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Chapter Text

[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality.]

The wind carried the salty scent of the sea as the first rays of dawn stretched across Roxas Boulevard. The violent waves caused by Southwest Monsoon rivals the  morning noise of this part of Metro Manila. Today, however, there is no noise of ice cream bells, mantataho, and the usual chatter of high schoolers on their way to flag ceremonies, for perched on the cement railing of Roxas Boulevard is the lifeless body of Congressman Gonzalo Desgracia , splayed out in a haunting imitation of divine suffering.

Draped in a robe of tattered white linen, his arms were bound outward as if nailed to an invisible cross. A crude, makeshift crown woven from rusted barbed wire sat atop his head, biting into his scalp and leaving rivulets of dried blood trailing down his face. His mouth, frozen in a twisted grimace, was stuffed with coins. His eyes, once sharp with condemnation, stared blankly at the dark horizon beyond. Yes, there is blood, but anyone who passes by would not think it gruesome. The first civilian who found the display thought it is a newly-erected statue, but after two minutes of prodding, he realized that this is one of those Ripper cases. How devastated was he to learn he had touched a dead human body, but after learning who it was, he shrugged.

Congressman Desgracia had spent years branding himself as the savior  of the legislative district in Laguna, anointed by destiny to cleanse the district of its so-called filth. He stood at his podium, flanked by opulence, weaving rhetoric steeped in scorn for the poor, the weary, the desperate. He called them parasites, blights upon society who had no claim to the grace of success. “God rewards the strong…” he once proclaimed, “…and the weak have only themselves to blame.”

And yet, in his final moment, he had been reduced to a grotesque work of art—a cruel parody of the very martyr he had likened himself to.

On the pavement below, a message had been scrawled in thick, dripping paint:

“BLESSED ARE THE HUMBLE.”

The crowd that had gathered at the scene murmured in hushed tones, their faces twisted with horror, fascination, and—somewhere beneath it all—a dark and unspoken satisfaction.

The whispers spread quickly. The newspapers would brand it an act of terror, of course. The authorities would declare it a political statement, a vendetta carried out by some radical faction. But to those who had suffered under Desgracia’s rule, those who had felt the sting of his indifference, it was something else entirely.

It was justice, etched in blood and irony.

For the first time, the man who had scorned the suffering of others had been made to wear it like a crown...

Attorney Apolinario Mabini drags himself towards a desk in the midst of the quiet office floor of Public Attorney's office. Wednesdays are not usually that busy, but he must report every day like an office worker. Other than that, he loves his job as a well-principled man born for public service. After topping the bar exam, he went straight to their regional Public Attorney's office, declining offers from high end private firms. In this PAO branch, he met his co-workers who are as passionate as he is in public service, and they became instant close friends. There is nothing in this office that makes it regrettable to stay, well, maybe except for the excessive peacefulness of it.

Tanauan Batangas is not exactly a busy place. There are a few pro-bono cases he easily win, some labor and civil cases here and there, some legal consultations, and whatnot. His cases are valuable, because anything that could serve his countrymen is valuable. He managed to build a small reputation for himself with his high success rate—nothing less from the board topper. However, so far in his 10 years of service, he has only ever experienced four criminal cases.

He's a senior in his office now, so the others are only waiting for him to accept the position offer from the PAO of National Capital Region—maybe even rise to National Court—to finally experience the height of public service he has been thirsting to experience. Teresa Magbanua, the labor lawyer situated behind his desk, had reminded him time and time again that they will keep correspondences wherever he goes. Apolinario is simply not one to carry communication devices a lot, much more check his inboxes, so she jokes that they will communicate with letters instead to accommodate his old-fashioned snobbishness. 

However, his sick mother is here. Batangas is a six-hour drive from the National Capital Region. He could not possibly stomach working so far away from his mother's abode. Just this morning, his Kuya Prudencio—a married man with his own house a town away—visited their family home to volunteer as their mother's caretaker. Apolinario knows his big brother caught wind of this offer from NCR, and as always, would encourage him to leave everything to his brother's ever-caring arms so he could live his life. His brother's love for him knows no bounds, apparently. He would always convince him to follow his dreams, with a promise of any financial support, no questions asked. He has already done it when he chose to study in UPLB, a university three hours away. With the sacrifices of his family, how could be not dedicate his work life to them?

He's been thinking of NCR's offer, nonetheless.

As an organized lawyer, he sorts his letters and files first thing in the morning, making sure he had noted or replied to all of them before lunch. In the pile of it is another letter from the Capital. He sets it aside with the rest, just beside the family picture frame, so he could always take note of them.

So far, he's received 3 letters.

He will answer them, alright! They just have to be patient as he thinks of leaving his peaceful hometown for good. He sighs, twirling his chair away from the table with eyebrows furrowed. He grounds himself with the bustles of his surroundings; his co-workers flipping their own files, the coffee-machine slowly brewing the strongest Barako beans, and the TV blaring some sort of news about another murder tableau from the Roxas Boulevard Ripper.

He looks at the news, resigned, not consciously, but curious enough to let it take half his attention.

"…The police suspected Antonio Luna as the Roxas Boulevard Ripper, and is questioning his nephew, who is a minor, as an accomplice…" The news says.

"What? Antonio Luna?" The name catches his attention enough that he starts paying full attention to the television perched at the top corner of the room. He looks up at it, almost glaring.

If he remembers well, the guy is a former police officer who whistle blew the corruption happening in Manila City Police Department years ago. That made him sit straight, the creaking of the chair made it known that he's significantly startled of the serial killer development. The lawyer beside him stops flipping some files with his full attention towards the television. The one in front of the coffee maker stops pouring coffee in his cup, afraid he might spill it if he plans to focus on watching the news. Attorney Teresa shakes her head.

She went back to noting her large files of pro bono cases, "What an obvious set up."

The one near the coffee maker finally takes a sip from his cup and then sighs, "There's a minor involved, too. Hope the defense guys from the Capital win that one."

"Well they should win it. It should be easy." The other one says, "Obviously, the cops planted evidence on Luna. Not in good terms, right?"

"Is it really easy?" Apolinario frowns. His co-workers look at him gloomily, equally understanding his disdain. "This is the first suspected Ripper, and I just know the public will eat that up. Not only that, the Ripper's POIs are known conservative politicians, and an activist like Luna is an easy suspect."

The news caster thankfully avoided showing the minor's face and identity, but the room full of social justice workers feel immense pity towards the child. From what they know, Luna is the sole guardian of his orphaned nephew who's about to enter Senior High. Somebody should be able to represent the child. Maybe they will win the case, but the fact that he must undergo such procedure while grieving is enough trauma he certainly does not deserve.

Apolinario looks at the letter from the National Capital Region, then looks at Teresa. The labor lawyer only nods at him, encouraging. "We'll write you letters!" She jokes, and that earns him a sigh of relief.

And so, with determination, he replies to the letter with a phone call.

The preparation for the defense takes time, especially of such nature. Attorney Mabini requested that the Judiciary gives him enough time, about two weeks, to gather evidences for his case. The accusation came out of nowhere, of course, and little Gregorio Del Pilar has no idea what can be useful to Atty. Mabini.

Upon being welcomed to PAO-NCR, he immediately told the Deputy Chief that he is willing to take the most recent high-profile case as the defense attorney of the young Gregorio Del Pilar. The Deputy Chief was skeptical. Indeed, she is aware that Apolinario is a Bar Topnotcher of his batch and a reputable lawyer at that, but can he really handle a high-profile case like this? Track record is not the only requirement for cases of such nature, but also tenacity, ability to handle the media, and… as sad as it is… ability to stand strong against the Prosecution, underhanded or not. 

Apolinario promised he possesses those qualities.

"What else do you have?" The Deputy Chief looked at him head to toe.

"Connections." He said.

The Deputy Chief nodded to herself, and gave the case to Apolinario, not without the warning that other lawyers are scrambling to take the case. They all noticed the injustice, and they all want to stand up for the minor. Unfortunately, public opinion is a huge part of the case, and the lawyer required for this case is someone with the greatest level of tenacity and immunity from senseless sensationalism.

The Deputy Chief continues after handling him the file, "To what?"

"NBI and the socialite circle."

Her eyebrow involuntarily gave an inquisitive raise, but she shrugs it off. "The case is yours. Good luck, Attorney Mabini."

PAO-NCR branch certainly has better facilities than his old office in Tanauan. The conference room is air-conditioned, well-maintained, and decorated with warm colors. This could certainly ease a client, he thinks, but enough empathy as a decade-long lawyer tells him that such facility is not enough when you're an accused, guilty or not. As soon as he opens the conference room, he is met with a teenager, around 15 or 16, looking down on his lap and sitting politely. When the boy looks up to his face, Apolinario was taken aback by those tear-stricken cheeks and scared eyes. The police raid happened only two days ago. He accepted the office transfer only yesterday. For the both of them, the happenings are too fast, yet the lawyer shows no sign of softening his persistence. However, he does not wish to implicate more trauma towards the child. He controlled his breathing to its gentlest and walks towards the chair at the opposite side of the large mahogany table.

"Hello Mr. Gregorio Del Pilar. I'm attorney Mabini, your defense lawyer." He smiles as gently as he could.

"Hello Attorney. My uncle didn't do it." The boy says without skipping a beat, eyes too glassy and unblinking. The boy is traumatized, but his first thought is still his uncle who just died.

"I know. And I also know you are not an accomplice. That's why I'm here. I will defend you."

That must have felt heavy for the boy, for his long-held tears dropped consecutively. "Thank you, sir."

"Of course, Mr. Del Pilar." heart stricken with the same amount of heaviness, the lawyer inhales and proceeds to change his sitting position to accommodate a friendlier atmosphere, "May I call you Gregorio? Greg?"

"Goyong, sir. My uncle calls me Goyong."

"Alright then, Goyong. Let's work together."

Chapter Text

[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality.]

His new office is a room! Not just a cubicle!

All of the senior attorneys working in his floor has their own rooms, but perhaps it is for a damning purpose of having enough space to place the hundreds of folders from the hundreds of cases each of them works on. The Capital city does have more population, thus, more cases being submitted to them. He might love the peace of a far regional Public Attorney's Office, but he does love the fact that he's helping more people here. After this case, he might desire to represent a class action case. He only ever want to feel impactful for his country, doing something with a great net gain for humanity. Sometimes, though, he wants a shortcut.

Despite the walls, however, his door is a knob less glass that can be pushed just by anybody (even when it says 'Pull'), especially the Deputy Chief. Every once in a while, she would ask about his planned approach on the case. His new co-workers would try starting a conversation about the case, too. Apparently, they heard his declaration of having connections with the NBI and the socialite circle of Region 4A, CALABARZON. Why wouldn't he? He has lived there all his life and he's not exactly a mundane personality. At least, in a short amount of time, he quickly ammased the same amount of respect he had in Batangas.

It is not easy to overlook a person such as Apolinario Mabini, after all.

"Evidence from the Lunas might not be possible." He tells the Deputy Chief. Stacks of binders clatter his table, his eyes are still determined but obviously tired.

"No alibis could be found? Matching times with murders and Luna's activities?"

"None. If there was, it's hidden well."

"Receipts of being in another place during the time of murders?" The Deputy Chief supplies, her eyes start to furrow.

"I worked with Goyong to gather them all here." Atty. Mabini points to the binders, "No alibis could be provided."

"Well, there is only one thing you should do." The Deputy Chief says. She gives him a knowing brow-raise. His new boss communicates so much with just her well-trimmed eyebrows, he observes.

Apolinario brings his palms together towards his face and rubs them up and down. The Deputy Chief is right, lack of evidence from the client themselves only means one thing: they have to catch the real killer to prove their innocence. He does not prefer this method.

He stands up, takes his facemask and jacket, and tells the Chief that he has somewhere to be.

*

The National Bureau of Investigation is just in the next city and can be accessed by *LRT, though Apolinario rides a jeep still. He is delighted to know that he can reach another establishment in 30 minutes plus MNL traffic. He's used to being the 'Southie' in gatherings—that one friend who lives so far that the entire friend group must commence the meeting somewhere in Alabang, and he must leave early because he has hours and hours to take to get home. Now, however, he is only thirty minutes away from his college best friend, Andres Bonifacio, an agent of NBI. He can annoy him every lunch time, he realizes.

They were batchmates in UP Los Baños, him taking law and Andres taking criminology. They were org mates for the University school paper with Andres as a feature writer and Apolinario as the Editor-in-chief. In his memories, his dear friend is a passionate believer of justice, they have even fought once or twice about their own opinions on 'Due Process'. Let's just say Apolinario always wins with his vast vocabulary. Andres ends up grumbling to his girlfriend, Gregoria De Jesus, about it.

With just one phone call, the man met him at the lobby. Andres entered the space with wide excited steps, yet calculated and militaristic, as a result of his criminology training. They met eyes immediately.

"Pole!" He shouts. That nickname brings back happy memories, so Apolinario replies with the same familiarity.

"Andoy!" He approaches, raising his hand to grip the other's, then pulled him for a side hug.

They faced each other after a while, with Andoy's hand still perched on Pole's shoulder. "How are you?! I saw you on TV!"

"Hay," Pole sighs, "Well, being a lawyer of a high-profile case drags you in front of cameras a lot, I guess."

"There's going to be national telecast of that?"

"I think so, but I'm petitioning for none, since my client is a minor."

"Yes, yes. The court will agree, I think." Andoy's grin gradually drops down, "Is that the reason why you're here?"

Apolinario leads them in a less populated area of the lobby and Andoy follows, eyebrows meeting with worry. "The thing is, finding evidence from the Luna's side seems impossible, and I want to ask for your help."

"Um, is that even allowed?"

"I don't think so? But I'm desperate. I just know the boy is innocent."

"You're asking me to give you classified files of some sort? I thought you're here because you genuinely missed me." Andoy states playfully.

"No, uh, well." Pole leans closer to the agent, "I want to know more details about the Roxas Boulevard Ripper. Everything, especially the ones that has never been publicized. I know NBI has some."

Andoy takes Pole's shoulders with his full arm and leads them towards an elevator. Once inside, Andoy leans over and whispers, "I'm not in this case, actually. But I can ask my guy. Last time I checked, he's really at a lost. Kind of incompetent if you ask me." The elevator dings to a designated floor. They step out, and Pole gets himself free from Andoy's grasps.

"Why are you not in the case? Aren't you one of the best agents here?"

Andoy shrugs, "I'm not interested in finding the man, or woman, whatever. The Ripper can kill who they want to kill, their POIs deserve it anyway."

"Andoy!"

"Oh, whatever. Are you going to lecture me about Due Process? Like how you usually do? Do you think these corrupt, fear-mongering politicians will be put to justice if not for a vigilante?"

"Andoy!" Pole looks around the hallway, checking for a soul that might hear his friend's dangerous opinion. "Fine, you believe in vigilantism…"

"There you go again, putting labels on things." Andoy crosses his arms, "What have you called me before? Leftist? Communist? Socialist? Pragmatic? Stupid words I can't understand, I just believe that everybody deserves to live in a fair world without injustices, and you always make it sound so complicated to get there."

Apolinario falls silent. He's not going to have this talk with Andoy again. They almost went 'friendship-over' when they debated about War on Drugs. The lawyer is aware, however, that Andoy underwent so much suffering—experiencing the results of corruption firsthand, always dealing with criminals as an NBI agent, and always exposed to the bad sides of humanity. Their positions in society greatly affects how they wish to approach justice, and slowly and unfortunately, Apolinario is starting to understand his friend.

"… but my client… is innocent…" He whispered, "The boy is innocent. His uncle is. Yes, they will eventually release him for being a minor, but aren't you afraid of what will happen to his future? Nobody in society will accept him if he's not proven innocent. He's so young. So much he can still do. Do you know he won Best Essay for Mental Health Awareness week? I've read his essay. He has a future in that field. What will happen to him, Andoy, if we don't find the Ripper?"

Andoy scratched his head as he looks at his friend's pleading eyes. Isn't that called 'Appeal to Pity'? That should be illegal. He's seen these eyes before in less serious situations such as asking for a treat of street food, and more serious situations such as giving him NBI intel. He's about to let himself fall to the trap of friendship yet again. To be fair, additionally, his friend makes sense. He has soft spots for victims of injustice. Of course he will want to help the child.

"Come over here."

Andoy leads him to an empty air-conditioned room. The rooms has low lights strategically scattered on the ceiling, and rows and rows of metallic file drawers that are obviously fire-proof. It's the room dedicated for unsolved cases, that's why the security and safety here is much more intricate. Getting inside the room as a non-agent of NBI must pose real warnings.

The agent opened a drawer that contains hundreds of folder. After browsing in the midst of the alphabetically ordered stacks, he takes out one particularly thick plastic folder that contains heaps of papers. "Here. A Summary of the Ripper's victims." Andoy hands him a piece of paper from the stack.

Pole scans it quickly. "This is a longer list compared to what has been published."

"While a case is unsolved, less information should be open to the public, lest we might end up tipping the killers that we're quite close to getting their asses. The public information you see outside probably came from investigative journalists and detective wannabees. That is something we cannot control."

The lawyer scans the names again, putting them in memory for future references. His friend could offer to photocopy the file, yes, but there really is no need when Apolinario has the generation's sharpest memory. While scanning, he came across few familiar names.

"Gilian Comodore? The son of the owner of Hylands Corporation?" Pole calls his friend's attention. Andoy looks over. "So it's not only politicians, but socialites as well?"

"Indeed. The guy is a known drug user and has published fascist sentiments."

"Yikes." Pole flinches. He scans again, "Almost all the questionable Region 4A officials are dead. There are only four left from Laguna and Cavite.

"If you want to catch the Ripper, maybe we can guess the next victim. It could be a socialite or a politician. Someone with strong anti-human rights views."

Pole bit his lip in uneasiness. The list seems to contain quite a few socialites of different backgrounds. Children of high-profile business owner, investors, dynasties, and so on. They not particularly in politics, but they have influences nonetheless. He gets why they can be included in the Ripper's POI. However, not all of them are bad. "Um, can we visit Biñan Laguna first? I just want to warn a certain friend."

"Warn who you want to warn." Andoy rolls his eyes as he places the files back to the drawer, "I do not have to go with you."

Pole stares at him with eyes so wide and pathetic.

Andres Bonifacio, a man who grew up in poverty and simplicity, is not someone that can easily acquire a diverse social circle, though he knows the right personalities to keep beside him. NBI might be known for investigations of high-profile cases and criminal bureaucracy, but his unit is often in field assignments that require communications with the SWAT and SOCO. He was once offered positions in the teams, but found that he prefers the Internal Affairs Division. He likes having direct access to case files.

Given the nature of his role, it is not surprising to meet wide range of individuals. Criminals could be anybody. A priest, a mother, a student, an office worker. There are many types of people who can and will commit crimes.

However, in about 37 years of his life, he has never seen a person as head-to-toe stereotypically socialite as Jose Protacio Rizal Mercado Y Alonzo Realonda (as he introduced himself upon their arrival in his Hispanic House in Biñan). What's worse, this is not the first time he has seen they guy. They have met in one of the Ripper's Murder Tableu, him as a crime-scene photographer, and Jose as a trespasser.

"You are Jose Rizal? Atty. Mabini's friend?" Andoy sneers after Jose introduced himself.

"You can call me Pepe, my friend." The man smiles with all his veneers in sight. He reaches his hand for a shake. Andoy reaches back hesitantly.

"Yes, Andoy. Way to greet my friend." Pole rolled his eyes, as if saying he had expected his visceral reaction. Pole did once warn him about his relative hatred towards the rich.

Pepe is one short but handsome man. He has a perfectly-styled wavy hair, expensive clothing, and a charismatic smile that could swoon any lady. He has gentleness in him, added by a calculated roughness as expressed by a firm handshake and attractive boyish smile. Honestly, Pepe might be the most beautiful man Andoy has ever seen; and he has seen celebrities. He seems calm and intelligent, too. Andoy would have a positive view of the man—if only he had not use his connections to enter a highly confidential crime scene.

That may be why Pole rolled his eyes. He thought he is judging such character because of his new-world rich-kid presence, not because of his crime scene trespassing tendencies. "Pole, he's…"

"We've met before, Agent Bonifacio." Pepe says to him. He starts to walk across his gardens, which would lead them to an even more lucrative guest-receiving room. "May I know why you have visited me? Please do not be mistaken, I love it when you visit me, Pole."

"He calls you Pole?" Andoy sneers again, this time, towards the Attorney. "I'm the only one who calls you Pole."

"Also my mother and brother, Andoy." Pole chuckles. The two of them are received in a large room with vintage wooden furniture that looks old but well-kept. It seems not only is the man rich, he is old rich. "By the way, Pepe, thank you for letting us stay here for the weekends. I actually wanted to come here since Wednesday, but Andoy discouraged me. Even when I thought your life would be in danger."

Andoy crosses his arms and faces Pepe, "As I have mentioned, there is no way you're the next Ripper Victim. You don't seem to have a questionable character."

Jose Rizal muses, "Why, thank you for thinking I am not within the bounds of the Ripper's POI. That would be a great insult. And my old friend here is the one that thought so."

"Pole is just over-thinking, as usual. If you're close, you'd know. Don't think of him insensitive."

"Oh no, no," Jose Rizal waves his hand, "Don't be mistaken. I know that, too. Quite a quality that makes a good lawyer."

"Hmp." Andoy snaps.

Pole already settles himself in one of the wooden chairs, drinking the juice a house staff has brought in while they were busy exchanging.

"How was your trip!" Pepe swiftly changes the topic as he motions Andoy to sit as well.

Andoy takes his glass of juice, "Tiring. Three hours of bus ride just to get here."

"I know, I know. That's why I will treat you with my utmost hospitality. Ah, I will make sure you shall not waste your precious weekends, too. I'm glad Agent Bonificio is here to listen to my Ripper theories."

"Who says I will?" Andoy simply says, "And I'm not a part of the Ripper case. I refuse to."

"Aw, please. Aren't you curious? I have trespassed crime scenes using my connections, of course I have put together my own theories."

"You did what?" Pole interjects.

"But first, I want to hear the full story of why you are here."

Pole starts talking. He shares about Antonio Luna, his innocent nephew, and the list of socialites and politicians that the Ripper had killed. The evidences lead to a small group of people, the crowd that Pepe is unfortunately a part of. The only way to save the young Del Pilar from prosecution is to prove that Antonio Luna is not the Ripper. Pole believes that ensuring Pepe's safety might get them closer to the Ripper. He forced Andoy to come with him because he declares him a part of his team now, which Andoy vehemently refused. Andoy seems to care about Pole though, which concludes his reasoning to come.

"Plus," Andoy adds, "I have reasons to believe that the Ripper lives in Calabarzon. I don't know which province, but it's one of them."

"Hmm.. I have the same analysis. I believe his base is in Cavite." Jose Rizal shares.

"How do you say so?"

With that, Pepe stands up, prompting the two to follow him.

In his room is a large board with all the printed information about the Ripper Victims. It looks like a normal evidence board found in the investigation room, however, for the Ripper cases, Jose Rizal's board seems to have more evidences than theirs. Not that Andoy is actively participating in the case. As a documents controller, he is bound to see the board one way or another, with his fellow agents fighting over theories and whatnots. The Ripper does not leave evidences, not ever. Not even a single hair sample.

However, Jose's board is not only filled with common information, it is also annotated with his own analyses. The board is organized and easy-to-read. What shocked Andoy the most was the art pieces and bible notes beside each murder tableau.

One particular murder tableau consists of a Laguna Congressman's body contorted in a way that makes him look like he's being dragged across the floor by a bunch of bamboo trees around. Pinned beside the photo of the crime scene is a small printed paper that contains the Spolarium, a famous Filipino painting by a national artist. From the angle and the positioning, composition and setting, the crime scene is perfectly likened to the painting. It is fascinating in a way.

The other murder tableau are connected to other artistic and biblical references. Nobody in NBI has ever thought of such connections. Both Andoy and Pole are amazed.

"So… this is the Ripper…" Pole gapes, "For him, his kills are a work of art."

"Nobody has ever made the connections with Filipino art. This one," Andoy points to a photo of the late Muntinlupa Representative, "Is based on the 'Planting Rice' sculpture. If not for my humanities subject in UP, I wouldn't have known."

It is Pepe's time to cross his arms and smirk, "Actually, if you open the cases to the public, it would not take a day for a random Filipino facebook user to make these connections. It makes me think that nobody in NBI ever attended their humanities classes, or even dabble in any forms of art."

"I can't defend my team from that statement." Andoy shrugs, still fascinated with Pepe's board.

While the two look at the board, with Pepe hovering over smugly, the lawyer whispers as he points to the list of POIs that are yet to be killed.

"The next victim would be… Congressman Emilio Aguinaldo. From the 2nd district of Cavite."

*LRT - Light Rail Transit. One of Metro Manila's train system that operates on elevated tracks.

Chapter Text

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[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality.]

Today's menu is Caldereta.

The knife delicately slices the big chunk of liver slammed unto a wooden chopping board. The little slices easily slide through the sharpened precision knife, for he had marinated this slab for a long time, making sure the flavors of the seasoning seep through the crevices and surely removing any bacteria and dangerous chemicals that might be unfit for human consumption. His big callous hands move like soft flow of a stream that has passed through the same smooth rock formation for the past decades; precise, calculated, light.

The kitchen is lightly dimmed; he hates the appeal of a white overhead lamp, so he opts for several warm light lamps scattered around the house. There could be challenges in its visibility, especially in cooking. However, Emilio is the expert in his own kitchen. He knows how many steps to take backwards to reach the counter, and he does not need to look when his hand acquires a certain seasoning enclosed in the same aluminum canister as the others. This part of his house is quite different from the rest. It is muted, cold, and definitely planned to the tiniest detail. The rest of his house has loud colors and even bolder ornaments. Indeed, he bought them, but he prefers the presence of his kitchen. It reflects him the most.

He moves closer to the kitchen counter after slicing the entire liver into multiple strips. The size of the strips is of course planned out, maximizing the penetration of the rich butter and bacteria-killing heat. He's a huge fan of sanitation and pasteurization after all. He placed the pan in a seemingly empty part of the giant marble table. After a few seconds, the induction heat cooker under the slab heats up the pan.

Emilio throws the slices of liver into the pan, tosses it around a little, then covers it to let it simmer. He is satisfied with the smell wafting around the kitchen. The richness of his self-made butter penetrating the liver dances along with his senses, pleasing him finally. The owner of the liver never pleased him at all. He was an old man with awful breath. Whatever he's eating, it is probably junk and acid. He was loud and opinionated—negatively so. He had the precious talent of finding fault on everything he hears. He's a waste of time, but Emilio must be polite with old geezers like him, so he gives him a precious hour of his congress duty. Manila representatives can act quite high and mighty, asking other congresspersons about their provincial hometown before commencing conversation. He would try to think of any stereotypical knowledge he knows of the province, thinking it is a good conversation starter. Ah no, he just lets them know he is small-minded and stupid.

The Manila representative liked Emilio for a reason. He is well-dressed, well-postured, a good listener, and like him—or as he believes. Emilio lets the old man think so, until he could not.

In one informal congress meeting, (a meeting where a socially constructed clique of the congress takes over a private meeting room) he expressed that his fellow congresspersons should advocate the banning of the Bus Lane. Why? His reason is hilarious; he hates that private cars cannot use that certain lane. He thinks the traffic would improve if there were an extra lane for private cars. He thinks public commuters are very selfish to take the space exclusively. "Maybe Filipinos should work harder to afford cars on their own!" He added.

He giggled internally. That was stupid.

But then, some of the congresspersons nodded in agreement. The politician's illogical tirade was delivered a bit passionately, recounting the times he's been late to work because of EDSA traffic. Could he nod along that, when he rides at dawn from Cavite only for several hours of meeting in Manila?

Nonetheless, the congresspersons, these people who are supposed to represent their people–not their class—nods along. The hardship of a car owner! The hardship of rich people! Of course they would agree with him!

The EDSA bus lane is a fairly new installation in the city. It has cut commuters transport into half, making common employees avoid traffic and encouraging car owners to take the option as well. But what good is a project if it does not benefit the privileged in the slightest?

The Manila representative continues to farm sympathies, even including the disabled, a community they both know he never cared for, into his statements.

I see. I see. He nods, making the people around think he is nodding with them.

He must go.

He hates it when he sees the ugliness of humanity.

Emilio prepares freshly ground peanuts and tosses them to a food processor with butter and herbs. The peanuts in his garden grew well this year, a result of a rich compost buried a meter under the ground. He has been experimenting on the depth of organic matters to make it more helpful for garden health. He is glad to harvest his hard work this year.

While waiting for the bone marrow to simmer in a separate pan, he pours himself a glass of red wine. It's a good night; this requires a little private celebration. Emilio delights himself for the little wins he declares for his little hobby. It's all… pleasure to him.

He lifts the newspaper he bought two days ago. He does not usually dabble in currents events, especially from those that are printed and designed to bait the easily baited. He considers himself above that. His job lets him know the only things that matter: Who to eat tonight. The news can be quite filtered and outrageous anyway, his knowledge in these events is more extensive than any newspaper company. However, this headline intrigued him. More intrigued on his own reaction to it, than the subjects of the front page. The news shows a recent murder tableau perched beside Roxas Boulevard. It seems Antonio Luna orchestrated this, but to be declared as the Roxas Boulevard Ripper for it was quite insulting. First, the Ripper has been leaving art after art for a decade already. Second, that murder tableau is more political than it is artistic. It might be logical to pin it to a known vocal activist, but the former General obviously does not have enough flair to be called the Roxas Boulevard Ripper. He could not help but scoff at MPD for such accusations. And so, he wonders why Antonio Luna was suspected at all.

He read the connecting page of the headline and finds the answer immediately.

A lawyer claims that his client was wrongfully accused due to politics. Not only that, but they also suspected that Antonio Luna's nephew is a crime accessory. A minor, he gathers, with the way his face was blurred. The PAO lawyer promises to clear the involvement of the Lunas in the case, so the NBI could again open the Ripper Case. "The real Ripper is out there, I know it." The lawyer's line goes as written in the paper.

His eyes are electrifying. So determined, so calm, so intellectual. Being surrounded by idiots makes him easily detect the genuinely smart ones, and Atty. Apolinario Mabini is one obvious intellectual. Emilio bets he's the type to part the hallways if he passes by it with only his sheer presence alone. He bets he walks fast with his gaze sharp enough to scare people away or freeze them in place. His voice is probably strong, and his vocabulary is probably extensive.

He wants to talk to him. He wants to see him. He wants to confirm his curiosity.

It is not always that a human intrigues him this way.

The deep red liquid in the wine glass swirls around his vision as he lifts it to his face. He can see his reflection from it as he drinks it, and there he can see how his smile reaches his eyes. As the wine is slowly emptied to his mouth, he imagines the lawyer in the glass, trying to swim away from his smirk. Swim and swim as he might, the lawyer will only have one inevitable destination.

And then, the doorbell rings.

Emilio Aguinaldo’s smile widens.

Chapter Text

[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality.]

The PAO lawyer and the NBI Agent spent the night in Jose's place, being treated like a 5-star hotel guests with a provided room that has a huge bathtub, sleeping robes, and a lavish breakfast. Apolinario slept only a few times in his friend's house, but he has been used to the man's excessiveness when it comes to hosting. Andoy, as expected, grumbles every time he accepts the other man's treatment. High quality versions of things he lives with in simplicity is not something he's used to and is not something he would like to accustom himself with. Apolinario sighed several times that night, when all Andoy would do is complain of the frivolity of it all. Jose was unfortunate enough to hear his groanings when he visited their shared room for an evening tea. The owner of the house rolled his eyes so much, but was attentive to Andoy's words, nonetheless. Apolinario finds it amusing to have friends of very different stations and opinions.

At breakfast the table, the three finally decided to be serious. When the house staffs finally left the dining room, Jose situated himself at the head of the table and starts. "Are you sure you are going to continue with your plans today?"

Apolinario answers after taking a small sip of his coffee, "Yes."

"What are your plans even? Go to Cavite? Talk to him?"

It was Andres' turn to interject, "First, we will ask him to cooperate with our investigation without letting everybody else know. If it's true that this man is the next victim, then he could be our only way to catch the Ripper."

Jose hums, "That still depends, if he wishes to work with you. I've heard quite a rumor about that Congressman."

"What are the rumors?" Apolinario asks.

"That he's dumb."

Andres rolled his eyes now, "Aren't they all? He's a part of that conservative party. And they are all just dynasties—idiots who treat politics like a trust fund. I don't even know how they win every time."

"Well, if that's true…" the lawyer motions to gather light food to his plate, "… then it should be easier to convince him. He'll be scared, whether it is true or not. And besides, I trust Pepe's board. Maybe we can even show him that."

"No fucking way."

"Let's avoid that."

The other two agreed simultaneously. How bizarre for the two to agree about one thing. Apolinario was amused, then he realizes why his suggestion sounds dumb. In the first place, Andoy did not want to be a part of his investigation, thinking it is out of his work description, added by the fact that he supports the Ripper's vigilante acts. He should be thankful that he is taking this investigation seriously. His friend truly wants to help him—even if it means they must keep this a secret from the NBI while keeping Pepe's involvement (and safety) under wraps. 

"You're right. I'm so silly. That also means we will work as a tiny secret group, yeah?"

Andres rests his back against the chair, not even touching anything from the table yet. He grunts softly. "Well, I'm already here. But if this gets in the way of my usual work, I'm out. And when I'm out, I'm taking you with me. There's no way I'm letting you do this alone."

It an was assertive delivery, with an unmistakable hint of gentleness. Apolinario always liked this about his dearest friend. The way he is so protective, principled, caring, and respectful behind strong words remind him why many of the student body gravitated towards him back in their student days. He was the student-council president and mayor of his criminology batch. Many women tried to flirt, but his eyes only fell to the beauty of the Nursing department, Gregoria De Jesus. They are still together, and he hopes they get married when the budget is right.

"How… how sweet of you, Mr. Bonifacio." Jose gapes at him with eyebrows raising, indicating that he never expected such care from the brute-looking man.

Unfortunately, Andres Bonifacio is a man who does not know how to take compliments. He just blushes, then fills his plate until nothing of the bottom is seen. He proceeds to eat aggressively.

Jose tries to hide his laughter in respect of the reddening man. He then decides to turn his attention to the lawyer. "I am here for you, too. Though know that my involvement should have limits. I may not be a politician, but my position is also too delicate."

"Yes, I understand. Your help has been really helpful to us. I honestly just came here to check on you, and you just told us the proceeds of this case. I cannot thank you enough. On that note…" Apolinario remembers a detail and fully faces his friend, "… I did not know crime investigation is your hobby?"

"It is not." Jose shakes his head gracefully, "I'm just intrigued of the Ripper's Persons of Interests. May I know your opinion on this, my friend?"

"On what?"

"The Ripper's POI. They are bad people who, if left alive, would have been a set of pain of asses in the Lower court. Many helpful programs for the public would not have been passed."

"Uh, I never… I have been a lawyer for a good decade. Let's just say I never had to involve myself with opinions of such nature. He has never killed anyone from Batangas before."

"You really have no opinions about this being?"

Apolinario shrugs.

"Never pegged you to be apolitical, my friend."

The lawyer chuckles. "Oh please, I care about politics somehow. I work at PAO after all. But maybe not the part where the politicians die? I do not wish to know the carnage that is happening between them, I only care about the law."

"The law of a country is not heavenly-mandated, miraculously made by the smartest heads of the land. It is made by people who rose to the ranks, and the ranks do not discriminate between the good and the bad."

Apolinario smiles to himself with that statement. Of course, he knows very well that the country would have been in better disposition if those who run in office are true and sincere. He knows that politicians should approve projects that puts public interests instead of years after years of senseless road-widening projects. He knows that politicians should carry a sense of responsibility greater than any workers in the country. But he also knows that nobody who tasted power truly ever stay well-principled. Nobody. And so instead of being angry about it every day, he decides to only care about the bills that come out of the Lower and the Upper houses, not caring who passed it, who tried to block it, and what power dynamics would shift because of it. He is not apolitical. He just does not care who holds the power that much. He cares who will be affected of these powers. He cares about the position of the public in all of this.

However, somehow, something inside him is getting angrier for all this. Jesus also had moments of righteous anger, but for Apolinario, he prefer to keep himself calm, anger be justified or not. He has hope that things will turn out fine as long as he stays moral.

That will not work forever. 

"Ah, my friend," Apolinario smiles again, ignoring the passing thought in his head. "I know very well."

Andres finally finished stuffing his mouth with as much breakfast as he can. After a gulp of a glass of orange juice, he now faces the Doctor. "How about you, Mr. Rizal? What do you think about the Ripper's vigilantism?"

"I'm glad you asked. I support the act of diminishing bad apple population, but ah, I don't think the Ripper is political. Believe me or not. And I am afraid of the shifting public opinion."

"Okay?" Andres says, confused. What does he mean the Ripper is not political? He seems very political in his opinion. Perhaps, that is an investigation for another day because whatever that statement means, it is not in his evidence board. "But who cares about public opinion? The bad apples are dying, that is very beneficial to the public."

"No, you don't get it Mr. Bonifacio. Public opinion is powerful. If ignored, it could be used by the enemy."

"Oh please, I get public opinion alright. In case you don't know, I am more "public" than any of you here. Public opinion is all I hear. But I'm afraid the public itself does not know what is good for them so…"

The doctor interrupted, "… so it's good that we suggest what is good for them!"

Andres scrunches his eyebrows, "That's propaganda."

"Good Propaganda!"

Andres rolls his eyes, and before he starts another argument with the host again, he shifts his attention to his friend who was getting eerily silent. Apolinario notices the sudden silence, so he looks at his two friends, giving them a gracious and professional smile. "Uh, I'm full. Thank you for the food, Pepe. We'll have to go to Cavite now."

"Sure, my friend. Know that you can come back anytime."

To his relief, Andres drops his questioning glares and proceeds to get their bags beside the dining table. If the man asks, he has nothing to answer. He was also unaware that his mind went blank. Again. He should have that checked with a neurologist or psychiatrist someday.

Apolinario and Andres walk towards a huge, solid, and metal gate where they have been dropped by the taxi. It costed them a thousand pesos to get there, (with Pole insisting to give a 300-peso tip because he was the only taxi driver that accepted their booking) so this meeting better be fruitful. Or else.

Or else… Andres Bonifacio will be so pissed.

A thousand pesos for a damn taxi? If only his friend is not so sickly (the poor little lawyer is skinny, anemic, and asthmatic! Who gathers sickness like that?), he would have insisted for the jeepney rides! It might take them several transfers under the sun, but at least it would be cheap.

He lets his friend push the doorbell beside the gate. He notices Apolinario's nervousness, so he gently slapped his back. The other's eyes land to him as planned, he then gives an encouraging smile.

The gates opened, and as Bonifacio was expecting a house staff like in Jose's house, the one who greeted them at the doors turns out to be the Congressman himself. "Good, uh…" he looks at his watch "…noon. Who are they?"

Just like in the campaign posters scattered around Cavite, Congressman Emilio Aguinaldo is a looker. He looks neat, he smells good, and he wears sharp clothes. His posture seems very confident, and his smile is slight and strictly professional. The politician looks at the two of them, but his eyes seem to linger to his friend, probably because he is the one situated closer to the doorbell.

Apolinario straightens his back in attention, "Good noon, Congressman. I hope we're not disturbing you too much. But this is important. I think you will be the next victim of the Roxas Boulevard Ripper. My Name is Atty. Apolinario Mabini, and this is NBI Agent Andres Bonifacio."

He applauds his friend for being straight to the point. It seems to have done its function, because the Congressman quickly (and funnily) flinches, looks at him up and down, and then opened the gate wider to let them in. Apolinario nods once as gratitude. He follows suit.

They walked further into the house. It is not as big as Jose's Binan Hispanic Casa, nor does it look old. Although his house is situated in the rich parts of Cavite, his house seems smaller than the rest. There is also the fact that his house cannot be seen from the outside with the tall gates and thick concrete fences, and that the first floor of the house is under the ground which can be accessed by a scenic staircase going down. Before descending the stairs, they realize why the house is small—it is to accommodate a larger vegetable garden, lined by a few fruit-bearing trees. Ah, those green mangoes look ripe already. Andres wants to get some. May e he can ask for a bag of mangoes later.

"Your house is very lovely, Congressman." Apolinario starts. "And these cabbages are very healthy."

"Thank you. And I just prepared food from my garden. Please eat with me." The man says, motioning them to go down the staircase with him.

"Ah, perfect. We haven't eaten yet. I'm very sorry for barging in, and with bad news at that."

"Horrific news, actually." The congressman chuckles. "You do know how to take my attention."

When he opened the door to his house, they are welcomed by the rich-smelling aroma of a viand that smells like Caldereta. There are hints of herbs and spices sauteed with an unknown brand of butter. It is better than anything Andres has ever cooked for his lady, and any restaurant that they have went. It seems his cook is a professional chef.

Before they were led to the dining area, they eyes were assaulted by bold colors and decorations of the living room. The chandelier is hanging wide above them and is excessive in crystals. A Ming Dynasty vase sits on top of a white and gold wooden drawers, and there's a Persian rug under a glass resin table. The couches are bulky khaki leather, which, if not for the naturally cool disposition of the first floor (basement?) would be so hot to sit on in this weather. Generally, it's as if it is designed by someone that says, "Get me the most expensive thing in the auction house" without consideration of theme and coloring, it would be this tacky living room. Andres is no interior designer, but everything in this part of the house clashes. Sadly, this is the first thing a guest must see and might be the only room in where they will ever be received.

Fortunately, they came in by lunch and will be received in the dining area. There is a huge space that separates the living room and the dining, and this place seems muted, adorned by several classical Filipino paintings. Andres recognizes some of them, and he knows Apolinario recognizes most, if not all, of them with the way his stares stick to each one before he moves on to the next. Finally, they reached the place where the immaculate smell of the food comes from. It feels like the smell hugs them and coaxes them to sit on the chairs. Andres never liked Caldereta. He does not like the apparent misplacement of peanut butter in the cuisine, but if this is what it is supposed to smell like, then perhaps the restaurants all around the world has been cooking it wrong. He's so excited to sit down and eat, so he places himself down in any chair eagerly. The Congressman pulls a chair for Apolinario to sit in.

"I will get plates for you, gentlemen. Apologies, I thought I will be eating alone. But don't worry, there's too many and I'm grateful that I can share it with guests. That's one problem solved."

"Thank you, Congressman Aguinaldo. Would you believe me if I tell you that this is the best-smelling Caldereta I will ever have?" Apolinario says, settling himself to the cushioned chair that matches well with the muted colors of the dining room. Aguinaldo's kitchen is just behind a cooking counter; a slab of dark marble he knows is an induction heat stove that also serves as a counter top. And so, while the Congressman is getting the utensils, Apolinario can still talk to the man.

The man smiled, "Thank you, I prepared this meal well. But to taste is to believe, so please help yourselves."

"What?" the agent's attention has been taken, "You cooked this? You don't have a chef?"

Aguinaldo goes back to the dining area with the necessary things on a cart, together with a wine bottle on a bucket of ice. The scene seems to be getting fancier. "I do not employ personal staff, Agent Bonifacio."

Andres could not believe that but disproving this man's way of living is not really their objective right now, so he just shrugs it off. When the meal is already served and they have finally tasted the cuisine, (which is the best food they have ever tasted), the men start to talk while they continue to eat.

"So, we have reason to believe that you will be the next victim." Apolinario starts, his eyes focused on the man, while the other pins him with an amused stare. "You have apparently, and carelessly, mentioned in a congress meeting that 4Ps should be abolished, and your reasoning is that it makes Filipino citizens lazy?"

"Yes," The man shamelessly nods, his stare to the lawyer unchanging, "I did say that. It is true."

Apolinario scoffs, and if Andres is not too preoccupied with digging the meat inside the bone marrow, he would be scoffing too, vomiting, even. "4Ps is a great help for a Filipino who lives below the poverty line, the poverty line that should not be existing in the first place." And despite Apolinario's obvious irritation, his delivery is gentle yet sharp.

"But majority of the middle classes does not like this." Aguinaldo says while he pours wine in Apolinario's glass. He motions him to drink, in which Apolinario replies a gesture of refusal.

"Because the program is being mismanaged. And the abuse of the middle classes is a different story altogether, and it is unfortunate yet predictable that they direct their anger towards unsuccessful government projects. What we need is transparency in the distribution system, not take someone's chance to eat for the day."

The politician's professional smile fails to waver, and to be honest, Andres feels like his eyes are getting stickier and stickier to his friend's eyes. Apolinario does have beautiful set of eyes. They are tremendously pale brown that when hit by the sun, they would sparkle. Added by his personality that ever so often makes him scrunch his forehead and eyebrows together, his eyes become sharper and well-defined. Still, the new man's eyes are getting a little sticky, like he wants to get Pole's eyes and enter his eye sockets. Weird thought but it makes sense. The agent just rolled his eyes for the nth time this day and drank the wine that he poured for himself. It seems the pouring service is only available for the lawyer.

"But the program is also used as means to embezzle funds and is treated as a legal way to buy votes. Notice that it only operates fully during election period."

Andres leans closer to the lawyer. "Damn, that's true."

"And if the government truly cares for the poor," The congressman continues, "Shouldn't the program focus on job creation projects, scholarships, and skills development?"

"But there are already programs that focuses on that. TESDA, DOST scholarships, MSME assistance, and business incubation projects, all those things. 4Ps is for the very poor with nothing. Single mothers, abuse victims, the homeless, hospitalized senior citizens with little to no pension… you know who I mean."

"So, you mean to say the program is just mismanaged, and is being given to the unworthy?"

"You could say that."

"Then what is the line between the worthy and the unworthy? Isn't it safer to just abolish the program altogether instead of dealing with the unworthy who will find a way through political backing? Oh, the politicians will hate to say no to the majority of people below the poverty line. They need their votes anyway. Plus, the very poor aren't usually registered so there's no point pleasing them."

"But…" Apolinario pauses, taking time to look at his untouched glass of wine.

While Andres is there, observing the entire debacle. Did the great Apolinario Mabini just become speechless? Damn. Or was he silenced because the politician was too stupid that he concedes to the fact that there is no way to win against an idiot?

Apolinario redirects his sight back to the congressman, sharper this time. "That's why there should be no people below the poverty line! And provision should not be handed by a political figure! It should be handed by a separate national institution like DSWD! And minimum wage should be higher, and taxes should be lower so everybody gets the chance to escape poverty by working. That way, only the ones in need will apply for short term government provisions."

Andres nods in agreement, "and better programs for the working class, like benefits, humane working hours, public transportations, paid leaves, family tax cuts… these should work together." And after finishing his own statement, Andres thought how his friend's silence is one of frustration. So lawyer was silenced by the politician's stupidity? He did not lose a debate. The world is not ending after all. Phew.

Nonetheless, this issue affects Andres more than these two. Apolinario is a senior PAO lawyer, his salary is 6-digits a month. The congressman, well. He knows how politicians get 'extra funds'. And him, a humble NBI agent, not even a director of any functions within the agency. He can't even afford a grand wedding that his beautiful fiancé deserves. Her engagement ring is a credit card installment. Despite of, he shrugs the issue, because the mismanagement of the program comes from corruption. He's tired of it. He could protest in the streets and nothing will change. His only hope is the Ripper.

"I see," The politician drops his shoulders as he sighs. "I feel ignorant. Perhaps I am."

He concedes? He thought people like him would just throw them out while insisting they are right? Additionally, he has not rudely told Apolinario to calm down, maybe accepting that he has every right to be angry.

With that, Apolinario's shoulders visibly drops down as well. "Sure. Whatever. I'm glad you get it."

Congressman Aguinaldo then lifts his elbows to the table to set his enclosed hands under his jaw, then he scoots even closer to the lawyer. "I am very enlightened, Atty. Mabini. I really do. Nobody that I personally know ever tried to hand me with a counter argument, making me think my views are irrefutable. Dangerous, isn't it? Especially that I am a politician?"

"Huh," Apolinario muses, finally taking a sip of the wine. "You are more sensible than I thought."

They finished eating, so Apolinario helped the Congressman place the dishes in the dishwasher. Andres leaves the room after asking for some of the mangoes hanging deliciously on the trees. The politician was kind enough to give him an ecobag to put his harvest in. Now, it's only the two of them inside the house, tending together in the kitchen, sometimes their fingers would touch.

"I love the paintings." Apolinario starts, breaking the awkward silence.

"I wish you could stay more. I would love to show them to you."

"Yes, we could stay for an hour more. Andres is enjoying himself outside. I'm sorry about him, by the way."

"It's nothing," the congressman smiles to him. Those dimples feel eternal, he thinks. The only time his smile dropped was when he was seriously and carefully placing the dishes inside the machine. He looks handsome even with his unsmiling side-profile. "In fact, I would like you to take some of my cabbages. They will just wilt if not eaten."

"Really? Thank you!"

"You're welcome. Though Atty. Mabini, I wonder… how is airing my opinion to the congress makes me a target of the Ripper?" He asks as he starts to walk towards the arts hall portion of his house. Apolinario follows, quite excited of the destination.

"Good question, and I'm sorry I haven't explained. You could say I got pre-occupied." they both laugh, "We found a pattern in the Ripper kills. It seems, the Ripper kills at random, but they are all members of the congress and a few socialites that attend parties thrown by some of these congresspersons. The similarities between them are, well, they have aired out stupid political opinions."

"Oh my. I will be careful from now on." Congressman Aguinaldo says while looking at him without missing a beat. It seems the man is not taking any of this seriously, with the way he stays smiling down at him as they walk towards the room. They have reached the arts room, and Apolinario instinctively stopped in front of a large copy of Spoliarium. "So, what you're saying is that the Ripper is within our circle?"

"That's my hypothesis. It could be someone wiretapping the private session hall and with connections to the socialite circle."

"And why me? Don't all congresspersons have outrageous political opinions as well?"

"There are four people left in your partylist. The other three is very silent and goes along with progressive views to garner supporters and stay out of the Ripper's radars. They are smarter since they caught the pattern."

"And I'm not smart?"

"You aren't."

The Congressman chuckles. "If I have a friend like you, Atty. Mabini, I bet my views are better. Agent Bonifacio is a lucky man to have you as a boyfriend."

"Huh? No… uh… what?"

"You have matching rings," Aguinaldo points at the silver and maroon band on his finger.

"It's a college ring! See, you're not smart!"

"Oh sorry, we don't have that in Ateneo. But does that mean you don't have a boyfriend?"

Apolinario blushes but tries to defy the emotion by crossing his hands, "Why would you even ask that? Of all questions. You just want to ask me out, don't you?"

"Can I?"

"No. I'm busy. And I never dated anyone; I don't know how that works. Last time someone asked me out, I jumped out the window."

"Oh dear, thank heavens we're below the ground. Please don't feel too uncomfortable. Take it as joke, I am simply fascinated with you as a person." The congressman drops his smile in exchange of concern. Now, he feels bad for letting the man down.

"You know… you're fascinating, too. You're a person full of contradictions. Your house, your work with your personality, and your smile. You're a confusing person, Emilio Aguinaldo. I don't know how to make of you." Apolinario says honestly.

The politician steps closer, "Then you are allowed to get to know me better. You can even make me smarter. My brain is all yours."

The lawyer chuckles at that, "You're one funny man, Mr. Aguinaldo. And indeed, I will have no choice but to be in your acquaintance since I will be visiting time to time. We need to get the Ripper after all."

"Ah, the Ripper. He's out to get me. What's your plan about that, by the way?"

Apolinario takes his eyes away from the painting, with the only light illuminating the room being the lamps perched above each art piece. Emilio faces him fully, a part of his face shadowed dramatically. His breathing hitched, because that look feels like he's being challenged. He cannot put his finger to it.

"So," He tries his best to talk, "We don't really have a plan…"

Chapter Text

See Artist's Tumblr Post Here

[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality.]

Agent Bonifacio is a simple man. Though some of his colleagues take that as an insult, he takes it as a humble acceptance of what he can afford. He might be working in NBI, his salary might be a bit higher than a normal minimum-wage, but he is paying for mortgage now (for a house he is yet to pay down), health insurance for him and his fiancée, luxury things he purchased on installment such as the engagement ring he gave to Gregoria, trip to Siquijor, fine dining restaurants he could not understand, and some good clothes.

He was a simple man, until he fell in love. Gregoria is a kind of woman who deserves everything that is good in the world, and so he strived to give her a better life than what his meager salary could offer. Luxury, luxury, such as good groceries and comfortable furniture.

So perhaps that is the reason why he came home today with several bills and papers on the table—no Gregoria in sight—in his humble concrete-colored house situated in the heart of Tondo, Manila.

They have been dating for almost 10 years already. Andres kept promising her a grand marriage, they just have to wait till they can move in their suburban house at Quezon City. They just have to wait until he can impress his future in-laws with what he can do for their daughter... until they can climb out of poverty.

Gregoria works as a nurse in UP medical and quickly rose the ranks to head nurse due to her brilliance and natural compassion to public service. Her salary is okay (compared to her workmates), so with their combined salary, they should be living well, right?

Right?

Then how come they are still living paycheck to paycheck? How come they have to be in the verge of bankruptcy every time one of them gets hospitalized? How come they can only afford the minimum number of luxuries when their salaries are both considered "middle class" level? Why is it hard to buy a new house in a safe neighborhood, and buy groceries without fear of having it stolen whenever they leave their humble home unattended? They have been working for 10 years already. Why can't they feel a tinge of comfort?

Yes, indeed, they can find better jobs, right? Their friends are doing well in engineering, law, politics, and business, while running in single-income household and some kids. However, the two love their jobs and would never be anything else. Gregoria loves working in the children's hospital while sometimes volunteering in medical missions in remote areas, while Andres does what he can do in the best of his abilities as a document's controller in the agency. They do important and decent jobs. Don't they deserve a bit of comfort? To fully pay a house? To not need a loan to pay for their future kid's tuitions?

Andres looks at the papers on the table, with labels saying they were all already paid. Gregoria neatly noted that the printed bills for the month has been covered. Under a pile writes a little note that says,

"I'm sorry, my Andoy.

I love you and I hate seeing you struggle because of me. You have so much potential. You have your own dreams, and I hate seeing you live paycheck to paycheck just for me.

I have returned the engagement ring to the store to write off your credit card debt. Please do not think about the wedding anymore.

You may continue paying for the house but know that you don't have to if your only reason for buying it was me.

I will continue with my own life from now on, Andoy.

I have my own dreams, too, which would be easier to reach if I only have myself to manage. I also wish to help my poor parents who are now only surviving with low pension.

