies!" he barked, pulling his blade—but the gamblers weren't listening. Cipher watched from the corner, the chaos blooming just as he intended. Salonga's vice had become his trap.
But Salonga wasn't going down easy. He cut one man across the arm, kicked another into a cage. Blood sprayed. The gamblers surged, shouting, throwing bottles. In the frenzy, Salonga's eyes locked on Cipher. Recognition flared.
"You!" he snarled, pushing through the mob.
Cipher slammed his laptop shut and bolted. The chase ripped through the gambling den, into the pool hall, and out into the Manila night. Rain slicked the pavement as Cipher sprinted down a narrow alley, ribs screaming in pain. He vaulted a trash bin, ducked under laundry lines, footsteps pounding behind him.
Salonga was fast—faster than Cipher had expected, knife flashing in the streetlight. Cipher twisted into a side street, pulling Santos' stolen pistol. He aimed—hesitated. Shooting here would bring police, civilians, too much heat. He needed precision, not noise.
So he baited.
He darted into a construction yard, weaving through rebar and scaffolding. His hand brushed a hanging chain. With a surge of strength, he pulled, sending a stack of hollow blocks crashing down. The noise echoed like thunder. Salonga ducked too late, rubble smashing into his shoulder. He staggered, knife clattering to the ground.
Cipher stepped forward, pistol trained on the man's head.
Salonga wheezed, blood dripping down his arm, but his grin was feral. "You think this ends me? The others will gut you. Santos will skin you alive."
Cipher's jaw tightened. He didn't pull the trigger. Instead, he crouched, snatched Salonga's phone, and smashed it against the concrete. He left the Shadow groaning under the rubble, alive but humiliated.
"Tell your friends," Cipher said coldly, "the ghost bites back."
He disappeared into the night before sirens closed in, blending into Manila's endless maze.