The conference room inside Camp Aguinaldo was sealed, its walls lined with jamming devices to block signals. Outside, the city still pulsed with traffic and rain, but in here the air was suffocating.
General Villareal sat at the head of the table, his face a mask of control, though his knuckles whitened against the polished wood. Around him, the Shadows' handler, Colonel Torres, stood stiff-backed, and the surviving operatives—Ramos, Delgado, Estrella, and Santos—occupied the other chairs.
Salonga's seat was empty.
"He was found pinned under rubble in a construction yard," Torres said flatly, voice betraying a flicker of disdain. "Alive, humiliated, and compromised. Someone staged the fight, turned his gambling into a weapon against him."
Ramos slammed a fist on the table. "Cipher."
The name hung in the air like smoke.
Villareal's jaw clenched. "This hacker—this street rat—is making fools of us. First he breached Haraya, now he bloodies one of my Shadows. Explain to me, Colonel—how is this possible?"
Torres tapped a finger against his tablet, images flickering across the room's monitor: Salonga's drained gambling accounts, doctored betting videos, CCTV loops. "This is not luck. He's probing us, studying us. And he's good. He knows how to exploit weaknesses."
Estrella spoke for the first time, her voice cold and precise. "Salonga was careless. Overconfident. He let his vices bleed into his work. Cipher used that. It won't happen to the rest of us."
Delgado leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "So what? We hunt him harder. Burn the whole damn district if we have to. Fear keeps people quiet."
Torres' eyes flicked toward him, sharp. "And what happens when fear reaches the Palace?"
The room stilled.
Villareal exhaled slowly, his tone low, dangerous. "The Palace must never hear of Haraya. Not yet. The president was deliberately kept in the dark. He doesn't know we've built a weapon that can rewrite narratives, control populations before they even realize it. If Cipher leaks it…" He trailed off, the implication clear.
Estrella's gaze sharpened. "It's not just our careers on the line. If this goes public, Haraya dies before it's born."
Ramos growled. "Then we silence him. Tonight."
Torres shook his head. "No. Charging blind failed once already. Cipher is not a street-level target anymore—he's an insurgent with brains, and he's adapting. We need to tighten the net. Force him to make mistakes."
He tapped his tablet again, bringing up a map of Manila. Red dots glowed across key districts—university hubs, data centers, safehouses. "We'll cut off his oxygen. Surveillance in Sampaloc, Quiapo, and Avenida will double. Friendly assets in telecoms will flag unusual data spikes. We bait him with digital breadcrumbs, force him to surface. Delgado, your shell companies will set a false contract—something Haraya-related. If Cipher takes the bait, we'll have him in the open."
Villareal's voice turned iron. "And when we do?"
Santos finally spoke, his voice quiet but chilling, cutting through the room like a knife:
"He doesn't walk away again."
The Shadows fell silent, each of them weighing the humiliation of Salonga against the cold reality of their mission. Cipher had drawn first blood, but now the wolves were regrouping.
Villareal leaned forward, eyes glinting with ruthless intent. "Remember this: we are not chasing a boy. We are protecting the future of this country. Haraya must live. Cipher must not."
Outside the sealed room, the rain poured harder, washing over Manila's streets. To the city, it was just another storm. To Cipher, it would soon be the tightening jaws of predators who no longer underestimated him.
And somewhere in the Palace, the president slept peacefully—unaware that a project he had never sanctioned was spiraling into a war in his own capital.