Your dreams, my dreams,

Cannot happen when we only wish for our togetherness to survive.

Goodbye,

Gregoria De Jesus."

Andres drops the letter with no emotion. Somehow, he had accepted this to happen as part of his anxieties. He loves Gregoria, and she will be his only love forever. Nobody else in the world can make him fall in love, and if it is not her, then nothing is worth living for. He never thought of making a family unless it is with her. He never thought of bringing someone to nice dates and dream of having better things until she met her and thought how she deserves the world.

Gregoria De Jesus has a pure soul, a kind and big one that she likes to give for a better cause than having children of her own. She mentioned once that "Family makes a person selfish", saying that she would not succumb to society's pressure to enslave herself to money for the sake of keeping a family. She wants to share what she can offer, but unfortunately, in a harsh reality where they can only earn so much, she would have to become a selfish opportunist to prioritize her own spawns. She would rather die—Andoy knows—than to live like her father.

There have been signs that Gregoria would leave. She does not seem happy with him anymore, and he could understand.

Sometimes, he thinks that if only he could easily buy a house with a mortgage that would not eat half his salary, a good transportation that would not force them to buy a car, a monthly health insurance payment that should not even exist; that would not need mental gymnastics and unnecessary bureaucracy for them to avail (they pay responsibly every month just to realize that being granted insurance feels like a lottery?), and a local salary that would allow them live comfortably without the desire to work abroad instead... would Gregoria stay?

He sat down the sofa and sighed.

They loved and cherished each other.

But she's right.

This relationship is killing their potential.

This little house he inherited from his parents is probably not legally acquired. His father was a carpenter, and his mother was a vegetable seller. They both died young due to illnesses that could have been easily avoided had they possessed a little bit more of money. He worked as a takatak boy, jeepney dispatcher, computer shop attendant, and other part-time jobs to keep his rent in a far university he got a scholarship in. He acquired all kinds of skills, learned languages, unknowingly made connections; but none of them saved his parents, and none of them could make Gregoria stay. Is he just not smart enough? Is he just not hardworking enough?

He is! In other countries, someone with the same job as his earns five times his current salary. Why can't that be the case here? Why must he leave his country just to have a decent life?

Whatever.

This is stupid.

Apolinario approaches the gate with a phone on his ear being supported by his shoulders, while his left hand is occupied by a briefcase and the right occupied by the act of pushing a familiar doorbell.

"I'm fine Pepe. I can handle this." He tells the phone while struggling to keep his posture together.

The man on the other side of the phone sounds like he is seconds away from tearing his own hair out, "While alone? Why don't you come back when Mr. Bonifacio is available enough to accompany you? Apolinario Mabini, since you are in the South anyway, just spend the night in my house. I'll send a car..."

The lawyer abruptly interjects, "Nope. Absolutely not. Andoy decided not to help me anymore, and it is his right to decide so, but I'm not stopping this case."

"THEN! Let the police do that! And that congressman is rich! Tell him to hire an investigator on his own." Jose feels exasperated.

"Oh, you know that would not work. If we over prepare, the Ripper might catch wind of our entrapment and not go through his plan of killing Mr. Emilio..." Just as he says that statement, the gate finally opened, and there standing agape is the man in question.

Emilio opens the gate wider then motions to help the lawyer with his briefcase, still looking stricken with the reminder that he is a Ripper target. Apolinario would laugh with that expression, but the situation is a serious matter. "I'll come back to you, Pepe. Bye."

"Wai—" and the line cuts.

The congressman successfully takes the other's bag, not leaving a space for Apolinario’s complaint or courtesy. He just sighed in surrender and then follows Emilio to his house.

"I prepared us some afternoon snacks, I am hoping you join me?"

"That's quite perfect," Apolinario says, putting his coat on the armrest of the living room's tacky couch and loosening his tie for comfort, "Were you doing something else today, Congressman?"

"I do actually, but your presence would not be a huge disturbance. Is it okay for you to eat the snacks by the garden as I tend to my vegetables?" The politician leads him outside again after he settles his work files and clothes inside. His smile—that smile Apolinario is getting used to—stays. It even grows wider when they are looking at one another. He finds that amusing.

"Oh, of course."

He still does not know what to think about the politician. He's from a conservative party and a traditional politician that hails from a short line of dynasty; from his grandmother, grandfather, mother, father, one auntie, and two uncles. Almost all his family members occupied a political seat in Cavite. Emilio himself became a mayor at 25. He knew nothing but being in position of power, probably thinking having access to the national budget is his birth right. There is no telling how ridiculously entitled Emilio Aguinaldo can be, and for that, Apolinario is careful not to be triggered too much lest he jump the poor man's bones to chew him out by another unprompted debate.

He was surprised, however, when he learned that Emilio Aguinaldo is a calm and apologetic man. He is also very gentlemanly and well-mannered. He swore he expected an immature out-of-touch politician with a long line of personal assistants, but it turns out he's skilled in house and garden work and would prefer to tend his lifestyle on his own. It is also only rational to ask him something;

“Mr. Aguinaldo, I’m sorry to ask, but do you have a girlfriend?” He finally says, and after blurting the question, he slowly realizes that he must have sounded nosy, making him blush.

Emilio, who was walking in front him, faces his direction and gives a coy smile. “My last relations were in college.”

“Really? How can I believe you?” Apolinario sat on a coffee table beside the garden as he was led and then appreciates the display of sweets and cold tea on it. “Oh, thank you for this. Don’t tell me you baked this?”

“Yes, I did.” Emilio continues to walk a few more steps away from the wooden patio as if he did not just leave him there shocked. This man, a rich politician, handsome, expensive-smelling, and a good cook (and a patisserie), is single. Maybe he is not the type to keep a relationship, or not the type to put label to things like a normal playboy would, but he did denote his college romantic experience as ‘relations’, which could possibly mean he meant ‘everything that is closely related to romance, labelled or not’. Maybe that, or he is overthinking this.

Apolinario observes him in his garden. There are flowers in the middle of vegetable rows, and knowing a little about smart cultivation, means he know that some flowers are meant as natural pesticides to certain plant types. This man knows what he’s doing; considering he is the one that cultivated his garden. He must ask!

“Do you tend your garden on your own?”

A gentle blow of wind rustled the mango and tamarind trees, and the 3:30 pm sun that has slightly entered the high fences gives him a golden halo. The man looks at him with another kind of smile, a smile that says he has been waiting for the question. Only the sound of leaves can be heard, which is peaceful and beautiful and calming on its own, but Apolinario realized there are no sounds of birds and insects. Aside from them, the plants, and the wind that happened to pass by, there are no other living within the space.

Apolinario might love the silence, but this is too silent. His skin crawled. He tried to hide it.

‘When a dangerous predator is nearby,’ His late father would say whenever they hike around Mt. Makiling, ‘The forest holds its breath.’

‘Try not to be scared, son.’ His mother would say whenever they pass by a street dog that he was afraid of, ‘they can smell fear.’

He does not know why those certain childhood memories resurfaced, but he knows he must look dumb in front of the politician for pausing quite long, and so he tries to utter, “Is that so? You are truly a man of many talents, Congressman. That is why I’m puzzled as to why you are single. It seems too hard to believe.”

“I simply did not have the time, nor the mental space required for a relationship.” The man takes a small shovel and begins crouching down. He looks natural in the environment, how the perfection of the landscaping and the beauty of the crops reflect his personality and movements, making him feel silly for even questioning his involvement in this garden. He would believe every word this man would say, if only he is not a flirt, “But I promise to give you all my time and mental space, Attorney.”

Apolinario rolls his eyes. He is thankful, somehow. The unnecessary quip makes him relax the muscles he did not realize were tense, “Thanks,” he says, making sure he delivered it as sarcastically as he could.

The man only chuckles, then continues to dig soil around the cabbage patch and tomato bushes. The garden is bountiful. They are bigger and fresher than any harvest he had seen, and they seem to be absent of any pest damage. He’s never seen him apply pesticides, so everything seems to be natural in his garden. They spent the afternoon like that; Apolinario eating afternoon snacks, and Emilio tending to the garden. Somehow, the attorney likes the slowness of it. It’s very meditative. And for some reasons, his headache, which feels like he has been carrying for a decade, lulled down like nothing.

He likes this.

He likes Emilio’s presence.

Too bad he will die.

It has been two days since Gregoria left, and Andres Bonifacio is yet to be accustomed to the emptiness of his humble house and the pain in his heart. There are times when he would call her name amid nothingness; when he leaves for work, when he gets home, when he wakes up from a false sweet continuity of a dream where Gregoria never left.

Apolinario wishes to return to Cavite for the unofficial mission of catching the Ripper in the act of murdering a certain Congressman. It is unsafe to leave such physically weak man for a solo mission with uncertain results and an even more uncertain plan, but Andres simply does not have any energy to travel for three hours only to babysit a reckless friend. He might have to drag the man back to Manila, but he knows he will fuss. What is the point of putting energy for this?

He sighs, covering his eyes with an arm as he lays down the sofa. It is the afternoon, the sky beginning to get hues of dark blues. There was a karaoke party a few meters from his house, and another kind of public show a few blocks down, probably being held in the makeshift purok basketball court. It is noisy, and they all sound happy. Why can’t they grieve with him for a while?

A loud bang ripped the noisy air of the village, followed by succession of shouts that slowly scatter. Some shouting people passes by his house, so he runs to the door to ask one of the runners.

“What’s happening?”

“Someone’s shooting people at the drag show!”

“Where?!”

“Basketball court!”

He runs for his gun before speeding quick to the said place. The closer he gets, the denser the concentration of running people become. It takes him time to reach the center of the commotion due to individuals fearfully scramming against his direction. Finally, he reaches the irregular slab of concrete floor in the middle of dirt passageways, and in his surprise upon seeing the situation, his hands gripped the gun without further assessment and shot the man with the gun.

The concrete slab of floor they call a basketball court holds a makeshift wooden stage with simple lettering that says “Ms. Gay”. It is a simple event where Drag Queens would join a beauty pageant for the entertainment of everyone who could spare their time. It has been a tradition within the Barangay to hold several events before the Fiesta Day itself. The attacker is a shirtless man with only a jersey shorts and wrecked flip flops as wearables, and cheap-looking faded tattoos that looks like he got them from prison. The man does not seem to look drunk, but rather, delirious. His eyes are wide, angry, and dilated. A drug-user. He has seen this man several times while passing by going to work. He fought with him once for catcalling Gregoria. He seems to only spend his time facing his phone and picking fight with just anyone. He is a pathetic bully without a job.

And pathetic people hate happy people who are contented with their lives. Not only that, but he is also completely out of it, probably thinking he’s the right one in this situation.

Now, Andres Bonifacio does not usually care about such personalities, they are a waste of space anyway. What made him shot his gun without thinking is the fact that Gregoria is there, giving first aid to a contestant on stage that was shot in the stomach, and the shooter was going to point his gun towards the woman he loves.

The man is dead. Some bystanders stopped running. The dangerous man is dead and there is only one man with a gun left, and it is their neighbor, the NBI agent. The chaos is done. At the distance, police cars and ambulances struggle to enter the unpaved roads to control the situation.

Later that night, Andres drives Gregoria back to her house. She spent some more time in the scene to provide first aid. She already washed her hands, but her dress is still bloody. Too bad, she looked especially beautiful today. While on the road, silence is deafening, so Andres decided broke the thick tension first.

“What brought you back to Tondo?”

Gregoria startles. Andres feels bad for making her flinch, she must have been scared of what transpired. “I… I uh… forgot something.”

“What have you left? I will send them to your house.”

“Uh… it’s uh…”

She did not forget a thing. Andres rummaged through the house for her belongings to see if he had been left even with a little trinket of hers he could hold on. She did not forget a thing. She came back, made herself prettier, because she was thinking of returning to him.

And now, she could not say a thing. She made an excuse that she left something because the plan of getting him back is out of the window. She must have been shaken of the traumatizing event, added by the fact that she saw the gun point at her. She must have been reminded why she left in the first place.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry.” Is all he could say.

They reached her parents’ house. Andres insists he escorts her until the front door, but Grogoria asserted that her father must not see him again, not especially that she will be delivered with a bloody dress. She goes down the car, and he stays parked for a while to see her enter the house. Before she could enter, she looks back at him with a sad smile.

“Goodbye, Gregoria.” He whispers to himself.

He drives back carefully, and while stuck in the heavy traffic of EDSA, he recalls the week. His mind flashed him with snippets of reasons, of all the tiny evidences that Gregoria will leave, and of a startling blow that will prevent things from going back to how they were. He thought, if only he lives in a better place, if only he could easily give Gregoria a better life, if only he has no crazy neighbor… if only he lives in a better country.

He remembers a certain zealous lawyer who believes that the justice system is enough to save the innocent. Is he alright and safe at this moment? Is his philosophy worth fighting for, even when he’s endangering his life? Must they really put an end to what he believes is justice just because he must save one little boy? He might be considered dumb by his friends who are in ‘smarter’ fields, but he knows about the bigger picture. This bigger picture is not only statistics to him. It is him. He sees the suffering every day. He experiences the suffering every time politicians steal what is rightfully theirs. No proper infrastructure, public well-being programs, controlled real estate prices, transportation—heck—even streetlights. It is not just a buzzword for him. It is his experience. Why cannot people see, that if the system is broken, the only person who could fix it is someone outside the system. That someone, for him, is the Roxas Boulevard Ripper.

He takes his phone and connects it to his car’s bluetooth. He then contacted his friend who is probably in Cavite right now.

After three rings, Apolinario picks up, “Andoy? What’s up?”

“My friend… I honestly do not know where to start.”

A pause. Apolinario analyzes his statement for a little while, “It’s okay, you can take your time.”

Andres breathes deeply, “I will take over the Ripper case.”

“Really!” Apolinario exclaims happily, “Does that mean you are going to help me…”

“I will figure out who they are… and give them protection.”

Another pause. He can hear Apolinario’s startled thoughts, any word he tries to spurt out gets blocked by a tremor from his throat. With this, Andres drops the call.

Apolinario hears the phone click, his stupor breaks with a deep and abrupt exhale of breath. He just finished a delicious dinner with the Congressman who sits on a stool beside the kitchen counter. They never hang out in the living room for some reasons. Emilio looks worried after putting down the phone; his eyes search his like nothing else in the world matters. He must look awful with a shaky breath and wide eyes, but he could not bring himself to care about his appearance at the moment. The Congressman does not look mocking or bewildered, instead, he looks tender.

Emilio’s hand reaches his shoulder and gently caresses it. “Are you okay? That does not sound like good news. I hope it’s not about your young client.”

“No, uh, but it might be.” Apolinario manages to speak. He’s not sure if he can be coherent at this moment, but he will try. “My friend… oh no, I should not even share this. He might get in trouble. Why did he even share that shit with a lawyer? What a stupid man. Stupid, stupid man. Ugh, he never listens!”

“Listen, Attorney Mabini,” Emilio softly calls his name, making him look at his concerned eyes. Softness, concern, and gentleness. They look good on this man. Much better than his initial judgements, which he feels ashamed to have had. He continues, “With how shaken you look right now, I believe you deserve to air it all out. I shall promise discretion. If you would like me to sign an NDA, I would. I just could not bear seeing you like this.”

“He—Agent Bonifacio,” He starts, realizing the difficulty of addressing the issue. He could say he is being stupid. He could tattle his stupidity right away. However, he understands where must be coming from, so he continues, this time, sadly “…must hate the system so much. I understand him, I really do. I’m not blind. I can see that the powerful rig the system. However! There is justice for all that! Why does he want a literal criminal solving our problems in very illegal ways? It is not a sustainable ideology. The system must fix itself by itself with the help of due process. Why is that so hard to understand!? And why are you drinking wine, for goodness’ sake! We could be attacked by the Ripper right now and you are incapacitating yourself with alcohol? Men in my life are nothing but headaches!”

Emilio slowly puts his wine glass down the counter. Apolinario slides it away from the man.

“Look,” Apolinario grumbles, “I don’t care if he does not want to assist my secret investigation, but he should not do something so reckless and dangerous. He’s going to abuse his position to protect the Ripper? Why? And why even share it to me?”

The politician moves his hand from Apolinario’s shoulders to his hand. He can see that Emilio was carefully looking at his reaction, trying to test the waters of an added intimacy. He lets him. “If I may share my thoughts.”

“Go on.”

“I think Agent Bonifacio comes from a place we might have never seen ourselves. I do not know him that much, but I am aware that he is a passionate man whose knowledge of hardship comes from true trials, not from the news or the books. While we sympathize, he empathizes. While we protest in solidarity, he protests for his own survival.”

“I know that.” Apolinario whines, “We came from the same pedestal.”

“And do you judge him for choosing the path he desired?”

“No! I just… I just think there are better ways to do things.”

“There are better ways,” Emilio caresses his hands to soothe him, Apolinario could not help but think how he is getting comfortable of his touches and calm voice. “But we could not judge Agent Bonifacio for thinking the way he does. I understand him, to be honest. I see many underserving co-workers as a politician, you have no idea. Maybe we could convince Agent Bonifacio to avoid illegal processes for his own safety, but that is all. And besides, I could tell that he still cares for you, perhaps the reason why he told you. He wants to provide a notice so you could manage your expectations and stay safe."

The man stops speaking, but Apolinario realizes he was slowly forgetting his anger on the topic. He never thought that Emilio would be a smart and understanding man. Many of his friends are smart— he’s in the circle of lawyers and intellectuals after all—but they are not too understanding. Many of them are still out of touch. Many of them are not immune to propaganda of hatred. Many of them see people as statistics like Pepe, though he comes with good intention.

Apolinario comes closer to see the other’s eyes more. They are deep brown, stoic, professional, yet welcoming. He has never seen him give the same stare to Andres; he does not think he gives others a glance when they are together. Those beautiful eyes are only focused on him and him only, and he is beginning to love the attention. He could not blame himself to fall, especially when the man has a clever mind and an understanding heart. He soothed him when he does not need to. He showed unconditional concern that feels like the warmth of the sun. What a loving person.

He comes closer and closer, and the other man reciprocates his action by closing the distance. In a second, their lips meet, very gently, very smoothly; and slowly, both their lips move to brush one another.

Their kiss goes deeper, so Apolinario stands up from his stool and inches himself even closer. Emilio’s hands snake around his back and torso, moving up and down. He could feel those hands contract ever so often—as if he wants to take a portion of his flesh, as if he wants to dig his claws into his skin—but he controls himself. Apolinario moans at the thought of being desired. He himself takes a handful of Emilio’s hair, wanting to pull it, but he stops himself. He only gathers his hair to hold the man’s head in place as he ravages his lips, the previous gentleness of it gone.

He wants more. He wants to be closer.

Never in his life had he ever thought that sexual activities could even be desired by his body. He thought it would be full of overthinking; he thought he would have the space to think twice. The so-called space was non-existent moments before the kiss. He was only sure that he wants to be close. He was not even thinking about kissing at all. He was only thinking how much he wants to take Emilio and the only ‘rational’ course of action—the only action that would possess him the most—is a kiss.

Emilio seems to think the same. “Let’s take this somewhere?”

“Can I drink some of your wine? I will allow you to drink some.”

Emilio was confused of the sudden statement, but he lets it. It is his first time after all. He wants to be as lose as he could, and there’s a saying that goes ‘alcohol releases your inhibitions’. His mind is not exactly liberated; it is full of self-control and over-thinking. He wants none of that once they enter the bedroom.

Emilio’s bedroom.

Bet it would have the same ambiance as his kitchen.

Muted. Sleek. Controlled. Firm. Soft. Gentle.

Just like him.

He served Emilio’s wine, and they both drank, gulping it all at once while looking at each other hungrily. Once the glasses are settled on the counter, Emilio pulls him towards his room. Apolinario allows himself to be taken, but while on the way there (it was a long way!), he pulls the other man for a hungry kiss. It seems they’ve paused to do the same activity five times before finally reaching the bedroom.

For the rest of the night, the room is filled with moans of pleasure until both men fall to the dizziness brought by the alcohol.

Jose Rizal gingerly raises his camera in front of the new murder tableau. The new victim is a male in his 40s, tall, muscular, and familiar. This is not how things are meant to end. His hands are trembling, eyes unblinking. He could not believe what he is seeing.

It is obviously not suicide given the amount of set-up surrounding the crime scene. There are exactly thirty pieces of silver coins scattered, and they are not just any coins. They are limited edition collectible centennial coins produced by Banco Central. Yesterday, he was just talking with Apolinario over the phone to state his concern over his safety. Now, at 7:30 in the morning, a new dead body hangs on a random tree in Sungay Peak, a mountain in Cavite. There hanging in robes is the dead body of a Cavite Congressman.

The investigation team that got there first and set up the crime tape reports that it is obviously another Ripper Kill.

Why him? And where is Pole?

Chapter Text

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[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality.]

It was a long night.

Apolinario's sensitive skin brushes to the heavy blanket amid the coldness of the room. The comfort that he feels is foreign, and it wants him to cuddle himself back to sleep. The morning sun enters the small gap provided by the thick curtains to reach his sensitive eyes. He sighs, agreeing that he must really rise from bed.

He looks at the empty space beside him. Suddenly, he remembers this is not his bed nor his room. He shared a passionate night with the Congressman! The memories come back to his alcohol-driven headache one by one; how he held unto the man, how his inhibitions left his body, how he acted lustfully, how he opened his legs to accommodate the other.

However, he is aware that nothing further has happened. He remembers how Emilio was growling as he decides to not take him completely. He looked so handsome, hovering above him, while scrunching his face over his very naked self, presented like a meal with a raging hard-on.

"This would be your first time. And you're drunk." He had said softly, contradicting his bulging muscles and earlier roughness. Roughness in a sense of hugging him tight and sucking his skin senseless.

"But… I will allow you to." Apolinario whined. He winces at this as a memory.

"No…" Emilio breathed deep multiple times to calm himself down. "…This requires a lot of preparation. And I do not have anything to prepare you. Oh but, my love, you are so exquisite, so delicious… it is taking me my all to stop myself."

It must be the alcohol taking action, because Apolinario reached above to take the other’s head to get closer to his face. He never been this bold. He spoke while his lips were practically deep to Emilio’s plump ones. "Then do not stop yourself." He opened his legs more to welcome the other man's manhood for more contact, and he was glad that he did take the invitation.

They spent the rest of the hour grinding, moaning, and passionately kissing. The heat and the stickiness got Apolinario so tired that he passed out on top of Emilio while listening to his calming heart beats. It was the best sleep he has ever had.

It is now 9 am. He is usually awake at 7:30 am but since it is a Sunday (and he is very tired due to the night's activities), he let himself bury his face back to the soft pillows of Emilio's bed. Like in his imaginations, the other's bedroom is really like his kitchen. It is organized; there are no unnecessary ornaments. The heaviness of the colors (dark brown and phthalo green) makes him feel like the room is warm yet controlled. He likes that about Emilio.

He feels clean, so Emilio must have wiped him with a wet cloth upon waking up, and the blanket smells good, so he must have taken a new one to let him snuggle on a dry blanket. Apolinario hugs it, smelling the unique fabric conditioner Emilio uses in all his textiles.

"Oh dear," he tells himself, "I must be crazy. Sexual desires? At my age?"

He was so unhinged. Good thing the Congressman is a gentleman who recognizes his apparent virginity and lack of experiences. He is glad that nothing further happened. He would have been in pain at this moment.

His phone rings, getting him out of his sleepy state. The phone seems to have a lot of red notifications, indicating that many has been contacting him since the morning. He answers the one currently calling him.

"Pepe, what's wrong?"

"Where were you? Nobody can contact you! What the heck Pole!"

"I slept at the Congressman's house. I told you I will. And why is everyone contacting me? I haven't checked my notifs yet." Apolinario is getting nervous. He knows it is unusual for him to leave his notifications unchecked since he's always serious with work. One night—just one night—that he's unable to, everyone suddenly feels frightened.

"Okay, okay," he hears Jose calm himself, "There's good and bad news. Good news is there's another Ripper kill. Or they claim it is a Ripper kill."

"Oh!" Apolinario lifts himself from the bed, pushing the heavy blankets aside. Jose must have heard him scampering away from a bunch of textiles.

"Wait, are you still in bed? It's 9:23 my friend. You usually rise early."

"God forbid I stay in bed on a Sunday. But enough of that! That means my client is innocent! And we can get compensation for the death of his sole guardian!" Apolinario walks away from the bed, eventually realizing his stark nakedness as he walks around another man's room. He feels awfully sexy and naughty at the moment. He looks at the full-body mirror pasted on the closet doors, his appearance making him smile sheepishly, turning left and right to get clearer view of the lines of kiss marks left all-over his body. He is glad to know that they both enjoyed the night. "But what is the bad news? Are you sorry for the one who died?"

"Not really." Jose sighs, "It's the Congressman from the 1st district of Cavite. Congressman Aguinaldo's distant cousin, but they are known to be rivals. Do you remember when I told you I suspect the Ripper to be a Caviteño? Well, I thought it was that guy. Now that he's dead… well, long story short, Agent Bonifacio is driving to Congressman Aguinaldo's house right now to, uh, question him. A bit of my fault—but also yours—for not answering your calls."

"What? No, that’s…" Apolinario hears voices from the kitchen, and among them, he could hear an unfamiliar, chilling, and serious voice of Andres Bonifacio, in a way he has never heard before.

With the sound of several feet outside, he assumes a team of NBI agents gathered to face a single innocent man. He runs outside without much thought, taking a random dress shirt hanging inside the closet, closing a few buttons as he speeds through the hallway. Thank goodness above that the hallways are long enough for him to button up modestly before facing several strangers.

"Can you prove that you have stayed here for the entire evening, Congressman?" He hears Andres says before he could reach the kitchen passageway.

"I can!" Apolinario finally says, trying his best to make his voice sound calm. "I can."

The agents look perplexed upon looking at him wearing nothing but a larger man's dress shirt. They did not say anything, but they are giving each other some sort of eye-to-eye communication. In front of them is his glaring best friend. The Agent is unmoving, unperplexed unlike his fellow agents, and he could not tell what lies on those glaring eyes. He looks at his neck marred by dozens of passionate bruises, but instead of feeling small, he only crossed his arms to stand stronger.

Emilio, ever the gentleman, walks across the room to give him his own sleeping robes. "Attorney… you don't have to say anything. I can handle this."

"Really? Because I'm sure you should leave this to a lawyer." He snaps while returning the Agent's consistent and unreadable glare.

"Please, allow me to help you put on some pants first, Attorney."

Apolinario rolls his eyes, "It's not like my groin is exposed, thanks to how long your dress shirts are." He walks closer to his friend, their eyes staying on each other. He leaves Emilio in his place who still looks worried. Of his safety or indecency, he's not so sure.

"He could have left you here while he's killing someone outside." Andres starts when the distance becomes closer than necessary.

Apolinario opens a button to expose his shoulders and collar, "We slept in the same bed the whole night, Andoy. Oh, we didn't even sleep that's why I woke up so late. This is the evidence. Now," he takes one step closer to the Agent to the point of hearing each other's breath. He whispers, "If this is your idea of protecting a criminal, by involving someone innocent, I can fight you in court. I can recount every single second that happened last night. I will take a picture of my naked body right now as court evidence. Would you also like to check the CCTV on his gate? Would you also like to ask Pepe what time I got here and what time I woke up?"

"No need for that, attorney please." Emilio walks closer to them. Apolinario feels electricity run across his body when the politician took him gently by the shoulders and guides him beside himself for a protective fence. The man glares at Andres, "You may search my house for whatever evidence you desire. I'm not sure what weapon this Ripper utilizes, but go, look for that."

Andres let a minute of silence pass before speaking. "Let's leave."

He proceeds to the door, taking his team with him.

(Earlier)

It is already 8:30 and he still could not contact Atty. Apolinario Mabini, who is in Cavite, a few kilometers away from the crime scene. He must at least know he is safe, because with his primary suspect out of the way, he has a new primary suspect in mind: Congressman Emilio Aguinaldo. It's not even about the fact that they are cousins with inheritance feud. It is the fact that there's just nobody left.

With this death, the evidence now points to Emilio Aguinaldo. No, the Ripper does not leave evidence at the crime scene, but the motivations can be enough to pinpoint the suspect. What's confusing is Emilio Aguinaldo's political disposition.

He's not liberal, he seems to be neutral of controversial issues, which a proper politician would be passionate about. His projects are very normal. Road widening here and there, scholarships, athletes’ programs, free vocational degrees, streetlights, etc. Projects that are not harmful or obvious corruption (based on COA report, he is clean), but not game-changers or brave as well. He has never authored bills, and there are times when he abstains voting for very controversial bills. He seems to be playing safe. It's like he's only there to know…

…. Who to kill next.

Not only that, but he also seems to have only aired out a heavy opinion about a controversial topic once (about 4Ps abolition), and his very words got them to think he would be the next Ripper victim, which would effectively cross him out from his list. Did he stage this?

On the outside, he seems like any other dynasty trust fund baby. Privileged, out-of-touch, new money, and Filipino politician typical dumb. He's seeing it now. It's all so staged.

There's also the fact that his grandparents are dead, his parents are dead, his auntie ran to the US, and his uncle went missing. All the members of his immediate family are gone. They were known to be quite greedy and corrupt, perfect Ripper POI. Perhaps they were his first victims. 

If it's true that Emilio Aguinaldo is the Ripper, then his friend might be in danger.

He called his office in Manila, all of them said the lawyer is not in office (It's Sunday?) and he is yet to take their calls as well. The new Ripper kill is pivotal for the case he's handling, so of course they tried to call him to ask about his plans on the upcoming trial. However, they are yet to hear anything from the man.

He is getting nervous here.

So, he calls Andres Bonifacio. Thankfully he is the kind of man to pick up quickly, unlike his other friend, "Hello Agent Bonifacio, do you know where Pole is? Can you at least verify he's alive?"

"He's in that guy's house." He grumbles. "Why do you sound nervous?"

"Have you heard about the new Ripper kill?"

"Of course. I'm on my way to Cavite to investigate."

"Um, could you check on Pole first? Please? I'm just really worried."

He hears a tap and some rustles of paper on the other line, "You suspect that the politician could be the Ripper? Wait," he hears more rustling, "It makes sense, but I'm just going to make sure. Dr. Rizal, if this turns out to be a waste of my time…"

"Pole hasn't answered my calls! Since 7:30! He's an early riser, you know that." He cuts.

"I will just check on him." Andres finally concedes.

If he must proceed to the Congressman's house himself, then so be it. It's only a few kilometers anyway. While on the way, he tries to call Apolinario's phone. It took him seven times with 10 minutes interval. At 9:20, he finally picked up and the call. His relief is immeasurable, it feels like a huge stick that stuck his heart has been lifted, with the breath he didn't know has be ragged.

Moreover, this also means they stayed together last night. Would that be enough alibi for the politician's innocence? It may or it may not be, but in the end, he prompted to an NBI agent that he thinks a possibly innocent guy is the Ripper, all because he thought their friend is in trouble. That's his own overthinking mind, and a huge undeniable mistake from his part. He must at least drive to the guy's house to apologize.

Upon parking beside the politician's enormously high fence without a second floor of house in sight (what a weird house for a supposedly rich man), he sees a throng of NBI agents getting out of the gate, whispering to one another. Leading them is the angry-looking Andres Bonifacio. He feels really guilty now. He runs out of his car to stop the agent before he enters the police car.

"Agent Bonifacio, look, I'm sorry I was just…"

"Dr. Jose Rizal, I received a call from NBI Cavite that you trespassed a crime scene again." The agent cuts him; he must be so angry. "Had you gotten there first, my men would have every reason to arrest you as potential suspect. May this be the last time you contaminate a crime scene for your so-called hobby. You are beginning to be suspicious to me."

"Hey! You can't just say that! That is a serious accusation!"

"As the new head of investigations for this case, I have every right to accuse given enough evidence, the same way you had when you hold no power over the investigation whatsoever. Consider this a warning."

Jose looks away with a bit of shame in his eyes. He steps to the side to let the team pass through, and once they are all out of the gate, he goes in quickly. This is his first time entering the Congressman's house, so he is amazed with the bountiful garden and the house's design. He noticed that there are two different entrances; the main entrance leading to the living room and the side entrance leading to the kitchen where one must pass by the garden first.

The front door is still open as Mr. Emilio holds it to see the NBI leave his property. When he came to the man's view, he continues to open it wide to accept him. He looks puzzled, possibly unwelcomed, but he must make his way to apologize.

"Attorney Mabini," the congressman calls inside, "Dr. Jose Rizal is here. Please put on something."

"Pepe?" He hears a consecutive plop of barefooted person accelerating towards the front door. Apolinario then appears without pants, a sight that stopped the doctor in his tracks. "Why are you here?"

The pant-less man's question breaks him from his stupor, "Oh, I'm here to apologize. I might be the reason why Agent Bonifacio came here?"

Understandably, the two men raise their eyebrow and looked at each other in sync. They look so close, so together. They don't look like people who met only twice in their lives. Moreover, what in the world is Pole wearing, or not wearing? Jose continues to enter the house, filing those thoughts for later.

Emilio leads him to a gaudy-looking chair, the furniture that greets him as soon as he enters the main door. The living room is huge, but the guest receiving space (sala) is so close to the door that it seems it is designed to make the guest leave sooner. The design and colors seem tacky, too. There are many unnecessary ornaments that shows no taste, only money. In retrospect, it makes him want to leave immediately.

Apolinario looks puzzled with Emilio's decision to seat them in this place, because he was about to lead them to the dining room instead. He only looks at Emilio, but after a second's thought, he shrugs and proceeds to sit at the next chair with equally appalling design. "So?"

"Well, remember how I called you several times and you did not answer?"

"Yes? I'm sorry about that. I overslept." Apolinario looks away momentarily, brushing his neck. That action makes him direct his attention to the marks on the other's neck. The other man who looks responsible of this is away, so he can’t really verify.

"You do not oversleep, Apolinario Mabini." Jose crosses his arms.

"Yeah…" He trails, "I didn't know activities of such nature could be physically… taxing."

"Oh my God. Don't tell me you really did that with him?" Exasperatedly, he points vaguely to the kitchen.

Apolinario looks down to the hem of the dress shirt, making a futile attempt to pull it lower. He looks guilty, but he also has a little smile on his lips.

"My goodness, Pole. Don't tell me that was your first time?"

"You know me. I was reserving myself to God when I thought I was going to enter the seminary. And here I am, a lawyer, with my virginity taken. Or I think so? We didn't go all the way. We didn't have lube…"

Jose may have paused for a very long time, because next thing he knows, the Congressman—donning in simple linen shirt and pants—sets a tray of snacks, a pot of coffee, and some creamer and sugar on the low table. What a good host, but not a single eye-contact was given to him. All his attention goes to Pole, and he can see the concern the congressman is giving to the lawyer. Added by the unwelcoming ambiance of the living room, he recognizes he must make this short.

"So anyway, Congressman Aguinaldo, I would like to apologize for telling Agent Andres that I thought my friend here was in danger in the hands of you, who I suspected to be the Ripper." He says in one breath. By now, he's expecting carnage from the two. What he did was wrong, serious, and downright sue-worthy.

What he did not expect is Apolinario's forgiving look, "I understand. But that is a serious accusation Pepe."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"But I forgive you. At least I was here to prove that it wasn't the Congressman. It's also my shortcomings for waking up late."

Congressman Aguinaldo stays standing despite the availability of chairs. It's as if he himself is appalled by his own furniture. Jose files that away to the useless compartment of his mind. His overthinking got him here in the first place, so he thinks he should lessen unnecessary ruminations about this case, or about Cong. Emilio Aguinaldo altogether. The man faces him, "Though I am quite curious, and a bit upset, why you thought I might be the Ripper."

Jose guiltily faces the other man. This would be the first time he's meeting the guy, so the level of his shame is through the roof. What an awful first impression. "Well, you're the only one left in your party list, your cousin—your inheritance rival—is dead Ripper-style, the crime scene is only one hour away from here, and you seem to always play safe in politics, like you know… it's really confusing how you're not dead yet."

Emilio breathes, then nods as if he understands. It really surprises him how these two people are calm about this. The congressman smiles at him, "First, there's still several of us left in my party list. My cousin being dead-well, I just learned about that a while ago. We also do not have inheritance feud because I already received all of mine. And killed by the Ripper? I simply do not know what to feel about that. And me being an incompetent politician, I may have no defense for that. I will do my best to be better in my remaining term."

"I didn't say you're incompetent." He looks up to him and sees Emilio's deadpanned and unbelieving eyes, "Well, you have to be re-elected or something."

"I do not plan to run again."

"Oh. Then, that really puts you out of my list, Congressman Aguinaldo. I'm really sorry for this."

Apolinario calls his attention, "Pepe, this private Ripper investigation of yours, it's kind of dangerous, don't you think?"

"You're right about that, but..."

"My friend, I think it's time that you stop this. Your leads are getting nowhere. The ones you're suspecting are dying. Maybe he's simply not from Cavite. Heck, maybe he's not from this country. And with the way he's been killing for a decade and is yet to be caught, perhaps it means he's not even a person. Maybe the Ripper is an organization. Maybe this entity is more dangerous than we think." Apolinario scoots closer to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, "It would relieve me to know you won't be involved in this anymore."

Jose gives his friend a smile, "I understand. You might be right. How about you?"

"Now that there is proof that Luna is not the Ripper, my case is closed. I do not have to care about the Ripper anymore. Let's leave this investigation to NBI."

"I see." Jose has been investigating the Ripper for five years, and he's at the point that it is simply not his hobby. He never considers it a hobby, but he is also afraid to share how much this means to him, and what makes it mean so much to him. However, Apolinario is also right. The deeper he gets himself involved, the more dangerous his disposition becomes. "Still, we have to talk about…" He motions his finger around Apolinario's body, "…that."

"Oh, I was hoping you'd let it go."

"Did you have to show your hickeys to the NBI?"

"Shut up, Pepe."

"I'm afraid of the day that any of my friends get closer and closer to the Ripper." Apolinario says, looking at Jose's retreating back towards the gate through the kitchen window. Emilio's beau is still deliciously wearing his own dress shirt without the robes that he decided to discard a while ago. With the 10am sun hitting his face, he sits on his place in the dining table, his arm supporting his jaw as he looks out the window, concern etches his face. A huge portion of his collar is exposed and the view consumes most of Emilio's focus.

He lays their brunch on the table and after perfectly setting the cutlery, he sits down in front of Apolinario. "Are you afraid for their safety?"

"Naturally." Apolinario moves to reach the cutlery and proceeds to help himself over the plate of Humba, boiled egg, and garlic rice. "The Ripper is a dangerous entity, and my friends are just humans, no matter their credentials."

"You make it sound like the Ripper is above human limits."

Apolinario sighs, irritation obvious with the way his eyebrows scrunch as he focuses on placing a portion of rice and pork on a spoon. "Not above human limits, maybe, but this entity's mind is sure a mystery."

"I, myself, does not care much about the Ripper. Well, until today; since he killed my cousin and an NBI agent barged into my house for that."

"My goodness. And because of that, it was revealed that we had sex." Apolinario rolls his eyes as he eats. After two to three spoons of the food, his face lights up. Emilio never gets tired of his facial expressions, especially when the causes of them are the food he especially prepared for him. He has never compromised the quality of his work even when he's cooking only for himself. He is not the type to only present his best for the show (funnily, he does the opposite), but the sight of Apolinario enjoying his food makes him wish he could do this forever. "This is delicious, whatever this is! It's like adobo, but it's much more savory. You used star anise and honey."

"You're right. That's not adobo. That is called Humba. A Visayan braised pork dish."

"Oh it's the best! I wish I could eat this forever." Apolinario adds, almost moaning.

"Maybe only once a month. It's not particularly the healthiest dish in my cookbook." Emilio emphasizes with a point of his own spoon on the fatty part of the pork. He could remove it, yes, but the effect of the pork's fat makes this dish more savory than adobo. 

"Indeed. I need it today, though. It is protein-packed and I need the energy refill." He grins at him suggestively.

Emilio pauses at that, suddenly remembering the night they shared and the surprising morning that came after. Mostly, the flashes of the passionate night take so much on his memory space. He slept for the rest of night, lids heavy with alcohol and heated satisfaction. The attorney probably felt the same and he is so proud of himself for being the cause of the other's physical weariness. After re-composing himself, he replies with a suggestive look, feeling his own manhood twitch again.

"Oh my God, what am I saying." Apolinario drops the spoon carefully and places a hand over his temple to rub it. "It's no time for that. Your cousin just died."

Emilio frowns, "We're not close."

"I'm still sorry. My condolences."

"I don't care. Where were we?"

Apolinario shakes his head light-heartedly, trying to force away a smile and it fails. "Fine. I'll entertain you."

If Emilio could shout a celebration, he would. His body is ranging with hotness, especially in that specific part, but he must control himself from swiping away the contents of the table and lay Apolinario there and then. He is still a gentleman. His beloved deserves his well-managed patience and his softest bedsheets.

"I'm glad you're not the one who died." The lawyer off-handedly rambles.

Emilio wonders at that statement. He is not the type to let little quips go, as he knows how someone's words—no matter the amount—are gateways to their psyche. However, this is Apolinario Mabini. A kind-hearted, passionate, and intelligent lawyer without an ounce of Machiavellianism. As much as this kind of personality is branded as the normal one, the main-character archetype in mainstream media, someone as real and as pure as Atty. Apolinario Mabini is actually hard to find. There was a time when he thought such people are just legends, a religious appeal. He grew up in a household where selfishness is a moral approach, where focus on self-interest is the common sense. His family, and everybody like them, make humanity ugly. If there is one person that lifts humanity at a pedestal in his eyes, it would be Apolinario Mabini.

Apolinario Mabini makes humanity beautiful.

He saw something in those beautiful eyes, and his intrigue has led him to a complete obsession. He would be so stupid to let such person go. There is also a question in his mind that asks, 'How far can his kindness and intellect go?'

He wants to know. He really wants to.

If he tells him he is the Ripper, will he accept him? He says he thinks of the Ripper as a criminal, but what does he really think of the entity when he's alone pondering about the death of those who deserve it?

He wants to know.

(Three days later)

After a Regular Session in the Congress Hall, Emilio walks to his car quickly. The session was long, and as usual, senseless. After the normal program flow, the congresspersons rose to gather with their own party lists and cliques to talk about the latest Ripper Kill. He's not interested in it, even when there are some who tried to express their condolences for his dead cousin. Some even looked at him in pity, thinking he might be the next victim.

None of that, because at the moment, he's way too excited. It might be his first time ever of being excited in Manila. After a Regular Session, he usually stays for someone's call for private session (where he usually gather his intel of POI) or attend a fellow-congressman's call for dinner. Networking is important after all. Now, he told them he will be busy. They let it go, thinking he might want to hide from the Ripper.

He might. Because until now, he has no idea who killed his cousin.

He does not care. He's still the scariest predator in this forest.

The drive to PAO NCR is quick, so he thought that he might want to make this a regular occurrence every time he visits Manila for work. The lobby is filled with workers going out for lunch, some of them looks at him confused, probably because he's handsome and dressed sharply? Could be. He knows he is a looker, but majorly, he knows it's because of the 100-rose bouquet on his arms.

An elevator dings from a distance, and he waits in anticipation as the person he's looking for steps out of it. Apolinario immediately sees him, making him smile wider, his steps quickly gather paces to close the distance. He could feel the lobby halt. He could feel everybody's stares. He could even see some raising their phones to take pictures. He ignores them. His eyes are focused on the most beautiful man of the place.

"For you." He gives the flowers to the lawyer, to which Atty. Mabini smiles even wider. He takes the bouquet gently and brings it carefully to his chest. His eyes water in awe while looking at it.

"Thank you, Congressman Aguinaldo. I love it. But it's too much, I… wow. This must be expensive."

"It's not. I grew these flowers myself. No pesticides or any chemical sprays, so you can turn these into tea or rose-water. Not a waste."

"I…" the lawyer looks at him as if he gave him the stars. He would do anything to have him look like that forever. What else could he give, then? His garden? His house? His life? He's willing to give all of those. The lawyer seems to finally catch his breath and utters, "I really wish to kiss you right now."

"I was hoping you would." Emilio smiles fondly, but he knows the lawyer would control himself against public displays of affection. "But I'm aware you would not wish to do it in front of so many people. I understand."

"Also, there's a minor here." Apolinario steps aside to reveal a youngster, around 16, stuck to his side, even gripping a portion of his coat jacket. This must be his young client, the nephew of the late Antonio Luna.

"Oh,” was all the politician could say. His presence is… quite unexpected.

"We're eating lunch. Do you want to join us?" Apolinario smiles at him in anticipation.

"Yes, of course. I actually wish to invite you, if that's okay."

Apolinario looks at the youngster, and the youngster looks back with fear in his eyes, afraid to be left alone.

Emilio offers a reassuring smile to the teenager behind Apolinario, "The offer extends to you, of course."

The teenager nods, but hides behind Apolinario, gripping his coat jacket even tighter. He must have been really traumatized by the police with only his lawyer as a source of comfort. He understands, and thus, it is only natural to extend his invitation. He assumes this will be a normal occurrence from now on.

"Congressman, this is Gregorio Del Pilar. His guardianship will be transferred to me until he finishes college." The lawyer introduces.

"Nice to meet you, Gregorio. I was friends with your Uncle Antonio. We went to the same school."

With that, the young Gregorio steps away from Apolinario's side to look at his face clearly. He's sure the boy does not recognize him, as he was only schoolmates with Antonio Luna in Ateneo—and they were not even close. They were part of the student council as Legislative Representatives, even fighting sometimes. Nonetheless, Gregorio seems to lessen his nervousness around him, so he takes this little lie as useful.

Emilio reaches his hands, and the other takes it. As they shake hands, he thinks how this will start a new partnership.

Chapter Text

See Artist's tumblr post here

[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality.]

Apolinario only planned to bring Goyong to Jollibee.

They were hungry and want a quick way to satiate their growling stomachs. When Emilio offered another lunch plans of bringing them to a fine dining restaurant with healthy meals, Apolinario realized that he may not be the perfect guardian as he thought he would.

Emilio suggested the seemingly unfamiliar-sounding meals he knew they would like. It was only a suggestion of course, but since Apolinario does not know any better, he opted to order the food in the end. He eventually realized that he let the man subtly order for him knowing his cluelessness. When the waitress had gotten their orders and left, Apolinario made sure to give Emilio a glare for having a hand in such micro decision. Emilio only smiled. They both know Apolinario is the type to notice and hate manipulation tactics no matter the weight, and Emilio here is testing the bounds of their apparent closeness. Apolinario only rolled his eyes. By now, he understands that Emilio Aguinaldo is not the kind of person he announces himself to be. He is meticulous, performative, sensitive, and cunning. Two can play the game, of course. Attorney Apolinario Mabini is not the type to allow himself to be led around.

Goyong stares at their silent eye-to-eye communication, and with the way the boy's stare travels from one man to another, it is obvious that he understands their relationship. Maybe, there is also the fact that the other man gave him a bouquet of flowers. Apolinario smiles gently at him.

"This gentleman here is Congressman Emilio Aguinaldo. He's… a friend."

Goyong surprisingly questions, "Oh! Um...Still courting?" He looks back and forth between them, a little bit wary of their reactions. Apolinario wanted to choke, but he keeps his composure as an adult. It is fascinating, however, that Goyong may be wary of new personalities, but his curiosity is still strong enough to ask that question.

Emilio answers quickly, "Yes."

"Do you always eat at nice restaurants, Mr. Agui—Mr. Congressman?"

"Well, not really. I usually do the cooking for me and my guests." Emilio chuckles at the strange question.

"Oh! How nice.” The youth says and then looks around the place appreciatingly. “I wish you luck, uh, sir." He continues, much to the silent astonishment of the two men. The food finally arrives at their table and Goyong swiftly poured his attention to the mouth-watering full meal presented in front of him. He digs in quite passionately, slicing the pork stake a bit carelessly.

"You are not starving this growing teenager, are you?" Emilio looks at Apolinario with a raised brow.

"I am not! We eat at Jollibee every day! All kids love that!" He defends.

Emilio gives him a knowing stare, a familiar stare he usually sees from a Court Judge that questions the presented logic of the prosecution. Never in his life has he received that stare, because well, he never presents an illogical argument. Today, however, it seems he is being deeply judged.

"Oh, Lord Jesus Christ, I'm a bad guardian." He continues, realization dawns on him, making him feel shameful. He looks at the said growing teenager who’s currently inhaling his plate as if he hasn’t been fed for years.

Goyong looks up from his plate with sweet, worried eyes directed at Apolinario. "You're not a bad guardian, Attorney Mabini. I'm thankful that you chose to help someone like me even when you didn't have to."

Apolinario almost wants to cry. "Goyong, I've been feeding you improperly!"

"I'm glad to have food, but uncle just always reminded me to complete my food group, so there must at least be some vegetables during lunch." The boy continues to eat as he states.

Nonetheless, in this entire exchange, Apolinario finally notices the stark difference between the way Goyong talks to him and Emilio. He could not blame the child, honestly. He has been meeting Goyong in the hotel (Apolinario personally paid for it) these past few days to work with him about this Ripper case, and it is undeniable that the boy grew some attachment to the only person who has shown him kindness. Other adults that tried to gain contact, such as media persons, were very objective and rude, and so he understands the boy’s wariness of another unfamiliar adult.

Emilio nods, "What a thoughtful and well-mannered child."

“But, uh, I’m not a child, Mr. Congressman. I'm 16." Goyong could not keep eye-contact with Emilio even while addressing him, but Apolinario knows that the boy is trying to be composed and assertive. He may act as maturely as he can, but Apolinario could not help but see a boy barely out of adulthood, subjected to life-defining trials he does not deserve, and still strive to look composed. He applauds Goyong's manners, but Apolinario still sees a victim. He wonders if Goyong acted like a normal high school boy before this tragedy, and it is only after that he developed general nervousness. Apolinario has seen how Goyong feels uncomfortable with his new chief, but he looks especially scared of Emilio.

"Of course," Emilio says placatingly, noticing his obvious nervousness. "Incoming Senior High School, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have plans for school?"

The young man’s hands halts from slicing the steak further, his shoulders slump down, and his eyes aimlessly swim afloat the plate of food in front of him. Apolinario worriedly looks at Emilio, and it seems Emilio carries the same worry for giving him the same look. The boy continues, slower, contemplating, "I was going to enroll… at the same local high school as my junior high… but… I'm afraid."

"Why would you be afraid, Goyong? We already won the case." Apolinario gently says, taking the boy's hand.

Goyong looks up at him with the same glassy eyes he wore when they first met. This never fails to break Apolinario's heart. "Many parents do not believe it yet. They say it's just one murder. Maybe it's not a Ripper Kill. Dimasalang is yet to confirm it. Not only that, but there are also people who just wish to senselessly incriminate my uncle because they support certain politicians that my uncle was clearly against. They talk… they talk and talk… they don't even know they're destroying my future with every whisper… all of that… only because… only because they want to run their mouths… humans are so ugly."

"Oh, Goyong…" Was all Apolinario could say.

Goyong is mature enough to know that he has nothing to be ashamed of, for he had done no evil. He is simply a victim of fate, and his uncle was a victim of grave injustice. Goyong understands this enough, and so whatever damage those random idiots in his former school are doing, it is not on him. The darkness comes from the very mouths of those who spoke, not from the subject they senselessly condemn. As Goyong says, this alone makes humans so ugly. Apolinario knows the kid is emotionally aware of himself and of others. He has read his essay after all, and it's titled, "Evolutionary Origins of Social Exclusion, and why humans still practice social exclusion in the modern day."

Emilio calls their attention, "You could always transfer to a better school where nobody knows you."

"But…"

"Do not worry, Goyong. Your guardians will handle your admission."

Apolinario looks at him quizzically, "Guardians?"

Emilio returns his look with a suggestive winning smile, "Guardians."

Jose Rizal glares at his board with whiskey at hand.

The night has deepened, and he is yet to eat dinner. His house staff has left hours ago, leaving him alone in his empty mansionette with nothing else but his annoying thoughts that could not be drowned by alcohol no matter how hard he tries. He may or may not have taken a bath, his dress shirt has wrinkles in all places for rolling over his bed and dropping himself on any couch that happens to be close when alcohol decides to sway his vision.

He has been doing this since that Sunday—since seeing that dead body that derailed all his theories.

Congressman Danilo Aguinaldo was the representative of the first district of Cavite. His area is the closest to Metro Manila, and his district has the most victims since the Ripper started his serial killing career. He is not sure of his political motives since most of the Ripper victims are greedy and useless politicians just like he is, but he is sure he has some personal motives such as lesser political and financial competition. However, if he really had personal motives, he would have killed Emilio Aguinaldo a long time ago.

He is devastated.

Is it because he's seen a dead body? No, he's seen more gruesome scenes than that recent Cavite crime scene. That crime scene doesn't even hold a candle to the other Ripper cases; beautiful, artistic, powerful, and borderline divine.

Is it because the recent victim is a part of his suspected Ripper? Yes, but only a bit. He keeps a list of possibles, not a specific person he's keeping in his chest like a mad insisting detective. He knows the margin of error is too great. The Ripper never leaves evidence, and his motives can be clear in one case, then random in another. All they know is that the POIs are corrupt politicians and criminals, but some of the cases doesn't seem to be an act of vigilantism or activism. They're random.

Then what makes this case devastating?

It's because the murder scene is a message. A clear-cut message that only the most avid followers of Ripper cases could possibly get. In currently, that means only him.

Yes, the Ripper Kills are displayed in artistic ways that send a message to the public; That the powerful will fall. Evil will pay. I hate this person fundamentally, but not personally.

The Ripper's messages are impersonal, even his victims are distant from the subject. It's vaguer, addressing the masses. It does not feel like an act of service, no. If it were, the Ripper would have paralleled his killings to the current pressing events in the country. It seems like an act of irritation more than anything. For him, the Ripper is not an activist.

But God, he hopes the Ripper were!

For years of frustration over the greedy politicians, years of disappointment of his country's governance, knowing the country could do better than this, years of thinking that it takes political honesty to move the country forward, Jose Rizal saw one crime ten years ago and hoped it was an act of activism.

The first victim was Guillermo Aguinaldo; he was a known corrupt Cavite Mayor for pressuring investors and businesspersons to personally provide him huge under-the-table amounts before acquiring legal certificates from the city hall. This pushed back decades of economic progress in the city. His crimes were eventually disclosed, making him a national sensation for classic corruption, and the next week, he became an art form—elevated finally—with the state of his dead body.

