The dirt road wound upward, cutting through coconut groves and patches of wild grass, the air thick with the hum of cicadas. Cipher and Anino rode the battered motorbike in silence, its headlight barely cutting through the Davao night. The relay station lay somewhere ahead, cloaked in jungle, long abandoned.
Cipher kept his eyes on the shadows between trees. Every flicker, every rustle, was a possible rifle barrel or a tripwire. The storm inside him was focused but taut; this wasn't Delgado or Ramos. Santos wasn't a man who would rush them. He was silence given form.
"Still time to turn back," Anino said suddenly, voice raised over the engine.
"You thinking of turning back?" Cipher shot him a glance.
Anino smirked, though his eyes stayed sharp on the road. "Hell no. Just wanted to check if you're human enough to doubt yourself sometimes."
Cipher almost laughed—but his instincts wouldn't let him. Something about the jungle ahead pressed down on him, heavy, as though Santos' gaze already lingered there, unseen.
The relay station emerged from the trees like a dead sentinel: a squat, rusting concrete block topped with broken antennae. Faded military markings bled down the walls, vines coiling around its edges like it had been swallowed by time.
Cipher dismounted, scanning the perimeter. No footprints in the dirt, no broken branches, no signs of life. But that was exactly how Santos would want it to look.
Anino pulled off his helmet, shaking his head. "This place hasn't been touched in years. No guards, no patrols. You sure your phantom's trail came here?"
"Positive," Cipher said quietly. He crouched, fingers brushing the ground. Not fresh, but something had shifted the soil near the entrance. Subtle, deliberate.
A ghost's touch.
As Cipher wired a portable jammer near the doorway, Anino leaned against the wall, watching him. His face was calm, but his thoughts seemed far away. Cipher noticed.
"You've been quiet," Cipher said, eyes still on the device.
Anino gave a humorless chuckle. "Quiet's easier for me. You know my old man?"
Cipher glanced up. "President Ignacio Villareal? The reformist?"
"Yeah. That's the one." Anino spat the name like it was ash. "Uptight. Straight as an arrow. He wore integrity like armor. No dirty deals, no shady allies. He'd rather starve than steal a peso. Sounds good on paper, right? But try being his son."
Cipher studied him silently.
"He raised me like a soldier," Anino went on, voice low. "No mistakes allowed. No parties, no freedom. Everything had to be clean, controlled, perfect. I was his legacy, not his kid. When I found hacking… it was like breathing. Like finding a world where I could finally make my own choices. He called it rebellion. I called it survival."
"And now?" Cipher asked.
Anino smirked faintly. "Now? Now I'm just the president's forgotten son hiding in a café, helping the city's favorite ghost stir hornets' nests."
Cipher gave a rare half-smile. "You're more than that. That's why I called you."
The words landed heavier than Anino expected. He gave a small nod, pulling his backpack tighter. "Alright, boss. Let's catch your phantom."
Cipher pushed the relay door open, hinges groaning. Inside was darkness, thick and stale, the air heavy with rust and mildew. They stepped cautiously, flashlights cutting narrow tunnels of light across broken terminals and decayed wiring.
Then Cipher froze.
On the far wall, etched into the dust, was a single word: "LISTEN."
Anino frowned. "What the—"
The click was almost inaudible. A faint pressure plate depressurizing beneath Cipher's boot.
He yanked Anino back a split second before a charge hidden in the debris detonated. The blast ripped through the room, shrapnel shrieking, concrete dust filling the air. Cipher and Anino dove behind a rusted console, ears ringing.
From the haze, a figure moved—smooth, efficient, silent.
Santos.
He didn't speak. He didn't posture. He moved like a shadow, rifle up, steps quiet as water.
Cipher's heart hammered. This wasn't Delgado's arrogance or Ramos' fury. This was something colder.
Anino hissed, "You weren't kidding. He's death in boots."
Cipher checked his pistol, breathing slow. "Stay sharp. This ghost bleeds."
The jungle outside roared with cicadas. Inside the broken relay, silence became the deadliest weapon of all.