His body was slumped on a gathering of stumps of soft papaya trunks and rice hay. It was like his body has been softened by blood loss, but his arms were hardened by unknown techniques. Hunched over the trunks, his arms were formed to reach behind to appear holding an entire banana stalk that was strategically nailed on his back using long rusted metals.

Only a few was given access to the crime scene, but he was quick enough to take a picture. He was only a young professional doctor in his 30s, called in to help the NBI understand the anatomical manipulation used to achieve the contortions done on the mayor’s body. As a doctor, he was fascinated with how the killer inserted wires through the victim's arms, seemingly while he was still alive. As an artist, he was moved by the killer's interpretation of the Filipino painting, "Mother Nature's Bounty Harvest" by Victorio Edades.

There was not a drop of blood on the display. It was not morbid. Anyone who claims they have weak stomach will not vomit over the sight of the corpse, because anyone would first assume it to be a beautiful sculpture.

That night, he wrote a feature article expressing his appreciation over the murder tableau. He outlined the crimes of the politician, how he stole the city's opportunity for economic progress (the bountiful harvest) that was to be provided by its very people who had visions (the Mother Nature). The fruit depicted in the painting is one of the country's greatest exports and is an undeniable powerful local delicacy. Taking it all for himself while posing as a benevolent laborer destroyed the healthy dynamics that nature has intended.

Jose submitted his article to several newspaper companies, and all of them featured it under the pen name Dimasalang. Some even placed it in the first page.

After six months, another murder took place. It was now the only son of an influential businesswoman who was known to be a gambler. The businesswoman paid the media to keep his son's name away from public knowledge, but Jose Rizal was adamant to know more about this new victim.

He is sure this case has the same killer with the way the corpse was displayed: There was no drop of blood, the corpse looks immaculate in a way the living has probably never been before, and the limbs are contorted to mimic a famous art. The man is naked yet strategically covered with crocodile leather, and on further investigations, it has been unearthed that the leather comes from his mother's 500,000.00 Peso Brucegao crocodile leather bag. His corpse was splayed on the ground like a big lizard, and on his mouth, which was opened unnaturally by creating surgical slashes on the sides, is a wooden sculpture of a small dog. On top of him is another wooden sculpture of a bigger dog that was carved to look like it attacked him.

The killer could have used real animals, but they recognize that no dog deserves contempt. The killer would rather spend time sculpting dogs than actually hurt animals.

He recognized the art right away; "La Vengaza Dela Madre" by an unknown terracotta sculpture artist.

If the first victim's tableau was connected to his crimes, he's sure the second victim will have the same treatment. He is sure gambling is not his only crime. With the Rizal’s old money connections, Jose opened his doors to lavish parties and befriended the socialite circle. It was not very hard for him since he's been friendly since his college days. Later, he learned that the businesswoman’s son harassed a male assistant, and since nobody believed that a male victim would let himself be defenseless, the case was dismissed. The victim's mother reportedly died the day after the fruitless trial. She attacked the businesswoman's son in vengeance and his bodyguards shot her dead.

Jose Rizal wrote, "… the mother's vengeance had been in vain. Her son was already bitten, and she herself could not sink her weak canine fangs in the crocodile's sheltering skin, namely, his mother's richness…"

"… the Ripper's murder tableau is an artistic depiction of their crimes…"

Dimasalang could be considered heartless for further tainting the name of the dead, much to the chagrin of their families. Nonetheless, he started the trend of calling them "murder tableau".

For the next years, the Ripper displays his killings along Roxas Boulevard, and for Jose, it is a declaration of strength, stealth, and power. Roxas Boulevard is a long public stretch along Manila Bay. It is surrounded by several public surveillance posts and CCTVs, and yet, the Ripper manages to display his murder tableau without being caught for ten years. Many tried to copy the Ripper to hide their own crimes, but Dimasalang destroys them right away, even pointing the copycat in his articles, leading to their easy arrests. Since then, nobody tries to copy the Ripper kills.

He coined the killer The Ripper of Roxas Boulevard.

He can read the Ripper murder tableau like the back of his hand. He wanted to meet them, he wanted to ask their motivations, their techniques, their sophisticated knowledge in human anatomy. They might even talk about Filipino arts; something he knows they like in common.

However, after years of murder, Jose Rizal noticed one thing; not all Ripper kills are rooted from justice. The Ripper does not kill because one has crimes, but because they happen to be irritating. There are times when he could not investigate a victim's crimes, there are times when it is obvious. It's a hit or miss.

The Ripper is not necessarily an activist; he just hates the ugliness of humanity.

While fair, it is not very utilitarianistic, isn't it?

For him, the utility of the Ripper kills is its focus on producing the most good or the least harm towards society. The Ripper is establishing the age-old morality of "Do no harm" and "Do not do unto others as you do not want done to you", hopefully lessening the evils of society.

Well, humanity has its own way of turning things around. The greedy will find a way to justify their actions to continue their greed, and that is by—of course—villainizing the social benefactor who condemns evil.

What irritates Jose Rizal the most is that its like the Ripper does not care about their own reputation. People has started doubting the motivations of the Ripper, and worse, (and confusingly) his political side. It started five years ago when the Ripper decided to target politicians with supporters. Do not estimate the power of the brainwashed population.

Jose Rizal gulps another glass of whiskey.

He should be done thinking for today, as he gives up everything that is about the Ripper Case. To hell with Dimasalang, to hell with the newspapers calling him for an article about the Cavite crime scene, and to hell with that lawyer and that agent.

The Ripper's latest kill was a clear message:

I will betray humanity

The Cavite Crime Scene may be an ode to the Ripper's first kill. Does it mean it will be the last? This murder tableau is a depiction of Judas Iscariot who hanged himself over the pieces of silver. He sold his benefactor to the ranging crowd of brainwashed Romans. With this, it means the Ripper is willing to sell humanity's hope over a shallow gain. What gain?

Whatever. He's lost hope, he cannot use the Ripper for his national cause after all.

He took a blanket from the closet and threw it over the board. He's tired looking at it. Satisfied with how it made his room look normal, he threw himself to the bed, with day clothes and all. He prays for an abrupt welcome of sleep, but his senses are pulling him awake.

"How annoying. Everything today is annoying!"

He stands up to get another bottle of whisky, but as he treks sluggishly through his hallway, he hears a sound.

He stops; the hairs all over his body stand up to give him an unsettling shiver.

He is quite sure that all his house staff have left him for the night. They all bid him farewell, and none of them will stay behind for the sake of doing extra chores. He takes something closest to him to serve as some sort of blunt weapon, and it happens to be a cooking pan. He slowly walks towards the kitchen, because his whisky-induced brain says there's a possibility that his mind is just playing tricks and so he must still continue his mission of getting more whisky.

He's not smart all the time, he admits.

He reaches the kitchen, and when nothing happens, he drops his arms, letting the cooking pan hang listlessly. That is when he heard a deep voice from behind, making him abruptly raise the pan.

"Good evening, Dimasalang."

He screams.

His wrist was grabbed, making him drop the pan to the ground, hitting his very bare feet. Jose lost his balance. His whole body weight fell towards the attacker who just took him by the arms and manhandled him to the kitchen counter. The attacker gathered his arms behind his back and pushed him to the counter using his knee. It was all too fast, and he was too weak to fight back.

The darkness of the kitchen hides the attackers face, but he knows he's muscular, broader, taller, and strong. Is this the day that he dies? The attacker then pushed him further to flatten him against the counter by putting his body weight to the knee that keeps him in place.

He begins to scream, but the man effortlessly transferred the force that binds his arms to one hand, making his other hand free enough to cover his mouth. It's so forceful that he feels like his mouth will bleed. He cannot do anything but cry.

"Oh, Doctor Jose Protacio Rizal Mercado Y Alonzo Realonda. You're so easy to subdue." The voice purred to his ear.

Gregorio Del Pilar may act tough for all he can, but it is obvious how much he clings to Apolinario.

Emilio brought them to his house for dinner, insisting that they should let him cook for them. Despite the lack of his preferred meat nowadays, he believes he can still show his love through the high-class beef he just bought. Anyway, the vegetables from his garden will be used for today's menu, and the compost used in his soils are something very personal to him. He loves the thought of feeding his Apolinario something from his hard work.

Goyong follows Apolinario around, who is currently showing him the mango trees. The youth is obviously fascinated with his garden, especially when the lawyer mentioned that the owner of the house does all the house and garden work himself. Goyong looked at him funny, as if disbelieving such fact. The boy looks more relaxed now.

Emilio looks at them at a distance. It somehow intrigues him, how the sight of two people standing over his property makes his heart swell. Apolinario's eyes twinkle under the orange sunset and its rays hit his visage, making him look like an illuminating angel with a halo. His hands gently guide a pure little fawn with strong eyes, looking at the angel like his safety depends on him.

It is true that art comes from nature, for the scene that unfolds in front of him is art in its highest form. A God-given personal gift for him only.

From the shadows of the garden, he emerges step by step. He makes his way towards the two, and upon catching their attention, they give him smiles; Apolinario with his soft laugh, and Goyong with careful acknowledging smile.

"Would you like to help me prepare dinner?"

Their eyes light up.

For the first time, he will let somebody else maneuver in his kitchens. It feels… satisfying.

In his kitchen, the three of them work together. Emilio cuts the beef into thinner strips. Goyong is beside him slicing the potatoes. Sitting across them is Apolinario reading a newspaper, looking serious.

"Dimasalang is yet to release an analysis about the current murder tableau." the lawyer ponders.

Emilio looks at the boy, who hunches very slightly, "No matter. Let's enjoy tonight's dinner."

"Ah, I'm sorry to dampen the mood."

"It's nothing. Well, how about we talk about Goyong's Senior High plans?"

The youth looks up at Emilio with hopeful eyes, though they immediately become laced with worry. He is not very talkative, but Emilio could clearly read his thoughts and worries. And he understands them all.

Emilio continues, "I suggest Brentville."

Apolinario hums in consideration, while Goyong yelps in alarm.

"Fair," Apolinario says.

"The crowd there… is… well in simple terms… not like the ones from your previous school." Emilio supplies.

Apolinario paused to look at him, then chuckles, "You sound like an elitist, Congressman Aguinaldo. I was thinking it's because nobody would know him there."

"Same difference."

"Wait-" the youth calls their attention, leaving the potatoes unattended.

However, Apolinario just continues, "Alright, alright. I'm getting used to you, anyway. Is there a dormitory there?"

"I'm not sure." Emilio shrugs. "But it is quite close to my house, so he can stay here if there are no other options."

"Excuse me, sirs!"

The two adults look at the reddening youth.

"Um, isn't Brentville that super expensive international school?"

Apolinario's look at him softened. "Don't worry about it. A PAO lawyer's salary can put several kids to school you know, and I have no kids on my own."

"But, uh, but… I will, uh, I will try to get a scholarship…"

Emilio looks at the boy's flustering face while refocusing attention to the potatoes. He is doing very well with kitchen work, and seems to know a thing or two about culinary. He smiles at the thought of welcoming him in his kitchen every now and then while Apolinario waits for them to finish across the counter.

In the end, they decided that Goyong stay with Emilio for the mean time. The apartment that Apolinario currently resides in Manila is a simple studio type thinking he only goes home to sleep anyway. And as Apolinario mentions hunting for a new bigger apartment, Emilio convinces them to stay in his house since it seems useless for Goyong to stay in Manila while his school will be in Laguna. Apolinario might have to purchase a car (or Emilio could lend him one of his) to get to his work every day, which would not be a big deal due to the existence of CALAX and SLEX (southern expressways).

They retired for the night after the discussion. Apolinario is yet to provide finality about his living conditions, but they are final about Goyong's. Goyong cannot do anything but whole-heartedly give his gratitude.

The night deepens and the adults retired in one room, while Goyong was led in a prepared guest room at the other end of the hallway, though he tried to protest to share a room with Attorney Mabini. Emilio just smiles sweetly, saying a child would not understand why such room arrangements are needed.

Apolinario hit his arms for saying that in front of a child. His slap still burns until now. Goyong blushes in understanding and ran to his assigned room.

Now lying down together in his quarters, Emilio looks at the peacefully sleeping form of his beloved. They are fully clothed; Emilio does not plan to do anything with him tonight. He only wishes for a good night sleep for the beautiful figure in front of him and nothing more. It is a beautiful night, and beautiful things deserve to rest.

He places a kiss on Apolinario's forehead and silently exits the bed. Tonight, his beloved's sleep will be deep. Tomorrow, the world will know another carnage in art form. First, he must deliver the empty cup of previously spiked tea to the sink to remove the evidence thoroughly, and so he did.

After washing the cup, he walks back to his room with a desire to see Apolinario's face before he leaves. He did not, however, expect to hear muffled cries coming from his room. Did Apolinario awaken despite the strong sleeping concoction? And would he be crying if he does?

Emilio stands by the door, blocking the light from the hallway, the only light that fills the room. The area darkened due to his looming shadow, and underneath it is the whimpering Gregorio del Pilar, weakly shaking Apolinario.

He suddenly understands what is happening.

"Don't worry. He is just asleep." He starts.

Goyong stares up at him with tears streaking his cheeks coming out of fearful eyes. "I could not wake him up. What did you do to him?"

Emilio walks towards the boy, and the boy reacted by dragging his bottom through the floor way from his approach. By this time, Emilio now understands why the boy, Antonio Luna’s nephew, has been especially wary of him during lunch. "I get that you know now. May I ask how?"

Goyong sniffled, "Don't hurt me please. And Attorney, too. He's very kind."

"I promise with my entire life that I will never hurt this man. I love him, I truly do."

Goyong shakes his head, notifying him that he does not believe him the slightest. Emilio only sighs. If the boy knew for a while now, or from the start, then his actions a while ago were all acting. He's a good actor; he could give him such credit. A while ago, they looked like a good family. It was all a lie.

Or maybe, the boy was truly beginning to warm up to him the more he knew him humanly, but seeing his new guardian unresponsive broke him again.

"How did you learn I'm the Ripper, Goyong." He asks again, this time, with a threat laced underneath his deep voice.

"My uncle." Goyong's tears fall as he squeezes himself further unto the wall beside the sleeping lawyer. "My uncle says you are the Ripper. He saw you setting up a murder tableau along Roxas Boulevard once."

"Antonio Luna?" Emilio laughs low. This is what he hates about that damn Antonio Luna. He was a good man with principles and sense of duty, but he can be too righteous for his own good. To tell this sensitive secret to his nephew is quite a risky move, too.  "Why did he not report me then?"

"Because he knew you can provide alibis. And he supports your cause."

Emilio nods at that in understanding, then he deadpans. "I don't have a cause."

"You kill bad people."

"They just happen to be bad people. It seems annoying idiots have a common denominator, huh."

"Attorney Mabini is not a bad person. You're not going to hurt him, right?"

"No." Emilio looks at the boy sadly, which surprised him. Why would he be sad over the boy's ire? He should be above that. Aside from his newfound devotion to an astonishing man that is Apolinario Mabini, there should be nothing else that must steer his emotions. Gregorio Del Pilas another little thing he must accept in his heart, apparently. "So, you were always clinging closely to Attorney not because you've been attached to him, but because you're afraid of me?"

Goyong nods. "And also… because Attorney Mabini is not safe with you."

That statement gives a pang in his heart, though he could not blame the youth for having such thoughts.

"I understand you; I really do. However, Goyong, you must know that I love this man, and I will never hurt him. And that extends to you. I am one of your guardians now."

That seems to calm down Goyong's breathy whimpering. He stares at Apolinario's sleeping form. "But the attorney is not waking up."

"I only placed a sleeping drought in his tea because I have somewhere to go tonight." He explains patiently.

"Are you sure he is safe?"

"Yes."

"Can I sleep beside him? To check that his heartbeat is okay the entire night?"

"Yes."

Goyong did not waste time to climb up the bed and curl himself unto the sleeping man's chest. His head looks for his heartbeat, like a fawn curling unto its mother deer's body to search for warmth and safety. Apolinario does not stir, but Goyong's calmer breaths tell him the boy is satisfied enough to hear his healthy heartbeat.

He takes back his earlier statement. The boy clings to Apolinario because he is attached AND concerned for both of their safety.

Emilio internally coos at the sight, "I would prefer that you rest for the night as well, Goyong. I promise you, the good Attorney is just asleep. He will awaken hours after I come back."

"Are you going to kill someone tonight?" Goyong asks, slightly pushing himself up to face Emilio. "Who are you going to kill?"

"I have a list of very rude idiots."

"So, you choose from the list? That's how you decide who to kill for the night?"

"I tell you; my list is intensive. It's not as simple as— "

"Can you add the chief of MPD to your list? He killed my uncle. In front of me."

Emilio frowns at the reminder of the innocent boy's circumstance. He may feel quite indifferent towards Antonio Luna but being killed in front of someone who loves him is cruel. "How very rude of him, indeed."

"You will kill him?" The boy's eyes widen in anticipation.

The Ripper grinned, "Yes. Will you paint me in a better light in your mind, then?"

Goyong finally smiles genuinely. He nods once, then goes back curling himself near Apolinario's chest.

So, this is how it feels to have a son. This is how it feels to have a family.

Mother Nature's Bounty Harvest by Victorio Edades

La Vengaza Dela Madre By Dr. Jose Rizal

Chapter Text

Art by @peanutOwO on tumblr. See tumble post here

[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality. Additional reminders: I do not know the current persons whose position/title are mentioned in the fic, like the current chief of MPD and the minister of foreign affairs. They are not the basis of these characters in any way.]

*

For years, the Ripper kills have been considered vigilantism for removing the known dirt of society, be it politicians or socialites. They usually come from The Capital Region and Calabarzon Region, making people believe the Ripper will probably only target the inhabitants of the area—ultimately, of course—making investigators and Dimasalang propose that the Ripper is from Calabarzon Region.

There are times when the Ripper kills could have confusing political motives, and if not for the thorough investigations and analyses of Dimasalang, an unknown rouge writer, people would definitely think that the Ripper has innocent victims. It would be a bad rep after all.

Emilio could not care, though. He is honestly impressed with the mystery writer/investigator for having accurate guesses of the victims' crimes, but they were not entirely his reason for killing them.

He just thinks they make humanity ugly. Their crimes, their rudeness, their general aesthetic disadvantage, the way they breathe, and the way they think—all of it makes them so ugly.

He simply does not like them.

Emilio does not see himself as a savior, vigilante, or whatever praises Dimasalang artistically expresses. He sees his act as a normal reaction towards a bad livestock; like when a pig shows aggression towards the other livetocks or the farmer, they will have to be put down to not cause so much trouble.

That's right, he sees himself as a pig farmer; with all his precious meats running about his pigsty that is the Southern Luzon Congress. However, his pigsty is getting smaller and smaller. He's been in this farm for a decade now, and it's not surprising to know that even these idiot politicians are slowly knowing how to act properly in politics lest they become a target of the elusive Roxas Boulevard Ripper. In addition, and distastefully so, there is another killer that has been stealing in his pigsty.

How dare that person.

Nonetheless, the person is fascinating. Dimasalang made sure to destroy wannabe copycats by revealing their unartistic and tacky murder tableau as ways to either take the glory of the Ripper or pin their crimes to the unknown entity. However, not this certain little cretin he calls the Copycat. The Copycat killer started five years ago, and has never been caught, that the newspaper writer simply cannot distinguish them, calling these unknown murders as his. The Copycat's murder tableaus are impressive. They are as creative as his and there are no evidence left behind, that even when he tried to investigate one time, he could not identify the other killer.

He is quite impressed; he would like to meet this entity that shares his spotlight.

And so tonight, he kills Felipe Buencamino in the fashion that the Copycat would as a sign of homage and respect towards the mystery co-worker. It is not usually his style, but since nobody can guess their differences anyway, he thinks it doesn't matter if the message is readable or not.

He's not very familiar of the Bible and its stories, but he will try to design this murder tableau biblically. He chose the story of Samson and Delilah from Judges 16, in where Delilah, a trusted lover of the Judge Samson, coax the chosen one into revealing his secret weakness. Delilah conspired with the Philistines and cut his hair to weaken him.

Felipe Buencamino was a trusted Minister of Foreign Affairs, and with his political efforts (also known as dramatic attention-seeking with foreign dignitaries and giving unsolicited opinions on latest political issues) plus a powerful senator's backing, he rose to the ranks and eventually won this year's senatorial race only with enough votes to get him to the magic 12. Nobody cares what his platform is, Senator Pedro Paterno's brainwashed supporters want an ally in the senate to push his stupid agenda, which are usually conservative and unprogressive agenda.

Felipe Buencamino was the most undignified foreign affairs minister he's ever met. He's had the displeasure of meeting him due to his connections with Senator Pedro Paterno, the current leader of their partylist. He was appaling, with shallow opinions and all, but the thing is, he felt compelled to share those stupidity in social media.

The man had recently said that the victims of the Tondo Shooting Incident deserved it. Senator Pedro Paterno backed him by saying that Drag Shows and anything of the same nature such as pride parades should be banned in the first place. Emilio—being deeply attracted to a man—wishes to kill them right away. Good thing he is closer to them nowadays.

There is only a few of them left (due to the Ripper and Copycat killings, and some congresspersons avoiding their group), so Congressman Emilio Aguinaldo gets invited to parties and is becoming the apple of their disgusting eyes. This is fortunate in a way, because his pigsty inevitably extended to national politics. There are more pigs here. Maybe they are tastier, even.

That night, with his three-piece suit under a clear plastic overall, he stalks the shouting and injured Senator Buencamino who can only drag his broken leg across the empty field.

The next day, Roxas Boulevard is again a museum of a breath-taking biblical art piece. The standing corpse of Felipe, manipulated to look like a Michelangelo sculpture, holds a knife in his right hand and a long lock of hair in the other. He is Delilah who successfully betrayed his people to let foreigners in. He betrayed his people, he weakened the state, he is letting the foreigners victimize the innocent people of this country, only for a few million-dollar shares from the foreign mafia.

He's such a big catch, and a health buff, too.

His liver is soft, creamy, and healthy. Something he could safely feed to his family. He also took his heart, lungs, and kidney, which would be good for his garden as compost. It is only fair that he loses these organs, for God only knows what organs the mafia's victims had lost for the black market.

"You said you are going to kill the chief of police." Goyong begrudgingly slices the healthy liver, which is fine, considering that the strips will be placed in the blender to be a spread anyway.

On the same counter beside him, Emilio is using the food processor to pulverize the heart, lungs, and kidney. "I understand why you're upset. However, you must know that I did it to protect you."

"How?" the youth says, setting the liver aside in a bath of vinegar, soy sauce, and paprika. He starts peeling the onions, with disappointment still obvious in the way he holds the knife.

"Dimasalang is yet to confirm the recent Ripper kills. Though I am not usually concerned of the way the media perceives me, that also means that the public is yet to accept that the Ripper is not your uncle who died, and these recent kills are that of a Copycat, who may only wish to acquit you. Though you are safe from the court, we must beware of the public eyes."

"So…" Goyong now slices the onion he had peeled, "… If we kill the chief, the people will really think it's me?"

"Indeed. In addition, the chief is way too far from my POI. People will talk if he suddenly dies. Felipe Buencamino is the most fitting to die at the moment with his recent anti-lgbt posts. He's also far from you in connection. This should fortify that the real Ripper is out, alive, and running, and definitely not you." Emilio explains in a way that the youth will understand. In a way, this young man is the only accomplice he has so he does not hold back on honesty. It is somehow humorous to think that the police accused him of being the Ripper accomplice only for him to be truly one.

"I see." The youth helplessly grumble, though Emilio is sure that the boy understands. "I did not think of that."

Emilio ruffles the boy's hair in hopes of getting his mind out of his current reverie. The boy is understandably upset, but he knows he must also wait for the Attorney's decision on the boy's case. For all he knows, he could put that man behind bars for life sentence while milking all his existing assets to pay the monetary compensation for killing the boy's sole guardian. Not all battles are for him decide. He has Apolinario now. They are going to become a household, in all his hopes. Moreover, as a family, he should leave some decisions for his beloved to decide.

That is how a family should be, right?

The socialite looks at him through his scared eyes, anxious of his next, possibly violent moves across the wooden lamesita. Andres sits opposite to him. His eyes are focused and locked to the others, hands clasped, serious and but quite amused. However, he knows Jose understands his extreme seriousness.

"I get it okay!" Jose's voice wobbles. It is obvious that this rich man has never been roughed up in his life, "Please take these off, I get what you mean."

Jose struggles to gesture himself towards his arms that are bound on his back. At least Andres threw him to one of his softer couches, so his undesirable position would still feel better somehow. It would still have been better if he never had to do this to the man. He had no choice, though.

Despite of, Andres wishes to laugh softly but he stops himself. There is something amusing in seeing this man struggle through the loose handkerchief made in soft cotton. He is aware that his graceless entrance may have scrambled the doctor's wit inelegantly, making him want to laugh at this display, but his principles towards decency and mercy rank above all.

"You will have to listen to me first." Andres starts in the midst of the doctor’s panicked breathing. The living room might still be dark, but he could clearly see his entire pitiful figure. He’s beginning to feel sorry, so he wishes to calm down the doctor first.

Jose sniffs and then angrily expresses, "Do you think I am not that much of a gentleman to civilly hear you? I do not need to be restrained to listen!"

"I see that. You are a well-mannered gentleman indeed," Andres nods calmly, making sure his voice sounds like he comes in peace. It might be a little bit too late for that, but he tries his best. "… but I just want to get a message across."

"I said I already get it! I get it! I get it! You want me to see how weak my security is, right? You want me to know that I am in no position to refuse whatever your demand is? Fine! I see it. Now let me go!"

"Okay, you may free yourself.” Andres only sighs, and Jose replies with a frustrated grunt. “Restrain from attacking me, though. I believe I proved enough that I could retaliate."

Jose now exerts real effort to free himself, only to realize that it took him only three counts of struggles to get himself free from the loose wrist binding. He glares at Andres. "Was there really a need for this?"

Andres shrugs, "In my defense, I only wanted to meet you without any of your house staff knowing, but you were going to hit me critically with a cooking pan."

"You could have called me!"

"I don't have your number, and I can't ask Pole for it."

"You pushed me on the counter."

"You were really trashing around."

Jose grunts again, throwing the cotton handkerchief towards him. It hit his shoulder, but he does not flinch. It is quite a weak throw. "What do you want."

"The Ripper case—"

Jose stands up abruptly, and with all his anger and frustration, he shouts, "I'm out of it!"

"What if I tell you I plan to catch the Ripper to support them for more political killings?"

"What?" The other man sits down. He is sure he acquired his attention and curiosity at this point.

"Before I could tell you anything more, I want your full cooperation. Know that you are not exactly safe as well. It's better to be under my safe direction."

Jose crosses his arms, "I don't think it's safe being with you. And didn't you tell me to get out of it?"

Andres nods, "That’s one of my protection schemes. I must convince my team, and anyone possibly involved with the Ripper, that you are out of it. Even our dear friend, Apolinario."

"Why?"

"I just don't want anyone to know. This will only be between the two of us, Dr. Jose Rizal. I need your writing, your analysis, your connections, and your views. I surmise we work towards the same goal when it comes to the Ripper." Andres explains.

Jose composes himself then looks at him worriedly. "But I don't believe in your methods."

"My methods may not be ideal, Pole already warned me. But I need all access that I can get my hands on about this case, and I need to somehow catch the Ripper to tell them that I wish to work with them."

The air between them dropped as Jose flinches with his plan, so he goes quiet for a minute, looking at the empty space in front, and then ponders. Andres waits patiently.

"No," the doctor starts, startling Andres a little. "If it was easy to catch the Ripper, I would have guessed who they are long ago. They never left any evidence. Not once in ten years has any evidence been known. So no, I think catching the Ripper is impossible, so I never tried to."

Andres agrees, his mind reeling with realizations. He sighs again, then plops his back unto the couch. The Doctor is right, and as expected, his analyses are always on point. He knew there are holes in his plan added by his limited knowledge about their interest. Jose Rizal has been working on this case since the Ripper's first kill, added by his passion towards the political implications of it. However, what he noticed in Dimasalang's works is that he's not too interested to know the Ripper's identity.

"Doctor, why are you not too keen on catching the Ripper?"

Jose looks at him in the eyes, "And make the Filipino people focus on a personality rather than the concept?"

"The concept?" Andres inquires.

"The concept of eliminating society's real problems.” Jose Rizal breathes as if preparing his words for Andres to understand, and so the agent braced himself, “If my articles were full of speculations towards the Ripper's identity, do you think people would ever figure out his POI? Do you think people will ever realize that the death of his victims can be considered justice? No. The Ripper will just be another serial killer. Usual distasteful serial killers just kill the weak and the innocent, but the Ripper is different. The Ripper kills the strong and the evil. And that light of the killings should be the one on the spotlight."

Andres stares at the doctor as he explains his thoughts eloquently, without a pause, and with complete clarity. He is moved, and he has never felt surer of the decision of having his insights, "I see, doctor. I knew you would be the perfect person to approach on this important matter. Your writings are phenomenal, and I was convinced that the Ripper is eliminating evil, whether with your intention or not. However, it is somehow clear to me now that you believe the Ripper is not on our side, but you bet on their purpose. And for you, that is more than enough."

Rizal nods solemnly, "Yes. So, your plan of getting them on our side might not work or might never be possible. Also, we should distance ourselves from the Ripper. In the end of the day, the Ripper is dangerous and targets important people. We are not exactly unimportant, Agent Bonifacio. Especially me, and the Ripper might desire to kill me someday, POI or not."

His strong eyes glint despite the darkness of the place. They never turned the lights on, so the only light available is the light from garden lamps from outside. For all his rich man frivolity, Jose Rizal is a somber man. Andres knows how it feels to put the last of your faith towards someone who probably does not care the same way you do.

However, somebody might.

He was close to forgetting his main purpose for tonight, and had he been welcomed better a while ago, he would have gone straight to the point with it. Nonetheless, he was glad to know the doctor’s views and his own version of bitterness.

He takes his bag from his side, and it’s almost funny when the doctor looks at him up and down, probably scrutinizing his sudden change of mood. The file from his bag is just a simple list that he summarized. He is not the type to bring heavy bulk of files for the drama; he is a documents controller after all. Data analysis is an important part of his job.

He shows a piece of paper to the doctor.

“What is that?” He asked on que.

“It’s an important summarization of the autopsies of the Ripper victims.”

Jose moves forward to get it, but Andres takes it out of the way. “Before you see it, I want you to categorize the Ripper’s victims into two. In any way you can think of.”

“Categorize?” Jose scrunched his brows, thinking that the idea is very strange. Andres understands this reaction for someone who has never seen any data on Ripper autopsy.

“Yes. The first things you can think of.”

Jose pauses to think hard. It seems that this is the first time his thoughts have ever been to that area, but it is a quick thing to analyze for the doctor. After a mere 30 seconds, his eyes lights up and his chest rises. “I have two categories. One is when the obviousness of the victims’ crimes, second is the references of murder tableau.”

Andres made the man mention names on two categories. Jose first explains that in the first category, some victims have crimes that are publicly aired and some are not. When the crimes are not publicly aired, it was particularly hard for Jose to justify the Ripper’s actions, so he had to make his own investigations, going as far as holding socialite parties to gather information. Somehow, it also made Jose think that some victims are actually innocent, and that the Ripper does not care if their reputation gets damaged or not. However, Jose always ends up finding out that all of Ripper victims are assholes, with crimes or not.

Though confused, Jose waits for his opinion about his first category.

Andres shakes his head, “While true, this distinction is not accurate.”

Jose rolls his eyes, “I don’t get what you mean. Why would you even want me to categorize them anyway? Can I see that autopsy reports now?”

“No. Explain your second guess first.”

The paper suspends between the two of them, both of them focusing their attention to the file. If his first categorization does not match how he categorized the victims, then he is sure his second guess will be correct.

Jose’s eyes light up again, most likely thinking of Andres’s very thoughts, “The references. The first category is Filipino Artworks, and the second, which started only five years ago, is biblical.”

The agent’s heart hitches upon hearing the words ‘Five years ago’ and so he asks Jose to list the victims who has been displayed as artworks and who has been displayed as biblical scenes.

The artworks category includes the first and the second victims, and mostly those from the first five years.

The biblical scenes category includes the names of Congressman Desgracia (the passion of Christ) and the congressman of the first district of Cavite (Judas Escariot’s betrayal).

Andres is very satisfied of the answer, so he gave the piece of paper to the doctor. Upon quick inspection, Jose’s hand goes to his mouth in shock. His eyes widen and his eyebrows tremble on the realization that he had had the moment he summarized the autopsy reports.

There are two killers.

The summary is simple.

There is a table with two columns in the single page of paper. The first column has the list of victims that has missing organs. The second column is a list of victims without missing organs. Andres thought that it might simply mean that sometimes, the Ripper feels like taking organs and sometimes not. However, he also realized that the second list of victims are one hundred percent politically motivated. Meaning, while some of the victims in the first list may or may not have political scandals, the second list purely consists of corrupt and dangerous politicians.

The second killer does not harvest organs and kills for pure vigilantism, using the name of the Ripper to hide their identity. They also seem to be very familiar of the bible. There is a possibility that the second killer is religious.

“So,” Andres breaks the doctor’s shock, “Do you plan to work with me now?”

“I… I don’t know. If… this is true… then that means… there’s two of them?” Jose’s voice quivers as he looks at Andres warily, “But I’m not… I’m not sure how I can help you about this… I didn’t even catch that there is a second killer.”

Andres makes sure to lock his eyes to Jose’s, “Only because you don’t have access to the autopsy reports. If you have me, you will.”

“But... I don’t want to anymore.” Jose breathes deeply to have enough energy to push himself up, and with trembling movement, he tries to proceed towards his quarters. “There’s two of them—two equally incredible killers—one of them might figure out that I’m Dimasalang. What will they do if…”

Andres is quick to pull him back by grabbing his elbow and forcing the other to face him. “Listen, you are not a coward. And you don’t have to be scared. I’m here.”

“But…”

“If you join me, I will do everything I can to protect you. I will see to it that we reach our goal.”

Jose’s watering eyes looks up at him in confusion, “And that goal is?”

“To utilize the Ripper to clean this nation.”

The other man stays silent. He retrieves his elbow and holds it on his own, so Andres was worried he might have found that uncomfortable. He could not blame himself for such actions, though. There was once a moment in his life that he lost someone important for not giving her the right security. If he had insisted to protect her, to give her anything, to show that he is desperate to keep her by his side, would she have stayed?

“Okay,” Jose then mutters, still looking down and avoiding Andres’ eyes, “But I have a condition.”

“Name it.”

“You have to follow my plans.”

Andres nods, though hesitant. 

The next day, Andres and Jose learned that the new Ripper victim is Felipe Buencamino.

They met again that midnight, and this time, Andres is well received in the Rizal estate without a cooking pan targeting his head. Jose saw the disappointment on the agent’s features, with his broad shoulders slumped and eyes sharp every time he zones out.

“I did not expect Buencamino, the controversy around him was not ripe yet. People’s opinion about the Ripper suddenly split into two.”

Jose prepares a drink for the two of them at the living room near the kitchen, a place that has no CCTV, no visual access from the outside, and not much light. They silently agreed that this will be their meeting place every time they must talk about the Ripper even when it means the agent must drive from Tondo to Laguna.

The doctor himself feels upset about the current events. The people’s opinions towards the Ripper are shifting, and it doesn’t help that he is yet to release an article since the Cavite crime scene. Andres angrily soaks on the silence of the night with all those thoughts in his head.

On the other hand, Jose has his laptop on his improperly crossed legs as he drapes them all over the couch. His screen is split in half; the left half has an offline word document open, and the right half has social media.

“You mentioned before… ” Andres starts, making Jose break his concentration to look at the man, “When we first met, you mentioned something about propaganda.”

“Good propaganda?”

“That. Can you tell me what you meant?”

Jose nods, then sets his laptop on the wooden lamesita for the agent to see. Andres scoots closer towards the screen. “The tides are shifting, Agent Bonifacio. Felipe Buencamino’s crimes have never been aired, and his latest ‘known’ opinion is about the Tondo Drag Show Shooting. They used bad propaganda to protect themselves. Being a Ripper victim is like a court ruling that says you are guilty of some sort of heinous crimes, right? Well, they must defend themselves by saying that Buencamino’s statement was right and the Ripper is the enemy.”

Andres’s hands tighten. “It’ obviously a hate crime. His opinion was siding with the shooter. Why are people…”

“Because people are stupid and just need a side to go. If there are two sides, people will choose one of them. It does not matter which is obviously right or wrong. Sometimes, what matters is who gets to have the first words. Unfortunately, Buencamino’s partylist released the first words.”

Andres plops on the couch with hands covering his eyes in frustration.

Jose continues. “There are many people who hates for the sake of hating, and unfortunately, hate is a very contagious emotion. It is more rampant in social media structures.”

“But that’s stupid! If they were there, they would see the blood, the injustice, the unnecessary hate, innocent people in danger… “

“But they weren’t there, that’s why they can just express their opinions without consulting their conscience. This is the modern psychology of people in social media, but honestly, it isn’t that different from history… when the 1900s revolution suddenly split between two sides. This time, the good side should also play the dirty game.” Jose can see that Andres is stressing over the issue. His hair has stuck to disorder. His disheveled civilian clothing (which he probably changed in before coming here) clung to his biceps for Jose to see since he threw his jacket somewhere a while ago. It is now his turn to see the man in distress, a little payback for disheveling him the other night.

Jose thinks he is an honest man. He was actually impressed of him when they first met. His character is a typical man that boast their simplicity yet possessing many talents and moralistic views. Even now, despite their unfortunate meet up the other night, Jose can’t help but think that he has an ally in him.

The agent takes the glass of cold juice. After moments of jumping between silence and drinking, he returns his focus to him, “So what’s our next step?”

Andres Bonifacio asks, making Jose Rizal smile. He has been anticipating that question, “I want to destroy the reputation of these two men. I know they will be the next Ripper victims, so it’s better that we shoot the fire first. Them dying in the hands of the Ripper will look like justice.”

“Alright.” Andres nods simply, surprising Jose. “If you want this good propaganda you are talking about, then the reputation destructing articles should not be published by you. Since you mentioned this social media thing, I know someone who owns a data center that manages multiple social media accounts.” He motions to get his wallet from his back pocket then gets a card. Jose gives him a puzzling look but reaches for the card anyway.

The card shows the name and contacts of someone called Pinky Yan. Probably a pen name.

This person is a social media specialist.

Oh, this is propaganda. This is war.

Jose heard that the other party also uses bots and fake social media accounts to drive the opinions of the masses who interact in the comments section.

Andres continues, “Dimasalang should only focus on interpreting Ripper cases, nothing more. Lest their attention turns only to you.”

Jose bobs his head to show amazement, “Nice. This is a good idea. Information should come from everywhere.”

“So, who are these men you want to destroy?”

“Senator Pedro Paterno, the leader of one of the conservative parties.” Jose says. Andres nods in understanding. Since Felipe Buencamino has already died, then it means the national politics is now involved.

“… and Congressman Emilio Aguinaldo, the current second-in-command.”

Felipe Buencamino died in the hands of the Ripper, making Emilio the current second-in-command of Senator Pedro Paterno.

Apolinario comes home from work with his necktie hanging loose and his leather messenger bag sagging on his very tired shoulders. He took the LRT, transferred to a southern bus, then took a taxi to the gates of the exclusive subdivision in where sticker-less vehicles are not allowed to get in. Because of that, he walked uphill through the quiet posh neighborhood leading to Emilio’s house.

The entire commuting time, Apolinario was only thinking of Emilio.

When he entered the house, his knees almost buckle due to tiredness, so he collapses at the living room. The couches are uncomfortable, but they are the closest to the door, so he had no choice but to lay there for a while. His friend Jose Rizal was received in this living room, and Apolinario thinks how the man must have the same taste for the rest of the house. He wants to show him that Emilio has an impeccable taste and that he doesn’t even hang out in this part—actually, it seems the congressman hates the interior design of the living room. Why he receives visitors in this place is a mystery.

He's afraid that people believe Emilio to be a typical tasteless politician. He is more than that. He is kind, loving, and caring. Why can’t Emilio show it to everyone?

Why does he have to be in Pedro Paterno’s party list?

What if the Ripper kills him next for real this time?

As if on que, Emilio’s light and counted footsteps coming closer shifted his attention towards the hallway that goes to the almost-hidden kitchen area. The man wears a simple linen shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing off his muscular arms. Apolinario smiles at the view and reaches for the man. Emilio understands his gesture, so he comes closer.

“Tired?” Emilio moves to the couch, though his expression shows that he’s struggling to make himself comfortable in it. He finally found an optimal position that would let him embrace Apolinario sidewards after a few buttocks adjustment over the loud squeaks of leather.

“Commuting is hell.” Apolinario hugs the other, checking if he could replenish his energy with physical contact. It works somehow.

Emilio returns the full hug with an additional sniff on his sweating nape. “My poor beloved. Don’t worry, I plan to rent a house in Manila.”

Apolinario frowns. He gently pushed away from the congressman’s hug to look him straight in the eye. “Because of your new job as your party list’s vice president?”

“News run fast, huh.”

“Why are you even with that Paterno in the first place? You’re better than them. And we’re gay for heaven’s sake! They’re homophobic.” Apolinario pauses at his own words. Even he himself could not believe expressing that he is gay and in a relationship with a man. Does Emilio even think the same? “Oh, sorry… I wasn’t thinking. We just slept a few times and…”

It is Emilio’s turn to reel away, “So while I was designing my lifestyle to have a happy family with you, you still think we’re just sleeping together?”

Apolinario rolls his eyes, “It’s normal for politicians to hide a few scandals here and there while running in a conservative party list.”

The congressman scoffed, “My darling, do not ever consider yourself a scandal. Loving you is the only right I know in this world. If this is scandalous, then the world is wrong.”

“Whatever,” Apolinario’s heart skips with Emilio’s declaration. In his mind, he’s grading that response with a perfect score, with plus points for heartfelt sincerity. To be loved in such a way is something he’s never felt and something he never knew could exist. He reaches for the other man’s cheeks and caresses it gently. Emilio responds by rubbing his face against his palms. “I love you, too.”

Emilio closes the distance and kisses him fervently. Apolinario’s eyes slowly shut, his last vision being the loving glint in Emilio’s eyes and his arms that possess him like a delicate flower but with a strong hold that prevents him from escaping. They breathe in sync; the sounds of their clashing lips fill his mind. If only their world could only ever be filled with moments like this, but Apolinario must say something.

“Emilio…” He tries to say in the middle of their kisses, which makes it sound like a moan, “Emilio, Emilio, wait…” Apolinario moves his head away, but he could not go further due to the other man’s strong hold.

“Yes, my love?”

“Please, let’s talk about this. Can’t you resign from that party list? Pedro Paterno is not a good man, and I know you are not like him. You don’t believe in his stupid platforms, right? Your reputation will be tainted if you stay in his party list. What if the Ripper comes after you?”

“Why are we talking about other men while making out?”

“Emilio!”

“I know, I know.” Emilio releases him from that strong hug (much to Apolinario’s disappointment) and fixes himself out of the passionate fervor they just had. “But my family has been a part of that party list since we started in Cavite. I can’t just leave Senator Paterno.”

“Are you scared of him?”

“Not really… but I place my loyalty in him. I trust the senator.” Emilio declares. “I can’t leave the party.”

Apolinario involuntarily flinches at that. Pedro Paterno is a hateful man and Emilio is a man full of love. Indeed, there may be times when his views are a bit elitist and out of touch, but he listens fully and ends up realizing his wrongs. Apolinario must stay by Emilio’s side to convince him to take the better path in politics.

“Didn’t you tell me once that your brain is mine?”

Emilio’s eyes mellow down as they lock with his. He then proceeds to kiss his forehead as if he did not hear a thing. “Let’s go eat.”

The way to the kitchen never felt longer. Emilio gestured along the way for a hand holding, but Apolinario was in deep thoughts to respond. He also does not feel like holding the other’s hand.

When they entered the kitchen/dining area, he saw Goyong preparing the utensils on the table. The boy sees them and immediately ran towards Apolinario to request for his right hand for a ‘Mano’. Apolinario’s mood lifts a little upon seeing the boy healthy, well-fed, and satisfied in Emilio’s home. He can’t help but pat the boy’s head.

They eat together like a caricature of a happy family. Apolinario could see the boy’s appreciation of being the one to prepare the food as he was supervised by the culinary expert that is Emilio. They explained the food—a well-done steak with liver spread sauce—and by heaven it is the most delicious steak Apolinario has ever had.

At the duration of the dinner, he smiles to Goyong’s stories, and he looks at Emilio worriedly.

Sometimes, they meet eyes, and Emilio would give him an apologetic look.

Emilio makes sure the house is clean and secured before he retires to his room with his beloved in it.

The man is dead asleep after showering. That commuting probably tired him so much, so Emilio plans to rent a mansionette in Cubao to be closer to his work. Emilio does not really need to move out of Cavite for his congress work and political party involvement. However, he cannot blame the lawyer for thinking so.

Apolinario is one beautiful human being, an angel among the demons that plague this world. Even Goyong is a little demon, the same kind as he is. Both knew they are too tainted to be in Apolinario’s presence, but such beauty and kindness is not something they could let go.

Tonight, however, he has disappointed his beloved. He could not bare that look of hurt as if he stabbed him himself. Emilio knows of Apolinario’s high moral position, it’s one of the things that made him fall in love in the first place. He could only swallow the bile that rises from his chest as he runs his fingers through the man’s body. Emilio sits at the corner of the bed near the other’s bare and very thin legs, so his caressing hand ends on the ankles.

He grips Apolinario’s ankles, though not enough to wake him.

He is very excited to kill that damned Pedro Paterno so he could stop disappointing Apolinario. The greater time he spends near that vile man, the more morbid he wishes to display him along Roxas Boulevard. The Ripper is a benevolent killer according to the masses, someone definitely not positively involved with these human pigs. Being a part of the party and actually sounding like he meant to be there removes any suspicions of him being that entity. It has worked for years, even to the point that they think he is more likely to become a victim.

He is the only one left in his party list. The other three that remains—who are yet to have a criminal record—left for their safety. The ones that died are connected to Emilio, and if someone in the NBI is just smart enough, they would notice that their common denominator is Emilio knowing their houses and schedules.

Emilio must stay in the political party.

Of course, he could not tell that to Apolinario.

What if he figures out that he’s the Ripper?

Would he hate him?

Would he hate him?

Would he hate him?

Would he leave?

He is an ugly demon. What if Apolinario sees the monster underneath the perfectly crafted human suit?

Would he hate him?

Would he hate him?

He grips Apolinario’s ankle tighter. The man stays peacefully asleep.

He will hate him.

He will leave.

He wants to prevent it. Maybe he could remove his ability to walk. Maybe he could grip his ankles tighter and tighter. He could paralyze his legs—he knows exactly where to injure his spine so he would never walk away. He could not leave his house since it is underground. He could still go around though; he would buy him a wheelchair.

They will be together in this house.

Apolinario should not be allowed to leave him.

Unknowingly, he grips the ankle tighter, startling his beloved awake. His little gasp woke Emilio from his thoughts. He flinches and takes his very dangerous hand from the fragile man.

“Emilio? Let’s sleep.” Apolinario groggily calls.

“Yes, my love.” He climbs to the bed then spoons the other to sleep.

Chapter Text

Art by @peanutOwO. See artist's tumblr post here

[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality. I have nothing against the Chinese Community. This is just a work of fiction.]

TW: Hateful comments against the LGBTQIA+ community

His watered steps echo as guns with silencers exchange behind, scared that one of those silent bullets will eventually reach his exhausted body. The droplets of water that curtain on his face—added by the harsh winds coming from Manila Bay—makes it hard for him to breathe. The only driver that inspires him to run is the man that pulls his hand, while his other hand is bloodied; occupied with a gun that exchanges with the others.

Jose is not equipped to run in haste away from a gaggle of armed men, but here he is, at 2am along Pasig River Esplanade, wet, and tired of having to run from Manila Metropolitan Theatre to some place they could consider safe. The doctor is not sure if they would ever come out of this alive.

In front of him is Agent Bonifacio with a holster hugging his wet dress shirt that clings to his athletic build. His necktie has been discarded moments ago, and his rolled-up sleeves exposed his arms that are still covered with blood despite the rain drenching them heavily. Before they left the theatre, Jose saw his bloodied hands without any expressions of pain, so he assumed those alarming red liquid are not his. Now, however, the doctor thinks he is injured with the way the blood stays on his arm despite the rain.

"Andres! Your arm!" Jose tries to get the man's attention, but he only continues to drag him while shielding him at the same time.

This is all his fault.

If only he planned this well.

If only they did not proceed to Manila prematurely.

(6 Days ago, Monday)

The TV blared in the office floor with all his co-workers' attention on it. The floor filled with NBI agents does not usually watch the news with majority of media information pertaining to crimes is common knowledge in the agency anyway. Today, however, the news shows a Senator, spouting nonsense, as he declares the NBI in-charge of the Ripper investigation incompetent.

Senator Pedro Paterno is not a pleasant politician, but his ties to the rich people of Manila, religious groups, and boastful dole-out programs keep him in the office. Currently, he is the leader of a known conservative party that seeks to challenge whatever progressive laws the other parties promote. He loves calling the other parties' policies as 'evil' or 'acts against patriotism and God'.

The agents gather in front of the television as the Senator addresses the Ripper as promoter of sin, and the NBI should declare a nationwide manhunt. The senator added, "Apologies for my voice, I am still in mourning." He pauses and closes his eyes, the media persons covering this press conference took it as an opportunity to flash their cameras, giving a consecutive lighting unto the man's face. The viewers can already imagine how this image will be used to farm sympathy. "My dear friend, Felipe Buencamino, a good father, a good man, died in the hands of the Ripper. Only because he expressed his justified distaste towards the sinful LGBT community. Those drag queens in Tondo deserv---"

Agent Marcela Marcelo turned off the television timely, while the rest of the agents quietly turn their heads towards the man at the most center of the criminal investigation floor. Andres stayed far away from the television, acting nonchalant while the buzz went on. His arms are crossed, his long muscular legs are draped on top of his neat table, and his eyes are sharp enough to slice the thick air suspended by tension.

The agents subtly thanked Agent Marcelo in their minds as they scatter away from the television area to return to their own tables. The criminal investigation floor is an open office design, so everyone can see and feel the tension emanating from the current head of the Ripper case.

Agent Marcelo is his second-in-command, and all secrets of the case are only shared between the two of them. The man gave her a sealed envelope with a message that goes, "In case I die..." Other than that, the Ripper investigation is so secretive and has become delicate the moment the NBI's hot-shot and most efficient agent volunteered to replace the previous head, (conceded or pressured, they do not know) after years of declining the position.

In the middle of NBI's crime investigation floor, Agent Bonifacio's office table situates. His presence is one that inspires and intimidates.

"I have been digging about that Pedro Paterno." The doctor starts. It is again a midnight, the only time that Andres can sneak from his workplace in Metro Manila to Laguna. They sit together in Rizal's quarters. It is the only place that house staffs are not allowed to access, so they freely open confidential documents around.

Andres realizes that Jose is a cluttered person. His boards may be clear and organized, but the files and other documents that he deems useless would be thrown to the ground as he talks to himself in concentration. With every paper that he throws unto the floor, Andres is there to pick it up and place it somewhere properly. He is not the type to work in a mess. Nonetheless, he is fascinated with the way the doctor works.

"And what have you found out about him?" Andres asks.

Jose points at Felipe Buencamino's cut-out that is placed beside a picture of a Chinese person. "You see, during his time as the Minister of Foreign Affairs, he allowed several Chinese merchants to establish some 'manufacturing' companies in the country. I searched about these companies. They are operating, but their 'products' cannot be found in the market." The doctor is air-quoting some of the words.

"What if they are exporting these products right away?"

"Could be. But not one Filipino employee profile could be found. Foreign companies are not allowed to operate without providing jobs to the locals."

Andres furrows, "So these Chinese companies are not operating legally and normally."

"Exactly!" Now Jose points at Felipe Buencamino's murder tableau. "And this is only a part of the greater scheme of controlling the country from the inside through lobbying and market control."

Jose pauses, mind blanking in the middle of his thoughts. Andres understands that there are far broader implications of this fact, and somehow, this foreign scheme has been a problem for decades. In addition, many Filipino economists has been face-palming over certain trade laws that benefit only the foreign merchants. He is no economists, but he understands that the doctor is concerned over one thing.

Officials like Felipe Buencamino has been selling their own people to the foreigners.

"The current murder tableau!"

Andres looks at Jose in confusion.

The doctor continues to speak as he crosses the room again to write something on the board. "It's a bible story! Samson and Delilah! Delilah sold her country to foreigners, like Buencamino did!"

"But autopsy says this is a Ripper kill. Multiple organs are missing. Liver, heart, kidney..."

"This is a Ripper kill, alright. I know, with the vibes of it that I could not explain."

Andres only glares. They have been dragging this conversation on, "Alright then, this is a Ripper kill despite it being a biblical reference. We'll deal with that later."

"I have a theory about that! It's a message to the second killer!"

"Okay, but later."

"Ugh, you are so stingy."

"I'd like to call it focused and productive." Andres sighs, then goes to bed amidst the clutter of paper, pens, and printed files. He is not one to judge people's working preference, but he believes it would be better if the doctor sticks to software tools. He actually uses those in his investigations, and it lets his agent collaborate on it in real time. It doesn’t matter, he cannot complain. Not when Doctor Jose Rizal's thoughts easily flow this way. However, it has been his duty to steer the doctor's thoughts to actions rather than just theories. "Let's focus on what I can do for now. We cannot defame Buencamino anymore, right?"

"Yeah," Jose's shoulder slumped, "If Dimasalang publishes an article now, people will think it's politically motivated. All because Pedro Paterno mentioned it first. He's fast, I give him that."

"How sure are we that Pedro Paterno could be the next victim?"

"I'm 60% sure. Only 60% because Pedro Paterno is a national official and is not a usual Ripper POI. 40% of my bet would go to Congressman Emilio Aguinaldo, because he's a Calabarzon official within the same party. Ah, do you know that Pole and he had sex?" Jose says, getting distracted again by the end of the statement.

Andres sighs with that, but he entertains it anyway. "Let's hope our friend only has him as a phase. Though, we talked before, and I could say that he is quite a smart man. He easily changed his views when Pole explained his side, and it does not seem like a simple courtesy to guest."

"So, do you think... that's the reason why he's not dead yet? Because he has some substance? I mean, our dear genius friend, Apolinario Mabini of all people, fell in love with him!" Jose sits beside Andres, giving the bed a heavy thump.

"Maybe. I think we should leave him alone for now. I'm not so sure about him. Do not defame him yet."

Jose looks at his own hands, pondering. "We should. Even just a small bit. Like being connected with Pedro Paterno is fine. With the delicate position of public opinion right now, we should smear dirt on them before they die. That way, the Ripper goes back to being a hero."

Andres stays quiet.

The doctor is right. A small part of his brain only suggested such due to the image of Apolinario Mabini flashing suddenly. He wonders how he is, why he fell for the Congressman, and how his new client turned charge faring with as a new guardian. He mentally noted to visit him someday, maybe next week.

"Alright." Andres looks at the investigation board again, this time, surrounding only the members of Paterno Partylist. "If you believe these Chinese companies can lead to more damning information about Paterno's activities, then we'll investigate."

"How?" Jose looks up at him. In this view, Andres is reminded of their obvious height difference. He smiles down at Jose.

"Agent Marcelo will track down his activities."

"I see." Jose sighed in relief, "Tell her to be careful. According to my sources, Paterno has his own secret military. That's why he's not afraid of the Ripper."

"I'll put that in mind, Doctor. Thank you."

The two slept on the bed together due to exhaustion. They were separated by heaps of paper clutters on the bed, which was a surprising situation that Andres has slept with. He was really tired. Come morning, he ran out of the room in a hurry because he has 3 hours to drive to his work. The chef and the cleaner saw him running about with loose red necktie and open collar. Their stares are none of his concern, but he hears the doctor explain that 'we're just friends!' on his hurried way out.

After the regular Congress session, Emilio approaches the leader of one of the liberal parties. Congresswoman Gabriela Silang is one strong and immovable woman and seeing that they are on the opposite spectrum of the political climate, they never talked, not even in the dialogues and debates. Emilio is known to be silent, and of course, his silence is taken as cowardice or lack of intellectual capacity.

Emilio was bold enough to approach the Congresswoman in public, although he made sure it would look like he gave the effort to hide it. He clears his throat to get Gabriela's attention, "Good Afternoon, Congresswoman Silang. I would like to ask tomorrow's hearing on same sex marriage. You're voting Yes, right?"

Gabriela raises her eyebrows, looks at him up and down, and then crosses her arms, as if she's ready to fight. "Well, of course. And convincing me to vote otherwise would be very stupid of you, Congressman Aguinaldo."

"Yes, absolutely, it would be." Emilio gives a smile. "Don't be mad. I just want to check that at least you would, because I would be voting No."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Of course. What else would a Paterno slave vote for?"

Emilio chuckled.

"What? You're not getting angry?"

"No. Like I said, I only wish to confirm. I want to make sure the math will be right. Well, of course, most of my party is dead and therefore cannot vote. The rest fear to be labeled as conservative. However, Paterno's declaration yesterday, and his lack of fear of the Ripper might be taken as... patriotism... if you know what I mean." Emilio says.

Gabriela uncrosses her arms, and now settles her hands on her hips, "Why are you saying this?"

"In short, Congresswoman Silang, I wish for the same sex marriage to be passed in the lower court, even with me and some Paterno supporters voting No. I implore you to check your party. I heard there’s left-wing infighting about same-sex marriage nowadays. Make sure they are not wavering. I’m afraid it’s 50/50." He says with voice as clear and as professional as he could. This is the first time he’s uttering so many words in front of the opposing parties.

"Why do you care?"

"Because... I believe everyone deserves to marry the one they love, no matter the gender and orientation." Emilio smiles, this time, while remembering his beloved. "An initiative of total acceptance would be beneficial for everyone, too, you know."

The Congresswoman gapes at him, "Emilio, are you... in love?"

He smiles, trying his best to hide his cheeks that are beginning to warm. "You're right, there is someone I want to marry."

Her eyes sparkles, her arms finally dropping. She has lessened her defenses, it seems. "That would be very compelling! A member of the notorious conservative party, marrying a man! It’s true that there is left-wing infighting about this because of Pedro Paterno’s paid celebrities. But your sudden support, that would change everything!"

"I know it would, but know that I am still loyal to Paterno, and I must vote No."

"Confusing. Why would you support Paterno? You know the damage he's doing."

"Oh, you know, he funded my election campaign last time."

"So, this is just gratitude now? Congressman, loyalty is for ideologies, not for personalities." Congresswoman Silang gave him a calling card named under her office. "I'm interested in your story. Call me if you change your mind about Paterno. He is not a safe man to be around. I don't even care about you being a Ripper victim. That senator himself will kill you."

Emilio took the card and placed it in his pocket. He slightly bows to the Congresswoman before turning away to leave.

As he walks away, he notices the stares of his fellow officials scattered around the room. Their eyes are like hawks, scrutinizing, judging. They know he is Pedro Paterno’s strongest supporter, yet he is not vocal or aggressive about it like Buencamino was. He expects murmurs—ideas planted of his wavering loyalty—but not too much that he would be accused as an insider. One little trip from that thought and people can easily connect it to him being the Ripper. He must still appear weak to Paterno, so he must vote ‘No’ on Wednesday.

After this, he will have a peaceful life with his beloved without fighting about politics. But first, he has a meeting to attend this Saturday.

“Why are we moving back to Manila, Attorney?” Goyong asks him, his eyes focused on him that Apolinario can’t help but look away.

The taxi ride could not get more uncomfortable and long with bad music from the radio as a background. It is 5pm and they happen to get stuck on a Wednesday rush hour, much to their complaint. The youth was suddenly dragged away from the house with little to no explanation and preparation after living there in comfort for weeks. Apolinario understands if the boy is upset.

“I found a new apartment. It’s bigger and high-rise. You’d love it.”

“But I thought I’m studying in Brentville? Why would I stay there with you?”

Apolinario was taken aback. He expected Goyong to be quite upset, but he never thought he would feel disliked. The classes won’t start until two months, so he’s thinking he could bond with Goyong, so he’d be comfortable with him. He did not expect him to be more comfortable with Emilio. “Don’t you want to stay with me?”

He tried to say that casually, but he knows his upset slipped through.

Goyong scoots closer, “I didn’t mean it like that, Attorney. I’m just wondering why we all can’t stay in Tito Emilio’s house.”

“Oh, sure. He’s Tito while I’m still Attorney.”

“Don’t be upset.” Goyong smiles at him worriedly, “Is it okay if I call you Tito Apolinario, too?”

“Tito Pole is shorter.” Apolinario gives him a reassuring smile, lessening the tension from the boy. Goyong continues to smile widely this time.

Apolinario is aware that he came to Goyong’s life in an inopportune time, making him emotionally clingy towards him and him only. He’s glad that Emilio took on the other parental role so Goyong could trust more adults slowly since the other adults in his life did nothing but destroy his future. He should be thankful of Emilio, yet still, he’s getting more worried of the possible political ideologies he might influence to Goyong’s young mind. 16-year-old boys are more susceptible to wrong political talks. He does not want Goyong, such sweet young victim of injustice, be ever involved with Senator Paterno. Although they do not bring politics in the dining table and Emilio is aware of Apolinario’s distaste towards his party, he just wants to steer the boy away from such drama. He’s beginning to see Emilio as an idol, too.

“We’ll stay in Manila for a while. Just for your summer vacation. Then we’ll return to Cavite once the classes start. We can go to La Union or Baguio sometimes. There will be times that the court will call you as witness for your uncle’s case against the police chief, but other than that, we will stay here for vacation.”

“Oh.” Goyong looks at him confusedly, “You managed to open a case against the police chief?”

“Well, I’m going to. We can get monetary compensation and I’m going to run him dry. Why?”

Goyong shrugs, “Oh nothing. I just think it’s a waste of time.”

Now it’s Apolinario’s turn to look at him confused, “What he did to you was injustice, and I’m not going to let him walk around freely.”

“I just don’t think it’s worth my time. Plus, I need to make court appearances? Hassle.”

“You don’t really want to sue the chief of police?”

“I just don’t want him behind bars. He’ll be harder to access then.”

“What?”

Goyong stays quiet. The taxi radio blares as he looks at the serious face of the young man glaring at the empty space in front of him. Apolinario thinks the boy does not want to propagate the conversation, but not a single line of his face says it has been a slip up. He said that with all seriousness in his mind. The lawyer slowly lets out the breath that he held, then descended his back to the chair.

The rainy season has come. He sees the city through the wet and foggy glass window of the taxi as he let the silence soak for the rest of the ride. The radio has been playing old songs, but sometimes, it delivers headlines every 30 minutes.

He hoped the rain could wash away his worries, but it only dampens his mood more. He’s worried about Andoy, who has declared one-sided allegiance to the Ripper while possibly tampering evidence as the current head of the case. He worried about Pepe, who may have been openly discouraged of his private Ripper investigations but could still be working in the dangerous sidelines. He’s worried about Goyong, who is understandably angry at the justice system and thinks only the Ripper could provide him true justice. He’s worried about Emilio, who has been receiving little defamation posts on social media together with Pedro Paterno. He’s afraid that might make him a Ripper target.

He’s quite angry that all his problems center around that damned Ripper. If only he stayed in Tanauan. Maybe he’ll bring Goyong to Tanauan and forget about all of this.

But how about Emilio? He remembers his gentleness, his smiles, and the delicious way he pleases his body. He is so loving, and it’s hard not to love him back. He wants to stay with Emilio. Is there a way they could get out of this worry and live happily like a peaceful family?

The radio channel’s high pitch opening theme for headlines blared throughout the vehicle, so they don’t have the choice but to listen.

“… Same Sex Marriage has been passed by the lower house. The LGBTQIA community celebrates this win. However, Pedro Paterno’s party expresses dissatisfaction. Here is a snippet of his statement taken hours ago—‘it may have passed the lower house, but I will make sure… I will make sure that it doesn’t pass the upper house. This WOKE propaganda will not get through the Senate, I tell you. Everyone involved with this is demonic! This is a conservative country, and I will not let it pass!’—The majority of the house of representatives voted Yes, while only a handful, namely a conservative group in the congress led by Congressman Emilio Aguinaldo voted No.”

Apolinario sighs, “Oh, Emilio.”

Please stop supporting Paterno’s Party.

Jose had Pinky Yan spread rumors about Paterno and Aguinaldo, though they could only do so much since they don’t have much evidence that Paterno relates to the Chinese nationals that Buencamino dealt with. He was sure they work together in this, heck, maybe Buencamino is just a front and the true deals happened between Paterno and those guys.

Last Wednesday night, though, Jose had Pinky Yan release the names of the voters for the Same sex marriage bill passed from the lower house. This may not be tied to the Ripper case, but he believes that Emilio’s vote is enough to cast him to the darker side of the political spectrum. Jose promises Andres that will stop at that.

That Friday, Agent Marcelo reported discreetly that they have found one possible connection between Paterno and a famous international criminal group, some sort of Chinese Mafia. Paterno seems to be very careful when it comes to transactions, making Buencamino take the front of it all. Now that Buencamino is dead, he has no choice but to handle them himself. Emilio is too unripe to enter the criminal world, but he believes he should be involved here somehow.

Due to the countless precautions, Agent Marcelo can only find out that there will be a party this Saturday at Manila Metropolitan Theatre. She could not find any documents relating to the criminal group, so she opted to observe the politician closely through signal tampering. And despite all that, it’s all she got.

They have no choice but to enter the meeting to gather more information.

Jose wears his most expensive tuxedo; he will post as a guest of the theatre. Agent Bonifacio wears a sunglass, a simple black suit and tie that hides a holster underneath; he will post as a guard. All they must do is place audio and video recording devices throughout the meeting area, and make sure they get them back before anyone could notice.

It’s a fairly simple plan, yet Agent Bonifacio sits on the cement bench beside the pier they landed on. It’s called the Pasig River Esplanade, a Manila Bay port that connects Laguna, Manila, and the rest of the metro. It is a scenic place filled with laughs and conversations while observing Metro Manila skyline over the bay. Agent Bonifacio finishes a cigarette while looking at the skyline, so Jose does the same. He does not smoke (and as a doctor, he wishes to reprimand the agent about smoking, but tonight is not that night), so he only sat quite far from the man’s fume, looking at the direction he’s on.

“Are you nervous?”

“I stopped smoking months ago. I guess I am.”

“Why?”

“It’s a field mission. Aren’t you nervous?”

“I am actually excited. It’s like we’re secret agents!”

Andres chuckles low, and at this point, he decides to throw away his cigarette, “We technically are. And you should be nervous.”

“Why?”

“This is not like the buy bust operations I usually handle. The mission may sound simple, but the meeting place is well-guarded. It would be quite easy to detect us, so you should be careful.”

“Oh, well, that does sound scary.” Jose ponders. He usually has strong instincts, and he’s not nervous at all. Maybe it means he can get out of this alive.

“You can back out now. I’ll handle the mission alone.”

“Do you think I’m a dead weight?”

“No.” Andres stands to loom over him by the cement chair. “I’m just worried about you. Can you even run when the time comes?”

“Let’s hope that we don’t have to.” Jose says, determined to continue the mission.

They walked for 10 minutes going to the MET (popular short term for Manila Metropolitan Theatre) and went to their positions. Jose casually walked through the front gates acting as a normal guest for the scheduled opera of the night. Good thing he purchased a ticket for it, so he simply showed it to the guards. The meeting place will be at the floor above the opera hall, so all he must do is to slip in somehow. Andres will find a way to enter the security circle and let him in.

The plan is simple.

Andres knocked out one of the security personnel to replace him, a classic movie agent move he never thought he would use. He went out of the storage room where he tied the personnel and walked normally to the line where the rest of the guards are. The function hall on top of the theatre hall where the opera is being held is not a simple seminar room they have expected. It seems Paterno rented the entire floor just to accommodate the Chinese Mafia. Another surprising thing, it is not only the Chinese, but he’s also seeing other foreigners, too.

The head of the security team spoke in English, and his fellow personnel does not look like Filipinos. It’s good he is yet to be caught. They must hurry this mission, because it’s looking unpromising. They could easily get caught with the way the security is being handled. Their stance appears militaristic. Andres concludes that these people might be part of Paterno’s secret military, probably funded by his foreign criminal allies.

When given the que to start patrolling all over the floor, Andres takes rounds and considers places where secret conversations might take place. The guests are yet to arrive, it seems they also watched the opera together with Jose. He has about a dozen of listening devices on him, so he’s putting them under the tables, counters, pool tables, curtains, and a flowerpot. Some furniture has low metal content or are straight up wooden, so they fall due to the lack of magnetism.

“Agent Bonifacio, I suggest you put this under the small table by the window.” A familiar voice from behind makes him freeze, and slowly, he looks at the person.

It was Emilio Aguinaldo, holding a small black circle device on his hand. Nobody else is in the room with them, so Aguinaldo only smiles and led him to the small table by the window. He placed the device under the table but on the metal leg of it. “It fell when you placed it under the table, I advise you place it on the metallic leg instead. It will fall.”

“Y…you… why are you here?” was all Andres could muster.

“I am the current vice-president of the partylist. Of course I’m here.”

“Then why are you… you know I’m here to spy on your stupid meeting.”

Emilio shrugs, then places his hands on his pockets as if this is the most normal thing that happened this week, “Then do so. I don’t really care.”

Andres just stares at him in confusion, “I don’t trust you.”

“A lot don’t.”

“You voted No for same sex marriage while you’re dating Apolinario. You’re a piece of shit.” Andres says, putting his hand over the hidden gun in his coat. It hasn’t been an hour, and he’s already caught, if all else fails, he must at least escape with Jose.

The congressman’s ominous smile dropped upon the mention of Pole, so he takes that as part seriousness over his friend. And so, why is he in Paterno’s party? Emilio mumbles, almost only to himself, but Andres still heard it. “Is that why he left me?”

“Puñeta. Of course. Though it confuses me. You seem to be a good man. Why are you on Paterno’s side?”

“Oh?” Emilio challenges, “You think I’m a good man? Is that why I am not as defamed as Pedro?”

“How do you even—”

“It’s easy to put two and two together. You work with Dimasalang and some social media expert, I believe.”

“When did you realize?”

Emilio looks at him up and down, probably judging his stolen security personnel attire. It’s a dead giveaway that this mission is not an NBI operations. Undercover operations and other kinds that require police assets are not within the field of the agency, so this mission must be secret and personal.  “Just now.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

Emilio dismisses his question, “Are you done with your amateur device installations? If you are, get out while I don't hate you yet.”

The man starts retreating to one of the many exits of the large room, and as he goes, Andres could only look at his back. Muscled, shaped, and strong looking. Andres saw this man for the first time and felt that he is not one weak human with financial dependency. He has his own huge amounts of inheritance, for heaven’s sake. He does have expensive taste, but he does not act like those greedy old men whose only motivations are money and power.

Emilio Aguinaldo is not a weak man, physically, financially, and he now realized, even mentally. And so, why does he cling to Pedro Paterno as if he needs his power?

He looks at one remaining recording device on his hands, with the word ‘amateur’ echoing in his mind. He speaks as if he does this a lot. And why does he not care that he’s jeopardizing the operations of his own partylist? Why is he casual of being defamed? People would usually trash and cry, right?

He does not need Pedro Paterno for power… he needs him for… information… like the rest of his dead party mates.

“Are you the Ripper?” Or the other one? He opted not to mention.

Emilio stops walking; it’s his turn to freeze. He slowly turns towards him with a scowl.

Andres continues, “It’s easy to put two and two together.”

“When did you realize?” Emilio starts to walk towards him with voice so deep and serious, it makes him walk backwards, away from the menacing man. Andres is not one to get scared of individuals, he can crossfire with anyone, and he has the physique to win a brawl. However, Emilio has presence so intimidating that he feels like he might die.

“Just—Just now.”

“And how do you feel about it?” He continues to stalk towards him.

“If you are the Ripper, and you realize I work with Dimasalang, then know that we can be allies and—"

“I work alone, Agent Bonifacio. We don’t have the same cause.”

They don’t have the same cause? Then that means he’s not the second killer, the one that kills with pure political motive. This is the original killer. The one that doesn’t use sedatives to dominate his kills, the one that according to autopsy, extracts the organs while the victim was still alive. He’s the Ripper of Roxas Boulevard.  

“Then why do you even kill!” He steps back further, “What do you even do with the missing organs?”

Emilio’s cold expression penetrates through his soul, making his hairs stand. For the first time in his life, he’s seen a human that might be beyond the natural. How can he explain this irrational fear over a human that is some inches shorter? How can he explain this unexplainable intimidation? Being face to face with this creature (for can he still call him man?) makes him feel like he is face to face with the devil himself.

“I eat them.”

Andres’s brain pauses in disbelief and fear, until noise takes both their attention.

Guns exploded from behind, and from there, he can see Jose Rizal being chased by a few guards. They enter the room where Andres is so he can clearly see the guns being raised towards Jose’s back, about to shoot. With the proximity of that weapon, it will surely kill him.

Without much thoughts, he felt the adrenaline he had when he protected Gregoria from that shooter in Tondo. If he’s seen Gregoria’s scared face over Jose’s, that is not the thought he should be focused right now, so he dismissed it.

He shoots the three security personnel trailing behind, very positive that they are dead. Jose approaches him while shouting, so he took his arms to cover him from the rest of the personnel that had their guns out.

Andres shoots them all dead.

He dragged the doctor away from the scene, and as he does so, he stares at the place where Emilio would be. Like a demon, he vanished without a trace.

The rain slowed their escape, but the bleeding man in front of him did not stop running until they reach the pier where they came from. It is the closest place of transportation that can bring them back to Laguna using Jose’s yacht.

The multiple silent gun shots finally stopped. Jose rejoices inwardly, so they hid under a shade, waiting for the rest of the men to surrender their search. They must make sure there are no more guards hunting them.

“Wait! Your arm! Let me!” Jose takes his necktie and wraps it around a gunshot wound on the agent’s forearm.

“What even happened there?” Andres whisper-yells over the loud sound of the rain.

“Long story short, I met some Chinese people in the opera hall and befriended them. I know how to speak in Mandarin, so we hit it off. They shared so much. I learned their entire operations. Then Paterno came and told them he doesn’t know me, and there. They wanted me dead. So, I ran away.”

“Okay, okay. That’s good. We might still need those recording devices. I don’t know how to get them back, though. Emilio Aguinaldo saw me and he—”

A bullet ran across them, hitting Andres on the arm and Jose on the cheek. Jose’s first wound of the night is not critical, just a little slice along his face, but it was a critical hit for Andres. The agent’s blood spluttered to him making him shout his name. Andres wasted no time and pulled him away from the hiding spot.

They run towards the esplanade, hoping they could reach the yacht on time. However, Jose can feel that the air feels heavier. The bullets are not raining anymore. There is only one bullet after another.

One silent bullet hit Andres again.

And another.

And another.

Every bullet that goes off hit a flesh, spluttering more blood that gets immediately erased by the rain. If not for the fact that they run in zigzag and Andres covers him with his very battered body, they would have been dead with just one bullet. The current shooter is just one, yet they are precise, and they aim to kill. This one shooter is an expert. Jose would like to see who they are, but the sky does not provide the light of the moon, and the streetlights come from the park, making him only see the silhouette of a daunting man walking slow and calculated.

Andres continues to drag him despite his injuries, not interested to look back to see the shooter. He knows this man.

They are already on the docks and quite closer to the yacht. Jose is feeling hopeful. In the yacht, he has a captain that prepared the water vehicle ready for immediate flight.

A bullet hit Andres’ leg, making him fall down the docks straight to the cold water.

“Andres!” Jose follows to save him.

Andres Bonifacio is the strongest and most heroic man Jose has ever met, and even now while bleeding and injured, he swims towards the yacht to lead him there.

“Jose! Duck down the water, try not to resurface so much. Swim to the yacht!”

“How about you?”

“He will stop if he sees blood. One of us has to live.”

He cries, keeping his face above the water to make sure he’s seeing the man alive and swimming. He holds unto his arms, too injured to paddle up. Jose is determined to paddle them both if that is the last thing he could do.

“Listen, in case I die, you have to know… The Ripper is —"

Jose’s world halts. Andre’s head goes underwater, leaving the water red around them. He tries to swim down, but the shooter continues to shoot Andre’s sinking body, reddening the water even more. One of them must live, so he swims towards the direction of the yacht as Andre’s last advice. He swims and swims, his tears adding to the sea and the rain.

Chapter Text

TW: Blood, Mental Psychosis

It is 4am, and this part of Manila is already awake. Emilio stands in front of a high-rise condominium in Pasig, just thirty minutes away from the Esplanade by foot. If people have seen a formally clothed man walking slowly in the rain in the depth of the near morning, they decided not to bother, because Emilio reached Apolinario's new condominium without anyone stopping him, not even the overzealous MMDA strict with curfew.

He hid his gun within his coat pockets, and not a single drop of blood marred his person. And so why, when Emilio looked at the floor where Apolinario would be, does he feel so impure for the presence of the person he loves? Emilio continues to walk towards their place, because despite the invisible blood on the soles of his shoes that create imaginary trail of blood, he craves, he yearns, he despairs. The elevator going up suffered the pool of rainwater that drops from his wet coat, the dark hallway going to their unit echoed his desperate prayers, and the doorknob that welcomes him opened immediately with a little expert tinkering that never failed from his decades of experience in compromising locks.

The unit is a spacious two-bedroom situated on the 14th floor. For an apartment that has been newly acquired, it is already decorated with things that Emilio have never seen in his house despite Apolinario's almost two weeks of occupancy in his very quarters. There are boxes filled with papers and books, and boxes full of toiletries and other necessities. They are yet to fill the new home, but it made Emilio realize one thing; Apolinario never had the plan to live permanently in his house. At first, he thought Apolinario is just a minimalistic man; just not very fond of having too many things. However, he has enough things to fill a large house, it's just that Apolinario does not have a plan to fuse his life with Emilio.

Maybe, so it would be easier to leave him.

Emilio enters the unlocked room where Apolinario sleeps. He's known him as a very deep sleeper, especially when his day was filled with physically draining tasks. Despite of, he carefully steps around the queen-sized bed to be face-to-face with Apolinario's sleeping face. He took the other's draped hands on the mattress, and commits the veins, the colors, the paleness of it to memory. He rubs his thumb across it, and then kisses it, letting his lips stay there for a good one minute.

He understands now why Apolinario left him. Although there is no formal announcement, Apolinario's 'impromptu' apartment hunting means he will leave eventually. In the eyes of the man, he is a distrustful politician who holds unto the delicate golden thread of a conservative senator who is protected by criminals. He is everything against his very principles, the enemy of his good cause. It was also published by Dimasalang's group that he voted against same-sex marriage while secretly dating him. In any person's book, that is betrayal.

He savored the moment, in the silence of the morning and the steady breathing of his beloved, he breathes in Apolinario's scent through the sweat and calluses of his hand. He can still identify the brand of ink he uses, and the hand lotion that he gifted to him once.

"If only you know, my love." He whispers so low that only he could hear, "If you know who I really am... what my real plans are..."

But he dismisses it. Apolinario must not know that he's a heartless killer who takes pleasure in taking people's organs. He never considered killing those pigs a sin. For him, he's just being a good butcher. But tonight… he killed someone innocent.

Someone close to Apolinario. 

He has betrayed him in the inside and outside. In the eyes of people, and in the eyes of God, he betrayed him.

If he feels he has the right to be beside Apolinario, he would have woken him up and kissed him good morning, but no, he decides to be a ghost that came and will go.

Emilio finally stands up from his position of having one knee down the ground. He walks silently around the queen-sized bed again to proceed to the bedroom door, but a few letters in the study caught his attention.

The letters are opened, and the blank bond papers beside them means Apolinario plans to reply. It is weird to have personal hand-written correspondence nowadays, since most of the physical letters being sent are either bills, announcements, or invitations. The opened letters are short and mundane; things that people would say over common social media apps.

A letter from Teresa Magbanua goes that her 2nd child will be christened next month in Tayabas, so Apolinario must attend as the godfather. She said that having a smart man as him to be a godfather means the child will be smart, too. A letter from Numeriano Adriano mentioned his newly bought land in Ermita. He wants to make sure the land is bought without problems and he's asking Pole to be his legal adviser. Moises Salvador wishes to court a lady in Sta. Rosa Laguna… and all his interest went out of the window. He decides to not even care about the closed letter from someone named Agueda Kahabagan. These are new names that must be important to Apolinario, but not to him.

He looks back at his beloved's sleeping form. Apolinario is one to care about friendships as he keeps so many of them. Moreover, according to his observations while communicating with Dr. Rizal and Agent Bonifacio, he cherishes them and could act over-protective of them. He would not be surprised if the cause of letter-based correspondence is that Apolinario declared his distaste towards any social media accounts, but his friends value him so much that they find a way to keep tabs with him anyway.

What a beautiful soul.

He does not deserve him.

What will his friends say when they learn that the man he's dating voted against same-sex marriage? Poor Apolinario does not deserve such a man.

When the sun peaks its slightest glow through the thin curtains of the room, Emilio took that as signal to leave.

When Apolinario was still in Tanauan as a regional defense attorney of PAO Batangas, he often daydreams a life in where he can do more. He is contented with his job, it is high-paying, and it means well, but sometimes he wished he could do more. He wished there was a shortcut to help his country.

He woke up with a headache. His hand that is dangling over the mattress feels funny, but the pain of his temples won him over. He struggles over his steps as he tries to reach the room's toilet.

The bathroom has a mirror that makes him more awful than he is due to the bad overhead light. His eyes are deeper and darker, his cheeks are more hollowed, and the humanoid black miasma behind his shoulders look more menacing. He should be scared or surprised, yes, but he knows this is just another episode of psychosis, specifically—according to an online psychiatrist—a hallucination. The psychiatrist added that sometimes, hallucinations are normal, like a form of apparition as soon as one wakes up. This shadow-like miasma is a hallucination, that one he's certain of, and it appears in some mornings, so it means it is a normal production of a newly-awakened brain.

The auditory hallucinations started when he started reading about the Ripper through Dimasalang's works. Every newspaper in the country has a spare space for his works so Apolinario cannot really avoid them. The Ripper is an over glorified vigilante who ignores justice and throws the mangled bodies of the victims to the jaws of the masses by means of exposing their crimes post mortis. He does not agree with their ways, but when he talks to his former co-workers about the Ripper, he can't help but think that those crimes were... useful. All his co-workers agree. It's just that, the Ripper sometimes miss certain personalities who deserve killing just because they are not POI. He huffed towards his co-workers that time. They are respectable lawyers; how can they idolize the usefulness of the Ripper crimes? Everything should be handled by due process. Everybody has the right to due process! What if some of them were innocent? What if they were framed?

However, whenever he sees a politician abusing their power in most obvious ways, he can't help but pray that they become the next Ripper victim.

He chastises himself after such foul thoughts. He prays to a church to get rid of those thoughts, and that's when the auditory hallucinations started.

Due process?

For the poor? Yes.

For the misunderstood? Yes.

But for the evil?

Do they deserve defense?

Do they deserve the dignity of a due process?

Think Apolinario. There are people who believe they are above the law.

How can the court punish their feeders?

Think Apolinario.

You're smart, aren't you?

Is it the devil taunting him? Is this God's trial that he must overcome? Should he have continued priesthood after all?

However, Apolinario is not himself if he is not introspective. He assessed his thoughts and figured out that it is just him talking to himself, and it is getting more uncontrollable because he is entertaining the thoughts of the Ripper being right.

He must stay in the path of righteousness.

So, his thoughts on the matter should stay away.

He ignored the Ripper crimes, and he ignored the political climate of the country.

That was five years ago.

When he moved to Manila to involve himself with the Ripper case to help an innocent client, he started having nightmares of a humanoid engulfed in black miasma. The humanoid has no facial form, but it is well-built. In his mind, this might be the Ripper, or this might be the voice that questions his moral position. This vision gets dragged to his waking world, creating a visual hallucination. In just a few apparitions, he learned to ignore it. Who is he if not someone in total control of his mental faculties?

As he regains his total consciousness from the throes of sleep drunkenness, the visual hallucination goes away. He is not particularly scared of it anymore; unlike the first time he's seen it after a night in Rizal's house. He guesses it is due to his friend's line of questioning about his opinions on the Ripper. It threw him off, aching his head so much that he had to go to a brain doctor who recommended a psychiatrist. He opted for online consultations because he is not fond of going out of his way for this, not when he has a kid to take care of.

He swears to the heavens, the very thought of the Ripper causes his headaches. Maybe the only solution is to completely rid himself of any involvement, and any thoughts.

But how can he rid of the Ripper when people he's close with in Manila and upper CALABARZON are tied to the Ripper in some ways?

Work.

Work will remove these thoughts.

He quickly prepares himself for the day, drinking the strongest coffee and giving generous amount of money to the teenager in his house so he could amuse himself however he wants.

Upon entering his office floor, he breathes in a sigh of relief.

It is the usual morning. Public lawyers are the busiest in the world of law; perhaps the least busy are the lawmakers themselves. Some lawyers are debating about their cases, some are on the telephones aggressively advising their clients not to be stupid, some are heads deep through the mountains of documents on their desks. He even saw one table throwing their papers to the air, as comical as it looks.

This is his element.

He can already feel his nerves calming down.

In the midst of chaos, the door opens slightly to reveal the head of a small girl seemingly thinking twice of coming further in. The floor paused, looking at the newcomer with mixed emotions. The lawyers of the floor are juggling 7-10 cases at a time, and this new client will probably experience being passed around, depending on the nature of the case. They don't want to though, with how pitiable the girl looked. They are happy to help, but they are especially slumped this week.

Apolinario can feel the sudden tension of the floor, so being the one currently closest to the door and being the only one in good mood, he approached the girl.

"Hello." He says in a very friendly voice. Having Goyong taught him the ways of gentleness towards children. "How can I help you?"

The girl looks at his face, her entire focus on him as denoted by her owlish eyes. After a few blinks, the girl raised a paper that says,

AFFIDAVIT OF LOSS: STUDENT ID

The lawyers of the floor took a comical sigh. Some chuckled. This apparently dispersed the morning tension of the floor, as the lawyer beside him who was shouting at the phone just a while ago proceeded calmly now. The floor still continues to rustle, but quieter this time.

A paralegal walks closer to them, "You can take that to the Notary Public. It's one floor down."

"It's fine." Apolinario takes the girl's affidavit. "I have extra time. I can notarize this."

The girl stays silent as she observes him. This was Goyong's exact behavior when he offered his guardianship, and he thought that was cute. However, whenever Apolinario eats with the boy, he thinks how this behavior was rooted in uneasiness, projection, and imprinting—like a duckling who declared him the mother for being there when the world threw him to the ground naked.

He quickly scanned the affidavit and the girl's PSA certificate and learned that she is only a month older than Goyong.

"Can you wait for a little while?"

The girl nods.

"My name is Attorney Apolinario Mabini." He reaches his hand for a polite shake.

"I'm Emily Jacinto, sir." The girl reaches his offered hand.

After notarizing the document, he sent the girl on her way out of the building upon learning she was actually lost and was just poking her head in any door that could help her. Poor girl. He is really weak when it comes to kids (yes, teenagers are still a part of that category) so he made the effort to walk her out. All the time, Emily observes him intently, probably wondering about something.

"Is there any problem, Emily?"

"Nothing. You're just familiar."

"Well, I was on TV once."

"Ripper case." She nonchalantly says, then proceeds to the main gates without even a goodbye.

When it's just him in the lobby, he internally fumed. He's reminded of the Ripper again.

When he got home that afternoon, his headaches returned. This has been getting worse these past few days, but it is nothing that liniment oils and paracetamols cannot fix. The current smell of the house reminds him of his Nanay who depends on those oils due to old age, and he cannot help but think that he's actually 37 and is probably just feeling the introduction to middle-age. The Ripper case be damned. That's right. This headache is caused by aging.

He prepares himself another cup of coffee, and added some milk and ice, thinking it could lessen the effect of caffeine since it is close to nighttime. He still has things to do today, and that is to reply to his former co-workers.

And it gives him more headaches than needed. He tried answering to these letters last night but was too discombobulated to write even a single word. Because what in the world was Teresa saying? Second child? The woman does not even have a husband, let alone a first child. And why hold the ‘christening’ in Tayabas? Yano buying a land in Metro Manila? For what? And what does he mean he needs legal advice? He's a lawyer himself! And Moises falling for a lady... he literally threw his pen on the table and gave up reading that he did not even open Agueda's letter, though Agueda could have improved his mood since she's the sanest among them, being a military general instead of being an unserious screw loose lawyer like his bullying friends.

He opens Agueda's letter to start something for the afternoon, and it shook him awake, making him sit straight so suddenly.

"A wedding invitation? From Agueda?"

The envelope that encased the letter is fancy and dark red. The letter inside is even fancier, scented, and decorated with intricate emboss. The list of names in the letter are very unknown to him, even the bride and the groom, and for a moment, Apolinario thought it was sent by mistake. Until a message in fine print at the very bottom of the page caught his attention.

"First, let me start with a quote:

Like any other man, I hold to certain truths which rule and guide my conscience, and which constitute my articles of faith. They enjoin me to believe that all authority over the people resides, by natural law, in the people themselves.

You've told me these very words. I have been waiting for the orders of the league but am told to wait for your 'conscience' to come back. I implore you to start responding. The times are getting more dire."

He did say that to Agueda once. He remembers saying that to her with Teresa, Yano, and Moises present. However, he does not understand how this memory came to be when he knows Agueda and his friends in Tanauan never met.

His headache reaches new height, as it throbs his temples partnered by a high-pitched tingling. Then his consciousness slowly goes out, his final vision being the table hitting his forehead.

His guardian left him 10,000.00 pesos and went away with an encouraging wave while saying that he can do anything today.

Now Goyong does not know the details of this money. Is it good for one month? Is it allowance? Or is it a down payment for his tuition. In retrospect, Tito Pole seems to be new to this guardianship thing and he is not one to discourage a good person who tries. He decides to walk around Pasig, then, doing café hopping, arcades, buying new clothes, and most importantly, buying reviewers for Senior High entrance exams.

Activities he thought he would do with his Tiyo Antonio.

His Tiyo Antonio may be a strict person with mouth that threw swear words like a grenade, but he was a man of responsibility who did not have to step up but did. After his parents' death when he was just 10 years old, his Tiyo took him in and treated him like his own son.

With the sudden memory that flashed through his head, he let his body move on its own towards the direction he misses the most. He took an LRT, a jeepney, then a tricycle. He opened the door (nothing changed, not even the blood that stained the floor) and was greeted by intense grief.

He lies on the sofa where his Tiyo Antonio threw him unto, to cover him with his body. There are a few splatters of blood that dried on it, but it is very few, so he lies there, looks at the ceiling, and lets his tears fall down. Within his memories, his most important people died, without chance of coming back, without any final words, and he must face the life of being left alone without any explanation. What stops God from doing the same to him over and over again?

When the sun begun to set, he decided to go back to Tito Pole's new unit.

The man is already inside the unit, sitting so prim and proper on the kitchen table, writing on black papers while letters litter across the temporary workspace.

"Hello po, Tito." He greets.

Apolinario looks up at him with a smile. "Good afternoon, Goyong. Did you enjoy your day?"

"Yep. I shopped for clothes and books. Here's the change, I didn't..."

Apolinario waves him off as he places the rest of the money (6,000.00) to the table. "No, no Goyong. That's all yours."

"Oh, thanks." Sweet! It’s so fun having rich parents! He does not say. "What are you doing?"

"Just writing correspondences with my friends from Tanauan."

Goyong nods at that, walking towards the refrigerator to get some water. He noticed that Apolinario sounds a little...  different today. However, he understands that he might be busy with his trial.

"Uh, Tito Pole, are you still proceeding with the case against the chief of police? I don't want you to be too stressed about that. I promise, I'm okay."

Apolinario looks up to him again, this time with a smile he could not comprehend. It is still sweet as usual of him, it is still accommodating and warm, but his smile now is different, because it glints for something else that Goyong could not describe. It is the kind of smile that his other new guardian has. "Goyong, do you want to give him the karma he deserves?"

Goyong becomes speechless, gauging what he could answer to a man whose morals are higher than an average angel. Apolinario continues,

"I know the justice system is not enough punishment, what's worse, sometimes the justice system does not side the ordinary men."

He is taken aback, "Isn't it your job to believe in the law?"

"Not really. If the law is truly simple and infallible, all the judges would have to do is to read it and decide through that. Lawyers are needed to dissect the law, sometimes we re-interpret it, all because we don't trust the law to go by itself."

“I see.” Goyong can only answer as chill runs his spine. “But you’re a great lawyer. You can always win.”

“Maybe. So, you trust that I can put that bastard to jail? Why don’t you want me to put him through justice, if not for the reason that justice will not side you?”

He looks to the side, hesitating. “I just think… human punishment is not enough to deliver the justice I want.”

Apolinario chuckles. “My dear, I think the same.”

Goyong stares at him in confusion; Apolinario Mabini has always been righteous, someone who might understand his pain but not his future actions. They locked eyes, and in that little gesture, Goyong can feel that they connect. For once, Apolinario knocked his moral standing down.

“Oh, how is your day?” Apolinario perks up as if nothing happened.

“I walked around Pasig and bought some stuff. I think some girl has a crush on me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, she’s been following me a lot. She thought I would not notice.” He laughs.

Their conversation continued until dinner, inserting the most mundane non-sense, talking like a father and son. That night, Goyong looks at the ceiling thinking about the ways he would kill a man in maximum pain.

Emily Jacinto understood that it was a very dangerous mission to gather intel. She warned the agent and the doctor that they could try to infiltrate in other ways, but Dimasalang insisted that it might be the only chance to do so, and information must be gathered now or never.

Now, both are nowhere to be found. And there is even no intel gathered.

She tried to infiltrate NBI, and saw that even Agent Marcelo is worried through the CCTVs in their office floor.

“Maybe he hasn’t gone to work today?”

She tried to hack Apolinario Mabini, their only common friend, only to find out that he is yet to contact any of them. In addition, the man does not keep digital correspondence, which is odd nowadays. Her only weakness as a hacker is traditional people. He keeps correspondence through physical letters, something that is not safe to intercept with the multiple CCTVs in the mail room. All she can do is to observe the man and the teenager that lives with him. She even went to his work to check his general mood, and he does not look concerned in the slightest.

Emily is very worried. Where are those two?

Goyong this Chapter be like:

Chapter Text

[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality.]

TW: Graphic depiction of Mental Psychosis. 

Somebody released a tip that Paterno is connected to international criminals.

The next day, he is called for Senate questioning.

Paterno responded quickly by saying this is politically motivated. His fake FB accounts and bot supporters quickly jumped in to defend him, targeting honest politicians with fake scandals to gain more supporters.

The bad news?

It's working.

The thing is, Filipinos are the world's top users of social media. A huge percentage of these people read the comments section filled with bots and would inevitably believe their lies because it appeared first. It's the first impression fallacy; it is when humans make incomplete observations about an information based on the first piece of information they see. That is why, especially in a country where the main source of attention is social media, having the first say is important...

Even when the first information has a truthful counterargument, even if it is within the bounds of common sense, even when the person who has the second say is a certified honest human. If it is late, it is a defense, and defense—according to an ordinary person—is something the guilty would do.

Even in a country where the Ripper exists, even with Dimasalang criminalizing the victims, even when the Ripper established that bad politicians get punished no matter how they keep their crimes, there are still those who believe they can fool the people and be corrupt.

All because we live in a country where the citizens can be easily fooled.

But is it the citizen's fault for being easily fooled?

No. In their defense, it takes great effort to fool majority of a country. Paterno's side paid millions of dollars for social media experts and propaganda machines. Politicians who crave power over the population aim to be part of the legislation to pass bills that go against the interest of the people, by trade, agriculture, and most especially, education. Uneducated people make easy slaves. Uneducated people make easy supporters. They also create issues, making sure people will love comparisons (that period on the internet where comparative memes are popular), making sure people will hate a certain group all because a divided country is easier to conquer.

Everything that appears on social media is a part of a campaign of some sort.

Emily understood this, so she avoided the political side of social media, only to realize that the fact that her father lost their agricultural land due to lack of local and international buyers is political on its own. The fact that her public school doesn't have any computers is political. The fact that they could not live well to pay for a health insurance—only for the said insurance company deny her mother's cancer treatment—is political.

Her mother dying and her father committing suicide; it is all political.

Now an orphan living with abusive relatives, Emily promises to do her part.

Being in a generation with so much natural exposure to social media, she used this advantage to become a propagandist, initially working with Agent Andres Bonifacio in secret who noticed her hacking and bot manipulation talents. If bad people use this for evil, why can't we use it for a good cause?

Agent Andres Bonifacio does not call her usually. He was a documents controller in NBI, and his main favor was hacking into certain lines, accounts, and any records with digital footprints.

Unexpectedly, Dimasalang entered the picture, with his directives being more propaganda centered.

"The thing is," Jose Rizal once said, "I don't want to fool people too much. We cannot combat misinformation with misinformation. We cannot combat aggression with aggression. I want your comments to just be there, questioning the reliability of the source, so people would be encouraged to actually research and find out more things on their own. We want to raise a country with critical thinking skills."

She once laughed at that. Critical thinking skills? In this country? Yeah, right.

And it worked.

All she had to do was remind people of past events, make them observe, lead them to original videos out of the sensationalized edits, give them educational links, and show truthful sources.

Finally, there is hope.

Finally, she feels like a part of a cause, that the death of her parents will not be in vain.

However, where are they now?

In her little stuffy room with only a loud ceiling fan that doesn't cool the room down, and covered in thin blanket, her laptop screen showed the results of multiple websites and applications that were tracking all digital activities around the area.

She tracked the CCTVs of NBI, PAO, and public streets. Government utilities are easy to hack, unfortunately. No familiar faces.

She listened to the lines on both their phone. She secretly hacked them once so she has direct link to them now. No activity.

It can only be interpreted in one way.

Agent Andres Bonifacio and Doctor Jose Rizal are gone from the face of the earth.

How can she continue this fight against Pedro Paterno if they have no information against him? Somebody else leaked Paterno's crimes, but it will only him time for defense and can initiate quick action to defame others, dragging them down with him. Time is running. If they do not do anything, Paterno will have his own time to shine, and depending on his words under national telecast, it will be harder to defame him.

If the Ripper kills him with questionable reputation and supporters, their only vigilante might become a hero turned terrorist. (well, technically, this Ripper is a terrorist, but they are useful for the cause)

What shall she do from here on?

That was a miscalculation on Emilio's part, but he could not care less, not when he plans to kill Paterno anyway. He did release the anonymous statement that Paterno is linked to international criminals, letting them operate in the Philippines, letting them compromise the legislations. Some of these criminals even had the audacity to run as politicians in NCR and Calabarzon area. They were easily by-passed, thanks to Paterno.

Have they no fear to the Ripper?

Paterno feels safe being protected by his tasteless friends.

Because of this release, however, Paterno was immediately called for a Senate questioning. They wish to ask for the identities of these international criminals, because Emilio was yet to release who they are. Nobody else knows them but the party at the moment, and Emilio decides to hold the information, lest they are also given the opportunity of defense, like the mistake he did with Paterno

Emilio does not actually want to put them through the justice system. They are his to torture.

He drove to Cavite that night, feeling the exhaustion from the mindless and useless meetings that Pedro Paterno was holding in Manila. He can feel the Senator's nervousness, but anxiety can be a person's source of good plans, so his haste gave the orders to deploy misinformation in his favour.  

Emilio still has a decency not to do help in social media campaigns; the campaigns being putting his face out there in support of the party list. He only said, "I will call my lawyers for the most appropriate moves." They took that as his usual indecisiveness, and they think Emilio will eventually follow their orders. They let him go,

It was nighttime when he reached his home, too quiet and too dark for his own liking. He could not even cook his desired meat tonight because his last hunt was Buencamino two weeks ago. When he opened the front door, he noticed a letter that was slid under the door, meaning the sender managed to enter the gate without being seen.

The letter has no return address, no sender, and no other information other than an intricately written cursive that goes: La Liga.

Whatever this group is, they are quite cheesy.

La Liga, really?

Opening the trifold of the letter, he was prepared to roll his eyes upon seeing the contents, but then after a few words in, he realized that the sender could be quite endearing. Maybe he would even give the cheesily-named group some sort of credit.

We know you are not fully on his side.

We can help you out of his grasp.

Come to this location.

And the location is revealed by deciphering the longtitude and latitude from random numbers.

Nobody even thought of him suspicious from Paterno's group, even when he does not want to help the campaign. However, maybe his stunt with Congresswoman Gabriela Silang made the other members of the lower house think he might have a plan to leave him.

And putting it behind codes means they think Emilio is smarter than he lets on.

It's probably one of the liberal parties.

He's going to set it aside for now.

[Isn't it much better to shut him up while he is yet to present his defense?]

"No, but every citizen has the right to defend themselves!" He shouts to the toilet mirror. Today, the shadowy miasma has stepped closer, its mouth just a ruler away from his ears, its voice stronger than ever.

He is Apolinario Mabini, and he was told he has the sharpest mind in his batch. That sharpness has dulled if a mere headache actually develops into these auditory and visual hallucinations. He can still notice that they are hallucinations, but the headache that appears with it is not something he can control. If he drinks more paracetamol, his liver might get into shock.

[In his little time to defend , he will be able to destroy honest politicians, warn his allies, and turn public opinion in his favour.]

"No, but..."

[Think about it. The villains of history had done it to honest people to avoid campaigns for equality. And it can happen the other way around. Paterno can easily use this fact to make himself the victim. He can use his hateful ideology to draw people to his side.]

Apolinario held his head as he stumbles around his room to reach the bed, and as he does, he clumsily knocks some of his things out of the way. In one of his misteps, he slid on a fallen shirt, making his face hit the floor with so much pain, adding to his headache.

[You don't want the very people you serve to be the very enemy of your cause, do you?]

His breathing ragged. He can feel that the oxygen he's taking in never gets past the chest, making his brain even more vulnerable to the mental attacks.

He finally finds the bed and slams himself unto it, his head barely reaching the pillow while his legs slump awkwardly towards the floor, and his boxers barely protecting them from the cold. The air conditioner is probably not operating, but his skin is chilly and his sweat is cold.

Up and down, up and down; he can feel his chest heave up and down as he tries to stay present. Despite the pain, he must at least stay sane. The push and pull of his sanity and the hallucination-inducing headache is taking a toll on his consciousness.

At the corner of his vision, the shadowy figure slowly enters, it’s voice deeper, menacing, and demonic.

"̵̻̆S̷͎͠t̶̳̅o̸̙͑p̸̼̽ ̴̣͂t̶̪̂h̴̥̎i̸̼͝s̸͕̾ ̷̧̔p̶͇͛r̷̞͋e̶̱̋t̸̙́e̵̗͘ň̶͍t̶̙͐i̴̩͌ǒ̶͙ṳ̸͝s̷̘͝n̶̖͑ē̴̢s̵̹̃s̵̝̆ ̴̝͊A̷͈͂p̴̡͂õ̵̖l̸̟͑i̵̦̓n̵̩͋a̴̧͊r̵͙̍i̷͎͘o̴̟̍.̴̖̿ ̸͇̎I̶͚̔ ̷̗̽k̴̜̕n̶̺̒ŏ̴͙w̶̝̌ ̸̖͌ȃ̴͇ţ̷̛ ̴̩̈t̵̝́h̶̪̑i̵͚͝ś̸̡ ̶͕̊p̸͙͊o̶͛ͅi̴̯͂n̶̩͐t̵͈͆,̴̓ͅ ̵̲̓ǐ̸̭t̷̳͊ ̵̯͛h̸̞͆a̸̳̓s̷̢̚ ̸̈́͜b̶̳̄è̶̲ȅ̶̮n̴͎̚ ̵̜̎ả̷͈n̴͔̾ ̶̨͌e̴͙̽f̴̗͠f̶̨̕õ̸̫r̵͎̒t̶̻͑ ̵̳̃f̷̲̚o̵̱͛r̵̭̽ ̴̡́ÿ̵͈́o̶̲͊ů̴̜ ̶̠̕t̵̜́ö̵̪́ ̵̳̌s̶̛̭t̵͝ͅa̴͎̕y̵̳̓ ̵̘̕r̸͍͗í̵͈g̵̤̐h̵͕̎ṯ̵͆e̴̢̎o̷̪̎u̵͖͂s̴̰͌.̵̧̾"̶̮̕

^{("Stop this pretentiousness Apolinario. I know at this point, it has been an effort for you to stay righteous.")}

"No," he whispers painfully. "Who are you to say that."

The thing laughed, [I am your shadow.]

Slowly, his vision dims. The being stays within the frame, being the last thing he's going to see.

[I have worked in the background for you, for so long. I am your conscience, protecting you from your conscience.  I am your shadow.]

"For how long?"

"̴̹͘F̴͚͐o̸̤̓r̸͎̃ ̴̜͝f̵̨̽i̸͇͒v̶̮͛ė̸̲ ̸̦̆y̷̤͋e̵͕͌a̵̳͘ṟ̸͠s̸̗̀.̷̞͝"̵̫̈́

^{("For five years.")}

Emilio drove from Cavite to Manila that night, reaching there at midnight in hopes that Mabini is already asleep. As he was opening the lock (Apolinario should consider getting a biometrics doorknob, not that he cannot bypass that) the door opened from the inside. He is then welcomed by a very sleepy teenager, judging him with a look.

"You know you can text me, right?"

Emilio gets inside and removes his jacket, "I did not want to disturb any of you."

Goyong rolls his eyes, "Oh, please, you're sneaking. Why even? Do you think Tito Pole is mad at you?"

"In his eyes..." Emilio looks over to the place where Apolinario's room is, "...I betrayed him."

"Why so?" Goyong looks at him, genuinely confused.

"Surely you know about my alliance with Paterno, that stupido."

"Ah," the youth's eyes lightens, and it is Emilio's turn to be confused of such expression, "Just tell him you're the Ripper and that you—"

"Absolutely not."

He can visibly see Goyong gulping and looking away from him. He must have been terrifying for the boy right now, seeing as he is the only one who knows what he's capable of. His emotions got the best of him, and he did not mean to, so he ruffled the boy's hair to calm him down.

"I'm sorry."

Goyong suddenly focused his attention to his fingers that twiddle together, "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have suggested something stupid."

"It's not stupid. Your guardian is the height of morality, and you might think that it will make him accept me. Goyong, that very thing will make him reject me."

"And you still love him?"

"There are many reasons why I do, but perhaps the reason why he hates me is the reason why I love him."

Goyong decides to shrug that comment off, which Emilio internally chuckles for. He should get used to his sentimentality. "Okay, you old men. Just go to his room, he's quite sick, actually. Oh, and the rooms are soundproof. You can do whatever."

Emilio must remember that Goyong is a teenager closer to adulthood than infancy, though he still sees him as a little fawn.

Apolinario’s room is not locked, so Emilio invites himself in. He suddenly stops upon seeing the litter of random things trashed unto the floor, and in the middle of the chaos is Apolinario Mabini in simple loose and thin white shirt—his usual upper wear—and a loose boxer short that leaves everything else to the imagination. His sleeping posture is not his usual relaxed position, because his legs are hanging out from the bed, exposing his legs when he is the type to cuddle on blankets. Emilio rushes inside after the tiny pause, going straight to Apolinario’s uncomfortably draped form.

“Attorney!” He scoops his face and caresses him to wake him gently.

After a few calls, the lawyer wakes up groggily, his eyes fluttering open straight to his own. In a few blinks, his breathing rags. He tries to sit up, but his limbs can only do some little jolts. Emilio hushes to calm the other down, though it does not seem to work.

“Get… get away.”

“Attorney?”

“How can you… how can you touch me? Don’t touch me.” Apolinario weakly slaps his hand away, and now successfully supports himself up.

Apolinario continues to scoot closer to the headboard in anger. This made Emilio’s blood slightly boil, so he stands up and gives space in between. He looks at Apolinario, who he made love with, who is now seething at his very presence.

“Am I that despicable to you?” Emilio starts while trying his best to keep calm, his eyes looking down at the other’s shivering form. “You are that angry at me? That you would leave, that you would slap me away?”

Apolinario gathers his knees to his chest. With a shaking voice, he utters, “I am… I am done listening to you. Please.”

This makes Emilio even angrier, now his voice slightly rising, “I know you felt betrayed… but must you really say those words to me? I let you know me, see me, I showed you my devotion. And you didn’t want it.”

The man only shivered more. He hides his face between his arms, sniffing and whimpering.

Emilio sits closer by the bed and took Apolinario’s very cold hands. “Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me? I could be better. I promise. Someday, you’ll see…”

His hands are very cold. It is not the usual cold skin caused by the air condition, not especially when the air conditioner has been turned off this entire time. He quickly rushes his hands towards his jaw and forehead, the heat of it surprising him. He is familiar with human temperature enough to conclude that he is convulsing. Apolinario’s eyes are pointed up that it’s almost just the white to be seen. It is possible, in Emilio’s opinion, that he is experiencing hallucinations due to high temperature and it is not him being asked away.

This is only Emilio’s speculation, but that does not matter for the time being. He carries Apolinario bridal-style and shouted for Goyong’s help.

“Goyong!” Emilio remembers the rooms are soundproof, so he was not heard until he scrambles upon reaching the kitchen. The boy sees them there.

“What’s happening?”

“We’re going to the hospital.”

Goyong’s face suddenly fills with worry. He quickly grabs a jacket and runs a few meters ahead of them to deal with the obstructions like the door and the elevator. He also helps in settling Apolinario in the front seat.

As Emilio drives quickly, he would sometimes stare at the unconscious form beside him. Goyong must have been busy with the upcoming entrance exams so he could not blame the kid if he was late to notice the direness of Apolinario’s fever. Also, the rooms are soundproof, there is no way he could notice anything even if the trashed around objects made noises.

Apolinario has always been unhealthy-looking; he would not be surprised if he would be diagnosed as anemic. How had he survived alone all this time? If he had not visited, what would happen?

In his mind, he whispers to himself, to Gods, and anyone who could be listening in his psyche;

“From now on, I will never leave your side. And I will never let you leave.”

Chapter Text

That morning, the hospital released Apolinario after a whole night being passed out while being medicated through an IV drip. It turned out that his fever broke to 40 degree Celsius that time, and had Emilio not rushed him to the ER rapidly, things could have gone critical as he was also heavily dehydrated.

For the rest of that morning, Apolinario stayed rested in his room, being brought soft food by Emilio himself. He could sit up and feed himself, but Emilio insisted on feeding him. With long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he walks around the house, busying himself with cooking, cleaning, and looking after the newly-released patient. He smiles every time he enter his room, usually with a new bowl of water to wipe on his forehead. Apolinario's head was still muddled with confusion, but he appreciates the man's presence. He actually loves seeing him all the time.

By lunch, Apolinario was able to stand up and eat with them in the simple rectangular dining area. The table can fit only 4 people and is made of cheap plywood, unlike Emilio’s 12-seater mahogany back in Cavite. They are closer to one another with this small table served with only the grandest cooking his mere groceries could provide. They have rice, adobo, and chopseuy; and Apolinario has never seen these dishes cooked in such fancy manners. Goyong dove into the rice bowl before they could even start praying, forgetting that Apolinario has a table rule to say grace before eating. Emilio once admitted that he never said grace with a family before, and his family only did it when they have guest, which was very rare. Living alone for almost 2 decades, he never thought he should be thanking God when he is the one who harvested and cooked the food.

Apolinario looks at Emilio who is busy scooping rice to serve Apolinario's plate. Emilio paused when he noticed Apolinario's eyes on him, thinking what this signal could be. His eyes darted to Goyong in a bit, then returns back to him, telling him to do something. Emilio gave another eye-contact that says, "why won't YOU do it?", making Apolinario glare playfully at the man. Emilio finally concedes and places the rice bowl down.

"Goyong, let us not forget our table manners."

"Hah?" Goyong replies absentmindedly, already in his second spoon.

Emilio motions his hands together and Apolinario follows. Goyong finally understood what they mean so he set his spoon and fork down to pray.

"Dear God," Emilio starts, making Apolinario smile. He was usually the one leading the prayer. "Thank you for Attorney Mabini's quick recovery, may his health continues to recover."

"Amen." Goyong follows .

Emilio continues, "Thank for this humble family lunch, thank you that we are complete. I pray that this continues forever."

"Amen."

Apolinario looks at the two of them with hint of discomfort, knowing he ran away from Cavite without notice, bringing Goyong with him right after Emilio declared them family. It must have been hard for them both, and yet he does not know where and when to start his explanation.

"Thank you for this togetherness, and for the love that we have for one another."

"Amen."

Emilio looks at Goyong, nudging him to say the grace before meal. Goyong only stares back with a defiant look.

Then, he whispers, "I don't know it."

"Don't tell me you only have been saying Amen whenever we pray."

"Yeah."

Emilio sighs. Apolinario chuckles and volunteers to say grace. "Thank you Lord for the food we have received from thy bountry, through Christ our Lord..."

"...Amen." they all say together.

And they dig in, but not without Emilio serving him rice and viands before serving himself. It's like he's restricted to lift a single finger. Goyong goes back to inhaling his food but not forgetting to balance protein and fibre in each spoonful of bite.

Emilio reminds Goyong to eat carefully. They continue to talk about Goyong's entrance exam review session plans, with Emilio finally suggesting that he enrols in a study center. Goyong insisted that he can study on his own. This interactive conversation slowly drowns to the background of Apolinario's mind, his inner voice winning at this moment.

Good thing it is his own voice. His own thoughts. He is well-rested enough, no headaches, and most especially, no hallucinations. He thinks with his own inner voice, with no other voice to exchange ominous dialogues with. His mind is clearer, too. For such, he wonders if having his full sanity at this moment is a blessing or a curse.

If he did not have this sanity—a mind clear enough to see his conscience from the depth of his mind pond—he would enjoy this scene fully. He would not question it.

Questions still arise. Why did Emilio visit? When was the first time he came? He never gave him a key, so did Goyong let him? He does not clearly remember what happened last night, but he was thankful that Emilio was there. For all his faults, this man cares for him; it is something he can never let go.

He reaches out for Emilio's arm to get his attention. As expected, Emilio faces him with a smile. Goyong stops talking upon noticing their intimate moment and rolls his eyes on this contact, so Apolinario retracts his hands in respect to the teenager on the table who is probably cringing for being the old men that they are.

They laughed it off.

After the hearty lunch, Goyong decides to get out a bit to buy more groceries as per Emilio's instructions. He wants to fill their cabinets with the right amount of ingredients. For him, it was a miracle to whip something decent with what stocks they have. Apolinario thought the food was divine. He even thought he brought some ingredients of his own, but it turns out otherwise. He's simply a man of many talents.

The sink is wide enough for the two of them to work together on it. Emilio washes the dishes while Apolinario wipes them dry. With nothing else to hear but their breathing and the sound of glasses clanking, Apolinario decides that it is the best opportunity to break the silence.

"Are you not asking me why I left with Goyong?"

Emilio replies without missing a beat, "I understand."

"Don't you hate it?"

"More than that, I'm saddened."

Apolinario scowls, his grip on the cloth and the plate tightening. "Maybe you should be angry. I mean... I left. After two weeks of living together, I just left? Don't you think it's maddening? Insulting?"

"I will never feel anything negative towards you. I was down after returning in an empty home without any notes or messages, it did confuse me for a while, but I had my epiphany short after. I understand your feelings of betrayal and disappointment. My dear, I'd probably leave me."

Apolinario puts his dishes down to now fully face the man. "Emilio, you should be mad when people are doing questionable activities. Maybe then you would realize that Paterno's policies are against—"

"The things that you fight for?"

Apolinario sets all the dishes aside having been done with them. He faces Emilio, who is still on the sink, wiping it clean. This little domesticity makes him want it more, makes him want to pretend that this man is someone safe to love, but they must address the issue first, "Against us. Us, Emilio. You called us family. We run a household with a child between us. It's the happiest I've been in my life, because I am building this life with the person I love. Don't you want this forever? Don't you want it for others?"

"I want the same." Emilio whispers to himself, yet the fact that he cannot look in his eyes scares Apolinario.

"Then renounce Paterno's party."

"It's not that easy."

Apolinario sighs then leaves the kitchen area. With just a few steps back, he reaches the sofa situated diagonally to the kitchen sink where Emilio is still standing. He plops on the sofa then gives a heavy sigh, "Well, I guess that means you're keeping me like a mistress."

The living area is filled with mid afternoon light from the window. He hates how this lighting makes everything in his apartment clear. There's the clear vision of Emilio, still stuck on repeatedly cleaning the kitchen sink, but now with even more tenser shoulders. He hates how he's making him feel, but he was hurt, too.

How can the man love him and believe that that love is wrong? He cannot really blame him for believing that he only wants a physical relationship, something that is not worth having principle for.

Apolinario Mabini is a serious romantic at heart. He never thought he would fall in love, but he always thinks that if love exists for him, it would be magical, it would be passionate. If love is not for devotion, then he would not love at all.

Yet, how can he expect so much from Emilio? They have been sleeping together for only two weeks. Two weeks of passion, but it felt like they have been waiting for each other their entire life.

He continues, "Obviously I have this thing called dignity."

He hears Emilio's breathing from his peripheral. With his muscles clenched, Apolinario could say that Emilio is equally as stresses with this conversation.

"I do not expect anything less."

"Okay. Stop there," Apolinario flares, his own body suddenly tensing. His voice is snapping, but he breathes and tries to keep his composure, "Can't we have one fucking normal conversation? Instead of explaining properly, you deflect with your damned vocabulary—like I'm going to be impressed, like I'm moving on from the topic. Do I look like I want to dance this cha-cha with you?"

"I... I have my reasons." This time, Emilio looks at him guiltily.

"Then tell me your reasons." He says, his eyes watering.

"It's the campaign, I owe the party list. And I must be close to Paterno, as close as I can."

And that almost snaps Apolinario's ears, the anger making him stand up. "Oh, you've never sounded so stupid to me, Emilio Aguinaldo. Are you telling me I loved the wrong man?"

Emilio looks at him with wide eyes. They almost made Apolinario apologize, but he swallowed the painful bile catching up his throat.

"I'm really sorry that you're angry. I know this feels like a betrayal... but I have my reasons and I'm sticking with them."

"So you are supporting Paterno's progressive bill blockage and passing of dangerous trade laws? Are you supporting his crimes? His deals with human traffickers? Are you supporting all that?" He says a little too coldly.

"Of course not!"

"Then why are you not doing anything?"

Emilio goes silent, and this only made Apolinario madder.

With a ringing piercing through his ears carried by an onset of headache, with eyes red in anger, and with hands clenched, he mumbles, "Then my darling, may the Ripper catch you."

Emilio dropped a mug he was going to put away in thr cupboards. The sound of glass suddenly breaking felt like a spear that went through Apolinario's head, making him plop back to the couch unceremoniously. Without a care on the cup, Emilio runs to his side.

"Attorney, does your head hurt?" He asks.

Apolinario was embraced by warmth as Emilio encircles him with a half embrace. He could not see his face, but worry is laced in his voice. This brakes him. He cries while craddling his head. "I'm sorry I said that to you."

"It is nothing."

"You should hate me."

"Never."

"Emilio, I practically told you to die."

"You didn't mean it."

"And what if I did? You don't know..." he starts to hyperventilate, "...you don't know what's going on in my mind nowadays. Even I myself, I don’t."

He hears Emilio calmly guiding his breathing back to proper rhythm. He is patient, gentle, and comforting, and slowly, his system comes back to normalcy, yet his muscles feel weak.

His head dangles on Emilio's shoulders. "I am tired."

"Just rest, dear. Let me be beside you."

Despite his consciousness (slipping due to weak breathing but still there nonetheless), Emilio suggests that they continue the afternoon resting on the bed. He just got well from a convulsing fever, even a slight agitation could weaken him. They both silently agreed to not talk so emotionally for now.

Emilio carried him to the master's bedroom with his muscular arms as if Apolinario does not weigh anything. He cherished the moment, feeling the other's shoulder through his cheeks. They lie down the bed as the sun goes down and the room's slow transition to gloom relaxed the both of them so much that they start getting drowsy.

Apolinario set himself between Emilio's arms and chest then placed his ears in the middle to hear his heartbeat. Apolinario loves his warmth, he loves his breathing. The man might not love him the same way he does, but he ignores that. For today, they cuddle, and that is the most important thing in the world right now.

How weak of him.

Many times that he insults his friends for being hurt by people who obviously does not love them, and here he is, doing the very same thing to himself. It's like his rationality is out of the window. His dignity even.

Love is one greatly confusing thing.

He can't live with him, yet he can't live without him.

***

It is night when he awakes.

Emilio notices Apolinario's head on his chest. He smiles to himself, the softness of the entire view inspired him to lift his head a little so his lips could tenderly kiss the top of Apolinario's head.

On his peripheral, he notices another figure. It is the sleeping form of Goyong, slightly curled on Apolinario's side. He must have been so worried. Good thing the bed is big enough to fit them all three.

"Little fawn." He calls in whisper, careful not to awaken Apolinario.

Goyong is a light sleeper unlike his other guardian, so his eyes open, a freshly-awaken glare meeting him. "Hm?" He says, distracted.

"What are you doing here?"

"Cockblocking."

"Pardon?"

"No sex. He must rest."

Emilio sighs, "I know that."

Goyong stretched quietly up, sitting on the bed with crossed legs. "What happened to him, anyway."

"I think he was really stressed."

"Work?"

Emilio does not think so. He knows Apolinario is hardworking, but he knows how to provide work boundaries to avoid over exhaustion. "Let's go out. I have questions."

When they did, Emilio quickly fixes a light meal for the two of them using the groceries that the youth just grabbed. In the kitchen, with only one aesthetically displeasing overhead light beaming directly unto the small kitchen table, the two sat face-to-face, Goyong busily stuffing his face with egg fried rice.

"Had the attorney been sick since you moved?" Emilio starts.

"No. And I don't think I'd notice. I'm usually outside and he's always at work."

Emilio falls silent, looking at his own egg fried rice, remembering the slight and very short deviation on Apolinario's personality. It is not something he could explain to a 16-year old, no matter how emotionally attuned. Even he himself could not point it out. More than anything, he is worried than curious, but not worried enough to actually remove the possible root of the problem, which is himself. He will insist, for the life of him, to stay within Apolinario's life.

Goyong suddenly brakes the silence, "The other day, I do remember, we talked a bit about the new case he wants to open against the police chief, and then I mentioned that the justice system is not enough for the revenge that I want."

Emilio scowls at that to which Goyong gestures that he does not care.

The boy continues. "Though, I was half expecting that he might scold me for such words, do you know what he said?"

"What?"

"He said, he agrees."

Emilio tilts his head in realization. "Is that why you were confident that he might accept me as the Ripper?"

"Yes! So why don't you try?" Goyong says enthusiastically.

"It is not definitive. Maybe he only said it in passing, or to avoid displeasing a grieving person. He's lawyer, Goyong."

Goyong continues to eat non chalantly. "Well, that is true. It may be safer to not just say anything. But that means he will have a slight resentment towards you. Forever, even. Can you take that?"

No.

Emilio could not take it.

To be allowed by his side would be such a blessing, but he will never experience the extent of Apolinario's love. He will always be wary, thinking Emilio sees him as a secret to keep.

"Paterno must die. It is the only way. After that, I can run independently or join another partylist. Maybe I'll even leave politics."

"Then please kill him right away."

"Not yet."

He is not one to think about any timing or political implications, but since there is Apolinario's cause at stake, he is will to let the livestock ripen before he could harvest the meat. Usually, it is Dimasalang who publishes post-murder sentiments, making the people believe that the Ripper crime is justified. However, Jose Rizal is probably injured somewhere, maybe even dead. Their social media expert is still working so at least there's anti-propaganda against Paterno's social media movements, but without a journalist to analyze the murder tableau and dig up the victim's crimes, Paterno might be seen as an innocent victim rather than a subject of divine retribution.

There is also the second killer. The copycat.

He or she is yet to move.

He's not sure if the copycat killer does propaganda, but he is sure that this killer kills on pure political reason.

Should he wait?

Or will they meet one day, eventually?

In the mean time, he wishes to check this La Liga thing. Is it a person or a group? He has a feeling that they are the copycat killer, if not one of the liberal parties.

For now, he must look after Apolinario. He wants to be with him always. He wonders if he is forceful enough to stay, would he eventually get tired and let him? Well, that certainly is a plan.

Chapter Text

Manila, for all its faults, is a beautiful historic city. Western movies might depict it as a poverty-stricken, overpopulated, and heavily polluted city, but sometimes, Emilio walks in Intramuros and appreciates the part of the country that has not been tainted by corruption, destroyed by wars, and rich in history.

Intramuros is not exactly a celebration of Filipino architecture since it was designed by the Spaniards, but since they made it in Filipino land and with Filipino materials, Emilio can still feel the spirit of thousands of Filipinos who fought to enter the walled city, and defend it from the inside.

Many government infrastructures, churches, and small business reside within the walled city. It is filled with local and foreign tourists, but some Manileños visit the place to unwind with the abundance of historic cafes and restaurants. The streets are clean, the sidewalks are walkable, and most importantly, the food is good. Sometimes Emilio thinks this is the potential that the entire country could have.

However, in all the forts that Intramuros has, his least favorite is Fort San Diego. It is impressive and historic, yes, but it is very sunny and it is nothing but a bastion overlooking Roxas Boulevard. It would be perfect for sunsets, but not in the middle of lunchtime. The gardens are not enough to cover himself away from the deadly July sun. Not many tourists enter the place for being at the tip end of Intramuros (people stay in Fort Santiago more), and that is probably the reason why this is the meeting place set by La Liga, at this hour of all times.

Wearing a simple and thinner linen shirt, brown slacks, fedora hat, and sunglasses to protect himself from Manila heat, he ascends the winding stairs to Fort San Diego. Upon reaching the top that overlooks the entire bastion, he sees a woman in black jacket, Philippine military-issued boots, and a black baseball hat. He can only see her back for now, but he can tell by the woman's stance and built that she works for the military.

"Good afternoon." Emilio starts. "It is quite sunny here, isn't it? Why don't we go down and proceed to that little cafe in Fort Santiago?"

The woman remains faced back, "We prefer to keep this meeting discrete."

Well, he tried. Emilio does not particularly wish to stay in a remote place with someone who might push him off the fort. He can fight indeed, but that is such a waste of time and energy. In addition, he's not sure if they are really alone. He can play along for a while. "Alright. What do you need? How can you apparently save me from Paterno? And why do you think I need saving in the first place?"

"We know who you are."

He could be alarmed if she knows he’s the Ripper but he does not think so, because if she did, she would not turn his back on him while being so close to the ledge.

"Who am I, then?" He asks innocently.

"You're a harmless man, and a good one, if I would be willing to give you more credit other than the fact that your audit reports are clean. Bare minimum for a politician, but impressive, nonetheless."

Emilio feels relief that she only thought of him as this 'harmless and good' man. If she revealed that she knows his darkest secret, he might have to use drastic measures. However, a good man? Emilio does not think he exudes the reputation of a good man. There was also a man that called him 'good'. It escapes him what entered their minds to conclude as such.

"I just don't need that much money to corrupt. It does not feel right, though I'm aware that is the norm." He replies.

"But too much road projects, really?" The woman finally faces him, scowling.

"Hey, my goal is to make Cavite walkable. Like this place." Emilio weakly defends.

"Questionable."

Emilio only smiles. He is not in the mood to talk about his platforms with this lady. He proceeds to another question after fake-laughing, "Are you one of the other parties? Liberal or conservative? Are you trying to recruit me? I have never heard of a party list called La Liga. Pretty cheesy name, by the way."

"No. We're not in politics." The woman finally faced him, but she wears a black disposable K95 face mask with Chanel sunglasses over her eyes. Her face is very much covered. Emilio internally scoffs at her attempt to cover her identity. They could have just stepped up to changing her voice, because a little research can let Emilio narrow down his options to conclude the woman's identity from the military database.

"Then what do you need from me?"

"We need information against Paterno."

"Like?"

"Anything you could give us."

"What if I can't give anything? Are you going to kill me?" Emilio challenges, gripping the small linoleum knife in his hand that is hidden within his pocket.

"If only I could."

"What's stopping you?"

The woman shrugs, a sudden break from her intimidating presence. "Our Ministro warns us off from killing you, though I would very much like to. There's also the fact that you're the closest to Paterno right now. We hope you see that he must be brought down."

"Who is this Ministro?" Emilio tries to ask. If they have this leader role, then perhaps they are an organized group with a certain goal. The Ministro warning to keep him alive is not the problem for now, he must figure out their goal.

"We can't tell you."

"Of course." Emilio gives up immediately. "Then why do you want Paterno's downfall? What is it to you?"

"Just, you know, for the betterment of the nation."

"He will lose the trial, I made sure of it. Why can't you wait for that?"

"Ah, we don't think so." The woman slowly walks towards him, trying to scare him off, maybe; but he remains unfazed. "He will have enough time to prepare his defense, and with a national telecast, he might sensationalize enough to get the people to his side. You know how politics work. Disgusting. That is why we don't want to give him a chance for defense."

Of course. That was also Emilio's plan pertaining Paterno. He plans to kill the Senator before they could even prepare for the trial. He's also planting some questionable evidence that will endanger his defense more.

However, defaming him would still give him a chance for defense. Unless... just like him, they are not waiting for a trial.

They will kill him before the trial.

La Liga Filipina might be the copycat killer.

If he confirms now, of course they will still put him in a hitlist for knowing who they are. Also, what can he say? Hey, are you guys the copycat killer? I know you're not the Ripper. Why? Oh, because I'm the Ripper. He's not really interested in making his life more complicated than now. The group is mysterious, but their motives are clear, so perhaps he can check their identity in his own way.

There is only one way to confirm, and that is to draw this conversation out and get information as much as he can. It is a skill he learned especially when his targets love talking about themselves. This woman is a part of a serious ‘noble’ organization, she does not look like the one to talk unnecessarily and will only give out words that count. He must act really, really harmless.

"I will prepare some files to send to you." Emilio releases the knife from his hidden hold.

"And what are these files?"

"Audio recordings from our meeting in Metropolitan Theatre. List of names. Ledgers. The likes."

The woman nods, looking impressed, "That will be helpful. Thank you. How can I be sure that you are on our side? That you will give the files to us? You could be trapping us."

"That is fair to think." Emilio says, "But how can I even go against you? You look like you can kill me. You know where I live. Maybe the only reason why I'm alive is because your Ministro thinks I'm harmless. So, I will stay harmless. I want to stay alive."

"You're helping us because you're afraid of us?"

"Basically."

The woman looks at him up and down, "You don't look like it."

Emilio grins, he almost wanted to laugh out loud, but he controls his laughter to come out as the smallest grin he could muster. The woman pauses with him; her trained military eyes focused on his face like a scanner. "What are you talking about? I'm really scared."

The woman exhales while still glaring at him, her eyes looking more menacing than before.

"Alright, to be honest, I want to take his position and get all his money. If you want to destroy him, please do so." he quickly explains. "At least I don't have to do it on my own."

She shook her head slowly for whatever reason, but Emilio decided to keep the meeting short.

"I have one last question."

"Go ahead." the woman says.

"Am I a part of your list to destroy? Are you the ones who has been defaming Paterno and me?"

The woman closes her eyes and contemplates for a while before answering. "Alright, I guess I could tell you. Maybe this will keep you in line."

"Oh," Emilio tries sounding alarmed.

"Yes, it was a part of our plan to bring you down, but we did not do the defaming. Let’s say it’s those rumors that made us investigate you and figured out that you might be changing your stance. It’s politics after all, it’s not about loyalty. But I pretty much want to end you. You staying by Paterno’s side puts you in bad political light. It only makes sense to kill you."

Kill? He could think she means kill his career, but Emilio is not him if not extreme. Of course that means ending his life. In a situation where somebody else is a capable killer that is constantly mistaken as him with pure political reason, of course that means it could be this obviously capable woman with an organized group behind. It only makes sense to kill him, he actually thought he would meet the copycat killer someday, but if they’re thinking twice on his involvement now, they might meet again in Paterno’s house.

"However?" He asks, curious what specifically makes them think twice.

"You don't seem to be that dangerous. Someone told us you are actually quite promising." She rolls her eyes, mocking the very words that come out of her mouth.

"This someone is your Ministro?" Emilio pushes.

"Enough questions."

"You're very rude. You're the one asking for very important files that could accomplish your goal." He says, acting as if he was hurt.

The woman glares at him and crosses her arms, "You're right. We should be thankful." She says with venom. "Don't you want to ask for something in return? Like, money? Secrets?"

Emilio can immediately smell why she asked that. It is a simple test to gauge his character and see if he will be a heavy weight in all their operations, but he cannot go without a request either, that would be suspicious as well. "Yes, I do have a request."

The woman nods with a mocking scoff, urging him to continue.

"Upon defaming Paterno, keep my name out of it."

"Hm. That's a fairly reasonable request. I'm impressed. And here I thought you would be asking for money or alliance." The woman proceeds to walk pass where the stairs are, but not without giving another once over, "You are different... from my expectations."

"Sorry, I'm taken. And deeply in love with a man." Emilio says.

She rolls her eyes then leaves.

*

The night he fell unto his forehead on the dining table after reading suspicious letters from his friends, he woke up immediately, actually.

He woke up different.

Apolinario is not sure what to name this mental state, but it is when he lets his practicality and brutality override his conscience. It is not a split personality, that much he could say, because it is a conscious switch.

His conscience—his oh so holy conscience—could not peacefully co-exist with the knowledge that he orders the execution of some politicians like a judge sending someone to life sentence, just that there is no law involved, because if it is, he knows they could get away with their most heinous crimes. In this state of mind, he understands that justice is not as pure as he believes. He knows this because he is a person of law.

And so, he must switch consciously to separate his conscience and whatever this mental state is.

Apolinario Mabini will always have full control over his mental faculty, even when he does not want to. 

Yet, even with this mental state, his head aches as the morality that raised him—from the loving teachings of his mother, his brother, and the church—could not exist with the fact that sometimes, conscience must be swallowed for the betterment of everyone. If the evil, the corrupt, the heartless, and the abusive can do these all while influencing the life of majority for the worse, then how come he could not?

Can’t he, a person with better motive, with more compassionate heart, with more selfless love for his countrymen, also move in ways that will be more influential? The only thing that was stopping him from cleaning his country in a more effective manner is his damned conscience and his obedience to the law. So, his mind inevitably and necessarily blocked off his normal state of mind that carries so much limit, and let this current one rule at times when he needs to act as a punisher.

He reads the letters scattered around his table, and he knows his blocked self must have been reeling with confusion while reading the coded messages cloaked as mundane life updates sent through physical letters. Agueda’s letter is not coded, yet careful, and it is the one that woke him up. She usually codes her messages, but since he hasn’t been answering for weeks, she must have lost her patience. Understandable, Apolinario thought.

The way he wakes up usually only takes him a little snap, and he does this when his mind naturally breeds necessity to think that ‘I should remove my conscience for a while’. He naturally craves for a mind that is more practical and brutal, like maybe closer to the Ripper’s mentality. He does the ‘switch’ consciously, yet it protects him by minimizing his memory, giving memory gaps to the one with conscience. Nowadays, however, it became so hard for him that his Shadow—the unconscious aspect of his personality that has been repressed for a long time (according to Jungian psychology)—must manifest like a hallucination and a searing headache.

It scares him, somehow. He has repressed this Shadow for two weeks that he thought his normalcy could rule. He wanted it to be. There were two reasons why he could have repressed his role.

One, Emilio and Goyong entered his life, and he thought how sweet it is to have nothing but a simple life with the ones you love. As cliché as it sounded, he never thought the right person would awaken a desire to settle down, country be damned.

Two, he was beginning to hate the philosophy of the Ripper who was getting closer and closer to his life. He fears that the Ripper might desire to kill Emilio due to his involvement with Paterno. Not only that, Andoy and Pepe got involved, and he did not want to involve Goyong, as well.

Paterno must go down fast, but it might mean Emilio should fall with him, too. Meeting Emilio made him question his decisions so far; he realized that not all victims within the POI of the Ripper (and them) deserve to die. Yes, Emilio’s opinions—like the 4Ps one—might have been questionable, but it turns out he knows how to listen to reason. Without the existence of his one bad alliance, the world would know that he’s a good man. People still have good in them, people can change, and this is why his Nanay reminds him to always forgive.

The clash of his conscience that regrets, and practicality that brutalizes, caused his mind to choose one where he would be in peace. Upon seeing Emilio’s smile, he chose his conscience, but with Paterno destroying him, he wishes to kill.

Pedro Paterno.

That police chief.

The Ripper.

He wants them gone.

He wants to put them through so much before they die for endangering his loved ones.

While reading the letters, Goyong came home. They briefly discussed his thoughts on his case against the police chief to which Goyong ended up saying, “I just think… human punishment is not enough to deliver the justice I want.”

Apolinario chuckles. “My dear, I think the same.”

When Goyong retreats to his room that night, he continues to write replies to the correspondences. Teresa said that there is a Councilor in Tayabas, the one with two children, one recently newborn, is actually a Chinese national and is letting Chinese gangs rule the area. Numeriano (nicknamed Yano) says a powerful illegal immigrant is about to buy a huge land in Ermita and must probably be tied to a powerful official of the country to have been allowed such transaction, and Moises says he likes a lady in Sta. Rosa. He is yet to decipher that letter.

Indeed, these personalities scream danger, but they do not know if they are tied together. It’s better to observe first before they strike. Many foreigners are entering the country, and worse, these foreigners happen to come from the countries that take interest in controlling the Philippines. Many of the country’s public utilities—power distribution, airports, water distribution, highways etc. are already owned by private companies, and some of these companies might have been foreign powers all along. They do not have much evidence, nor do they have a list of people involved.

However, they know Buencamino and Paterno were always surrounded by foreign lobbyists since the beginning of their political career. They are damned traitors who would sell their countrymen for money. They are disgusting. Good thing the Ripper killed Buencamino, making the Ripper crimes open for national level. That opens the opportunity to kill Paterno. It would be such a waste to just kill him, though. His contacts should vanish as well, lest these foreign companies just find a replacement.

If only they know how to access Paterno’s files. If only they could check Paterno’s cronies for possible alliance.

Three days later, Teresa visited his place in Manila for a friendly chat. They met in café with outdoor tables in front of their apartment building. Goyong is in a public library, while Emilio is in Intramuros.

“I’m glad you are back. We thought we would never hear from you again.” Teresa starts.

Apolinario nods in acknowledgment, mainly to the version of Apolinario that Teresa addressed. He takes his cup of coffee to his mouth, still unprepared to give an explanation. It is already the afternoon, and the only reason of Teresa’s visit is to bring him a very important news from Intramuros. Of course, they could not communicate in ways that could be intercepted, such as calls and text messages. They can communicate this news through a letter, but it might take hours or even days to arrive, so Teresa decided that this news must be delivered in person fresh from overhearing Emilio and Agueda’s conversation. Apolinario is nervous.

Teresa puts her own drink down, seriousness etches her face, “Well, it’s good news.”

He gasps a little, setting his own drink down to the table. This only means Emilio agreed to work with them, and that inevitably means he is not as loyal to Paterno as he shows. To say he’s elated is an understatement. “I told you! He’s a good man.”

“But why wouldn’t he tell you?”

Apolinario slumps down. “I don’t know. Maybe because he does not want to involve me with his problems?”

Teresa leans closer to him, “Is this man the reason why it was so hard to contact you these past few weeks?”

Apolinario nods while looking at his drink and nothing else. The liquid in the cup swirls, calming him, reminding him of the days they spent mornings in Cavite when the congressman prepares him breakfast with coffee.

“Oh, Dios Mio.” Teresa breathily laughs with a wide grin, “You actually fell in love with him. You know he’s a part of our list.”

List to kill—is what Teresa chooses not to mention. They’re in public after all. Inevitably, Emilio would become a part of that list since becoming the vice president of the party, or even before that for being connected to a known corrupt party, or even before that for being an astoundingly mundane politician. Before joining Paterno's party, when he was just a young city Mayor, people cannot figure out if he was conservative or liberal. He does not have much stance, just that he's doing the bare minimum in ordinances.

La Liga has scanned all the politicians in Calabarzon and Southern Metro Manila, so they are aware of Aguinaldo's performances or the lack thereof. The group, under Apolinario's careful analyses and instructions, would only go after the politicians that have most recent corruptions and/or illegal business scandals, so another independent entity named Dimasalang could write about it without much needed investigations that—with predetermined scandals—the public easily agrees with. The process was simple. They make a list of suspicious politicians, one of these people will have a scandal somehow, they kill, and then Dimasalang would overglaze it as poetic justice. This has been going on for five years and it keeps the area in check. The audits are getting cleaner and the candidates have been lined by sincere politicians only, conservative or liberal, but never corrupt. With that, the area also holds the most progressive cities in the country. 

Emilio Aguinaldo has been a part of this progressiveness despite the lack of known ideology. He also has no scandals aside from being born in a corrupt dynasty. 

However, last election, he joined Paterno's party and it became enough to put him on the list. They were just waiting for a scandal. And none came. 

At the back of Apolinario's head, Emilio is meant to die someday. If not by him, then by the Ripper. And the Ripper also never came.

He learned more about this Congressman Emilio Aguinaldo; an artistic, passionate, caring, understanding man who actually understood where he and Andoy were coming from. He listens to his advice, and he shows that he cares for Goyong, a victim of injustice. In his mind only, Emilio is removed from the list, and so when his state of mind woke up from alcohol-induced slumber, the one where he spiked Emilio's wine so he could leave without alerting him awake, he killed his cousin instead of him. Well, somebody had to die so Goyong could be freed from the Ripper-accessory allegations. 

For the lack of communication with Agueda and the rest, Emilio was yet to be crossed out from that list.

“I’m thankful that you gave him the benefit of the doubt.”

“It was rumored that he conversed with Gabby. He wants to see that all her friends must agree with the thing, because he must not agree for the sake of pleasing his stupid boss. So, Agueda decided we send a letter to check him out.” She says, strategically missing out big names for safety.

“Really now?”

“See? This happens when you’re out of the loop, Ministro.”

Apolinario sighs, “I have reasons.”

Teresa looks at him worriedly, “Is it your conscience?”

He nods weakly.

“Oh, well.” Teresa resumes, “Please know that he is still suspicious. Agueda was worried that the conversation was too easy. It could be a trap. We’ll off him right away if that is true.”

Apolinario’s skips a beat, but he hides the shock from his co-worker. He swiftly regains his composure and nods, “That is only fair.”

“Shouldn’t you try your best to defend him?” Teresa challenges.

“Well, I admit, there is a reason why I left him for a while. He really insisted being with Paterno, but…” Apolinario pauses, remembering the recent days when Emilio would not leave his side out of worry, even when Apolinario pushes him away, and even when his brutality slipped and declared that he should die. It was like Emilio ignored all the daggers he threw his way just to have more moments by his side.

Is two weeks of knowing each other enough to have his full devotion? And why Apolinario? He is old, and he is not that attractive, he is not rich either. But for some reasons…

Teresa calls his attention to continue, “But?”

“… He loves me.”

Teresa makes a face, probably grossed out of his usually loveless friend’s surprising declaration, “Well, if he really made sure to pass that bill from the lower house, then maybe he really does want to marry you.”

He chuckles, but that electrified Apolinario for mixed reasons of unbridled ‘kilig’ and guilt. He accused Emilio of not loving him enough for voting ‘No’ on that bill, because what else could he think?

“But why would he hide that from me? He can tell me that he plans on betraying his boss, right?”

Teresa gently shakes her head, “I am not aware of his reasons. Maybe… actually… he has no plans of leaving them, and he’s going to trap us. Agueda feels something off with him.”

“Me, too.” Apolinario has been looking at the grey horizon from the direction of Roxas Boulevard. It is the afternoon, and since it suddenly rained, no scenic sunset could be seen. The horizon has been covered by the mist of the heavy rain that he could barely see anything beyond it. He remembers a certain golden afternoon in Emilio's frontyard, when he stood there, beautiful, calm... electric. Somehow, he forgot he's nothing but a simple man. He does have an air of ethereality around him. Sometimes he wonders how he is as such.

Slowly, a figure appears from the horizon, breaking its endlessness. Emilio’s walking figure emerges from the fog brought by the rain with a huge black umbrella. The closer he gets, the more can Apolinario see his gloomy face. Who would not get gloomy with the sudden pour of rain, but Emilio looks up as if sensing him, then immediately smiles. Apolinario smiles back.

“Ministro,” Teresa calls his attention, “I hope you can find a way to make sure he's on our side.”

Then she leaves without another word.

Apolinario can only stare at the place where Teresa was. It was his que to leave, but it is raining heavily, and he does not have an umbrella. He stays seated, waiting for Emilio to reach his table. He looks over at Emilio’s approaching figure again, and their eyes meet again, which could possibly mean his eyes never left him even when he was not looking. This, on its own, should be enough assurance that Emilio loves him enough to betray Paterno. However, Teresa is right. Maybe he has no plans of leaving them, and he will be kept like a secret sidepiece, a scandal that should never break out.

He wants to prove them wrong.

He wants to show them that Emilio is not as bad as it seems.

That whatever reason he has to keep his disdain for Paterno a secret, it should be a very critical reason to allow Apolinario’s disappointment.

He wants to completely remove his name from their list.

Emilio finally reached his table outside the café. Apolinario stands up to enter the safety of the other man’s umbrella. Good thing it is big enough to accommodate two grown men, and that the apartment unit is only one block away from the café.

“It was so sunny a while ago, now it’s raining hard.” Emilio starts the conversation while looking at the sky. Apolinario hummed in agreement. “It’s going to flood later.”

When they are almost halfway to the main entrance of the building, Apolinario stops them by holding Emilio’s arms to make him look at him. The sidewalk under the lines of acacia trees is empty; everybody else is inside, avoiding the rain, while here they are, making the moment last longer. Emilio looks at him tenderly, so without wasting any time, he utters,

“Emilio, will you marry me?”

Emilio drops his smile, “Please. Tell me why.”

Apolinario did not expect him to ask why, so he tries to explain while stuttering, his heart hammering through his chest. “Well, it’s… with Paterno’s… I mean… it will be good for your reputation if you show that you are against Paterno’s ideologies… to…”

Emilio chuckles once, but the pain is obvious on his face. “You propose to me, and there is still a name of another man in between. You’re funny, Attorney.”

He should not have said anything more. It made things complicated, though he did not lie. For a man who is known for being eloquent, he sure does stutter and misspeak a lot when he’s around Emilio. So, he stays silent, and with the awkwardness of the situation, he unconsciously walks faster, another one of Apolinario’s uncharacteristic movements. If Emilio has not fallen out of love with his insincere-sounding proposal, he would have now with this.

“Wait!” Emilio calls while trying to keep the umbrella above his head, forgetting about himself altogether, “I will marry you!”

“What?” That made Apolinario stop and face the man wet with rain.

“What ever reason you have, I’ll take it. I will take what I can get from you.”

His heart panicked upon seeing Emilio's even more pained expression. Why does he keep hurting this man?

“No, Emilio! I really do love you.”  He explains, but looking at Emilio’s face, he can see that he does not fully believe it to be true, “Because if we get married, this thing with… whatever! I’m worried. Because I love you! And if people see that—”

Emilio stops him for saying anything more with a kiss. Gentle, careful, but not as passionate as what he’s used to. It’s like Emilio just wants him to stop talking, to stop hurting him any further, and so Apolinario let the kiss marinate into something more. Yet, nothing came. It is just a gentle kiss that stays there, like a plea.

As the rain falls, Apolinario’s tears fall while his lips are steadily—but loosely—locked with Emilio.

**

So of course, she eventually found out that Dimasalang is a son of the rich Mercado-Rizal family, with his older brother Paciano being the current heir of their multibillion-dollar conglomerate. If their son is missing, they would release search parties, and if they believe their son is dead, they would publicly or privately demand for justice. However, Emily is yet to get any mourning or searching activities from their household. Indeed, the family’s digital connections and footprints are well-guarded; they can afford an expensive premium VPN after all, but their house staffs do not.

From their estate manager’s contacts, she learned that the Rizal Estate in Calamba is looking for an on-call psychiatrist. It could be a far-reaching conclusion, but it might mean Dimasalang is hiding in the estate for recuperation. Nothing will be lost to check.

Fortunately, the Mercado-Rizal family is like those old traditional families with open fences, and the only physical security is their expansive yards and their trustworthy and well-paid estate staffs. Agent Bonifacio did address one time that Rizal’s household security is outdated and generally easy to infiltrate. With her casual stealthy outfit of all-black, she runs through the yards and finally reached the part of the house with a constantly open balcony. With one of the butler’s activities, she concluded that it could be Dimasalang’s room. She climbs in. It was only on the first floor.

“Who’s there? Kuy—” Dimasalang was about to shout, so she takes the closest object, which is a pillow, and throws it to his face. This stopped the man from shouting further.

Without missing a beat, she introduces herself, “Dimasalang, I’m Pinky Yan. The social media expert.”

Jose stands up from the floor, and if it is not a dire situation, she would have laughed for the fact that the grown man stumbled down with just a pillow throw. Perhaps she threw it too strongly. She would have to apologize for that later. “Oh, is that so? Nice to meet you.” Then he throws the pillow to the ground, “Why do you guys have to contact me like this! You’re just like…”

Emily sees the sudden sadness in his eyes, and so nervously, she asks, “Where is Agent Bonifacio?”

He walks to the bed and sits there, all while looking at the floor. “He’s dead.”

It was like she was poured a bucket of ice over her head upon hearing the words. She stumbles back, but she tried to reign in her composure. “H… how? Where is his body?”

“His body?” Jose’s eyes waters and his voice wobbled with the oncoming fall of tears, “Probably at the bottom of Manila Bay. Probably scooped out upon surfacing. Probably burned. Probably …”

“Just speculations, then?”

“No matter. He is dead!” Jose now fully stares at him, almost shaking. He looks traumatized, and that is probably the reason why their estate manager called for a psychiatrist. “I saw him die right in front of me. His head was hit by a bullet. Then he was shot several times as his body sinks down.”

“Who—”

“Paterno’s men.”

They fall silent. Amid the silence, Emily took a quick deep breath, with fist clenched, and with eyes glaring, she says, “We could not possibly stop here, Dimasalang.”

The writer can only weakly shake his head as his frown turn into another set of whimpering, “There is no more step to take from here on, hija. I’m sorry.”

“But we cannot stop here! We have a cause, a noble cause.” She insists with determination while keeping her voice low enough to avoid being detected by his house staff or Kuya Prudencio, but loud enough to get through the man’s head. Emily steps closer to Dimasalang, “I was nothing before Agent Bonifacio, and even then, we didn’t have much direction. We only solved cases and nothing more. We did not even communicate that much. But since he convinced you on our side, we finally have a greater goal. It was all because of you Dr. Jose Rizal. If not for you, this revolution of our would not start.”

“It was barely a revolution, and I’m just a writer.”

“A writer who inspired people to believe that divine justice still lives. If not for you, the Ripper killings would have gone a different direction. It became a cleaning rather than a crime. And slowly, Paterno is challenging that. All your years of hard work will go down the drain because one egotistic man wants to be powerful. Are we letting him do tha—?”

“And why can’t we?” Dimasalang interjects abruptly. He crosses the room to approach an open baggage with clothes strewn around it. He angrily throws some things in it. “Isn’t it scary to think that we are putting all our fate to one unknown entity who kills? My writings are nothing without the Ripper, and if that is the hill I’ll die on, I would rather leave this country.”

“Yeah…” Emily’s voice drops “That’s easier to say when you can afford to leave.”

Emily could not help but remember that in the end of the day, she is just a sixteen-year-old with little to no control over her own life. At least rich people like Dimasalang can simply ignore the woes of the majority because they can afford to get away from it all. If she were rich… if she were privileged…

She would still not leave her country to ruins.

“How can you say that!”

Dimasalang startles.

“If I were rich like you, I would set up a media center that’s bigger than Paterno’s propaganda machines. Do you know what it takes to change the mind of the majority? Just one simple post. One post can bring people to their side. And then, hear this, Paterno is preparing defence because someone leaked that he’s tied to foreign criminals. The senate called for a trial. And do you know what his trolls are doing now?”

Dimasalang now fully faces her with blank expression, “Spreading misinformation, I believe.”

“And people are eating it up! What can I do? I’ve been doing what you told me, but without evidence to destroy Paterno, we’re losing.”

With a pitiful look, the writer walks towards the girl and holds her shoulders. She is two heads shorter despite her age for having not much to feed herself, and in addition, her clothes are shabby and her stature is very thin. Despite all that, she came here with determination, and she is not about to be pitied. She did what she can. She is fighting. She has fire to go against an impending evil that might divide the country through propaganda. There is nothing pitiable about her, so Dimasalang should stop looking at her that way.

“Look here, hija. Agent Bonifacio has died.”

“Still don’t believe that!”

Dimasalang sighed, “Should we wait until it becomes you or me? I can be protected by my family’s estate, but you? What are you against Paterno’s secret army? I was there, I saw how powerful he is. He is not just some guy with propaganda machines, he is a dangerous man. He has an army.”

“So, we will just let the likes of him do what they please? Because I will not!” Emily insists.

“Listen…” Dimasalang tries, but Emily’s heart only grew more fire.

“I will not back down. You can get disheartened, that was indeed a scary mission, but for the country’s sake, don’t give up!”

“It is not simple…”

If only Emily has a little energy to become physically violent, she would have slapped this man. “It is simple. Tell me Paterno’s crimes. Give me some evidence.”

“I only know words, but without video or audio evidence…”

“Then we’ll start with those words. Baseless or not, it is a start. Somebody leaked that vague information anyway, and I bet you don’t know. We can spread the names—”

“No.” Dimasalang’s tone is gentle yet firm. “We can’t work on this anymore. Leave it, hija.”

Emily’s anger blows through the roof of her head, and it made her push the man away. “You’re a coward!”

She runs towards the window and quickly jumps off outside. Dimasalang was silent throughout her outburst, and she took that as his act of resignation. As she runs around the balcony, hiding behind the thorny bushes and dodging walking staffs, she notices the clouds above thicken while threatening some flashes of lightning. She mutters a cuss to the sky, and on que, the rain begins to fall heavily.

 The rain immediately splashed her clothing soaking wet. She does not have a choice but to dock under a balcony, gathering her limbs together to crouch away from the storm and the cold it brings. She sniffs audibly, but she tries her best not to let any thoughts of resignation influence her to stop running. She will not stay under the balcony like a wet chicklet forever, but now that the rain is stronger than her feet, she will cry under it only for a while.

Maybe Dimasalang needs some moment for himself, too.

“Miss?” A kind voice calls. She looks up in alarm, ready to bolt away, but the man has worried smile under a huge umbrella, and she thought maybe it’s alright to not panic. “I am Paciano, Jose’s older brother. Why don’t we get you dry first?”

“Why should I trust you?” She tries to sound tough, but her voice quivers due to the cold.

“I heard everything you talked with my brother, and I support your cause.” Paciano offers his hand, “I would like you to be patient with him. How about you wait for the rain to stop inside my house? I’ll make hot chocolate.”

The offer is very tempting, so she followed the kind-looking man. Anyway, she researched enough about the Mercado-Rizal household and learned that they are quite the unique rich family—in a good way. She will trust him for now. Once inside the house, Paciano orders a staff to lead her to the baths and provide her with some dry clothing. The clothes might be the most comfortable and expensive fabric she has ever worn.

The staff left her in a room where Paciano reads a newspaper with a headline about Pedro Paterno’s upcoming trial. She has read that article online, but it was presented with a misleading headline, and anyone who would read it without clicking the link might agree with Paterno. Social Media is not exactly a place of critical thinkers and researchers. It angers her that a huge percentage of the population will be baited by that misleading headline, and when she thought she might be overthinking, she checked the comments section and saw that the people really did not read the whole article. This newspaper company is not a tabloid company, yet they are fond of presenting headlines misleadingly for engagement bait. For profit. For nothing else.

The more this trial drags out, the more time will Paterno’s men have to bait supporters.

Paciano sees her standing by the door. He motions her to the chair opposite his, with the table on her side being filled with snacks and a good-smelling hot chocolate. She proceeds there and immediately took a sip from the cup.

“You are just like Pepe. Eager, patriotic, quite idealistic, but practical as well.” Paciano starts.

“I know. I worked with him for a while.” Emily answers.

Paciano turned somber. He looks at the window that is being pelted by heavy drops of rain. “It was raining that night. Our yacht captain called me, saying something happened and Pepe had completely frozen. Could not move, could not talk. I had to convince him for an hour to get moving, but he could not tell me what happened. The captain said he was with someone named Agent Bonifacio. Guns were involved somehow, but it was dark and Pepe emerged out of the water alone. Whatever happened, it was probably… something he could not easily share. Not especially when it’s raining.”

Emily stays quiet while looking at the window.

“Whatever your current mission is, it must be something important.” Paciano says, putting the newspaper down with the front page exposed, “But for now, let the rain subside.”

Chapter Text

See artist's work on tumblr here

[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality. I do not know the current Police Chief of Manila and no character in this story is based on anyone alive in the current time.]

TW: Pedro Paterno

TW: Graphic Depiction of violence

TW: Gore

Disclaimer: I will place warnin g signs before and after the bloodbath so you may skip them.

Emilio looks at his left hand that holds a simple silver band with a hard stone close to diamond. It is called moissanite, a stone with a hardness scale of 9.8, just a little variance from diamonds that are mined. When he placed it on Apolinario's finger while explaining that the stone is a lab-grown diamond instead of the mined ones, he gave a smile so sweet that it almost made Emilio tackle him to the couch.

Yes, as unfortunate as it was, Emilio only presented the rings in the living room of the lawyer's apartment unit. He prepared a lavish dinner as usual, added by an expensive red wine. In Emilio's book, it might be an effort, but it is nothing special. He could have made the night more romantic, but he was threading lightly to be considerate of Apolinario’s feelings, as confused as he was about it.

When the ring has been fully slipped on his beloved’s finger, Apolinario looks at it against the light, confirming that it is really moissanite with the colorful rays that glinted around it. He hugged and kissed him, whispering against his lips that he really knew him enough to give him a moissanite instead of a diamond. Emilio proudly knows the man’s preferences, and he knows Apolinario would prefer a lab-grown stone versus a stone that was mined by the means of brutal child-labor. He embraced him tightly, promising to never let him go, no matter what the other’s feelings may be. He will be a better man to make Apolinario think he is worth the political proposal. They slept together that night, contented and relaxed in each other’s embrace; at least for Emilio.

The living room of Apolinario’s abode is cool and dark as he closed the black-out curtains, letting a small slit provide lighting that is only enough for him to see the whiskey that he brings to his lips every now and then, and appreciate the colorful refraction that comes from the engagement ring identical to Apolinario, who is at work with it. He is celebrating in his own way while Apolinario away, but he cannot help but brood. He forces himself to smile.

He should be thankful that Apolinario proposed to him; it was under the afternoon rain, too. That was very romantic. If only, if so only, the reason for the proposal is not some pathetic man whose name does not deserve to be uttered.

The phone beside the whiskey glass lights up, filing the room with its foreboding and unnatural glow. The name that appears on the screen is repugnant. His face scrunched a little, though he proceeds to pick it up. He answers the call with an anticipation of some sort of bad news he could not have been bothered to listen to if not for his pretend duty.

“Congressman Aguinaldo.” The man from the other line calls, his voice is calm but there is edge to it.

“Good afternoon, Senator Paterno. How are you?” Emilio replies. His voice suddenly lost its natural depth and gentleness, replacing it with a fake jovial tone that makes him sound like a friendly dog who knows nothing else but to please. This is how he talks around the party members but only when he is required to speak. He does not show-off like the other members who are so eager to lick Paterno’s boots. Even when pretending to be stupid, he likes to keep his propriety. Changing his voice is the best he will ever do for Paterno. “I heard that the common people picked up the evidence of your trial.”

“Nothing new came out, they are the same with that first thing that came out.” Paterno says with the same monotonous voice. The first wave of information that are coming out are the very information Emilio himself released, nothing new has come out, but marinating information in the hands of the suffering masses will work wonders, and that may be something Paterno is yet to realize.

Many analysts in social media are making posts and videos about the speculations that Pedro Paterno is working with foreign powers that wish to dominate the Philippine market, and eventually, the Philippine government. Many are calling him a traitor. Last week, it was just some simple informative videos, now, the internet, especially the youth, are pulling Paterno’s previous senate bills that weakened the Philippine market. With that, they are now realizing that he is deliberately destroying the country for his own business gains. For example, he removed the tariff for vegetables coming from this one country, and he advertised it as a bold movement towards health. What happened was these cheap vegetables became the only ones that the market is buying, disabling the local farmers from competing. The local farmers were forced to throw their crops and sell their lands.

The bill apparently includes ‘Ayuda’ for local farmers, but only a portion of those were actually received. With the lands up for sale, Paterno bought it under some real estate clan’s business name and turned it into a sub-par subdivision. In addition, the local market for vegetables has gotten so weak that the country became dependent on imports, releasing the country’s money to this country that pioneered the removal of vegetable tariffs. And just with that, the country’s era of being the number one crop exporter in Southeast Asia has ended. Emilio applauds these researchers for finding that out. When all of that happened, Emilio was just starting his Ripper career and was more focused on local politicians. If Paterno started his career in Calabarzon, he would have died first before creating this much damage.

And so, new analyses are coming out every week. Many economists are discussing how Paterno destroyed so much than what they have seen for the past decade that he’s in the Senate. The release of the information made them realize that The Philippines is not poor, just heavily mismanaged, and not only is it heavily mismanaged, but deliberately sabotaged.

If Paterno is staying calm while he’s being torn apart by experts, then he’s not watching them. For all his faults, Paterno is a positive thinker. If he is presented with unsavory news that attacks him, he lets somebody else handle it. He only watches the news when it is in favor of him. He only manifests good things by exposing himself with good things. Sometimes it confuses Emilio how God operates or is it really God that listens to Paterno.

“Okay. Nothing to worry about then. Your social media experts can simply block away those news or harass the news providers that tries to destroy your good reputation, Senator.” Emilio assures.

Paterno cackles, “This is what I like about you, Congressman Aguinaldo. You are very positive. However, I cannot help but think you’ve been slacking off. You should do your part of the job, since you refuse to provide statement for me.”

“I’m sorry Senator. I’m busy in Cavite and all. It’s quite far from Manila.”

“You are not in Cavite, son.”

Emilio raises his brow at that, then his pretentiously jovial face turns to a scowl. He was careful in the duration of his stay in this place, and Paterno is not the type to have real-time access to updates. This is how Emilio keeps Paterno in the dark and give him enough time to edit the information that comes to him. Such as, the reason why Paterno think he’s still safe. And so, how does Paterno know his location? How does he know that he is not Cavite?

“I have a tracker on you, Emilio. The party has been… rather suspicious of you. They said they have seen you talking to Gabriela Silang?”

“Senator,” Emilio sighs, but his mind still hangs on Paterno’s surveillance. He continues to speak, but he scrolls his phone to find a specific app that could have been implanted there. “Congresswoman Silang is from Cavite. I have to form ties with my fellow Congresspersons here.”

Finally, Emilio found the app that tracks his location. He does not know how they managed to download it in his phone, but he is beyond pissed for this. What makes him more pissed is that it is a popular app that everybody uses. It is not so sophisticated, like a personalized security system despite of Paterno’s contact with a Chinese surveillance company. A second-rate app for surveillance also means that if Paterno could track him, he could track Paterno, too. If he removes it, that means a total retaliation and Emilio could not have that for now. Good thing he can simply install a VPN to confuse the tracker of his location. Paterno is really stupid, isn’t he? He’s pissed and glad at the same time.

“Just stop displeasing me, congressman, will you? Do you still want to be in my good graces?”

“Yes, Senator.” He sounds worried, but his face is seething with anger.

“Okay then, I want you to reach out to Mr. Santos from Tayabas, and Mr. Delos Reyes. He is currently in Ermita. Close to you! Look at that.”

Emilio grips his cellphone out of irritation but keeps himself calm. “I will see what I can do. What do you want me to say?”

“They just haven’t been answering my calls. Go to them personally, then report to me.”

“Yes, Senator.” And of course, he will not do that. Who does he think he is to order around a congressman as if he’s a lackey? He is a member of the legislation, and he has a congressional office of his own. Does he think he is just a decoration like his stupid cronies? Emilio might not be proud of his bare minimum under-the-radar safe politics, but he works, alright! Paterno will have to wait until his death, which is not too far off.

“You know, Congressman, I could blame all of this on you.” Paterno starts, to which Emilio rolls his eyes. Here he goes again, thinking that he could force a guilt in Emilio’s throat. Usually, these guilt-trips are lies. Most of Paterno’s words are lies. “This all started after that meeting in MET. If you had helped catching those intruders, and did not just disappear like you usually do, we could have killed them. Heck, you could have killed them on your own.”

“Killing is not in my moral code, Senator.” Emilio says, detached.

“You are too soft, Emilio! This is politics! You should be prepared to kill!”

For once in his life, he wants to be honest and just tell Paterno that he is nothing but a man-baby that believes he is so cool, when in fact, people around him have nothing but disrespect. They only want his power, they only like his pliant-ness, and nothing else. Paterno advertises his machismo and his loud (often empty) voice, and this noisy image of him makes the people shade his name every election.

People who think politics is supposed to be dirty are the dirty politicians themselves. Emilio met those who try to stay moral, kind, and purposeful, and the best of them all is Apolinario Mabini. His eyes show everything good and tenacious from the roots of his soul. He has seen many eyes, but none of them will have the same intensity as the eyes of Apolinario Mabini.

“Apologies, Senator, but I am not like you. I could not kill. Though, I wouldn’t worry.”

“And why is that?” The senator spits.

“Everything is going according to plan. Your social media experts are baiting Filipinos left and right. Many easily gets baited with those things, and you will have a huge number of supporters in no time. Just tell your team to appeal to the younger generation, because many of them are registering for the next election. Make them hate the analysts. Make them hate the thinkers. Make them hate the educated. You can go as far as calling them terrorists. It will catch on, and many people will believe. Put in mind that if you want to rule the country, you must eradicate the ones smart enough to know your game. You are to make a cult, not a country. Make your team popularize the word ‘feeling-intellectual’, to make your future followers hate educational posts, and they will never look at them again.”

“You are right!” Paterno exclaims, then proceeds to laugh to himself. “In these moments, my friend, I think that you truly deserve your position. You may not speak much, and you look physically frail…” And by then Emilio tries to keep his composure when he truly was about to squawk. “…but you do have suggestions that sound fair.”

For the nth time that hour, Emilio rolls his eyes. The ease to please Paterno is alarmingly shallow, and that also means he is vulnerable to the whispers of others when he is not around. His ‘advice’,—the long statement he declared just earlier—is the basic topic in any propaganda book. He actually read their reading assignments (From 1984 by George Orwell to My Brother My Executioner by F. Sionil Jose) when he was in college and debated with Antonio Luna once or twice about politics. Emilio thinks it is hard not to have common sense when you are surrounded by intellectuals, but Paterno has only been surrounded by people who whisper nonsense to him. He is not the master of this show. He is a slave of the various foreign powers, by the party members that only want his funds, and by the very riches he desires to keep. It’s easy to please selfish people.

“How about I give you the contacts of my social media experts? You give them orders, since this is your idea.”

“I would be very honored.” Emilio drops the call, sighs, then takes the glass of whiskey off the table to drink the last of its drops. He thought of these so-called social media experts, and how they are actually just unemployed men and women whose jobs are to troll political analysis accounts, spread misinformation, and bully supporters of other parties. Emilio is thankful for the information of these people, but he is not going to handle them. He is going to give it to La Liga instead and see what they will do. He quickly scratched the fact that he could give it to Dimasalang's social media expert—he is not sure if any of them survived the Ripper's damage control.

Emilio is not very interested in the politics of it, and the best that he could do to care about political implications is to let Paterno’s defamation phase marinate until it is ripe enough to strike. He’s only doing so for the causes that Apolinario is fighting for. If Paterno will fall, he must fall with all his graces—his tepid opinions, his connections, his supporters, and his pathetic reputation.

To add his irritation, his phone rings again. After rubbing his temples, letting the phone ring for three more times, he answers it begrudgingly. “Congresswoman Silang, to what do I owe you this call?”

“You don’t sound thrilled, and here I thought you would be in a very celebratory mood.”

Emilio places the glass to the table again, then relaxes his body to the soft couch. After a stressful call from Paterno, he deserves to lower his irritation level, even when the congresswoman's call has been greatly unexpected. "Is there something I'm missing? With all due respect."

"A friend from PAO Manila mentioned that their new star attorney is engaged. To you."

"Indeed I am." Emilio sure is shocked to know that the news got out, but he smiles to himself, nonetheless. "We plan to marry."

"In the Philippines, I hope?"

"I hope. But if it's not possible... I'm alright with flying to Taiwan."

"No, my friend." Silang tsked, "That is not the attitude to have. With the way you talked to me that time, I believe you truly want to have that bill passed."

Emilio sighs, "Of course I do. I want the best for him."

She squealed, which shocks hm. Gabriela Silang squealed. An iron woman, who he only ever seen professional, squealed. "I never thought I would hear that from you. See what love can do?"

"Indeed. What love can do." Emilio smiles to himself again, Apolinario's face flashing through the veil of his sight. In a sense, he is also reminded of Congresswoman Silang's late husband, who she greatly adored. Perhaps the lady is also reminiscing her own love.

"And for that, Mr. Aguinaldo, I have a proposition." She sounds more serious now. "I want to recruit you to our party."

"I'm sorry Congresswoman, I'm not running next term." He quickly says.

"Are you sure? Now that the odds can be in your favor? More than ever?"

"Why would it suddenly be?"

"Oh, please." The Congresswoman scoffs. "This engagement saved you from Paterno's downfall. You, being gay means you do not agree with Paterno's bigoted statements in the first place, especially his statement about the Tondo shooting incident. The public will eat this up. Negatively or positively, it will put your name out there. Isn't that why you publicized this?"

Emilio was going to say 'No' because truly, he never thought of it that way. Apolinario's eyes under that pour of strong rain, with his face illuminated by the grey skies, was almost pleading, begging, not just for him to accept, but for the world to save him from Paterno's disgrace.

He could not say 'Yes' either, because he will never tell anyone that his intentions with Apolinario was impure and untrue. He deserves love that is worth bragging for, which is why he insisted to pin his presence in this apartment unit until Apolinario could understand that his love is as loud as it gets.

Gabriela Silang was not expecting an answer. The rhetorical question that made him pause is not one to scrape an answer, so he stays silent.

"I would understand, Congressman. Maybe you do not agree with our politics. You're more conservative than you are liberal, you just happen to be gay. I think that's the situation here."

"I guess."

"But our differences do not mean we could not be friends."

"Absolutely." Emilio agrees, "I owe you the passing of the bill in the lower house, Congresswoman. I'll make sure to invite you to our wedding. Well, that is if the senate pass same sex marriage."

The Congresswoman gracefully gives her thanks, and after saying "It will be passed", the radio silence tells that there is nothing much to talk about anymore. Gabriela Silang has become an unexpected ally, and it is not clear whether it comes from appreciation or fascination. Emilio accepts it, nonetheless.

The call ends, the place has become quiet again, with only his contempt and the glass of whiskey wetting the table.

Moments later, the door beeps open. His attention went straight to the door with a smile, and as expected, he sees the only man with the capability to lift his mood in this way. His mood improves when he butchers the people he deems as pigs, but Apolinario has more power over him. He provides light without any effort. He is like a beacon that comes in and subjects those around him with inexplicable warmth. Sometimes it makes him wonder if Apolinario is aware of his effect, or if others feel the same way he does.

Apolinario waltzes in with a slight bounce in his every step, though his propriety keeps him stiff yet elegant. "I'm home."

His feet involuntarily walk forward to meet the other halfway, "Welcome home. How was your day?" He takes his hand and then kisses his cheek as if they have been doing this for a decade.

"Oh, it's a good day."

"Do tell." Emilio teases.

"I told the office that we're engaged. I hope that's alright."

"I don't mind.” He smiles at him and leads him towards the living room. “I'm thankful. This plan of yours is… undeniably… saving me.”

Apolinario looks at him with gloomy eyes and a smile that’s equally gray. For a moment, he thought he said something wrong and was about to apologize for whatever it is, until Apolinario takes his shoulder gently and leans down for a sweet tiny kiss.

He starts, “I was told I’m not the best at putting my emotions in words, and I am more objective than I am personal.” He sits down on the table to face him, his kind face continues to smile down at him lovingly while he looks up at him from the couch. Emilio does not look anywhere else. Apolinario continues speaking, “Blame it on my own work, and the fact that this is my first relationship. But having you and Goyong made me realize that I am not always right, that I am to blame that you’ve been walking on eggshells around me—”

“But my love—”

Apolinario places a hand on his cheeks, making him stop. “I know it, Emilio. I’m too pure. I’m too law-abiding. I’m too… correct. And I run away when things do not go my way. But despite of, you went after us here in Manila. You stayed with me. And I can’t help but feel sorry that I’ve put your through so much. You don’t deserve it, when your only mistake was loving someone as complicated as I am.”

Emilio takes Apolinario’s hand from his cheeks, moves it towards his mouth and kisses his palm. “I have a mistake, too. I made you think I couldn’t fight for you. From now on, I will show you, with all my heart, for the world to see, that I will do anything for you. I hope you’re okay with that.”

“I am!” Apolinario chuckles for a second, then gets serious, “Please know that I decided to propose to you not just to save you from Paterno’s downfall. Yes, it would have multiple purpose, and yes it might be the grand idea, but I wouldn’t do all of this in the first place if I didn’t love you.”

Emilio finally closes the distance between their lips by puling Apolinario down. They both plop on the couch and after the short kiss, they are left looking at one another, breathing softly, only the afternoon light that slips through the curtain illuminates the details of his face that he has long memorized. Emilio places another chaste kiss on Apolinario’s lips, then to his nose, to his forehead, to his neck, and he peppers more across his face. Apolinario leads the other’s head to his neck and Emilio sucks on it, making the other moan lowly. Emilio takes that as an invitation to do more.

“So how did your officemates take the news? I bet they were too excited to share it.” Emilio murmurs between sucking on Apolinario’s neck.

“Oh, they were very intrigued. A conservative politician from a conservative party ends up falling for a PAO lawyer of the same sex? Fascinating news.” Apolinario now removes his necktie and shoes, spreading his legs under Emilio after his pants are discarded somewhere. “They were wondering if you were liberal all along, or your love for me turned you liberal.”

“I like the latter.” Emilio starts unbuttoning the lawyer’s suit. “You turned me into someone I never thought I could be, Attorney Apolinario Mabini. And I want to show the world what you did to me.”

In the middle of moaning, Apolinario chuckles, and it was heavenly for Emilio’s ears. “You mean you want to publicize this further.”

Emilio lifts his head to stare down at Apolinario, “Why not? Let’s go and announce it!”

Apolinario hums, “Hmm, I have a better idea.”

******

Apolinario thinks it is a particularly sunny day, and they came inside the establishment at 9 am, when the sun is quite high enough to hurt his eyes. He wears sunglasses with circular lenses to protect his sensitive eyes from the glares of the sea and whiteness of the establishment and yachts. The lenses are functional in that regard, but whether they are fashionable these days is still a question only a teenager could answer. He looks at his left and gestures to his eyes in front of Goyong.

“Are these really okay?”

“Yep.” Goyong replies, “They are, like, vintage cool. Old money vibes.”

Apolinario takes that positively as long as he hears the word ‘cool’.

On his right is a man that occupies the availability of his right hand, and whenever he looks at their intertwined hands, he feels both giddy and scared. Emilio wears a white long sleeve tucked in a tan-brown slacks, contrary to his own colored polo-shirt which Emilio coordinated himself. He leads him to a man he knows as the current Commodore of this club. Goyong follows right behind while taking in the view of the sea, lined with different sizes of yachts. He could tell that the boy wants to ride on one.

Both Emilio and Goyong were very excited for this day. Meanwhile, Apolinario thinks of this day as a functional necessity that must happen. He’s also curious what the club looks like, since only members can enter it.

“Captain Emilio Aguinaldo, welcome back.” The middle-aged man in suit reached to shake Emilio’s hand. The man takes a quick look at their hands, which made Apolinario nervously squeeze the other’s hold, but the Commodore only stares at him in recognition and gives him the same welcoming smile. “You must be Attorney Apolinario Mabini. Welcome to Manila Yacht club. I hope you enjoy your time here.”

An attendant beside the Commodore presented an opened wooden box and Emilio takes the key encased in it with an elegant miniature boat design. Apolinario almost wants to roll his eyes upon seeing that there is ‘Captain Emilio Aguinaldo’ is etched on it. “Captain?”

“I did graduate from merchant marine academy and was a yacht captain for a while, well, before my grandfather stepped in and forced me to take political science.”

“Oh.” They continue to walk following the Commodore, but his thoughts run as they do so.

After a few meters, Emilio asks “Anything in your mind, my love?”

“Oh nothing. I just realized I do not know much about you.” He tries to cover the unknown feeling with a smile. Emilio must have caught it, so he squeezed his hand back.

“We have plenty of time in the yacht. You get to ask me questions while I steer at the helm, and I am hoping you would fall harder with the sight.” Emilio cheekily whispers closer to his ear.

Apolinario lets out a heartful chuckle, “Okay then, I will ask you so many questions. You better answer all of them.”

“And I will be honest.”

The Commodore leads them away from the lobby towards the dock while updating Emilio of certain personalities that are apparently close to him, such as a friend who sold his yacht to prepare for a family, and the club’s richest man visiting today. The Commodore would look at him, their intertwined hands, and the teenage kid trailing behind. He could act shy or disturbed, but he has an important reason to be here. He keeps his composure and walks in equal pace as Emilio, signaling his self-worth as the Congressman’s equal, a known tenacious lawyer, and a serious lover, not just any little escapade in tow.

They stop in front of a well-kept, medium-sized, elegant-looking yacht. It consists of two decks; the lower deck has the helm in it and is air-conditioned. Apolinario could already imagine spending most of his time in it since the upper deck is an exposed sitting area.

“Nice seeing you again, Captain Aguinaldo.” The Commodore shakes Emilio’s hand again. “And look,” They all stare across the dock where the Commodore pointed, and there floats a smaller yacht with its captain dismounting it for a ride. The captain noticed their attention, so he waved at them. They returned the waves in unequal amounts of interests, except the Commodore who seems very familiar with the man. “That is the Alonzo’s personal Captain. It seems they are using the smallest one today.”

“Smallest one?” Goyong could not help but ask.

The Commodore grins at him, “They have plenty.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed. Are you familiar with the sons and daughters of the Alonzo-Rizal couple? They often hoist their yachts here after a day’s sailing in Laguna Bay. Today, the richest man of the club, their eldest, is here for business.”

Emilio gently signals him to proceed to his yacht with a smile, but Apolinario can notice the seriousness of his expression as they step on board but Emilio’s eyes trail on the small yacht of this rich man. “I see.” He mumbles, “That’s why it’s familiar.”

Apolinario looks at the said yacht briefly but erased the intrigue in mind upon boarding the ship, while he notices Goyong’s quiet fascination.

On the way to the steering wheel, Emilio grabs a hat hanging on the wall and twirled it playfully on his hand. He faces him, adjusting the seafarer’s hat on his head, then winks. “What do you think? Guapo?”

Apolinario shakes his head while giggling, “Absolutely.”

“So, while the two of you are doing this…” Goyong interjects, fetching his phone from his pocket then opening a loud social media site that shows short form contents, “…I’m going upstairs.”

“Go ahead. There’s a mini fridge under the bar. There are drinks and snacks there.” Emilio shouts to the boy’s disappearing form.

Apolinario was suddenly alarmed by Emilio’s fridge, so he follows another shout, “Don’t drink the alcoholic ones!”

“Fine!” says Goyong’s distant reply from the upper deck, though they can hear him slamming the fridge.

The sea is calmer in these hours, hence the reason that they must come later than the lawyer’s expectations. If it was up to Apolinario, 7am is the best hour to start the day. Not everyone in the household agrees with him in that regard so he lost and everyone went out at 8:45am instead. This was not without his short and soft lecture about self-discipline and the advantages of early morning productivity. Emilio explained that the seas are calmer at 9am.

Emilio starts the yacht smoothly, and with the way his arms steer the wheel, Apolinario could definitely say that he did have right to proclaim his captaincy. He plops on a soft leather bench right behind the helm. Emilio’s backside was all for him to see as the man expertly maneuvers his way around Manila Bay.

They spent the first ten minutes of the sailing in silence. Apolinario relaxes to the gentle rocking of the boat while Emilio focuses on the job at hand. It is beautiful, a moment of pause where the silence is a bond that syncs their rhythmic breathing together. Apolinario is very appreciative of the way they seem to instantly become more comfortable with the other’s presence.

Hurried footsteps walking towards the helm did not disturb the comfort, in fact, it enhances it. It is not just the two of them here, and the third’s presence completes and compliments it. At the moment, they are the two most important people in Apolinario’s world.

“There is no way I’m staying in the upper deck. It’s too hot.” Goyong rants. He hands a cold canned lemonade to Apolinario as if it was the most natural thing, as if they do this all the time.

“Thank you. Though I’m surprised you lasted ten minutes.”

“Yeah, so don’t do the sexy. I’m staying here. There’s air-conditioning.”

“Goyong!” Apolinario chastises.

Emilio steers the yacht to the right, making them finally see the view of the docks from afar. “If you look at your right, you will see a huge part of Roxas Boulevard. Fun fact, it was originally called Cavite Boulevard.”

“Oh, it belongs to Cavite?” Goyong asks.

“Well, the stretch starts in Cavite.”

“It looks nice.” Goyong states monotonously, his eyes drifting towards his phone. His disinterest is not surprising, Apolinario thinks, for the boy had lived majority of his life in Manila together with his uncle, and according to the profile, he lived near the bay. He may have never seen Roxas Boulevard from the sea, but it is just that, a simple boulevard stretching along Manila Bay. “I still don’t see why you chose this place over Enchanted Kingdom. There are not even many people here.”

Apolinario nods over the boy’s sentiment. He crossed his legs and opened the canned lemonade. After a sip, he adjusted his eyeglasses, his vision never leaving the window beyond the helm where Emilio stands. “If we go to a crowded place right after the blow up of a rumor, it will look performative.”

“Fine then. No Enchanted Kingdom. But what makes this different? This is still a performance. You called this a publicity stunt.”

“But subtle.” Apolinario corrects, “This is an exclusive club, and the likes of Emilio does hang out in places like these, so it does not seem performative. It just looks like we are truly vacationing quietly, and some people just happen to see us.”

“I see, you want to look classy.”

“That’s a plus. I have a reputation, hijo. I don’t want to look like I’m tastelessly campaigning for office.”

“Oh!” Goyong burst out into a laugh, “You don’t want to look political. Cuz you a PAO lawyer? Bruh, you’re engaged to a congressman.”

“I know, I know.” Apolinario sighs, all the while the boy laughs, mentally noting that he has been called ‘bruh’ for the first time in his life. It reminds him of his former classmates who have teenagers, fondly or angrily enumerating the Gen Z terms they have to tolerate. Apolinario would only tell them that language naturally evolves, and they can’t do anything but accept it, yet hearing it firsthand from his own teenager feels different.

Goyong’s laugh subsides, and while still smiling, inquires, “So, what’s my role here? How should I act?”

Apolinario furrows his brows at that, “Goyong, you don’t have a role here.”

“You said it’s a publicity stunt. So, I will act like your perfect adopted kid, right? What type of son should I act?”

Disbelief stuck to his throat, sinking his heart a bit, and he can see Emilio slowly stare at them at his peripheral. “No, you just… well…”

The boy looks stunt as well while looking at both men. He raised his hands in surrender, trying to make it look casual, “You know what, forget it. Sorry I asked.”

“No, Goyong. Dear, listen…” Apolinario calmly calls before the boy stands up. If there is one thing he learned with Emilio—and with all his friends actually—it’s that he must communicate his true feelings. He somehow skips explaining why he does what he does and goes straight to providing judgement. Perhaps it is the primary ailment of a lawyer. He’s a guardian now, and if he could be sentimental about it, he is a father. The short misunderstanding he had with Emilio was enough pain. He could not possibly put a kid through that. “… I love that you are here. I tagged you along because I know you would enjoy a yacht ride. As much as I call this a publicity stunt, there are no pretentions between the three of us. Me and Emilio, we want to be closer to you.”

Goyong shrugs as he looks away. He blinks several times. “Cool. That’s cool. That’s great.”

Apolinario smiles at that, pretending he is not seeing the boy’s misty eyes. To be fair, he is quite surprised that he can be completely honest as quick as he just did, and he is surprised that Goyong seems to internalize it. When he looked down at the can of lemonade to drink again, he sees that it has 3% alcohol.

“Goyong, did you drink a can of this?”

“Two actually.”

He glares at the boy. “This has alcohol!”

“Oh? I didn’t notice.” He scrunches his face guiltily.

“Goyong! What did I just tell you!”

“I was curious!”

“That’s alright. It’s just 3 percent.” Emilio leaves the helm then walks to Apolinario’s seat. He offers his hand like a gentleman, but Apolinario ‘s anger was only shifted to his hand, and he ignores it to stand up on his own.

“I’m not paralytic, I can stand up on my own. And I’m a man, too, you know? You always treat me like I’m so soft!”

Emilio retracts his hand with a placating smile, “I see that 3 percent got to you. How about we step out a bit. We can let Goyong man the helm for a while.”

“And leave a whole boat to a drunk teenager?”

“I’m fine!” Goyong defends.

“He’s fine. It’s just 3 percent. That does not do anything to me. It’s just tasty.”

Apolinario does not want to leave the conversation, but he follows Emilio outside anyway, since he also thinks his flushed cheeks really do need the fresh air. They head to the side part of the yacht where the helm covers the railings from the sun. The wind is calm in this hour, so it refreshes Apolinario better than the still cool air of the helm area. What makes the feeling better is the way Emilio sticks to his side. While Apolinario nestles himself on the railing overlooking the expanse of Manila Bay, Emilio covers his back with his own chest, resting his arms around Apolinario’s by holding the railing close to his hands. In this way, their right and left hands are side-by-side accordingly. Their engagement rings twinkle under the sun so close together.

The moissanite will be hard to miss, and to anyone who would like to take a picture, would probably notice the very noticeable matching silver bands on their fingers. Apolinario should be at least have propriety knowing there are other boats around the bay that has probably seen them already. However, the wind is so calming, the sea is lulling, the alcohol in his system weighs down his head, so he rests his back to Emilio’s firm chest.

There was nothing but silence, except maybe for Goyong’s phone blasting short form contents he skips quickly. After a while, the teen turns off his phone, possibly tired of the day’s algorithm only showing Paterno’s upcoming trial, his small number of supporters, and his huge number of antis. Professional analysts and news channels are slowly realizing that they have been robbed of a better country and are out for blood. A short second of the one of the videos even mentioned the Ripper. It’s probably a comedic attempt to state their dislike for Paterno, akin to what he had regrettably uttered to Emilio before; “May the Ripper get you.”

Apolinario looks at their hands again, then slightly move his pinky over Emilio’s thumb in an effort to gain more skin contact. Such small gesture, yet it made Emilio’s heartbeat sound more audible from behind.

“It is hard not to love you, Emilio.” He whispers. Emilio stays quiet, but he can feel his heartfelt response with the way he shifted his body to be closer, to shelter more of Apolinario’s smaller frame, and to reach the top of his head for a small tender sniff. “Did you just smell me?” He laughs.

“Difficult to avoid.” Emilio laughs back.

That laugh suddenly halts when a familiar yacht came into view, quite far but visible, nonetheless. Apolinario does not understand the tenseness, so he asks, “Do you know Don Paciano Alonzo-Rizal?”

“Not personally, but all exclusive clubs I’m in, he’s a member of. You know him?”

“Everybody in the Philippines knows him. Also, he’s Pepe’s big brother. Seen him once or twice.”

“You’re very social.”

Apolinario shakes his head, “I am known to be quite distant. I keep to myself mostly, but I am lucky enough to be surrounded by like-minded individuals who tolerate me.”

“I believe you are more than tolerated, my love.” And Emilio places a soft kiss on his cheek.

“That would be a good thought to have. I have people I give orders to, or friends to worry in legal means, but it would be nice if they see me as a close confidant.” He laments.

Emilio drapes his right arm over Apolinario’s shoulder, squeezing him closer to his face to steal another quick kiss. “You are smart and kind. But more than that, you are very smart. Do you know that I like how I immediately know you are intelligent the moment I saw you? And your kindness is something else, too, because what do you mean you are willing to do all this just to save my troubled reputation.”

“You know reputation can mean your life, with the Ripper running about.”

Emilio hums in approval, and somehow, it amazes Apolinario how calm Emilio has been from the start. The first time they met, his first words were how the congressman was about to be the next Ripper victim, and though he showed alarm, he never showed fear.

“So, you like me because I’m smart and kind?” Apolinario asks, jest laced in his voice, getting away from the grim mood altogether.

“And hot.”

“You’re objectifying me!”

“Maybe don’t be too sexy.”

“Congressman Aguinaldo!”

Apolinario sighs. After a few moments if calming silence, he realizes how their conversation time consists of little talks, a round of modest laughter, then silence. It has repeated several times, and Apolinario could not help but want this for the rest of this life. He looks at his engagement ring again, a moissanite, a diamond unmarred of blood, for Emilio had thought of him harmless and actively moralistic.

Is he?

Is he unmarred by blood? Is he as innocent as they think? When he himself has been so sick of his own actions that his conscience had to step in and put him through severe cognitive denial, subjecting him to a violent psychosis?

He grips Emilio’s arm that was draped all over his front.

He hates that he’s not as innocent as they seem, but he will never apologize to the people—his victims—that deserved their end.

“It’s insulting.”

Apolinario perks at Emilio’s sudden change of mood.

“It’s insulting to tell you why I love you, because human language is not enough to describe what I feel and why I feel this way. There is no other way for me to communicate it to you but by being close to you in any chance I’m given. I hope you get it—”

“I get it, Emilio.” He caresses his arms. “I get it.”

After another set of silence, Emilio declares that it’s almost lunch time and they should head back to the club’s exclusive restaurant. He enters the helm and orders Goyong to stand up and observe his steering. Apolinario stays for while to feel the noon breeze, hugging himself with the lost of Emilio’s body heat.

Across the distance, he sees the yacht Emilio has been glaring at. Pepe’s big brother is a very busy person but will always have time for socializing. He’s mild mannered yet authoritative, a perfect trait for the head of the most powerful family in Calabarzon. He wonders why his boat is out, yet he is nowhere in sight. Maybe, just maybe, it is Pepe that’s using it today. He must greet, of course. He misses his friends.

He observes the ship to look for his friend, but the person that came out of the helm is an unexpected person, familiar, but unexpected. It is the girl that came to their office for an Affidavit of Lost ID. He wonders if she’s related to the Alonzos or to the Rizals. Maybe she is Paciano’s secret child or niece. The girl looks at her, waved, then pointed at the docks. It only means one thing, “Let’s talk.” And when she pointed him and then herself, it means she wants it to be only the two of them.

When the girl enters the helm again, he takes a minute to process and wonder what just happened. He notes it in his mind for later, then heads inside their own helm.

Upon docking, Goyong jumps down the yacht as per Emilio’s instructions and hoisted the rope to one of the concrete poles of the dock. It’s so adorable to watch them work together, like a true father and son working a boat. It reminds him of his own father who had do wanted to hunt with him, but his weak constitution is not for hiking up the mountains of Mount Makiling.

The yacht has been successfully hoisted, and Emilio gave out a proud “Good job” to the boy’s direction. Attendants come forward to give assistance, such as providing a cold face towel and lowering the ramp. It is inevitable, no matter the exclusivity of the club, for some people to take pictures of the scene. Several boats are docking at the same time since it is lunch time after all, and some of them, teens with phones and curious adults, holds up their phone to ‘discretely’ take a photo. Apolinario may have planned this, but it caught him off guard, so he instinctively gripped Emilio’s arm and hid partially behind while walking down the ramp. Emilio probably noticed his discomfort, so he took off his captain’s hat and placed it on his head, tilting it downward to hide Apolinario’s face. This gave him a little comfort, a room to breathe, but Apolinario is not here to hide. He looks up to show that he is proud of being this man’s lover, but his eyes only rests on Emilio’s. The man smiles at him reassuringly, reaching his gripping hand with his other free hand.

They eat their hearty lunch, though he can still say that Emilio’s cooking is the best and is nothing compared to the meal prepared by the restaurant. On the corner of his eyes, he sees the figure of the girl from the dock, looking at him, waiting for his audience. He should tell Emilio that someone from Paciano’s boat is calling him, but with the way the girl looks seriously worried, he thinks it might be a legal case and the girl wants to be discrete about it.

He excused himself, telling the two that he wants to walk around the dock to relax his stomach. As expected, Emilio offers to join him, but before he could reason out, the Commodore walks in with a man in tow. It is Paciano Alonzo-Rizal. “Hello gentlemen.” The richest man greets them and acknowledges them one by one, and when his eyes landed on Apolinario, he smiles, “Pleased to see you again, Attorney Mabini. How’s my brother in Biñan?”

“Last time I’ve seen him, he’s alright.”

“That’s good to hear.” He says, but his eyes give off an unknown and suspicious glint. Apolinario is well-versed in reading clients, and he knows there is so much more than the words uttered, “Well, I wish to borrow your fiancé. Congratulations, by the way. Most surprising thing I’ve heard this year, even more than the Paterno thing. We will be quick, I promise.”

Emilio looks at him apologetically, “I will be quick, my love. You may go ahead.”

Apolinario nods and walks towards the docks on his own. Paciano will probably talk about the upcoming Paterno trial, and businessmen just love to be updated on politics for business policy updates, and of course, to secure the safety of their riches. Emilio might need this talk, too. Part of this publicity stunt is to improve Emilio’s reputation, and if it works quickly as to have sudden business conversations, then Apolinario must leave him to it.

By the docks, rows of yachts line up. He goes to the smaller but definitely well-maintained yacht that has more expensive details compared to its bigger dock mates. Since it is smaller, it hides behind the bigger yachts and Apolinario could tell that its placement is quite strategic. It is not visible from anyone in the seaside restaurant.

“Hello, Attorney Mabini.” The girl he clearly remembers as Emily Jacinto comes out of the helm and settles on the front railings, looking down at him. “Do you remember me?”

“Yes. Why do you want to talk to me?”

The girl looks at the direction of the restaurant, wary. “Please come up. It would be suspicious if you stay standing there.”

Apolinario now wonders and might even challenge the girl that she is quite suspicious herself, but he reminds himself that she is young and her wariness might mean she needs help. His defense-lawyer-heart kicked in and agrees to come inside the yacht.

“I will be very quick,” the girl hurries when they entered the helm, “We believe that Agent Bonifacio is dead. His body is yet to be found, but… we don’t know anything… and we are afraid to ask.”

“I’m sorry?” Apolinario’s body feels it has been suddenly splashed by a cold bucket of water upon hearing the name of his best friend and the word ‘dead’. Still in the state of disbelief, he asks again, “I’m sorry? Come again? Please tell me more details about this. And why do you know this?”

“Let’s say I’m an NBI asset that deals with hacking and wiretapping, and I take orders from Agent Bonifacio. They had this secret mission to investigate Pedro Paterno, and…and it went wrong. From what I gathered, Paterno’s men went after him.” Emily looks at him with unreadable eyes. She looks stricken, polite, angry, composed, but a huge percentage of that look is clearly readable as wary. She is wary of him. She is wary of the person he’s with; namely, Paterno’s ally, Emilio Aguinaldo. “Agent Bonifacio is possibly dead, as seen by his mission partner.”

“My God.” Apolinario’s legs wobbles. He sits down on the nearest chair, covering his mouth, and he rests his elbows on his knees. He breaths in, and out, and in, and out.

He composes himself after a minute and looks at the serene waters of Manila Bay. His friend is an agent, a passionate one at that. One way or another, he will be given a dangerous mission, and one way or another, he will be a casualty for an unknown noble cause. However, Andoy’s job in NBI was not necessarily dangerous. He was only a document’s controller that stays within the office to analyze cases he wants to analyze. Perhaps, his competence has been discovered by their chief, especially with the way he quickly handled the Tondo shooting incident where he shot the shooter dead with one bullet.

Ironically, that was also the night when he called to warn him of his plan to involve himself with the Ripper case. With that train of thought, Apolinario concludes that Andres Bonifacio, an agent with accurate judgements, went after Paterno for one thing: He wants to investigate Paterno’s crimes for publicity purposes. This would support the Ripper’s noble illegal acts if Paterno emerge as the evil that must be killed before the Ripper kills him.

He breathes in, and out, and in, and out.

“Thank you for telling me.” With a trembling voice, he continues. “But you mentioned it’s just a possibility? There is no body yet, right?”

Emily looks down. “I’d rather not be hopeful.”

Apolinario looks down as well. “I understand.” He sighs again. He wants to cry so bad, but he wishes to compose himself, at least. He straightens his posture. “Agent Bonifacio is—was—my best friend.”

“I’ve heard. Condolences, Attorney.” Emily states, “But I have another reason to talk to you.”

Apolinario looks at her, a girl with eyes so determined and familiar, he wonders if she’s his friend’s little protégé or love child. He’d like to think it’s the former. “What is it?”

“In that party, reportedly, Congressman Aguinaldo was there.”

They both pause.

Emily pauses to ready herself with her next statements.

Apolinario braces himself for it.

Emily continues, “I do not know Aguinaldo’s involvement here. He’s like you, unreachable, un-hackable, communicates traditionally. I have nothing on him, so forgive me for my next words… but I think… he was there when Agent Bonifacio was killed. I have reasons to believe so, and I have reasons to think he’s involved.”

Personally, Apolinario prefers to deny that his fiancé would have an involvement in this and would not tell him, but deep inside, he agrees that there’s no way that Emilio would not know. He is Paterno’s vice president, after all.

“When was it?” Another voice interjects suddenly, and it comes from outside the helm. With a few steps, the owner of the voice shows himself.

“Why are you here?” Emily frowns.

“You’re the girl who was following me. And here I thought you have crush on me.” Goyong replies.

“First of all, ew. Second, this is not a conversation for young kids.”

Goyong seems to be unaffected of that commentary. “Okay, well, I don’t belong in those two’s boring business talks as well.” He says, gesturing to the restaurant where Emilio and Paciano are. “And when was the party and where was it held?”

Emily raises her eyebrows but answers anyway, “Metropolitan Theatre. July 10.”

“That checks out. Tito Emilio is in Cavite that time.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I called him that night. That was the first night we moved to Manila so of course I would remember. And if he was in Ermita that time, he would visit us.”

Apolinario agrees with the sense of that statement and looks at the girl. She is now pondering deeply. With the way she is considering Goyong’s statement as evidence instead of an attack, Apolinario thinks the girl would make a great agent someday. It’s also clear that she worked with Andoy closely and learned a thing or two.

If Agent Bonifacio is truly dead, then he left a good legacy. Apolinario smiles to himself upon reflecting his friend’s impact, but frowns with the quick realization that he is dead (or might be.)

“I see.” Emily continues. “I will investigate further.”

“Would you like me to ask Emilio?” Apolinario offers.

“If he was in Cavite that time, how would he know? And if he does know, why would he not tell you already?”

Apolinario is impressed of that thinking. She would make a good lawyer, too. He nods, “He might know something, but not necessarily who has… died. Maybe I could get something, like where his body allegedly could be.”

With the continues talks about Andres Bonifacio surely being dead, the cry he had been holding feels like a floodgate breaking, a heavy ache loosening into raw whimpers as the weight inside finally spills out.

He cries.

This somehow affected the girl who has been standing so strong and tall beside him. She has better control of her emotions, for she never let them hear her whimpering if there was even one, but her eyes hold the tears she tries to keep hidden. “Th…That would be a good idea, Attorney. Knowing where to start looking for his body would mean everything for us.”

Goyong stays quiet by the door of the helm.

*

Emilio and Paciano are done talking it seems, since they are now walking towards the dock halfway to meet Apolinario and Goyong.

Before they reach an audible distance, Goyong tells him, “Tito Pole, do you know that girl?”

“Not really” Apolinario answers. “Andres’ subordinate I suppose. She calls herself an NBI asset.”

“I see.”  Goyong takes in the information, “Are you really going to ask Tito Emilio if he knows something?”

“Of course.”

“Can you not tell him the girl’s name? I mean, it’s just… I know you trust Tito Emilio, and that he’s not actually Paterno’s ally, but I feel sorry for the girl. I don’t know if it makes sense! But, like…”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I will keep it simple.” He sends a reassuring smile to the boy. He agrees that keeping Emily’s name out of the situation does not make sense, especially if one thinks that Emilio is surely not a part of the said party. However, no matter how in love he is with Emilio, it is illegal and unethical to share someone’s information without their knowledge.

Emilio now walks faster towards them. He jogs a little to close the distance quicker, making Apolinario smile. Emilio offers his arm for Apolinario to hold, and Apolinario takes it without question. They walk towards the lobby where the exit would be, and Goyong follows closely behind, his phone blaring short form contents. It is unavoidable to hear Paterno’s name. His case is all over the news, and in all forms of media, and is staining the people closest to him. His heart clench while hearing the senator’s name, and as happy he was that the man is going down quick, his grief over his friend takes over his mind.

“Emilio, do you know what happened to Andres Bonifacio?”

“No.” Emilio answers while looking at him with worry, “Did something happen to him?”

“Do you… Do you know that Paterno’s men killed someone in the night of July 10th?”

“What? I’m sorry I am not very aware of that. I was in Cavite when Paterno held that MET party.”

“No particular information about it?” Apolinario pushes, and he might have sounded a bit desperate.

“No, my dear.” Emilio is now concerned and holds his hand, for comfort, maybe. “Do you think Paterno has something to do with whatever you think happened to Agent Bonifacio? I could investigate with the best of my ability.”

“I would appreciate that.” Apolinario’s cry releases again, and so he pauses to hold himself. “Do you remember when he called me, he said he wanted to support the Ripper, and I got mad at him for it?”

Emilio quietly nods.

“You defended his position and saw where he was coming from even when I did not. That was when I realize I could start liking you, because you’re safe to like.” Apolinario continues to cry while gripping the other’s arms, his thoughts only containing grief and flashes of college memories with his assistant editor-in-chief and their fondness of kwek-kwek. A small part of him wants to wish that the ‘possibility’ of him alive is significantly higher, but a bigger part of him knows Paterno has a secret and dangerous personal military that can accomplish a simple shoot-to-kill order.

“Oh, Emilio. You could have been good friends.” He smiles sadly.

“We could have. He’s a close friend of yours after all.” The man agrees, caressing his tightening hand around his arm.

~ || Trigger Warning Starts Here || ~

(Summary in case you don’t want to read: Goyong kills the Police Chief in a dark house near Roxas Boulevard. He uses some knife techniques taught by Emilio before they went there.)

The night howls through his ears, messing his hair in all directions, and he lets it. Gregorio Del Pilar stands in a dark house illuminated by the streetlights and occasional cars passing by in the middle part of Roxas Boulevard. The villa-type house is an abandoned establishment, and the way it is fenced, it seems it is owned privately. 

Emilio drops the very conscious body of a muted police officer in front of him. He looks down at the kneeling figure, shivering, breathing heavily, face contorting in unimaginable pain. The last time he saw this person, he was grinning like a typical movie villain while pointing a loaded gun to his uncle’s head. His uncle tried to cover his eyes, and in panic, he had shoved him to the couch instead. He failed to see the very moment his Tio Antonio Luna was shot—thank the heavens for that—but he could never forget the way this very man laughed over the corpse of his only relative. Antonio Luna’s blood still stains the floor of their house in Malolos, with nobody having the courage to wipe them off.

The man looks up at him, and it sounds like he is pleading. He wouldn’t know though, because his mouth his bleeding. The officer can only make muffled pained noise, and every time he does, more blood pours out of his mouth. In the middle of the three is a small dismembered tongue. On Emilios hand, is a bloodied knife that cut it.

“Why did you cut his tongue?” Goyong asks

“Would you have wanted to hear him beg?”

He considers, thinking how the man’s pleading would have hurt his ear, or might tug his heart. Emilio is right, he would not want more complications for the night.

Goyong looks down at him with pure satisfaction.

This is justice served.

This is revenge fulfilled.

He kneels to level with the man’s face and says, “Do you remember me?”

The man shakes his head.

“I am Antonio Luna’s nephew. You killed him in front of me.”

Finally, the man widens his eyes in familiarity. Goyong hopes there is fear and regret in those eyes, but the place is dark, and the only clear detail he could see is the contrast of his blood against skin. The man then tries to stand up, gesturing to the man behind him nervously. Goyong thinks the man is scared that Emilio will be the one to deliver him to his death, and with that, Goyong glares and takes out his own knife from his pocket.

“You should be afraid of me. I’m the one you wronged.”

Gregorio, still kneeling, quickly went for the man’s throat, but was careful not to hit his windpipe. He wants him to be alive for much longer. He wants him to be alive as he stab him more, as he looks into his eyes, hoping he has enough humanity in him to feel sorry for what he had done, to reflect that karma that will come to him. Emilio taught him how to target someone’s vocal chords without killing them yet, and Goyong was glad that it works.

The man falls to his shoulders, his neck bent open, making more blood to come out. Emilio gestures him to bring him to a straighter position to avoid him from bleeding out to death. It’s way too early for that.

Goyong does what he gestures and takes the man by his shoulders. The bloody officer is heavy, but he managed to bring him up with just one hand, while the other hand carries the knife that is only bloodied on the tip.

The knife goes to the man’s private regions, and with the concentration of pain receptors around that area, he doubles over again in pain. His mouth stretches out so much he could be bleeding on its sides, but no voice came out, only gurgles coming from the precisely cut slice on the throat. This man has led his department with iron hand, using manliness as an excuse to his violence and questionable decisions. He thought it was such a manly feat to kill a former police chief in front of the other officers, some of them were officers during Luna’s administration.

Now that he took his loud boisterous voice and his pathetic manhood, what else could he take?

He pushed the man to the floor. The man lies on his back, and Goyong kneels closer to his face, making sure his eyes are open for all that will happen. He raised his knife with two hands. He wants to use as much force as possible with this final move, and he wants it to be slow enough for the man to have time to be devastated.

He brings the knife down to his forehead. The man gasps and squirms, but his hands are tied to his back and was too weak to even manage a roll. He just squirms left and right, itching to touch his forehead and everything in his body that hurts. Goyong relishes in the scene but wants it to be over quick before he gains pity. This man does not deserve pity.

Emilio walks closer to him and hands him an ice pick. Goyong takes it. A simple knife will not accomplish the punishment he has in mind. He wants the man to feel all the pain he delivers, and for the final blow, he would have liked to shoot him with a gun on the forehead just like what he did to his Uncle Antonio Luna, but Emilio does not allow guns for pigs. Even with silencers. He says guns are meant for humans, for people you can tolerate, and for those who might not deserve to be killed like soldiers who were only taking orders or protectors who are just doing their jobs. Goyong does not see the difference. Killing is killing. The person still dies. Using a different weapon does not make one less sinful. He, however, lets Emilio Aguinaldo philosophise his way out of being sorry, so Goyong just agrees with his silly rules and looks at the ice pick against the glinting light from the window.

He raised the ice pick over his head the same way he did with the knife and brings it down with so much force. The ice pick crashes against the man’s skull and pierces through his brain. Goyong can feel the quick squelch of his innards through the metal of the ice pick. He can hear the little squeak of the pick against the skull when the metal halts at a certain length.

The officer dies. His eyes pause to an eternal lifelessness. He leaves the ice pick there. It’s hard to remove now, anyway.

Silence fills the room that it seems no one is breathing.

Goyong stands up and look away from the two figures of the room. He looks at the very small window that was haphazardly covered by a cheap plywood. He can still see glimpses of the sea through it, his mind blank and far away.

“Do you regret it?” Emilio starts.

Goyong may not know what to think, but he is certain of one thing. “No.”

The room is beginning to stench heavily of iron, and when he looks down, he sees the pool of blood slowly drenching his soles. Instead of moving away, his mind was too blank to do anything. His eyes stay on the red liquid that looks black in the night.

“I don’t regret anything. I might feel sorry for the karma that will come, though.”

Emilio avoids the blood as he walks towards the bag that contains the equipment he uses for ripping. “Are you afraid of the karma?”

“Of course.” Goyong answers a matter of factly, He observes Emilio sorting through the very organized compact bag that looks like an everyday briefcase. “So, I’m going to prepare for it. I accept it. I deserve it.”

“And how do you feel now?”

“I’m feeling a lot of things, but none of them is regret.”

Gregorio Del Pilar watched many movies with his friends, and those movies always say that revenge will leave someone empty or remorseful. He does not.

He could not live peacefully in this world knowing this man lives as if he did not destroy his life. Now that he’s dead, he feels like he could now breathe. None of those movies ever showed the satisfaction of exacting revenge, especially when the target suffers through the regret while they are dying.

Emilio hands him a large chopping knife, and he accepts it without question. He still could not look at the body, now nothing but a meat to be discarded, so he just looks at the knife. He only wanted revenge; he’s nothing like Emilio who sees killing as a sacred ritual.

“What do you want to do with the body?”

Goyong shakes his head slowly, “I want nothing to do with this body anymore. My revenge is over, and I want to move on.”

Emilio hums in understanding, “This is your kill. So, it is your decision. We still have to dispose of this body, though.”

“Let’s chop it up, then.”

~ || Trigger Warning Ends Here || ~

Carrying so many shopping bags is not suspicious when you’re walking around Roxas Boulevard. There are many malls around, and they only look like a father and son duo who are hauling their groceries to the back of the car. They plan to scatter the parts around Manila and Calabarzon, and they will make sure that no drop of blood will ever be discovered.

The drive from Manila to Cavite was quiet, save from the occasional stops where they have to bury the evidence in the most creative ways. They stopped in abandoned houses, in cemeteries, in pigsties, and in hidden bodies of water. Emilio knows the blind spots of all these places, and he knows exactly when there won’t be any witnesses. Goyong gets to observe the true meticulousness of the man who pretends to be weak. He is fascinated and frightened at the same time.

When the second to the last of the bags was dropped clean, Goyong suddenly asks, “Did you really kill him? Agent Bonifacio, I mean.”

Emilio replies with silence, and it means ‘yes’.

“Why did you, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Did you regret it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like him?”

“Somehow. He was a man with principles. You don’t usually meet a man like Andres Bonifacio.”

“Then what made you kill him?”

 Emilio shrugs, “I just don’t like his cause staining my process. Plus, I don’t want any means for more people to know that I am the Ripper.”

Then Goyong looks at him, shocked to his core. “He found out that you’re the Ripper?”

“I underestimated how smart he was as a detective.”

“I see.” Goyong slumps back to the passenger seat and stares at the window. His reflection through it made his stomach churn with the realization that there is one person who knows the identity of the Ripper, and that person is him.

Goyong understood right away that the reason of Emilio’s pretend fondness of him is Apolinario Mabini. The lawyer has become protective of him, initially as a client, and then later, as a charge. It was obvious that the congressman was wooing the oblivious lawyer, and what other way to lure a person with a soft heart? To show selflessness, of course, and this act will be fortified by volunteering to take Goyong as a charge as well.

Now that they’re engaged, and now that Goyong’s wish has been granted, his role was over.

It was long overdue.

Not only that, but he’s also the only person who knows his true identity. What is stopping Emilio from deciding he is no longer needed? Maybe, being Emilio’s next victim is his karma. And true to his words, he plans to surrender to it.

Emilio stops in front of an esplanade. They leave the car in the nearest parking lot and walks a lengthy distance towards the darkened and seldomly use dock of Pasig River. When they get near the water, Emilio dunk the chopped meat to it, sure that the fishes will eat them clean. Goyong stands by, observing the man that paused to look at the river’s view.

“This is where I shot him dead.” He says.

Goyong’s breathing hitches. “Shot? Not… splayed or stabbed or…”

Emilio shakes his head. He puts his hand in his pockets and glared at the distance, “He was not a pig. He had an assignment to investigate Paterno, and he just learned too much. He’s not an animal, and he does not particularly make humanity ugly.”

“So, he gets the gun? Are you sure it’s not because if you had fought him hand-to-hand, you would have lost?” Goyong wants to slap his own mouth for letting his intrusive thoughts win. He’s already on thin theoretical ice and he’s about to make the theoretical concern a real one. “I mean… sorry… I saw him once and I really think he’s a good guy. Strong-looking, too. So, you kill good people, too, huh?”

Emilio laughs lightly, “You’re a funny kid. And he is not the first good and strong person I’ve killed. I’ve long realized that guns work the best for the likes of them. Good for my survival,” He walks pass him now to proceed to the car, “and good for my conscience.”

Goyong gives himself a full minute before following behind Emilio. He takes time to look at the Pasig River Esplanade and thinks what weapon would meet his end.

*

For the next days, about a week, he stays in the apartment unit with the make-shift family. He cares less about the news, but he is somehow aware that Emilio’s position in the party is slowly being questioned by the political analysts, now that the rumors of engagement to a man has blown. Several pictures are circulating around the internet, and the most watched one was the captured photo where Emilio was guiding Apolinario down the yacht while lovingly putting the captain’s hat on the lawyer’s head. It looks sweet, unlike the usual tacky paparazzi affair photos. They also look pretty classy, and the addition of a rescued teenage boy on his phone made it look like a normal family day. They look pretty good in that photo, no lie. The composition, the framing, the fashion coordination, and the genuineness of it made people on the social medias ask: What makes a gay couple different from a normal couple?  

Tabloids and click-baiting pages usually catch attention by posting ugly pictures of people where they look red-handed and guilty, but their pictures look good, happy, and proud. Even with anti-lgbt headlines, people can’t help but compliment them.

Other than that, Goyong could not care less about the outside world. Apolinario stays in the apartment more because he realized he could carry his work at home, while Emilio has been busy in Batasang Pambansa due to this upcoming Paterno trial. He’s grateful for the week’s set up, because he really wants to see more of Apolinario and less of Emilio.

In that week that they’re together in the apartment, Goyong learns to cook and paint, and shows them to the very busy lawyer whose only break is a five-minute coffee time. Sometimes, he sits with him in his study, observing his work, reading some of the law books lying around. Apolinario definitely noticed that something is wrong, but he dismissed it when Goyong assured that he’s just going to miss him when he enrolls to senior-high, so he wants to hang out with him more. Apolinario must have been touched, because later on, he left his work to bring Goyong to the mall for shopping and coffee date.

One day, he saw a piece of paper in Apolinario’s laundry, remembering that the number scribbled in it belongs to a certain girl who was grieving someone’s death. He feels for her, and prays that she has the same support system he had when he was in her position.

In a moment of great absolution, he calls the number.

The Pasig River Esplanade isn’t exactly scenic during the day, but it is a good place to meet with friends. He approaches the figure sitting in one of the benches facing Manila Bay. Instead of anything else, Goyong could not help but think how they have dumped a lump of flesh on that waters last week.

“Hello, Miss Emily.” Goyong greets the girl who was just glaring at the ocean.

“Good afternoon, Mister Del Pilar. Did you find something out from congressman Aguinaldo?” She says straight-forwardly and professionally. It seems she is not the type to waste time.

“Yes actually. And it’s better that I say it personally.”

“I understand, wiretapping is really easy around here. I suppose your information is sensitive?”

Goyong brushes his neck awkwardly, “Really sensitive. You have no idea.”

Emily looks at him seriously, waiting for his next words. And so, he starts with what she wants to know.

“Agent Bonifacio was shot in this place. Though I know his mission partner must have told you.”

However, with the look on Emily’s face, he concludes that this information is surprising. She replies, “Thank you for that information. His mission partner is still traumatized and refuses—or unable—to speak. Do you know something more? Who shot him? Why was he shot? Did they haul out his body?”

“Well, yes, I do know something more.” Goyong braces himself for the next words, praying in his mind for courage to continue the words he had planned to say, “Congressman Aguinaldo is the Ripper, and he’s the one who shot Agent Bonifacio.”

Emily stands up abruptly and faced him. “I’m not here to joke around.”

Goyong only nods, understanding that reaction. “I know it is surprising. It’s fine if you don’t believe me, but I hope you use the information to know where to start. Tito Emilio says he only shot Agent Bonifacio in the head. Nobody hauled anything. His body might still be at the bottom of Manila Bay or has been eaten by fishes.”

Emily twirls away to walk towards the railings of the docks. She settles her arms on it, clasps her hands together, then cried. “I don’t believe you. The Ripper kills bad people. Agent Bonifacio was not a bad person.”

“He was not. He deserves a funeral worthy of a hero.” Goyong says from behind, his own tears falling. He thought he’s exhausted his cries, but grief only gets covered, not healed. “My uncle did, too.”

Emily murmurs a condolence and apology, but Goyong just dismissed it with a wave. Emily continues, “Then why did he kill him?”

“Because he learned the truth.”

“Well,” She sniffs, “That’s stupid. They could have worked together.”

“The Ripper works alone, and he likes to stay alone. He does not want anyone to know him.”

Emily faces him, now worried. “And you? Won’t you get in trouble for knowing?”

Goyong only gives her a carefree smile, “I might.”

“You can come with us and —”

The boy interrupts, “I’m okay. I don’t want to include anybody in his hit list. He is not like the Congressman Aguinaldo from the news. He is not just a mediocre playing-safe politician, he is not just some well-dressed gay guy who fell in love with my guardian. He’s much worse than that. Efficient, calculating, manipulative, strong… my point is… you cannot protect yourself from the goddamn Ripper.”

“So, what now? What are you going to do? Wait for your death? Shrug about it?”

As if making a point, he shrugs.

Emily composes herself again, quickly wiping her tears, “You cannot just accept it. You can’t.”

“Is there any more option other than surrendering?”

She shakes her head, probably judging his self-resignation. “We might not meet again ever, but I hope you will be somewhere alive.”

The she walks quickly, surveying the surroundings.

Goyong furrows, “What are you doing?”

“Looking for CCTVs.” She says as she continues to walk around every pole. She also stares around and takes note of the nearest buildings.

“Have you heard what I just said?” He follows behind, “He was fish food!”

“And what do you want me to do about it? Surrender? I’m not like you!” She walks farther and faster after probably assessing that the best CCTV view is from a certain nearby building. It was hard for Goyong to catch up, and he doesn’t think persuading her with his speculations would help, “And Mister Del Pilar…”

He pauses when the girl stops to shout at him from afar.

“If you cannot fight, you can run!” Then she runs towards the building.

And he’s left there, gripping his own fists.

Chapter Text

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[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality. I do not know Maragondon or whatever their municipal hall looks like or whoever is currently sitting as the Mayor. The set-up and personalities are products of pure imagination.]

TW: Boring Politics

TW: Philippine Politics

TW: Politics that might boil your blood

9 Days before Paterno’s death

Emily enters the room quite unceremoniously, chest heaving for running from the mansion’s front door to Dr. Jose’s room at the second floor. The house staff and Mr. Paciano are used to her presence by now, and she had once heard from a cleaning lady’s gossip that she thinks Emily is Paciano’s secret and newly discovered lovechild only because the math makes sense. Nonetheless, none of those are any of Emily’s concern. When she’s focused on something, everything else becomes shallow.

Dr. Jose is also used with her unwelcome presence by now, and she thinks he loathes his big brother for letting her do what she wants. She blocked his planned self-exile to Dapitan by getting Mr. Paciano on the game of forcing him to stay for their cause. So far, he stays in his room, never coming out for anything, even for a meal. When Mr. Paciano stopped bringing food to his room to coax him on coming out, Dr. Jose decided to go on a hunger strike, refusing to eat for two days. That alarmed the brother, of course, and in the end, they never forced the doctor to do anything again. Mr. Paciano explained to her that his little brother was heavily shocked, and the only thing they could do is to respect his need to wallow, for maybe, he would eventually come around and share everything that happened that night, in detail if he could.

In all the while that Emily waits for this endless wallowing, she decided to investigate the MET party. Not so much have been found, since even Agent Bonifacio’s second-in-command only found so little. She hates that even Paterno is a relatively an un-tappable man like Apolinario Mabini and Emilio Aguinaldo, who she investigated a while back for being connected to the missing agent. Upon learning that Attorney Mabini corresponds through letters to very specific people and Congressman Aguinaldo is simply not the type to communicate, she placed them in her ‘suspicious’ list. Nonetheless, she still considers that they could just be weird, introverted, old-timey people, and nothing more. All she could do was search their names on the internet—as sloppy as that sounds for an expert hacker that she—and found out several things; Emilio Aguinaldo is the current vice-president of Paterno’s party, and there were several members of their assembly, most of which are unimportant. She decided to hack these members instead and read some of their messages that aren’t in end-to-end encryption apps.

She learned that Emilio has allegedly held Paterno’s communication channels to his own, so he gets to control what comes in and out of Paterno’s ears, and they hate him for it. They hate Emilio for being aloof yet controlling, for never putting his name out for a chance of public scrutiny unlike what they’ve stupidly done, and for always playing safe. They think he’s boring and underserving of his position, and the only reason that he became the vice-president was because he’s quiet, pliant, and good-looking. With more readings through their message, she eventually finds out about the party, however, they know so little because only the inner circle and Paterno’s foreign ‘friends’ are invited. They guessed Emilio was invited, too. They just have no way confirming. It’s not like they could send a text to the guy; he’s not the type to reply.

But Emily has the quite the reason to conclude that he might have been there, only because there was never any evidence that he was not. Just like how once, Agent Bonifacio told her to research about Emilio Aguinaldo because Dr. Jose Rizal thought he was kind of suspicious, only because there was never any evidence that he was not.

In this case, his own cleanliness is making him suspicious for the doctor, and it is making sense for her, too. However, if so, what would be Emilio’s Aguinaldo reason to be involved with Agent Bonifacio’s disappearance?

Today, Emily learned the reason.

The doctor glares her way, a usual occurrence whenever she lets herself in, unwelcome or not. In her hand is a small hard drive, and she can see that Dr. Jose stares at it with confusion.

“Agent Bonifacio was rescued.” She says breathily, holding the hard drive to his face.

The doctor’s eyes widen as he stands up to get the device. Emily stretches it to him easily, letting the doctor clutch it to his palms, staring at it intently as if praying. “I want to see for myself.”

He rummages through his desk for a laptop, and after removing the clutters of untouched food trays and random newspapers Kuya Paciano has been leaving behind, he opens the laptop and plugs the hard drive immediately.

“What am I looking for?” He asks.

Emily walks over to open the drive with hundreds of video files inside. She did not need to scroll down though. She selects a file she has learned by heart because it contains her hope. It is still titled with its default name—a string of numbers that contains the date when it was taken. She opens the video and goes straight to the time stamp that she played over and over again last night.

*

Jose Rizal focuses on the video that looks enhanced and brightened, and he guesses he could thank Emily for that.

He could remember the night like it was yesterday, the memories of their escape vivid in his mind like a chain to his neck. He could still remember how the rain sounded through his ears and how it obscured his vision, how the simple five minutes of running and dodging bullets labored his lungs to heavy heaving that he required a pull and a protection from the injured man for the rest of the way. He remembered every detail of every moment they were in Manila Bay; the hope of escape while running on the docks, the splash of water when they fell down, Agent Bonifacio’s last energies spent to keep him afloat, and the shadow of the mystery man that shot him several times until he is down unseen in the water.

Most especially, he remembers the moment a bullet hit Agent Bonifacio’s head, blood splattering to his face. He vividly remembers his muddled emotions as he swam himself to safety, knowing he was leaving behind a friend slowly sink to the bottom of Manila Bay.

He vividly remembers.

And he hates his mind for it.

For days, he had tried to block his mind, to clean it, or to make it forget. He was so close to just wanting to go insane, but he knows his mind too much. It always notices many things, and it sees patterns nobody else can see. It’s always active, it’s always analyzing. How can he tell it to shut up when it does not want to be?

If not for this girl, the little genius with the same tenacity as her mentor, he thinks he could manage to wallow enough to insanity, which would at least remove certain things from his head. However, she always barges in to remind him of everything he wants to forget. He was beginning to hate her, sinless as she is, and today, he was ready to throw pillow at her face when she barged in again.

However, he now sits in front of the video she carried, stunned, frozen, and generally mixed. He plays the time stamp over and over again, which plays at an hour after the encounter. He analyzes if they really ‘rescued’ a person, or ‘hauled’ a dead body. There was no audio, there were random rain drops obscuring the CCTV camera, but he could clearly assess that the man who dragged Agent Bonifacio’s body out of the water is a passerby who noticed a body that drifted to the shore several meters away from the docks. The man ran to the figure and performed a vital sign check-up, making him think that he could be a trained medical professional. What gave him hope is that the man did not look at his watch.

He did not look at his watch, an act doctors do to announce the time of death, in this case, the time he had discovered the dead body. Instead, the man fetched his phone and called. Emily selects another time stamp 30-minutes forward, while she says that the man spent the rest of that time performing CPR. The video now shows an ambulance of Philippine General Hospital, and the first responder to come out does not wear a first-responder’s uniform, but a scrub suit.

“That is Gregoria De Jesus, Agent Bonifacio’s fiancé. She’s a head nurse in PGH.” Emily supplies.

Jose breaks down. His quiet cries fill the room, and he can feel Emily’s hand awkwardly patting his shoulders. “Oh, thank God.”

“I knew he wouldn’t go down so easily.” Her voice wobbles close to crying as she tries to hide it with a chuckle, but to no avail.

After a moment of crying, he clears his throat, his eyes still watering. “But who is that man that shot us? Did you see in the videos?”

“You have not seen?” Emily gives him a puzzled look.

“I would have told you if I did.”

“To be fair, I know you know a lot of things but was too traumatized to share anything, even when my mentor died for it.” She calmly replies with anger hinted slightly, throwing air-quotes at the word ‘dead’.

“Well… I…” Jose was stuck and realizes that the girl has every right to be angry at him but was nice enough to be considerate. He also considers that his Kuya Paciano must have been taking care of everything while he disconnects himself from the world.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to be snappy.” She follows.

“It’s okay.” He tries to smile.

“Okay.” She awkwardly says. Jose learned that she is much like her mentor; removed, serious, courageous, and focused. They also have the confidence to automatically lead an initiative but have the tendency to barge in someone’s space violently. For confident people, they can also be awkward when too many emotions are involved. “I did not see the shooter in any of the videos, but I know who it is.”

“Who?”

Emily suddenly turns serious, “Congressman Emilio Aguinaldo.”

“What?” Jose pauses, thinking of reasons, justifying things faster that what he can process. Yes, Congressman Aguinaldo is the vice-president of Paterno’s party, but Agent Bonifacio is also his lover’s best friend. Granted he had once accused him of being the ripper, but that is only because there was no one else in Cavite to accuse. He does not even strike him as anything, he looks pretty boring and safe, and his only character reference was the agent, who considers him a good man. Overall, Jose’s best opinion of him is that he has the air of a harmless deer, probably just stuck with Paterno’s orders. “Okay, he’s Paterno’s ally, but to want to kill us for that… why…”

“I don’t think he’s Paterno’s ally.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he’s the Ripper.”

“WHAT?” he shouts.

Someone barges in, and they both look at the door that abruptly swung open. There stands Kuya Paciano with another newspaper at hand, looking at them with shock and confusion. Since Jose closed himself, he evaded any forms of media, or any forms of literature that would require mental effort. He never read any of those papers, but delivering food and newspapers was the only time his brother holds to peak on his clouded situation. After closing the door, Kuya Paciano walks toward the desk and drops the newspaper with three familiar faces under the headline. “Who’s the Ripper?” He asks them before he could explain the intriguing news.

“Emilio Aguinaldo.” Emily answers.

All of them returned their attention to the paper.

For two weeks, the major newspaper companies have been putting Paterno on the headline, yet today, they placed someone else, however still connected to Paterno’s gradual downfall. Too gradual, perhaps.

In the picture are three well-dressed people, two adults going down a yacht, and a teenager walking ahead of them after hoisting the boat. Somehow, the newspaper included that the yacht was an inheritance from Aguinaldo’s old-money family, so that was enough to help him avoid a corruption issue, unlike Paterno who got rich upon entering politics. However, the biggest news is the matching diamond ring worn on their fingers, and the way Aguinaldo looks at his friend as he places a captain’s hat on his head, and the way his friend smiles back at him lovingly. It is a scandal, it definitely is, yet it is not treated as such. The picture is too classy and happy, and if Jose could overthink, it seems it was staged to evoke positive emotion by looking at it. The picture was taken from Manila Yacht Club—a private club—so nobody thought that it could be a publicity stunt.

If it’s true that Emilio Aguinaldo is the Ripper, then he could agree that this photo is artistically framed to evoke an emotion he wants the viewers to feel. His murder tableaus are the best examples of that, but he never thought he would see a Ripper art in a positive form, much less in another type of media.

However, the Ripper is not the type to pull a publicity stunt for himself. The Ripper does what he wants; he does not care about the consequences. If some of the tableaus are any indication of political messages, well, those ones are not his.

So, why would the Ripper suddenly pull this?

The answer is Apolinario Mabini—a defense lawyer who’s always two steps ahead.

Jose knew his friend has this hidden potential to be calculating. He has all the theoretical means to control any situation if he wants to, but he refuses to apply them because he is highly moralistic, something Jose is really thankful for.

He turned the page to check the editorial, and as expected, he sees the analysis about the truth of Emilio Aguinaldo’s alliance with Paterno. They have investigated Aguinaldo’s track record, the road projects he passed, and the wealth he possesses. All of them are clean. He’s also fond of approving known contractors, so they were easily accessible for interviews. They mentioned that Aguinaldo never asked for a percentage or pressured them to inflate their materials costs.

“So clean and easy, isn’t it?” Emily says. “It’s like he planned all of this, knowing that his term will be investigated.”

Kuya Paciano interjects, “What if he’s just a clean person? I talked with him in the club, when I was diverting his attention so you could talk to the attorney.”

Emily nods, while Jose looks at him quizzically. It seems they have been moving a lot while he was incapacitated.

The brother continues, “He was such a good listener. Easy to like. When I ask him for insights, he answers like a sensible fella.”

“No, Kuya. It was too easy for him to get in Paterno’s team, but he built countermeasures that could easily get him out.” Jose states, his forehead wrinkling in seriousness, “The Ripper is not greedy; greedy people are careless. He just hates humanity, and haters are clever.” He then faces Emily, “How did you learn that he’s the Ripper anyway?”

Emily slides the paper closer to her, flips the paper back to the first page, then points at the boy in the photo, “This boy told me. He also said that Agent Bonifacio learned about his Ripper identity, so perhaps that’s the reason he shot him. Also, he insisted that the Ripper only works alone. Do you think there’s a reason for him to lie?”

“I don’t know. The only way to be sure is to ask Agent Bonifacio. Have you found him yet?”

Emily breathes deeply, then shakes her head. “I couldn’t find his name in any of the hospital records. The front desk says there is no patient of that name.”

“Gregoria De Jesus might be hiding him, I understand. It’s a protocol for investigators and witnesses. For now, we focus on two things…”

He sees Emily and Kuya Paciano straighten, giving him their full attention. He can see the slight smile on Kuya Paciano’s lips, his eyes glinting in pride, and with that, he realized that he’s finally in the cause again, ready to give orders like a strategist.

The plans are simple. The two absorbed it like sponges, nodding, agreeing, and taking notes. First, they must defame Paterno as much as they can before he is eventually killed by the Ripper or by the second killer. They will never know when and they will never know who will get the Senator first, but they must work with what they have to let the Filipino people know what they have lost, what they are losing, and what more they will lose if they let the likes of Paterno gain more power. Jose may only know information through word of mouth, but inside his room are two key players in this fight. One is a world-class social media expert and hacker (or in the face of this fight, a modern propagandist), and the other is a powerful man with resources and connections. They are more than enough.

The second plan requires discretion. They must look for Agent Bonifacio and confirm that Aguinaldo is truly the Ripper. Now that they are only speculating (whether Jose actually cares about the Ripper’s identity or not), they must leave Emilio Aguinaldo and Apolinario Mabini alone. Jose does not want to be involved with them while unsure of their objectives and roles. His friend might be innocent, but he could not risk it. Once, they have thought that the Ripper would want to work with them, and look where it led him. So, just to be safe, this plan involves never letting anyone know that Agent Bonifacio was rescued, or that they know that Emilio Aguinaldo is the Ripper.

After the plan has been laid down, Kuya Paciano, ever the worrywart, chats with Jose to check his condition. The room was filled with their murmurings, but they never noticed that Emily has snuggled on one of Jose’s pillows, while her lower half is awkwardly still in sitting position. She probably thought she would catch a little break, but with the way her breathing deepens rhythmically, it seems her tired body surrendered immediately to deep sleep.

“Poor girl. Has been running around Manila and Cavite to look for her mentor, all the while keeping Paterno slander alive.” Kuya Paciano shares when he notices Jose’s attention towards the sleeping figure that’s starting to drool on his covers. “She’s really good at information gathering, I give her that. I must hire her one she graduates.”

The next days will be busy.

For now, Emily shall sleep.

When Kuya Paciano left, he stays seated on his chair. He cannot exactly lay down on the bed now that a person who definitely needs rest is on it. He has been rotting on that bed for almost two weeks, and the bed deserves to be used for its intended purpose, which is to lull the tired and the weary. Jose lays his body on the backrest and stares up the ceiling. His eyes waters as his mind plays a sentence repeatedly—Agent Bonifacio was rescued, Agent Bonifacio was rescued—and he lets out a sigh of relief, the greatest he had ever let out in his life. He cups his lower face with his two hands and then cries there.

“Thank God,” he breaths out “Thank God.”

TW: Boring Politics, blood-boiling politics. Pick your pain.

TW: Slow descent to madness

TW: Slight gore

[summary in case you don’t want to read, though I suggest you do as context for the next chapter: Apolinario is stressed about the Paterno situation, he gives orders to counter-attack Paterno’s self-protection tactics, a dark figure haunts him, all the while he’s grieving his best friend.]

6 Days before Paterno’s death

He casually rips the daily the calendar to a new day like always as soon as he enters his office.

With a reusable bamboo-framed, insulated, tumbler of coffee in his hand, he treks to his huge table stacked by papers, binders, and envelopes. Today will be a busy day filled with pro bono cases, as he told his chief that he might not want to take a huge high-profile case for the time being. As usual, he quickly skims the most time-crucial documents and notes to himself that he must deeply study them later. He does this as a routine, like getting an overview of what his day would be like. One of those routines is to read the morning papers from different newspaper companies. It’s not enough to get sources from one company; as a lawyer, he always makes sure to hear all sides.

In the past few weeks, the papers were filled with the news about the controversial senator, and he was quite afraid that the nation might complain about the monotony and negativity of it all, crabbily ask for something else to hear, which, of course, would pressure the news companies to cover something else. No one will benefit from this but the senator who’s been selling his country for a decade. It seems the court’s call for trial was not enough noise that people are slowly forgetting about him. Three days ago, it was their faces that dominated the headline, waking up Paterno’s name again when it was about to die down. Analysts were suddenly interested in Emilio’s real alliance for dating a hotshot PAO lawyer of the same sex, added by the fact that he never released a public statement of support for Paterno.

Today, however, the headline was alive and blaring. Dimasalang has written, and it is apparently big enough that it has become the headline. He quickly flips to the feature article pages to find Dimasalang’s latest murder analysis: The tableau of Felipe Buencamino, Paterno’s closest ally.

He casually sips coffee while slightly twirling his ergonomic chair as he reads the length. He grins to himself, because not only was it an entertaining read, but it also created a much-needed additional noise from the public.

As usual, the article starts with explaining the meaning behind the well-decorated tableau, in this case, an image of Delilah carrying her husband’s lock of hair to weaken her own country for the foreigners to capture. Just like what Buencamino did when he was still a Foreign Affairs secretary up to his Senatorial term when he supported all Paterno’s questionable bills. The Ripper did this murder: it couldn’t be him and Agueda. Yet, there is something about the tableau that feels different. He dismisses it, for it is not something he’d like to think about.

The second part of the article is the longest part, and it explains Buencamino’s crimes that reflects his tableau. Dimasalang’s information has never been wrong, even when the NBI sometimes question them. When they investigate on their own, it turns out that his sources are true and the details are factual, making them scratch their heads because ‘where the heck is this secret writer getting the information?’

The article should be scaring Paterno shitless, because whenever Buencamino’s name appears, so does his. Dimasalang included that Buencamino was only following Paterno’s orders, but he did not fail to follow it up with ‘…well, greed made him agree to those orders. If he were really a good man, he would have declined to be Paterno’s ally…’ It also helped that before the random release of the issues—before Buencamino’s death who was the first Senatorial victim—Paterno was a rising Senator and everyone wanted a share of his glory for the next elections, controversies be damned. In addition, Paterno has a strong social media team, no controversy could put him down if they can dampen it with distractions and misinformation.

Apolinario is still clueless about Dimasalang’s real identity, but whoever they are, he wants to know where they got this information. Is this writer an insider? Are they influential? Nonetheless, Apolinario could not help but think that the information in this article can be easily proven right, yet so damn hard to acquire. La Liga knew this information, of course, but that’s only because Emilio, a member of the party, provided them.

That afternoon, he meets with Agueda along Roxas Boulevard to ask for a favor. He wants her to find the people that Attorney Magbanua and Attorney Adriano wrote to him about through their well-coded correspondences from Tanauan. All he can remember is that one is from Tayabas and one is from Ermita. They believe they are Paterno’s local allies, and based on his quick investigation, they run a huge construction company that steals from government infrastructure projects, making substandard road laying and sewage system projects, causing Manila’s suffering every rainy season.

“What do you want me to do with them?” Agueda asks, hand in pockets while staring the scenic sunset of the bay.

Apolinario slowly walks alongside. “Send a message to our dear main man. I want to agitate him more.”

“Should I send him some okras?” The military office innocently suggests, but he knows what she means. She wants to torture the targets and send their severed fingers to Paterno.

“Whatever you want.”

“Good, ‘cause I want to give them a piece of my mind.” She hums contentedly.

“Oh, yeah. I heard your house got flooded. Are you okay?”

“I’m alright. My house is not. Good thing Tereh is currently in Manila, so I’m crashing in her house here.” She says, trying to appear casual. Apolinario thinks that could not have been easy.

“Wow.” Apolinario awkwardly breathes through his teeth, “I’m sorry about your house, and I’m sorry that you’re currently crashing in Teresa’s house.”

“Yeah, the number of times I volunteered to deep clean her house is through the roof.” She laughs.

It’s funny how their exchange sounded like two simple friends catching up.

Eventually they part ways, and Apolinario is left slowly walking along Roxas Boulevard with a coat neatly folded on his arms, like a respectable man outside office hours. Agueda has already left but he stays with a company. Another figure walks beside him, never speaking, never making a single sound, not even the sound of footsteps, not even a shadow casted against the orange glow of the diminishing sun. He does not stare at the figure. He keeps his eyes on the rhythmic movements of his feet that is now gradually catching up speed. ‘Left, right, left, right.’ He tries to fill his mind with repetitive mental noise just to forget the figure mirroring his steps with unchanging speed despite his increasing haste. No matter how fast he walks, it follows. Through his peripheral, he can see the black miasma oozing around the figure, pulsating, expanding, reaching for his personal space as if calling his attention. He will never give it attention. He will never succumb to its calls.

*

He tiredly rips the daily the calendar to a new day like always as soon as he enters his office.

He did not sleep well last night.

As soon as he sits down, the Chief passes by to say hello. He greets back a quick and automatic ‘hi’ as he continues his usual routine, but after a micro-second, the Chief decides she wants to talk instead so she peers her head by his door and immediately looks at his diamond-carrying finger. “I can’t believe it.” She starts.

“Good morning to you, too.” Apolinario replies while skimming through the crucial documents of the day.

“I was on vacation for 4 days and this happens?”

“Things happen.”

“Incredible.” Was all the chief could answer. “I told you to be charismatic, but not so much to seduce your… wait. Was he your witness for Luna’s case?”

That made Apolinario look up incredulously and then he expresses in defense, “No! Goodness me. I have principles. I just met him in the middle of investigating the Ripper.”

“Oh, alright. I thought you did something illegal.”

“I would never.”

“I know. I know. I’m just… shocked.” She now fully enters his office and invites herself to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Where will you get married?”

“Here, of course.” He says, a matter-of-factly.

“There’s no same sex marriage in our country.” She deadpans.

“There will be.”

The Chief crosses her arms in thought, then when it came to her, her eyes light up like a bulb towards Apolinario’s figure that is still calmly sipping coffee and reading documents. “Oh, because Paterno is the only one blocking the bill. You think he will be jailed?”

Apolinario wants to laugh, for deep inside his mind, he planned for something grander than ‘jail’ for that bastard. “Yes. He will be jailed.”

“You think that is enough for the Senate to pass the bill? How about his followers?”

“Many people now know his crimes, and the obvious political divide he’s been doing.”

“Paterno’s fans are still a problem.” With that, she takes her phone and scrolls through a social media app. She mentions some posts, pointing some lines to Apolinario that are made by sketchy accounts, though influencing opinions, nonetheless. He decides that he will study them himself later. After a few more exchange of casual words, she left for her own office.

For the rest of the morning, Apolinario scrolls through the news, saddened that Paterno still has defenders, calling angry citizens ‘stupid’ for hating on their senator. Indeed, some of these accounts are sketchy, and their usernames seem auto generated, but people get easily influenced and this worries him.

However, one certain thread catches his attention.

Paterno’s followers demanded NBI to investigate this ‘misinformation’, only for the current leader of investigations say that their star detective, Agent Bonifacio, was missing and is presumed dead. They had the gall to ask why, so the NBI quickly held a press conference—just this morning—stating that Agent Bonifacio went on a solo mission to investigate Pedro Paterno’s lavish party in the Metropolitan Theatre where he invited foreign gang leaders. He never came back, apparently. After that statement, many sent their condolences to Agent Bonifacio’s family, and was more stricken to find out that he was an orphan and was living a humble life with his fiancé in Tondo. This fiancé was also the nurse that rescued victims of the Tondo Shooting Incident, an incident that Agent Bonifacio solved immediately. Many dug into his life more, and many of his colleagues shared about his kindness and sense of responsibility, how he’s the inspiration for most of the trainees and the old employees. It was hard not to consider him a hero.

The fact that that was investigated by mere kids online was surprising yet impressive.

Jose Rizal was right; they shouldn’t underestimate the investigation skills of Filipino netizens. The youth is more persistent for the truth, something his generation failed to have. They should not fight misinformation with misinformation, because the truth will always surface in the end of the day. This relieves him, as it tells that humanity always gravitates towards goodness and truth in due course.

He smiles at himself, knowing his dear friend will be remembered by his duty and sacrifice. He deserves to be proclaimed a hero. That afternoon, he stared blankly through his office window, eyes misty and heart clenching. Suddenly, his closest friend is gone, and he could not even have a body to pay respect to. For others, his name will be a blur in the midst of the current events, a name to be added in the sea of the controversy that gathers day by day, which—depending on people’s controversy attention span—will eventually be forgotten as if it was nothing.

His eyes drifted to the two college boys wearing PE uniform and Manila University ID laces. From his office in the third floor, he can clearly see that the boys are eating kwek-kwek on a stick, happily chatting about whatever. He follows them by sight, picturing that they were him and Andoy in their college years. When they were far enough to see, he sighs, then a new batch of tears fall from his eyes.

At night, he asks Teresa to drop Emilio’s retrieved files to the NBI. Hopefully the files will be a good start to investigate Paterno’s crimes, and that the NBI will have more statements to release other than Agent Bonifacio’s death. The files will prove all Paterno’s contracts and agreements with these foreign companies and will list down all the names involved, hopefully leading to a massive crackdown. Upon the release of those files, he expects more dots to be connected by the masses, from the minimum wage increase never being approved, to trade laws becoming more questionable, to the increase of foreign gangs in Metro Manila, to faulty infrastructure by his contractor friends, and the unnecessary party list fights among the citizens. With this, Apolinario hopes that the Filipino people will be awakened and realize that there is only one enemy.

It is all nothing but hope. Human behavior has always been hard to predict.

With his overwhelming anxiety, he paces in front of his bedroom window while biting on his thumbnail. This must have bothered Emilio, who is lying on his bed without any top clothing, muscles visible for him to see.

“Why won’t you lie down with me, my love?” the man requests.

He looks at him, his figure half-covered by the cozy-looking comforter, his smile so inviting and warm. Apolinario can’t help but be pulled to the bed like a sailor to the sea with a singing siren. “It’s just work. There’s this new case.”

Emilio pulls him gently when he reaches the bed and snuggles him under the covers. He did not know he was cold until he felt the touch of Emilio’s warm shoulders against his cheeks. He snuggles himself closer, rubbing his face as if he could dig himself a hole in Emilio’s body.

He closes his eyes a bit to feel the warmth more, but after a while, he can feel the damning presence of a familiar illusion from his back. The hairs around his skin stand up, giving him cold that fights Emilio’s warmth. He hates it. He hates that it is always near when he feels contented. He hates that despite the memory blockage and the psychoses he went through, it never really disappeared. Its presence is confusing, because he’s sure he has dealt with his conscience, the evidence being his memories in full access. So, what is this dark figure—vaguely carrying the frozen version of his face—doing around him, appearing whenever it likes?

“Emilio.”

“Yes, love.”

“Could you hug me tighter?”

Emilio hugs him tighter without question. He must be thinking he’s cold, so Emilio covered his upper body with both arms while tightening the comforter around them. It feels like a shield, a home, a protection even from himself.

Since learning that Emilio does not really support Paterno and is willing to help bring him down, Apolinario sees him in the light he had so desperately want to see from him. His goodness is genuine, his love is pure, and it makes Apolinario sick to his stomach that his lover might feel the same about him while hugging him close like this, when in fact, he is nothing but a man with darkness attached to his heart. How dare he be liar? How dare he be a sinner? All when he is loved by a man who believes he is moral.

For now, he is thankful that he is being held by his beloved who he considers an anchor in the world of light.

‘Do I not deserve forgiveness?’

‘Do I not deserve forgiveness?’

‘How about me?’

‘Do I not deserve fair trial?’

‘How about me?’

‘Do I not deserve forgiveness?’

‘Ministro?’

‘Do you think yourself a god?’

‘Do I not deserve forgiveness?’

Voices come from all directions, muddled together, yet comprehensible enough to pierce his soul. He raised his hands to cover his ears, but it did nothing. He shakes his head repeatedly. He could not dampen the sounds of his conscience that bear the voices of the people he had ordered to death. If he could not cover his ears, then what else could he do? How else can he ignore the torture caused by his acts of playing god? At the distance, the dark figure stands while looking at him, unmoving. It stares like a figure unaffected by the noises, and how good for it that not. Perhaps he could ask for help, but Apolinario’s hatred for the figure exceeds his desire to be saved. He knows that if he takes the entity’s help, its miasma will poison him into something irrecoverable. He wants to belong in the world of the light where Emilio and Goyong are in.

By the way, why can’t he cover his ears? He placed his hands tightly around them, how come he could not feel any thing dampening his head? He lowered his hands to stare at them. He gasps, his breathing hitching alarmingly at the sight of his hands without all ten fingers. In place of them are emptiness, and at the tip of the remaining meat of what were once fingers are blood squirting occasionally. Anatomically, body parts without major veins do not squirt blood, and that is how Apolinario could say this is a dream, however, that doesn’t make this dream less horrifying.

He shouts in his head.

Nobody could hear him.

*

He angrily rips the daily the calendar to a new day like always as soon as he enters his office.

Last night, the NBI released the files dropped by Teresa, and by the morning, the crowd were going wild.

However, there are still Paterno supporters who became more viscous in the comments sections. Most irritatingly, there are innocent citizens believing their lies. They do not want to concede to the fact that their chosen politician was in the wrong, all because they have egos to consider, which he cannot really fault them to have. Apolinario is now greatly concerned that the country might divide, and it’s all because of this one greedy man who manipulated his countrymen by the means of these paid social media spreaders. He is afraid that the damage Paterno has done is irreversible.

Slumping, he walks to his desk without a tumbler of coffee in his hands. He probably forgot it in the dining table due to being distracted. Without coffee, how could he even begin to function normally today? Can he even drink that freshly brewed coffee that Emilio made himself? Can he even stomach to eat anything today? After that nauseating dream?

He rubs his face while sighing, leaning his elbows on the desk for support so he would not splat his face on the table. He needs to work. He needs to do something about Paterno’s supporters. He needs to ruin him more, lest he leaves an annoying digital footprint that might make children of the future believe that he’s a good man wronged, and having ‘supporters’ is enough for people to believe so. He’s seen this happen before in the repetitive rise of fascism in the west every two decades.

He hates that man. He destroyed his country in merely five years of existing in the national scene. This country will forever be divided because of him, and it is not for anything philosophical, no. It’s for something as shallow as greed. How dare he?

With his face in his hands, he fails to notice the Chief knocking on his open glass door, until she mentioned the presence of a visitor.

“Good morning, Attorney Mabini. Your previous Chief is here.”

“What?” He lifts his head to look at the new figure by the door, grinning with a small golden envelope tucked under his armpit. “Yano?”

“Hello, old friend. You look horrible. Is your current chief overworking you? Or is your fiancé stressing you out?” Attorney Adriano enters the room after thanking the Chief for bringing him here.

“None of that.” Apolinario sighs. “You’re here? All the way from Tanauan? What for?”

Their eyes impercentively gesture to the lingering presence near the door, though hidden. The Chief must still be listening (on purpose or not) so they silently agree to speak in codes for the entire conversation.

“I just miss my little protégé. Can’t I visit you?”

“I’m just ten years younger.”

“Still my protégé until Manila stole you from me. Anyway, I carry news! Moises is also engaged!” Attorney Adriano states jovially, putting the golden envelope down his desk.

Apolinario’s face lifts in real shock. “The lady from Sta. Rosa?”

“The lady from Sta. Rosa. That was true.” The other man gestures dramatically. “Like… very true.”

“Oh my. I’m happy for him.” Apolinario opens the envelope and sees some names listed unassumingly, as the paper looks like a normal wedding invitation program list. He searches for the small, coded text box that usually contains wedding quotes, but he knows there will be details written in that. This is how they make sure that the letters will be less susceptible to interception; they format it into unassuming letters such as electric bills and wedding invitations. Moises’ engagement might be real, but this wedding invitation is not.

After minutes of decoding the text as Attorney Numeriano Adriano sits patiently, studying his facial expressions, he puts the paper down and then looks at the distance in exasperation. Adriano nods, agreeing with whatever that expression articulates. The people in the hall, including the chief, has long dissipated, so they can now freely talk with little to no speech coding.

“You mean to tell me there are really paid social media trolls that are sparking discourse to protect our current target? Do these people even consider that they’re dividing the nation for some money?”

Attorney Adriano continues to nod, “Little amount of money at that. It’s cool, though. We now have the names and faces of these paid keyboard warriors. Thanks to your fiancé. My opinion of him is really changing.”

“I told you; he’s a good man.” Apolinario states.

“Really? Because he was once a part of our list.”

Apolinario paused at that, looking away from the man in front of him, his thoughts muddles until it is completely silent.

Maybe the other man noticed his unnatural pause, so he continues as if he did not say his last statement. “So, what do you want to do with them? I would suggest we…”

“Sue them.”

“What?”

“Hunt them down, one by one, and then sue them.” Apolinario says again, voice clarifying and almost threatening.

“Of what?”

“Falsification, sedition, libel, indirect contempt. Pressure them all to apologize publicly. When Paterno falls, I want every one else to fall with him. I want his glory completely erased.” Apolinario declares calmly yet seething with coldness.

“Alright. Understood, Ministro.” Adriano says in low voice, careful not to let anyone hear.

For the rest of the day, Apolinario continues to work as a normal lawyer.

So why, in the very seat where Adriano had sat a while ago, in the seat where he make the clients sit on, in the seat that is the closest to his desk, there looms a creature with facial features as clear as day, with skin as shiny as a black-tinted metal statue, with empty eyes unblinkingly open and frozen, and with horns on its head as black as its entire body. The figure was naked, he knew it was, but now it wears the same suit he has in the version of darkest tones. The face of the creatures is undeniably his, and it looms closer than before. The black miasma surrounding the creature oozes outward and it’s almost touching his skin.

Apolinario swears the creature started manifesting when he began visiting Cavite and was getting directly involved with the Ripper through the case of Antonio Luna. Although, after killing Emilio’s cousin and the court accepted it as evidence to disprove Goyong’s alleged accessory involvement, he stopped personally getting involved with the Ripper. Yet, the creature appears, as if the Ripper is always close by. The Ripper might as well be, for his friends and lover dance around the circumstances involving that damned entity. However, Andoy is already dead, Pepe promised to stop his private investigations, and Emilio already proved his non-alliance with Paterno, praying that he will not be a Ripper target anymore. He thought the dark creature represents the presence of the Ripper in his life, like a way for his verily disturbed mind to project his fears.

But his fears and worries are gone, right? Only grief for Andoy remains, but the rest should be gone. Right?

“So why are you here?” He asked the creature.

The creature’s head slowly veers to his direction, and when its face is fully directed to him, its mouth move in ways that are unnatural.

“But are you not the Ripper…” it said clearly, delivering the words with his own voice.

Apolinario’s entire skin shakes as he tries to defy the terror coming from his chest, “I… I am… I…”

“… just as much as the original one is..?”

3 Days before Paterno’s death

Emilio was worried for his beloved last night. He came back from work, slumping, lifeless, and heavy. He has been worried for days, and last night, it feels like he failed to sleep well. He wants to finish this job immediately and go back to his Attorney Mabini's side, who took the day off to rest. 

Today is a first Monday of the month, and that means he should attend the flag ceremony to be held in the Municipal Hall currently assigned in his schedule. This month, he must attend the flag ceremony in Maragondon Municipal Hall, a hall of a municipality under his Jurisdiction, the 2^nd district of Cavite. It is nothing but a normal 30-minute ceremony. There will be feast as usual because all politicians of the municipality are required to attend, so there will be added one to two hours of conversations with the attendees. He’s not very fond of these activities, but he attends on the dot to show disciple and good manners. There is no point showing sense of irresponsibility, so he attends punctually, whether he cares for his work or not. Aside from having no qualms in performing his basic political duties, Emilio does this to never hear any bad-mouthing from the congressional workers, which might affect his performance rating—a problem he wants to avoid dealing. He’s already got too much in his hands, being a killer and all.

“Congressman, someone wants to ask for your healthcare package.” One of his congressional workers greets him with work as soon as he steps out of his car. He looks over the two figures, one figure is an old and thin woman hugging a fraying tote bag, wearing a simple patterned duster dress with a concerned look in her face. One is a younger short-haired woman in manly features that if not for her soft jawline, he would have thought of him a man. Goyong told him one time over family dinner that they are not just ‘Tomboy’ or ‘Bading’, for the terms are quite confusing. Formally, they are called transmen and transwomen (and not all! No. The attorney asked more about it and Goyong was more than eager to explain), and he should show respect to trans people as a politician.

(With the way he said it with conviction, Emilio could deduce that the little lamb is truly becoming a mini-Mabini. Oh, how he already misses home. After this, he’s driving straight back to Manila.)

He does not care for it, and he did not want to fight with Goyong. He even forgot how they reached that topic; he was too entranced of the attorney sitting confidently at the Cabisera like a proper head of the family. He liked looking at him taking lead of the family talks. He also loves calling them together a ‘family’. Do they think the same? He could not be bothered to care.

He is also not very fond of making things more complicated, so he just accepts whatever Goyong told him, because unlike Paterno, he really has no time complaining about how others wish to live their lives. Last time he checked, conservatism (which is the political front he took) is about preserving cultural heritage, fiscality, and strong national identity, not fussing so much about how individuals wear themselves. Emilio wants to show that he is nothing like Paterno, so he approaches the two figure and greets them.

“Good morning, ma’am and sir. One of my attendants will get your details later. Don’t worry, I will be sure to provide you with the healthcare package.” He gave them a final smile then leaves. He may have placed the effort to be kinder than what normal citizens see congresspersons are, but he does not want to linger too much. He did his job and now he must leave for the flag ceremony. He can hear a trail of thank you’s from the two as he leaves, especially from the one who lit up after being called ‘sir’.

He does not really care for it.

He’s only doing his bare minimum, and these people are already impressed. The attorney would comment that the state of the nation is truly pitiable, or around that notion. He misses him. He wants to go home immediately. He wants to hear him talk, complain, and criticize the government.

There is a long walk from the parking lot to the yard of the municipal hall, and that path is currently being blocked by the mayor’s daughter and 3 to 4 of her assistants, helping her with a wardrobe malfunction. The lady—around early 20s maybe—snaps to some of her assistants every now and then while they crowd to fix whatever problem her dress has. Emilio does not want to disturb the scene; the malfunction seems major, and he does not want to delay them further by passing by. The Mayor is also nearby, and he is talkative, so he would rather use an alternative way to avoid any social interaction.

The other way is a long sidewalk beside the spine road leading to the municipal yard. There are tall walls on both sides, with beautiful murals of the place’s culture and history. He appreciates Filipino art, so he takes his time walking along the beautiful walls.

In the middle of appreciating the murals, he noticed a running child that entered a gap in one of the sections of the wall. The gap is quite small, lesser than the standard measurements to be a door, and if not for the kid that ran inside, he would not have noticed it. He passes by the gap, and with a quick glance, he sees whatever the walls are hiding.

The small gap provided a huge view about the real situation of the people of the municipality. There are houses, and they are makeshift shelters from trash wood, rusting iron sheets, and tethered blankets of what once were election tarpaulins. One of them was even his. He gave a micro-second of eye-contact with the residents inside the gap, who paused for noticing a well-dressed gentleman unusually using the sidewalk. For a small gap, he expected a small settlement, but he was surprised to see a huge community behind the walls, a sea of makeshift houses extending as far as the horizon.

When he completely passes the gap, he proceeds to walk for few more meters, only to notice another gap, this time, a gap made from the brittling cement. It did not look dug out; it is clearly a hole that naturally appeared there, probably due to the weak material used. He takes a step back to discern the wall properly, and finally noticed the multitude of dents, gaps, and cracks marring the wall, strategically covered by the paints.

This wall will fall eventually. And it’s going to harm the people behind it.

His attention was taken by his cursed cellphone with a ringtone specific for one irritating person. He could decide to not answer, given it has become official that he is not his ally anymore. Nonetheless, he wants to hear what Paterno has to say; He answers the phone. “Aguinaldo? Hello? You have to help me.” The man starts in between sobs.

“I don’t know how else I could help you.” He simply replies.

“You will know what to do. You’ve always had the ideas to help me. Everything is out of control, Emilio. Just… just think. What should I do?”

The man sounds really pathetic. With trembling voice interrupted by snot every second, he says that a package was sent to his front door, and it contains all ten fingers each of his two secret contractor allies, the ones Paterno told him to check upon on, which he never did. Paterno reminded him of his failure which might have caused this, and so he must help him get out of it. Someone is out to get him, and he’s not sure who.

Emilio laughs at that. “Paterno, do you not know the Ripper?”

Paterno paused. Moments later, he let out an ugly wail, causing Emilio to cringe. “I could not be a Ripper victim. I am powerful! The Ripper is nothing! The Ripper is nothing! Why would the Ripper come after me?”

It was satisfaction; Emilio thinks of the days when his beloved was mad at him for siding Paterno. He endured it, because he wants to give him a surprise. Normally, he would just kill and let Dimasalang figure out if justice has been served. However, Paterno is different. Even someone as skillful as Dimasalang would not be able to dig Paterno’s crimes (Maybe Agent Bonifacio would, had he been alive.)

However, listening to Paterno’s suffering, it all becomes worth it.

He has successfully muddled the man to powerlessness by giving away all his well-kept information to La Liga and not letting Paterno himself know that he is losing everything he worked hard for.

“Why would the Ripper come after me?” Paterno wails again. He’s probably going crazy at the moment, which Emilio relishes on.

“Oh, I don’t know. Isn’t the Ripper the punisher of evil people? Have you done anything that might be considered evil?”

“I haven’t done anything! You know me, Emilio! You know me! I’m the victim here!”

Emilio looks ahead of the sidewalk and sees the same old lady and her companion slowly entering a dangerous-looking gap on the wall. He does not care about them; he’s only doing his bare minimum to serve his jurisdiction, but it is somehow annoying that he needed to release a healthcare package program when Congresspersons should just focus on law-making.

How annoying. It’s really annoys him…

… that there was a moment when National Healthcare Service was about to be passed, but it was blocked by Paterno because the health insurance lobbyists paid him billions of bribe to not let it through, forcing Filipinos to apply for an expensive health insurance as if they were angels sent by the heavens.

Emilio does not care about this. He really does not.

“Are you sure you haven’t done anything evil, Senator?”

“I have not! I swear! Help me, Emilio.” Paterno cries, “I don’t want to die.”

Emilio begins walking again, putting his hands on his pockets with a mixed mood. Maybe it’s because the sky was gloomy, or that he had to take the long way to the municipal yard, or maybe that he realized the actual ugliness of the mural paintings, or maybe that he is far away from his beloved. He just does not feel good, and there is an unknown feeling sinking in his stomach. He doesn’t like it, and he wishes he could not be bothered.

He reached a partition of the wall that is filled with vandalism and paper posters. Some of the posters were old election paraphernalia, he can even see his face in some of them, but those papers are now browned by age and weather and sit below the new paper posters that only contain one message: the people want to rally tomorrow. Some of these papers fell down the ground, littering the street like leaves in autumn. One of the papers fell to his hands, so he takes the time to study the details of this supposed massive rally to be held somewhere in Manila.

The papers cover the entire middle of the wall partition, and on it shows a blood red paint in bold hand lettering.

“Emilio? Hello? Please do something. The social media people I have are calling me. They say they are being harassed by a group of lawyers. Nobody can defend me now. The senate, the Ripper, they’re after me. Maybe I have to hide. Do I have to hide? I have to hide. Hide me, Emilio!”

Paterno’s grating voice was irritating but it did not break his stupor. The senate? The Ripper? He forgot another group of people that wants his blood the most.

He continues looking at the wall. Now, this is art.

“Well, I’m afraid of the Ripper myself.” Emilio monotonously declares.

“The Ripper is not a god! No need to be afraid of!” Paterno says, trying to convince him, most especially himself.

“Sometimes, God send the devil to do the job.”

“Tha… that is not true. Why would God do that?”

The red paint on the paper-littered wall reads: Ripper! Patayin mo si Paterno

(Ripper! Kill Paterno)

He looks up at it, appreciating the rawness of emotions that came with making it. So simple, yet so profound. Moving, even. Isn’t that the true meaning of art?

He continues, “Because sometimes, humans pray for the devil to do the job.”

Chapter Text

[This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and the incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the author's views. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the story as creative exploration, not a reflection of reality.]

TW1: BIGGEST TRIGGER WARNING. REAL MENTAL TORTURE METHODS.

TW2: MENTAL AND PHYSICAL TORTURE

TW3: MEDICAL MALPRACTICE

TW4: CANNIBALISM

Disclaimer: I will place warning signs before and after the bloodbath so you may skip them.

Apolinario expected Buencamino’s murder tableau to be a depiction of an ancient Filipino art, so he was surprised when he saw that it is actually a Biblical story depiction, his usual design. While looking at the tableau through the ‘uncensored’ portion of the newspaper, he can’t help but feel that it is a message. It has been weeks since he’s seen it, but he still could not figure out the possible message.

“What are you thinking about?” Agueda asks him from the driver’s seat, as he quietly ponders in the passenger’s seat.

“Buencamino’s tableau. Feels like a message, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe you should set tonight’s tableau as a reply?” She humors, and Apolinario replies with a chuckle.

Driving through the Southern Luzon Express Way, Apolinario’s blank mind steers with the wheel that Agueda was holding. He tries to be serene in the passenger seat while on the way to another mission to avoid feeling the emotions that might get in the way of his resolve. He avoids the guilt, the conscience, and the possibility of forgiving a target through complex mental gymnastics, and he does so by forcing his mind shut. Agueda admitted that this unsettling silence of him creeped her out at first, but she eventually understood its purpose. Apolinario is not like her, who has strong resolve and assured violent intents towards their enemies. His resolve is always wavering. He wishes to have the same mentality, but he is stuck with his stupid conscience and an overthinking mind.

The silence has been cut when Agueda’s smart phone beeps with a notification, and after checking it, she nervously side-eyes Apolinario. That made Apolinario nervous, too.

“What is it?” He finally asks.

“The tracker finally turned on.”

Apolinario pursed his lips, “Where?”

“Your fiancé’s house.”

Apolinario shakes his head in denial, then takes Agueda’s phone to check the map that shows Paterno’s whereabouts. The map shows the familiar roadways leading to the heights of Cavite that he has become accustomed to for frequently booking an online hailing taxi going there. There is no doubt, Pedro Paterno is really in Emilio’s house in Cavite.

“Emilio is the one who gave you the tracking information, right?”

“Yes. He says it’s Paterno’s. You think he gave a wrong tracking information?”

Apolinario nervously fiddles his fingers as he glares at the side window, “Maybe he has mistakenly given his? We can’t continue, Agueda. If we check anyway and he sees me—"

“We can’t turn around, Ministro. This has to happen tonight.” Agueda says, almost growling.

“But… Emilio might see me.”

Agueda grips the steering wheel tighter. “Ay, puta—Look Ministro, I really admire your brain, your planning, your directing. And if not for you, we would have no strength to start assassinating these sons of bitches. But I would be willing to drop you off here and do the mission myself.”

“You can’t stop in SLEX. And you can’t kill alone either! You just shoot and leave! How about the message?”

“I’ll try to be artistic enough to set the damn corpse.” She grits.

“And what? Make it look like Danilo Aguinaldo’s tableau? That was a mess. Dimasalang even refuse to write about that.” Apolinario challenges, remembering the silver coins haphazardly thrown around the corpse in Cavite. Good thing Dimasalang never seem to investigate that crime scene, or the writer would have dismissed it as a copycat murder, making Goyong’s innocence a lot more unclear.

“You know why? Because for the first time in forever, the plan shifted out of nowhere! We planned to kill Emilio that night, and you suddenly redirected me to his cousin. And then you came to the scene so late, slightly drunk and full of hickeys. All I could think of was WHAT THE FUCK?! You’re lucky I did not tell anything to the group about that night. That was SHIT, Ministro!”

“Uh, well…” Apolinario averts his eyes to the passenger window again, feeling so much shame about that night. He can’t even begin to explain.

“Don’t bother explaining.”

“I was not going to.” He defends meekly, “I’m an adult and I have the freedom to…”

“I really don’t want to know.” Agueda interrupts, irritation obvious with the way she steers the wheel. Apolinario decides to stay quiet for a more peaceful drive. “Whatever. He’s useful. Now we have a trail on Paterno, that elusive fucker. And I still believe this is Paterno’s tracker. I could his phone information here.”

She simply sighs, her control over the wheel getting calmer. When the car turns to the dark and tree-lined road towards Carmona exit, with Apolinario’s heart beating intensely the closer they get to Cavite, Agueda calls his attention in the gentlest way an Agueda Kahabagan could.

“Hey. I’m going to quickly break into your fiancé’s house. I did it before, it’s not that hard. I’m just going to get Paterno, alive if I could, then get out. You don’t have to get out of the car. He doesn’t have to see you. Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Agueda.” Apolinario sighs in relief. “And I’m sorry… now that I thought about it… Emilio must have seem like a disturbance on our plans because of my feeling for him…”

Agueda interjects quickly, “Oh, he is a disturbance, alright.”

Apolinario purses his lips in guilt, but continues, “But he’s my only connection to my humanity nowadays. You know how mentally and morally straining this is for me, and Emilio… he’s so refreshing, so kind, so loving, so gentle… he makes me believe that maybe humans are worth forgiving.”

“Are the likes of Paterno worth forgiving?”

“Of course not.”

“Wasn’t Aguinaldo a part of our list before? What made you forgive him?”

“I learned he’s not what we think he is.”

“So what? Should you have sex with our targets before you decide if they’re forgivable or not?”

“Ugh, Agueda! We’re getting out of topic! Basta! I know Emilio is innocent.”

“You sure?” Agueda quips, her eyes showing an emotion Apolinario could not place. Agueda has always been hard to read, but this seems different. He wonders what she really thinks of Emilio and how their exchanges in Intramuros go. As far as he knows, Agueda was the only one sent to retrieve files and information from Emilio, and the other members really have no interest to oversee their meetings. He, of course, could not go there as that might reveal him as the member of an assassin group, worse, the leader of it. To be geographically close to Emilio while assuming the role of Ministro is something his heart could not take.

However, he remembers their first weeks in Cavite like it was a distant memory with distant emotions. He remembers the afternoon in Emilio’s garden, when there was no one else but the two of them within that time and space and it felt like he was suspended in place, his limbs too disturbed to move for no reason. He remembers Emilio’s form, fully front while observing him as if he will surely be his dinner (he has become one that night, in a less literal way), standing tall, strong, and silent. Everything has stilled, even the birds, even the trees, even the winds, as if they were afraid to be noticed by him. And there he was in the garden patio, the center of Emilio’s attention, cornered. He remembers his father’s voice from the memory of his memory, warning him to beware. Oh, Itay, how can your dear son explain that instead of getting scared, he quite liked it when it felt like Emilio cornered him?  

“I’m sure.” Apolinario manages to say to Agueda, but he’s saying it more to himself, “I’m sure he’s innocent.”

Agueda says nothing more. The rest of the ride was completely silent, and Apolinario thanks her for that. When they finally arrived at the private villa’s guard house, Apolinario was ready to face the night guard on duty to let their car in, but he was faced with an open subdivision gate with no night guard to man the place. Agueda continues to drive past the open gates, only murmuring that they’re lucky tonight for that.

“But there was always a guard here. And they’re strict. I couldn’t even get a taxi inside, I had to walk going in.” Apolinario explains as he stares at the guard house in wonder. “How did you get in here when you sent that letter?”

“I went over the fence, of course.” Agueda replies as if it was common sense.

“But that’s odd. We’re lucky.”

“Too lucky.” Agueda supplies as it sounds like she is starting to get suspicious as well.

“Maybe Paterno has something to do with this? Do you think he would have enough power to get the guards out of their duty?”

“Or Emilio.”

“And why would Emilio do that?”

Agueda shrugs, “This is his jurisdiction. This entire place is as creepy as he is. Actually, the entirety of Cavite is creepy like he is.”

“Agueda…” Apolinario calls exasperatedly, “…I know you don’t like Emilio, but he’s a good man.”

“Don’t know about that.” She rounds a corner expertly yet silently with Emilio’s house appearing by the curb. His house is dark, as usual. “He feels like a cryptid to me. And aren’t you wondering why Paterno would be here? You know, I should have started with that question.”

“Maybe because Paterno has nowhere else to go, and Emilio probably does not know anything about this.”

“Or…” Agueda faces him with a smirk on her face, “…He’s the one who activated the tracker in Paterno’s phone to get us in here, so he could finally meet the leader of the mysterious group that has been harassing him. Maybe he’ll call the police on us. Maybe he’s still Paterno’s ally.”

Apolinario gives her a deadpan glare, “He is not malicious, Agueda.”

“Wow, damn.” Agueda interrupts again, this time while laughing. “You really are a defense lawyer. Always defending him.”

Apolinario goes quiet now and angrily crosses his arms as they drive closer to Emilio’s house. Agueda’s phone shows that Paterno is close, and so as quiet as she could, Agueda opens the door and leaps out of the car. “I’ll be quick.” She whispers to him then touches the communication device perched on her ears. Apolinario takes that as a signal to wear his own communication device. “Keep the comms open, just in case.”

“Okay. If Paterno resists, you are free to use blunt force. But don’t kill him there.”

“I know, I know.” Agueda closes the car gently. Apolinario’s device dings, signaling that the comms are already open. He can now hear everything that Agueda can hear, and otherwise. While on the comms, they use their codenames. He is Ministro, and Agueda is Henerala.

The current goal was simple: In order to fulfil their true mission—which is to kill Paterno tonight and display his body along Roxas Boulevard—they must retrieve him first. Agueda will extract the man from his fiancé’s house as quickly as she could. After that, they will drive away to proceed with the true mission.

While waiting in the car, Apolinario couldn’t help but think that three people with different levels of relations to him is inside that house. He stares at it, feeling the weight of the house under the dark sky, with no lights coming from inside. Emilio’s house looks like a single storey house from the outside, but it actually hides a fully functioning basement floor where the living room, the galleries, and the rooms are situated. It’s a weirdly designed house, but it follows the stone-house design of Philippine houses back in the 1800s where the first floors are elevated, so he is not one to judge about Emilio’s design choices, for it might be an ancestral design. However, from his current view, the house is shrouded in darkness, not even the patio lights are on. It’s like nobody is in there.

Ten minutes has passed.

Apolinario hears nothing from the communication device on his ears, so he turns it on to call for her codename several times. Nobody answered.

“Henerala? Please answer.” He tries again, only to be replied by silence.

By what could possibly be the 10^th try to call on the coms, he finally heard something, and it causes the hairs on his back to rise.

He heard a heavy breathing.

All his senses tell him that there is danger, but his mind tries to keep him calm by rationalizing. Maybe Agueda could not really reply, but he also knows Agueda gives a tapping signal when she is not in position to make any noise. Maybe the comms is broken, but his receiver can pick sounds, and it happens to be an eerie sound. The heavy breathing could possibly be Agueda’s, and she has not heard of him, but why are his instincts telling him it is not Agueda on the comms right now?

He has to make sure, so he turns to his coms again. “Henerala, if I do not hear your tapping signal, I will come in.”

He does not hear a thing. Only the heavy breathing.

His heart races even more.

Somebody else has Agueda’s comms, and there is a big chance that it’s Paterno. Maybe Paterno entered Emilio’s house because it is the only place in Calabarzon he can hide in, and if Emilio is in there, he might be in danger, too. He publicly renounced him, after all. A cornered man could be vengeful.

He quickly dialed Emilio’s number, and as usual, Emilio quickly answers when it’s him. “Emilio, where are you now?”

“In Cavite.” Emilio answers. The hopeful smile that he was unconsciously wearing drops. He wanted to hear him say somewhere else, like perhaps driving towards their apartment in Manila and he will hear the road on the background, or maybe he’s with Goyong. Anywhere but Cavite.

“In your house?”

Emilio pauses with a breathing, the same breathing he heard on the communication device. “Are you inside the car… in front of my house?”

Emilio has Agueda’s comms. Why?

Nobody else should be getting Agueda’s comms, because there is no way she’s letting someone borrow it unnecessarily. Unless, she has been compromised. Why?

Apolinario’s breath hitches as an onslaught of cries, and to minimize his noise, he covers his mouth. This stupidly gives him a shortness in breathing and begins to hyperventilate. He’s sure Emilio could not hear him; he holds the phone by muffling it to his chest.

A familiar black smoke fills the car, engulfing him and his vision. The rearview mirror is also filled with the shadows, but he can still see a sharp and shiny outline of a dark figure that looks at him is discontent.

You are the Ripper…just as much as the original one is.

You are the dark creature of the forest.

You should not be the one devastated.

It speaks. The creature has been getting closer to him these past few days, and it’s adding more sentences to its ominous speeches, too.

“My love.” The voice from the phone interrupts the darkened silence of his mind. He raises the device to his ears and listens with intent. “Why won’t you come inside?”

“You sound happy.” Apolinario’s voice drops. He understands that he himself is has a messy overthinking head, a swaying morality, and conflicting emotions especially for the people he cares for. He might sound sure in the eyes of those who think he is one tenacious defense attorney, but his private life is a lot more active than his case files, giving him more inner conflicts than a normal person. But not tonight. He has something to achieve tonight, and if that means he must deal with his fiancé and find out something devastating out of it, then so be it. He will figure out later why Emilio is in the picture of Paterno’s final night, but now, he must get out of the car and deal with it.

The figure behind him smiles.

“My love, are you mad?” Emilio continues to sound ecstatic. “Don’t be, Ministro. We’re having a feast here.”

“Alright.” He opens the door of the car and upon setting his foot on the ground, the garden patio lights light up the pathway to the front door.

~|| START OF TRIGGER WARNINGS ||~

TW1: BIGGEST TRIGGER WARNING. REAL MENTAL TORTURE METHODS.

TW2: MENTAL AND PHYSICAL TORTURE

_{(Summary in case you don’t want to read: Emilio got Paterno in his secret basement room the day he called. This is set three days before the happening above. He subjected him to a mental torture technique called ‘Ludovico Technique’ but with my twist. While torturing Paterno, Emilio has small monologues that serve as clues as to how his family treated him.)}

“Again, which block do you like? The circle? Or the square?”

Paterno is tied to a chair, his sweat flows from his head to his eyebrows like unstoppable rain. He couldn’t move, because his hands are tied to a chair together with his torso, and his feet are tied together on the beam between the legs of the cold metal chair. This tied position is endlessly uncomfortable, which is the very objective of this little mental exercise. The only muscles that Paterno could move are his internal organs and the visible tremble of his skin coming from his labored breaths. His hair sticks to his forehead, and his nose is producing so much viscous mucus that someone would itch to fix. Overall, Paterno is tied to the chair in a badly ventilated room, and it is a sight of perfect discomfort.

In front of the chair is a small coffee table that contains two wooden blocks, the same blocks that toddlers play

The tied man chuckles again in the same way the question has been asked for the first two times. “I want the fucking square.”

Emilio tsked. He slaps the man, this time on his left cheek. The man only continues to laugh, so he levels his face to the other’s and talks with the voice usually used by a gentle but displeased pre-school teacher. “But I told you to choose the circle.”

Paterno wheezes in between labored breaths. “Is this what you’re going to do the whole day? Then so be it! You will get tired, Aguinaldo. I will never succumb to you.”

“Hm.” Emilio ponders. “You really like acting like a hero. You’re not, Paterno. You’re just a person with so much ego. I wonder how I will ever make you understand.”

“You will regret this!” Paterno mutters.

Emilio only slumped, “So cliché. I hear that all the time, and you know what, I’m yet to regret what I do. Honestly, I’m thankful every day that I do this.”

Paterno’s eye widen. The fear in his eyes is good to see but it is still quite early. He wasn’t to prolong his suffering. They have three more days to play in this dark basement room before he could lead La Liga here and finally meet the leader of their mysterious organization. It’s two birds in one stone, and Emilio loves efficiency.

What would he do with the leader of the organization they call Ministro? Well, it depends on what the person would be. He can easily discern people so he would know if someone would be a friend or an enemy, interesting or boring, a future problem or a controllable ally. Would he let this Ministro and La Liga live or continue the killing business by himself? Would he pretend as a simple curious Congressman, or would he reveal himself as the Ripper? He does not know yet, and he is excited for what his decision would be.

He smiles to himself while thinking about his own plan.

Paterno’s ugly wheezing returns his mind to the present and remembers that in order to make a good display of Paterno’s punishment, he must make sure that Paterno becomes a compliant little man.

“You… you do this a lot?” Paterno shudders, his eyes staying wide and more sweat drops to his face,

“Oh, yeah.” Emilio smiles sickeningly sweet; the smile he knows that attracted Paterno in the first place. He can’t blame him for that, he knows he attracts the wrong crowd, and he deliberately uses this specific charm to enter the pigsty of next victims. It’s also funny to watch them realize that this weak, pliant, and sweet personality was all a trap. “Don’t you get it yet? I’m the Ripper.”

Paterno wails, the same wail he heard over the phone earlier this day. Emilio scrunches his face on how ugly the wail is in person. He almost wanted to kill him then and there just so he could stop doing that.

He taps the table again, “So… do you choose the circle? Or the square?”

Only wails could be heard, and it’s beginning to irritate Emilio. Just a while ago, he was pretending to be brave, maybe acting out some of his favorite 80s action film lines, but now, he’s just one annoying mess in his basement that he couldn’t wait to get rid of. The thing is, there is satisfaction in torturing his victims first before sending them to their end. Some of them repents for knowing their sins, while some of them does not for never having awareness that what they have been doing is a biblical and societal debauchery. The second variant are not fun to torture mentally, so he quickens it by doubling their physical torture time.

For Paterno? Oh, it will be special. He was a common corrupt pig, sure, but he also caused the biggest fight between him and his beloved. He’s never had a victim that touched his private life this much, and that is more than enough to treat him with his utmost hospitality. He knows Paterno will be the latter. He has a god complex the size of the island of Luzon and Emilio knows his egotistic logic will fail him to contemplate his sins, so he is willing to put him through extra steps just to make sure that both parties will enjoy this end.

The tied man is still yet to answer, so he slammed his hands on the table, causing Paterno’s ugly wail to finally stop. “Circle or square?”

“Square!”

Emilio nods to that then slowly goes to the other table lined with different chemicals and several surgical syringes. When Paterno realized what he just said, he shouts pathetically.

“I meant circle! Circle! I was just… I was just used to saying square. I meant to say circle. That’s what you want, right? Circle? So, I choose circle! It’s circle!”

“But you said square.” Emilio takes one of the glass vials, snaps it, then carefully empties the vial with a syringe. Never mind that the syringe is not the appropriate needle type and needle size for glass vial types. Those syringes are expensive, and public hospitals choose the cheaper and more dangerous alternatives, so Paterno himself, who consistently steal from healthcare budgets, does not deserve the appropriate syringe when he’s not lasting too long anyways. “And how about the other times you disobeyed me? Of course those need punishment, too.”

Before he could even allow Paterno to utter any noise, his sudden movement flashed through both of their eyes that none of them were able to react. Emilio carelessly stabs the syringe to Paterno’s thigh. He was only rewarded by the other man’s shocked and still expression.

The effect of the substance surges from Paterno’s thighs up to his nervous system in thirty seconds, making him writhe and cry out loud, trying his best to break free from the uncomfortable rope contraptions. He could not comfort himself because his hands are tied, and his brain could not activate any self-regulation coping mechanism because he could not ensue a fetal position. All he could do is suffer it raw.

When he was just a young boy, he heard so much about this substance, so he tried it to himself. He wanted to make sure that it is truly painful before he could use it to his grandfather. He writhed for a solid ten minutes before the chemical was flushed through sweat and pee, but those mere ten minutes felt like forever. It felt like a million heated needled prickling you from the inside, and the needles move with the blood all over the body. It felt like dying, and it felt like he wanted to end his suffering by dying instead, but the thought of using it to his grandfather makes him endure through it, laughing as he rolled on the bed in pain, imagining that his grandfather will eventually experience the same agony.

Paterno is suffering the same pain. He cries out loud and is begging for mercy, and he knows exactly how that felt. It makes him laugh.

Throughout the day, he gives him some safe choices. Red flower and white flower. Pen or pencil. Pretty mundane, so Paterno easily chooses what he suggests choosing. Paterno never dares to ask the purpose of these exercises, and he never asks what he thinks anyway. He likes the slight hope he feels from his victims that they can get released if they are obedient enough. They think this is just a test.

It was never a test.

It’s a conditioning.

After a few uninteresting options, Emilio asks, “Should I hit your daughter with a truck, or should I push your son off a building?”

Paterno paused, fear slowly creeping on his tired eyes. “No, no…”

“No? Is that part of the choices?”

“Just kill me please…”

“But that’s no fun.” Emilio chuckles, “and besides, this is just a game. The goal is that you must always choose what I suggest. So, I suggest I hit your daughter with a truck.”

“…but… Joe is… Joe can handle it. I love him, too. You can kill him.”

Emilio raises his eyebrows at that. It is not surprising for fathers to choose their daughters’ lives over their sons, but it still surprises him nonetheless that they would choose one to die instead. He could not imagine doing the same to Goyong, with siblings or none. Now that he’s got a family for himself, he finally understands the gravity of this question. Now that he knows how painful it would be to choose between your children, it makes him more thrilled to see Paterno suffering this way.

“But.” Emilio walks over to the surgical table. “I told you to choose your daughter.” He fills another syringe with the chemical.

Paterno cried again, begging to not make him undergo through the same pain as he watches Emilio’s every move from the far side of the room. He increased the dose of the chemical, of course. He can’t have the man getting immunity from the pain. He did the same shocking and intense movement of stabbing the object to his thigh, this time to the other one.

The noise of agony is heard throughout the room again, and Emilio stands there with hands crossed over his chest, smiling at the view in total amusement. After ten minutes of shouting, he lets the pain dissipate for another 10 minutes before he begins to talk.

“It’s alright to choose against my suggestion. I admit that was a grave choice, would you not agree?”

Paterno nods in between hiccups of tears. The waterfall of sweat splashes all over the place as he shakes his head up and down and continues so as he trembles without pause.

“I understand if you disagree for things that matter.” He says calmly. “What do you think of the recent dose? I adjust it myself. I increase the pain every time! I dabbled shortly in biochemistry. But of course, it’s one of my many hobbies that did not see the light of day. My grandfather and my parents… ah, they never wanted me to be my own man. So, I killed them. My parents are still with me, don’t worry.”

Emilio looks at the direction of the garden where his parents are quietly feeding him as composts that made his garden soil the most bountiful in this part of Cavite. They have been sustaining him for years, and the nutrition cycle that their corpses started has been the most helpful they have been as parents. For once, he could say that his parents loved him.

He sees the frozen fear in Paterno’s eyes, so Emilio crouches down to be lower than his sight. For a big man, Emilio could look small when he wants to. Fear does not always come from being huge and looming. Sometimes, he prefers the fear he inspires by being clearly disturbed yet innocent looking. “You know, I never felt lonely. Because I always have people to talk to. Like you. I just really wonder why people get even paler when I tell them about my family. Is it pity? Do you pity me, Paterno?”

Paterno hesitantly shakes his head.

“Then what do you feel for me?”

The man attempts to speak, but his voice could not get out of his throat. Emilio gave another smile, and that makes the man choke out a full sob. “Will I… will I ever… will I ever get out of here?”

Emilio claps his hand once joyfully, then stands up. “Good question!”

He goes to another table that holds a pitcher of dripping cold water. He pours water for himself, making sure the other man could hear the sound of crisp and delicious water. He must be very thirsty. He hasn’t given him anything since he tied him in here, and that has been only four hours.

Paterno looks at him as he drinks the water, and Emilio sneers through the glass that covers half his face. The man’s throat bobbles. He also knows what that feels like. He knows the feeling of being denied food and water while detained in a dark, badly ventilated room. And so, he knows how much Paterno is suffering right now. That information makes him satisfied. This man deserves to suffer.

“Please… please.” Paterno hiccups again, “Will you ever let me out?”

Emilio puts the glass down. “Yes, there is hope. There have been people I released. You just don’t hear about them because I let them start a new life somewhere. Even gave them a plane ticket. The only deal is that they repent. Easy.”

“I do!” Paterno shouts. “I repent! I repent! Please release me.”

“Ah, ah.” He warns, “But you have to pass my tests.”

“What tests?”

“You have already disagreed with me twice. If you disagree with me for the third time, you die, and your naked body gets displayed along Roxas Boulevard. Easy, huh?”

Paterno whispers almost inaudibly. “You’re sick.”

“It’s not fun if I’m not.” Emilio walks to the table that holds the random stuff he has been showing to Paterno. This time he shows two identical medicine packs. They may be identical, but they have one difference. One is a replica of the other, and it does not have an FDA and ICC sticker. “Familiar, Paterno?”

Paterno only stares in silence.

“You were given budget for a health program, with that nutrition movement you were leading. You passed a lot of bills under that movement. Of course, nobody can deny you when the movement sounded so noble. It became your flagship movement during your term. How funny. They even let you remove tariffs on foreign crops for that. I’m not an expert in trade agreements but even I thought that was stupid. Ah, going back!” Emilio gestures to the medicine boxes again, “This or this? I want you choose the malaria vaccine that you bought for the poor communities.”

“The… the fake one.” Paterno answers, a tear drops down from his eyes.

“Oh no, why are you crying? Are you crying for the 56 children that died because of it?” Emilio pauses, looking at Paterno’s eyes, seeing if there is regret there that he could play around. There is none. He’s just crying because of his own poor predicament. How boring. Emilio would like to know if there are heart strings he could tug, but a heartless man will always be heartless, it seems. “No matter. Unto to the next question.”

The medicine boxes were moved away. He takes another pair of objects from the table and presented it to Paterno. One is a mouse trap, and the other is a small knife. “There,” He gestures to the objects like a butler presenting a well-cooked meal. “I will subject your left hand with one of these torture devices.”

Paterno, who was just mellowing down from his bawling, wails again. The ugly wails that Emilio hates so much. He continues, “I want you to choose the knife.”

Paterno shakes his head, the sweat from his hair drops everywhere. Emilio moves away a bit, careful not to be afflicted by such projectile of bodily fluids.

“So,” Emilio composes himself, “Which do you choose.”

In his very meek voice, he says, “…the knife…”

“The what?” Emilio teases.

“The knife!”

“Are you shouting at me?”

“No!” He shouts, and upon realizing his mistake, Paterno shakes his head slowly and utters weakly, “No, sir. No. The knife, please.”

“Indeed. Be polite.” Emilio then sneers and takes the knife, “I hate rude people.”

The knife shines brightly in the room as Emilio raises it to the air. The small window of anticipating it to sink down to Paterno’s left hand was a long agony. Emilio can clearly see the fear in Paterno’s eyes, his jaw dropping, and his body trembling while following the knife by sight. When the knife finally stabs the tied man’s hand that was limping on his side, he screamed, longing to caress it but nothing in his body could move to do so.

After a few minutes, his cries dwindle down to small sobs. His jaw seems tired of the shoutings he has done, so it slacks. His face is a lot weary, and for a mere four hours, his face aged like a decade.

“Good choice. The injection actually hurts more. I would know.”

Paterno nods along, his head slumps down, looking only at his thighs.

Emilio can only have so much energy to deal with the man, of course. He also hates to stay in a badly ventilated room full of Paterno’s blood, sweat, and tears. There is also a stench of urine somewhere, but that is not something he prefers to mind. They went on a few rounds of this game, a game that has quickly built Paterno’s subservience and his fear to disobey. His mind has been set, and tomorrow is another kind of lesson.

~|| END OF TRIGGER WARNING ||~

*

The next day, Emilio fed him a common and light breakfast, something a man who feeds himself like a glutton would be very unsatisfied by. One piece of egg, a cup of rice, and a glass of water. Since he is still tied, all he could do is to bend his head down and eat like a pig. The glass of water is warm, nowhere near refreshing, thought it can be drunk by straw. Emilio was merciful enough not to serve it in a bowl fit for a lower animal. He was silent the whole time, not looking at the man with such a distasteful disposition. He caused it, yes, but he does not like the view of piggishness he so hates. He’s seen the man eat in more normal circumstances before. He eats quickly like vacuum, leaving crumbs on the table knowing that somebody will fix his plates anyway. During a particular dinner, Emilio tried his best not to look disgusted. Now, Paterno eats without his hands, his head on the plate, and it still feels similar to how he usually is.

After the short breakfast, a projector is set on the wall in front of Paterno. The man’s eyes are tired and unfocused, like a lifeless zombie that is very unsure of the world. It is not surprising, for the room has no window or any time-telling device. He left Paterno last night with no lights or anything to hear. This room is soundproof; no sound can come in and go out. With the lights out, his senses were heavily deprived. Emilio appearing must have been a surprise, but he is still met by Paterno’s empty eyes. He must have been tortured by his own mind the entire night. That is the purpose of sense deprivation anyway.

The projector is connected on a phone that he will control from the other room. Emilio still could not bear staying in the room with those smells. While Paterno watches the projector, he is in another room, sipping wine, happily scrolling through the videos he gathered by algorithm.

The videos are simply short form contents that highlighted the citizens’ reactions over Paterno’s crimes. There are expert analysts that explained the damage that Paterno has caused. There are videos showing the lives of the citizens that were affected such as people working in flood, children dying, people who chose to die than bury their loved ones in debt due to hospital bills, and farmers who lost their lands. There are influencers wishing him a brutal death. There are rallies with placards calling the Ripper to end Paterno’s life, because they are sure the Senate will just set him free. They are naming his allies one by one, and it is sadly more than half of the lower and upper house.

Short form contents of such kinds are surprisingly abundant, and it is all thanks to Goyong who introduced him to several social media applications that show such contents. He is glad that his country has been dubbed as the most social country; though that means his people are prone to bad propaganda, it also means it is also prone to good propaganda. The videos seem never ending, and he doubts one day is enough to show Paterno all the videos that slander his name.

The senator had no idea that people has been slandering him, thanks to his tight control over the media surrounding Paterno. He needed the man optimistic and reckless, so he only ever exposed him to the lies that his position is still doing well, ignorant to the signs of his impending doom. Since he has become the second-in-command of the party after Buencamino’s death, Emilio had been very busy subtly owning Paterno’s power. He had set invisible strings around the party. Nobody noticed. Not even Paterno, who had gained more audacity and ignorance. His ego inflated to the point of no return, and now that Emilio burst his bubble by exposing him to the truth, he will enjoy every second of it.

Eventually, he left his device scroll on its own in the other room, while Paterno suffers what it projects in the other. Emilio steps out to the garden to feel the near afternoon sun. He stretches on the patio, feeling the relaxing wind and seeing the abundance of his vegetable garden. At the corner of the garden, he sees the mango tree without fruits, way past its fruit-bearing season. He remembers a man, someone important to his beloved, who was shamelessly taking a huge portion of it. He also remembers the time when he brought Goyong in the gardens for the first time while plastered on Apolinario’s side, asking if he could get some mangoes. He remembers the time when he was tending the garden and Apolinario was sitting by the patio, observing him work.

The garden holds the shredded corpse of his parents, their body parts strategically distributed all over the lawn to provide the ample amount of nutrition to the specific crops that needed them. He placed the lungs below the cabbages for its nitrogen and scattered the liver under the plants that are prone to iron deficiency like tomatoes, spinach, and lettuce.

His garden will always be his most favorite part of the house before the kitchens. He spends most of his time in these two parts, as he pours his love and dedication with the activities done in them.

He needs to prepare his ingredients for tomorrow, so he steps in the dirt of his gardens and begins to harvest.

*

~|| START OF TRIGGER WARNINGS ||~

TW2: MENTAL AND PHYSICAL TORTURE

TW3: MEDICAL MALPRACTICE

_{(Summary in case you don’t want to read: Emilio performs limb removal surgery without anesthetics. Chapter portion is filled with nothing but blood.)}

Emilio prepared a very delicious soup filled with condiments.

It will make Paterno’s insides cleaner and tastier.

The man is still tied, unmoved from his situation since he got in this basement. It has already been two days since the very ropes that welcomed him has started creating abrasions on his skin, some parts of it are even bleeding, and some parts of it has dried. Paterno, a man once boastful and arrogant, is reduced to a greasy, sweaty, and smelly old man that cannot even look him in the eye. Emilio smiles at his creation, so he approaches him slightly bouncy steps, jovial steps that a man his size could muster anyway. In a gentlemanly manner, he greets him.

“Good morning, Senator. How are you today? Would you like to go outside?”

Paterno’s eyes stay still down the ground, “They will kill me if they see me.”

Emilio chuckles in his mind. The man has probably seen the videos that wishes his brutal demise ripper-style. Hundreds, or maybe thousands, of Filipinos expressed their violent intent towards the man that plunged the country into poverty-filled oblivion, who welcomed foreign scammers and gangs, who stole billions of budgets from public projects, and who created the most damaging bills. Nobody could blame them, honestly, but the police are still reminding the nation that the best way to handle the issue is by giving Paterno a due process, because everybody deserves it. However, the public gave backlash by posting the numerous amounts of poor people who were left by the corrupt justice system and killed without due process. Even the police went silent at that point, who probably already realized that their Police Chief has been missing for days.

Paterno has probably seen all of that. The progression of the videos was real-time, so he has seen the natural evolution of the public outcry against his name within three days of him in the basement. Everybody is asking where he is. What they do not know is that he’s already paying for his sins.

Seeing Paterno in such a high downfall has been very satisfying. He has been his highest victim; he can’t imagine going lower at this point. Maybe the upper house also needs some scaring. Maybe he will see more delicious pigs in there.

“Oh, don’t be so pessimistic.” Emilio walks closer to the man, careful not to step on the piss that pooled under his chair. “Remember, you are yet to lose the game. I can give you a new life. Elevated from how you ever were.”

Paterno looks at him with empty eyes, but the gesture is filled with the most hope he could gather in his head right now.

Emilio continues. “Take a bath today, yeah?”

The other’s eyes show confusion, but he uttered no words. Emilio did not show his delight upon realizing that Paterno was actually anticipating for his commands, like a well-trained and traumatized animal.

“I want you to take a bath. The shower is over there.” Emilio quickly showed the knife with the purpose of removing the binding rope, but Paterno violently flinched at the action since it was the same knife that stabbed his hand. Emilio pretended not seeing the reaction, but it entertains him truly.

He leaves the man in the room to let him prepare himself for his new scheme, complete with some simple linen shirt and slacks in his size. He can take all the time he wanta, Emilio must prepare two areas in his house anyway. The first area is the room he calls the sterile zone, and the second is his beautiful kitchen with all ingredients prepared on the counter.

Three hours later, Paterno wakes up lying down in front of a huge light on the ceiling. Based from how he flinches, his eyes did not like the sudden light source. He lulled to sleep while waiting in the room. Despite not being bound by the ropes, he never once tried twisting the doorknob to freedom since he knows he has nowhere to go. The combination of fear and trust and submission have been engraved in Paterno’s brain, so he can now ask this question.

“Your right leg, or your life?”

The other man was groggy, confused on how he was even transported in another room without his knowledge. Emilio can read all his thoughts with the way his face contorts to slow realizations of what he would become. He can see him look at the aluminum table beside them that holds shining stainless steel scalpels. There is also an ECG on the other side. He starts to wail, again with the ugly wail, probably realizing that he lies on an operation table with Emilio as the apparent doctor, wearing his usual suit and tie, but protected by a clear plastic overall.

“Come on, Senator. The question is easy. Well, I don’t want you to die, so I would rather you choose to get your leg removed.”

“Why…” Paterno chokes, looking at him in fear, “My legs, why…”

Emilio sighs, feigning his apparent seriousness over the issue. “Nothing. Also, do not question me. Oh, and it’s not two legs, just one. Good deal, huh? You can buy prosthetics if you survive my game.”

“Okay…”

He smiles behind the surgical mask on his face then went to the table to cover his ears with an obvious pair of bright-orange, industrial-grade, noise-cancellation headphones. Without further ado, he took a surgical knife from the table and sliced the first layer of the skin of Paterno’s right thigh, 15 centimeters above the knee. The man is probably shouting right now with how the body laying in front of him shakes violently in his hold.

If not for the tight grip of leather straps holding him in place, the man would probably fly out of the table. Emilio continues to slice the circumference of the first skin layer, blood beginning to ooze, creating a small pool of red unto the metal bed, some of it falling to the marble floor. Emilio does not mind the mess; he designed the room to be easy to clean and sanitize. The only sound he could hear from the headphones is a vast nothingness, his senses fully focused on his eyes that is trained to be meticulous on the varying shades of redness of the flesh inside the human body to make sure that the surgery goes well while the ‘subject’ stays alive, and his touch that is trained to feel the slight differences between the many tissues layer per layer. Like when Emilio peels of vegetables and root crops without having to look at them, he can identify which layer he is on, what organ he is touching, and what the subject could be feeling.

The subject could feel every slice, and every minute, and every separation.

After the dermis layer of the skin, he expertly slices open the hypodermis layer quickly, burning the cut ends of the blood vessels to avoid the subject from bleeding out. That would hurt, he theorizes, especially that there is not a single drop of anesthesia administered.

He does the same carefulness when he reached the muscular layer. The person under the knife stopped twitching since he made it pass the hypodermis layer. He looks at the ECG, and since the monitor is showing a steady visual of heart beats, he continues the careful slicing of the muscular layer through the lessening amount of blood that gushes out. The layer is very soft, probably one of those who never put an effort onto hardening them due to lack of sense of well-being. Most rich people are like that. As much as the common people likes to romanticize these rich bastards, they really are nothing special. They are just a quality of flesh for him. In addition, they’re on the soft side; easily edible like a farm-raised chicken with not a strand of toughness.

Emilio steps back from his hard work after the muscular layer. The floor has about a half-bucket of blood, and his clear plastic suit has sprays of redness near the torso area. With his decade of experience of doing such thing, he has become an expert in not causing so much random blood sprays, so everything else in the room and his suit stayed pristine.

Bloodied sterile gloves now litter the floor, drowning in the red liquid near his safety shoes. His bare hand now reaches the ammonia from the table, opens the cap, then places it under the subject’s nose. After several seconds, the man jolts awake, eyes unfocused as they frantically look everywhere. When those eyes reach him, they widen. Understandable, Emilio thought, for in his hands is a hand-held chainsaw that is meant to cut through human bones.

“I want you to stay awake for this.” Emilio smiles widely, removing his headphones to hear the sweet sweet sound of this finishing procedure.

He turns on the chainsaw, it’s motor filling the room together with the subject’s shout.

*

TW4: CANNIBALISM

The huge industrial oven finally dings, making Emilio walk towards the kitchen to fetch a very huge metal plate that can only be extracted by a giant tong with a gueridon trolley prepared beside him. After setting the metal plate that carries a hot pottery, he pushes the trolley towards the dining area with the guest on the head of the table.

He stops the trolley beside the guest, whose eyes are so distant, they might as well be invaluable. He is still, very still, a doll with so little soul left. He treated the guest with utmost hospitality, even helping him wear a nice linen shirt he prepared for him. He never looked better, with nicely combed hair, nicely trimmed goatee, and nicely laid pants he took from the guest’s own closet, though one of the pants is hollow, the fabric dropping helplessly to the chair for the lack of any meat to contain.

“It’s a wonderful night.” Emilio starts. The guest does not answer. He did not mind the silence—he expected it—so he continues, “I prepared a meal to celebrate this night. You are almost there, just some few questions and you can run to another place, where nobody knows you, where you will be forgiven. Where you can be elevated from being a pig that you are.”

The food on the trolley smells good, but it is still contained in the special mud that is insulating the heat of the food perfectly, making it deliciously consumable until his other attendees arrive. He sits down next to the very silent guest, who is without any form of binding. He could never run away from him, not when his right leg is incapacitated, severed and cooked beside them. Emilio takes a phone from his pocket. It is not his; it’s Paterno’s. The familiarity of it caused the guest to look towards his direction, but he did nothing more than stare at it. Emilio felt generous to explain what he is about to do.

“Remember when you planted a tracking app in my phone without my permission? Well, it works both ways. I can track you, too, and I can even give your tracking information to some of my friends. Ah, they really want to see you. They will be overjoyed to see you!” He turns on the app and opened his account for tracking. He turned it off these past few days so La Liga can back off for a while, but now that he’s ready to meet them, he welcomes them with a glaring red dot that indicates their target’s exact location. Maybe they figured out that he would be outside Manila, so they are probably somewhere in the south (a rational guess) like a bunch of headless chickens. Now that he threw the food, they will be flying towards him. La Liga’s tracking dot is driving towards them based on the interface of the app, and they are now in SLEX.

Breathily, the guest manages to ask, “…they hate me, too?”

Emilio only gives a fake grimace of uncertainty to taunt the man, “I’m not sure. Let’s say… they really love the country. Yes.”

The guest gave out an unreadable expression that only his eyes and trembling mouth convey.

“Aw, don’t be scared. I’m stronger than them. If you win, I let you go, and there is nothing they can do about it.”

Based on their recent location and speed, they will reach Cavite heights in less than thirty minutes. That’s an awfully long time for him since the food and the dining table is already set. You cannot ever let the food wait, so he stands up from his seat and breaks the pottery that has been keeping the food fresh.

Many cultures around the world have this kind of cooking technique, and they call it differently. It is basically ancient pressure cooking, like Beggar’s chicken and Law Mai Gai. Instead of using newspaper or lotus leaves to wrap the meat before covering it with clay, he put a Filipino cuisine touch to it and used banana leaves.

He broke the clay gently with a specialized fancy hammer, making sure the cracks are clean. One by one, he removes the pieces of the clay and set them under the trolley for easy disposing later. After a few removals of clay, the full display of the meat is now exposed for his guest to see. It just upsets him that his guest is doing his best not to look at it. So, it seems he is still sane enough to know that the main dish displayed beside him is his baked right leg, from thighs to toe, shape intact but perfectly cooked. It smells good, too.

“Look.” Emilio slices a portion from it, the savory looking juices oozes out so deliciously as he does so. “You must taste this. You will never think something as good could ever come out from you.”

When a plate is served in front of him, the guest looks at it for a solid two minutes, unmoving, unbreathing. Then he laughs. It starts low and quiet, then his laughing exponentially escalates to a full guffaw. Emilio laughs with him, but he stays as he usually does, laughing in solidarity with the guest’s crumbling sanity.

~|| END OF TRIGGER WARNING ||~

The kitchen is only illuminated by warm lights strategically scattered around the dining area. It is quite dark, his second-floor windows are closed, and his walls are all sound-proof. Nothing goes out, not a sound, not a light.

When he heard a sound coming from the basement floor where the only front door is, he stands to prepare welcoming his new ‘attendees’. He goes to the stairs after passing by the gallery that leads to the living room, but before he could loom over the top of the stairs, he sees a car parked in front of his gates. With eyes trained for the darkness of the night, he can see that there is a person in the passenger seat. It’s funny how he thinks the shadowy silhouette of the person is shaped like his beloved, but maybe he just misses him so much and he’s seeing things.

The intruder who is shaped like the person he’s been meeting in Intramuros, their front woman and possibly their main assassin, tip toes confidently in his living room. He stays standing at the top of the stairs as he observes her, and when she saw the tacky couch of his least favored guest-receiving room, he knew her demeanor changed to a dawning realization.

There is blood in that couch. That was where he hit Paterno’s head to knock him out as soon as he entered his house. He did not clean it right away since he had plans to remove every décor from that blasted area anyway. He has no plans receiving any guests anymore. He has no plans pretending to be the same incompetent and tacky man that played safe in the Congress as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He let the blood stay in that couch because he wants to welcome this final guest with a realization: that they are entering the house of the Ripper, and if they could not realize that yet, then they should realize that they are entering the house of a very dangerous man.

The woman in full-black regalia—probably her organization’s assassination outfit—finally stares at the staircase leading to the kitchen. The staircase is dark and the only light that illuminates the area are from the faraway warm-colored lamps from the kitchen. He must have looked menacing, because the woman looks at him with fear.

Before the woman could even ask, he runs down in just one second and hit her head with his elbow. He did not kill her, no. He just wants to get the man out of the car so they could meet. He is sure that the man is this Ministro she was talking about.

The man in the car is the leader of this “La Liga” group. It’s Spanish for “The League”. It’s obvious for Emilio that they are a league of patriotic assassins. How noble. He wants to see if their leader is worth the friendship; they have increased the Ripper’s popularity after all. 

He noticed a communication device on her ear, so he picked it up and places it on his own ear, waiting for the Ministro to worry for his teammate who’s taking too long for an extraction operation. What he never expected was the sound of his beloved, Attorney Apolinario Mabini, addressing the woman’s codename. All he could reply was heavy breathing. 

Could it be a trick of his own mind?

In the first place, his beloved joining—or leading—an assassin group is heavily non-sensical. There is no correlation, no evidence, and no defining motive for the ever-sublime Attorney Apolinario Mabini to become the Copycat Killer.

Nothing in his life would ever have made anybody thought that he could be a killer.

Just like the Ripper himself.  

He has so many questions, but one thing is for sure: he is very thrilled.  

“We’re having a feast here, Ministro.” Emilio invites.

The attorney replies coldly, “Alright.”

When Apolinario opened the door, the ugly living room items were gone, which surprised him. He slowly walks pass it to go upstairs, the very familiarity of the surroundings suddenly becoming eerie. He could only hear his footsteps that knows where to go. Guided by the warm lights from the kitchens, he breathes deeply, thousand unknown emotions fighting to surface, but his cautiousness won. He could answer to his inner turmoil later, for now, he ascends the kitchens as Ministro.

“Emilio.” He utters in a calm and detached voice, even when the engagement ring burns on his finger.

“My beloved.” His fiancé comes closer with hands stretched out to coax him closer. “Come sit.”

He takes his elbow and lets Emilio lead him closer to the dining area next to the kitchen. As they walk closer, Apolinario could see the table set up, and he almost wants to blanch. Paterno sits on the head of the table, clean, shaven, and well-dressed. He would think that he’s has been hidden well while Emilio takes good care of him, but his drooling smile is hard to miss. His eyes are wide and unfocused, though his sight’s general direction could only be the plate in front of him. On the other side of the long mahogany table is Agueda. Her arms are tied to the arms of the chair while her head dangles lifelessly to the side.

“Henerala!” Apolinario releases himself from Emilio’s lead and runs to his friend.

“She’s alive. Don’t worry.” Emilio supplies. True to his words, Agueda seems to be alive as he hears her breathing. He adjusts her head in a more comfortable position before facing Emilio, eyes strong yet wary.

“Explain, Emilio.”

“Of course, my love.” Weirdly, Emilio looks pleased than anything. He walks to him again, leads him to the chair closer to Paterno, while Emilio follows to sit at the very right side of the man. They are side-by-side, so close and intimate, that if Apolinario wishes to bolt away and run, Emilio could easily grab his arms to keep him where he is. Compromising. As if on cue to his thoughts, Emilio takes Apolinario’s hand then kisses it. “Tell me what you know about this situation, so I know where to start.”

Apolinario observes the surroundings. The kitchen is the same as the first day he’s eaten here. Dark, covered by black-out curtains, cold, clean, and organized. The spread at the table is elegant as always. It is littered beautifully by fresh flowers, candles, and sophisticated cutleries. Only Paterno has meat on his plate, and it looks like it does not come from any spread from the table that only has rice, salad, fruits, and wine. He slowly looks pass Emilio where a gueridon trolley is situated. It’s undeniable in his eyes that the shape of that cooked meat is a human leg. Apolinario’s breath hitched upon the realization that Paterno’s right leg is missing. Paterno is being served with his own meat.

And he’s eating it.

Slowly, one slice at a time.

“Is that… is that his own…”

Emilio looks quickly behind him where Paterno is eating his own leg, and shrugs as if it’s a natural occurrence. He then returns his attention to him, “I suggested that he eats it. I cooked it for him after all.”

Abruptly standing up to run towards the sink, startling the people on the table (except Agueda who’s still passed out), he heaves the mere contents of his stomach. Emilio runs after him, worried. His hand tries to soothe his back by gently moving it in circles.

“My love.” Emilio calls.

Apolinario’s knees weaken. The dining area is visible from the kitchen counter, and he could not take the sight of it all. His trembling knees buckle down until his whole body is hidden behind the counter. Once on the floor, he turns to take a seat on the floor, his back against the cupboard under the sink. This position makes him face to face with Emilio again who is ever so close.

“Are you not the leader of La Liga?” Emilio caresses his paling face. His hand is warm against his overall coldness. “Are you not Ministro?”

“I am.” Apolinario manages to rasp.

Emilio looks at his trembling position, “Does it make you uncomfortable? Even after the many lives you took?”

“Emilio…” In this moment, Apolinario really wants to cry. “… I do this for the greater good. I never wanted to kill. I regret killing every time I had to order my group to do so, but it would benefit more lives, it would send a message. I do not kill because I want to… Emilio, my God, oh my love…” He grips Emilio’s shoulders, “…did you do this for me? Is it because you knew I hate Paterno? You’re torturing him for me? Not you, Emilio. You’re so good, not like me…”

Emilio creeps a smile to his face. Apolinario paused his thoughts as his hands held Emilio’s face as lovingly as he can, making sure that the man before him is the guy he loves, his innocent Emilio. “What makes you think my group has ever killed? What makes you say we’re the copycat killer? I don’t think Agueda has ever told… no. You should only think we’re a propaganda group.”

Emilio shakes his head, that sweet, dimpled smile unfading.

“And you do not know I’m the leader. I’m pretty sure we hid it well. You would not have done this for me. Why are you… why are you…” Apolinario could not even continue his question, because he could not describe the setting of the dining table right now. By the easy looks of it, he mentally and physically tortured Paterno, and the only next step he could think of is to kill him. Why is Emilio killing Paterno? And how could he beat Agueda in a close combat?

“Oh my, love. I would kill for you, yes. And you don’t have to worry about me doing so…” Emilio grins at him, caressing his face gently. “…I’ve been doing this for a decade.”

Apolinario’s eyes widen, his hands dropping to Emilio’s shoulders. He grips the fabric covering his shoulders, this time tighter, his breathing too deep for words. Then he laughs, because what are the odds that the only man he’s ever loved is a killer like him? Then he cries, because what are the odds that the only connection to his own humanity is not a human at all. “You’re the Ripper.”

Emilio nods, but he looks worried at him. “Are you okay, my love?”

Apolinario surrenders the aching weight of his head to Emilio’s shoulders then cuddles to his neck, “You’re the Ripper. Why would I be okay? You’re not supposed to be in this part of my world, Emilio.”

“Oh, my love.” Emilio hugs his fully, pulling his upper body closer to him as they seated on the floor. Emilio hugs him so tight it feels like he wants to fuse their body together. “But I’m so thrilled to know that WE are the Ripper. Couldn’t you feel the same?”

“But you’re different!” Apolinario shouts, pushing Emilio away from him to break their hug, “You’re the Ripper! You have no conscience! You kill for whatever reason, and I’m here breaking the laws of humans and the laws of God for the things I should never have judgements for!”

“But isn’t that better? You kill for a noble cause. Your conscience must be clearer than mine.”

“And what should I do? Feel good about it?”

Emilio takes his hand together, “Killing must feel good to God, too. Aren’t we created in his own image?”

Apolinario shakes his head, because he could not get Emilio’s logic. He might be the one who started La Liga, but solving the problems of society using his last resort—ALL THE TIME—is something he is yet to accept in his conscience. “But people should be worth forgiving. Right?”

Plop.

Plop.

Plop.

The sound echoes through the tall ceiling of the kitchen area, and it’s coming from the dining table. They are both looking at each other behind the counter and could not see the origin of the sound. Emilio seems to have an idea on what it is, but Apolinario’s mind is playing along between Agueda and Paterno. Agueda could attack Emilio from behind, she’s skilled enough to sneak behind the Ripper and deliver a critical blow. She would want revenge after being injured to unconsciousness even if he begs her not to hurt Emilio. However, Agueda is a stealth master. She would come to them silently. She would not come hopping slowly.

Apolinario could hear it now.

It’s a hop of a bare foot, accompanied by fast breathing and a silent manic laughter.

Apolinario could hear the sound hopping around the counter. There’s two seconds between each hop, but the consistency of it says the person is determined to reach them for whatever reason.

When Paterno reaches the corner of the counter, Apolinario looks at him and makes an eye contact. He does not know Paterno personally, no, and so does he to him, but when their visions reach one another, it says one thing: Paterno hates them all.

Paterno hops another step, showing all his one-legged glory with a giant and heavy-looking metal tong. Before Apolinario could even react with a scream, the one-legged man throws the tong to them. Emilio quickly covers Apolinario with his whole body, letting the heavy metal hit him on the head and on the right shoulder. He hears Emilio grunt painfully over him, making his heart cry for him. While checking for his injuries as far as their position could allow, he sees Paterno behind him as a shadow with the faint orange lights behind. On his two hands are knives that he probably took from the knife rack on the counter.

“Emilio!” He tries to move the injured man on top of him. He is still breathing and conscious, but with his injuries, he could not more quickly to protect them both. It seems Emilio resigned to protecting Apolinario by covering him with his body. However, they must move. Paterno hops closer with big knives on both his hands. “Emilio, we have to go!”

Emilio painfully smiles at him, “He’s weak. He’s just a simple man. But we are both killers, are we not? There is no reason to be afraid of him.”

“Emilio! Stand up! Your feet are still alright, come on! I can’t get up with you on top of me like this!” Apolinario tries to push again. He can clearly see Paterno coming closer.

He shouts.

He shouts for him to back off, and it startled the man.

With what’s left of his balance, he tries to hop back but fails, making him drop forward to Emilio’s exposed back.

The knife from one of his hands dug to Emilio’s back, making him grunt louder, still trying his best to cover him. “Are…are you alright?”

“Emilio, my goodness, you’ve been stabbed!”

Paterno seems to be delighted of Apolinario’s screaming, so he pulled the knife, to Apolinario’s tremor. Still on the same position they have been on the floor behind the counter, Paterno raises the bloodied knife again to the air.

With all his force, he pushes Emilio to the side and kicks Paterno’s arm away from them. Paterno stumbles back, both knives injuring his own body in the process. He shouts at that. Apolinario manages to help Emilio up and sets his back to the refrigerator so his back wound would have something to stop the bleeding. Emilio still looks calm, though grunting, and Apolinario hates seeing his beloved like this. If he dies in front of him, he will not know what to do.

“Emilio, stay there, okay.” He holds Emilio’s arms to support him up, and Emilio only smiles at him while caressing his injured shoulder. “I will…”

He looks at Agueda’s position, wanting to assess how he could get both of them away from the deranged one-legged man. He looks at Agueda, and his breathing hitched back to his throat.

Plop.

Agueda, still sitting at the chair the same way he left her, has a breadknife pierced on her chest. Apolinario could not assess how much blood has gone out because she’s wearing black, but he could still see her slight breathing. The intervals of her breathing are getting critical, but he could still save her. He could still apply first aid.

Plop.

“He’s just one weak man, my love. Who is he against us?” Emilio’s voice echoes amidst his muddled mind. In front of him is his bleeding friend, behind him is his bleeding lover, and somewhere in the kitchen is a hopping one-legged man with knives in each of his hands, angry, vengeful, and a lot closer to Emilio.

Apolinario is stranded in his own position, with mind determined, and with the mental shadows surrounding him coming from the base of his feet. The shadows engulf his feet, and as if with minds on their own, it turns back towards the kitchen. The shadows engulf his right hand, and it reaches for one of the scattered knives on the counter. The shadows engulf his head, and he lunges forward to the plopping figure that was about to stab Emilio.

And Emilio stands still next to the fridge, clearly seeing the one-legged man after him through his peripherals, but his eyes are fully set on him, smiling proudly.

Hand raised to the air, Apolinario runs to Paterno and stabs him. The other man falls while shouting, holding his bloody shoulders.

He is not yet dead, no. Far from it. Apolinario kneels down to stab him more.

In each stab, he remembers Paterno’s crimes against his people, and the image of Emilio dying. He could never let a dangerous man live. Because what else will he take from him? If he lives, what is stopping him from taking up space that he does not deserve?

After a minute of stabbing, Apolinario stops. The man had clearly died after three stabs, but he goes on and on until he could not distinguish which one is the head and which one is the torso. If not for the singular dangling leg, he would not know which way is down.

“If you did not provide your punishment, I would have died. Would you still think he’s forgivable after taking something that could not be returned? Isn’t it better to kill them before they could do more harm to more people? My love, what you did here is—”

“Oh, shut up Emilio Aguinaldo.” Apolinario simply states as he stares at the pool of blood that he is swimming on. Blood reaches his forearms, and his black blouse is wet with unnoticeable sprays of redness. “I get it.”

“You get it?”

“I get it.” He smiles. Emilio looks at him worriedly again, as if he’s the one injured or lifeless on the floor. Among the people in this house, he’s the only one healthy, alive, and absolutely sane. His attention went to the fridge behind Emilio, making him see his reflection over the other’s shoulders. He is bloodied, yet his shoulders are relaxed, his eyes are slipshod, and his mouth is smiling so softly. There are no more shadows. He looks at the reflection more and realized that the shadow creature is not on his side, but in his place. He moves, and the antler-like crown on its head moves. His skin has become inky black, but it could be the trick of the light since he is entirely covered with blood. However, he knows what his subconscious, or he himself, is telling him. “After all, I’m the Ripper just as much as you are.”

His eyes go back to Emilio’s face who is now relieved. By the looks of it, it seems his back wound is not too serious since he can slump towards his sitting form on the floor. What an actor his dearly beloved is. They look at each other’s eyes and he can feel the fascination that comes from Emilio.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Apolinario takes Emilio’s shoulder and pulls him towards himself for a deep kiss. He ignores the blood pooling their kitchen as the other man takes his head for an even deeper kiss as if he wants to inhale him.

And he wants to be inhaled.

He wants to wrap his arms and his legs to Emilio and let him take him there and then. Rationality takes over him and he stops himself before they could start stripping beside a mangled corpse. However, Apolinario could barely stop himself from wanting to hump on Emilio’s dick a little, and so he did, and that garnered him a beautiful price that is the other man’s hungry and frustrated moan.

“Not here my dear.” Emilio reminds him while looking at the redness beside them.

“Just a little.” Apolinario moves his legs again to make their members touch and wetly licks Emilio’s open mouth. “Please.”

Emilio lets him. They kept their clothes on and were careful enough not to get a drop of blood inside their bodies. They kissed, licking each other’s necks, biting each other’s lips, and sensually gripping each other’s body. With their continuous humping and passionate kisses, the front of the pants become wet with cum.

“We must do something about this.” Apolinario says, acting as the voice of reason as if he had not begged to hump on Emilio above a literal corpse just a while ago.

“I wonder how to display this. You really did a good job making this, my love.”

“I have a design in mind.” Apolinario’s arms are still wrapped above Emilio’s shoulders. He wraps tighter to reach Emilio’s head for quick kiss. “Consider this my real wedding proposal.”

Emilio suggested that they stand up before he decides to take him on the dirty floor, which he would if not for his immaculate self-control. They run together to the out of the kitchen, hand in hand, never been contented that they belong in each other’s world.

Would God forgive him for this sin?

He is unsure.

He’s never seen the entity, much less than assume what is in His mind.

For now, he will do what he feels is right, and if heavenly judgement is truly against him, then he will face it with Emilio since they share the same sin.

Hand-in-hand, together, they are the Ripper of Roxas Boulevard.

~fin~

Short 1: Jose Rizal

The police are yet to come, so he stands still with his hands in pocket, uninterrupted by anything along the least busy side of Roxas Boulevard.

The breeze from the ocean ruffles his overcoat, but it is not too strong to tip his hat away. The sun is yet to come up fully, but a bit of its light is showing from the other side of Manila, letting him observe a giant heart-shaped lump perched above the concrete. Three long swords stabbed under it are arranged with calculation that it is perfectly balanced to stand upright. He is standing just a meter away from it with seriousness told by the way his eyebrows scrunch together, and how his fist tightens in his pocket.

As the sun continues to shine, the ambient blue light fully shows the details of the lump. Jose knew what it was before the light came with just the stench of blood from meters away. Right in front of him, just one head shorter, is the murder tableau of the Ripper, completely unidentifiable because there was no face, no skin, and no limbs. It’s just the shoulders to torso area skinned down to its muscular layer, with lumps of other types of flesh plastered unto it strategically to make it look like an anatomically-accurate human heart in detail, cartoonish heart in shape.

It is not too hard to realize that it looks exactly like a Christian reference; precisely, the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Second-killer kill, perhaps? Jose does not think so. Right in front of him is a message, not just for the people who will see this, but for the very killers involved in the making of this tableau. Buencamino’s tableau was greeting message for the Ripper’s copycat killer. Danilo Aguinaldo’s tableau was a mindless reply. This tableau is a message of deep understanding between the two of them, a dance where they are finally listening to the same music. It is not something you can do with a friend you just met in a crime scene. It is something intimate. It is something that can only be done by two people who wants to consume one another.

And if Emilio Aguinaldo is the Ripper, then Apolinario Mabini is the second killer.

It all makes sense, actually. His dear friend might be the pariah of morality, but his purist approach was bound to get him lost, crazy even. The Biblical references were his repentance for the sins that are eating him. Jose noticed how his head would hurt when they discuss about the Ripper, probably his shadow knocking him for being worse.

Who in their right mind would even think that death is the only way to solve a political problem anyway? Somebody with the seed of darkness within them in the first place. Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio might have the same philosophy and might want the same people dead, but the fact that they only hope for somebody else to kill the enemy either means they are lazy, or they are afraid to put blood in their hands.

Not these two.

Not Emilio Aguinaldo and Apolinario Mabini.

Jose walks away from the tableau before the 4:30 am joggers see him around. Later on, forensics will run a DNA test and find out that the unidentifiable lump of flesh is Pedro Paterno. At 6am, he will submit an article under the Dimasalang penname, addressing the Ripper as per usual. Nobody has to know that there are two Rippers now.

Short 2: Emily Jacinto

It took her two weeks to locate Agent Bonifacio’s hospital room.

Clearly, he was not in the Children’s hospital that Gregoria de Jesus is working at, but at its sister company 2-kilometers away. There was no record to hack, even when the hospital is digitized. She tried looking for aliases that Agent Bonifacio could be using, but there was none. She ended up spending weeks searching for his room by entering restricted rooms one by one, in disguise, in stealth, or with just her casual attire.

Today, she’s wearing her casual attire. She realized that hospital staffs do not care about visitors walking around the floors. She opened a random room in the floor without many expectations since she has been doing this for weeks. If this floor gives her nothing, then she’s off to another hospital to investigate. However, as soon as she opens the door, she sees a man surrounded by life support system. His face is covered with oxygen mask, and his bare chest has wires attached to them leading to a machine showing that his vitals are stable. His head is wrapped with white bandages, and his arms have exposed yet healing surgical scars.

Agent Bonifacio is here. His vitals are healthy. His wounds are mended. He is unconscious, but he is very alive.

Just as she was about to take a step forward, an abrupt force encircles her collar, freezing her in place. There is a person behind her, and the person’s other hand sets a scalpel near her neck.

“Who are you? If you’re here to finish him, I won’t let you.” A woman’s voice grits to her ears.

She recognizes the voice, so she pleads, “Miss Gregoria De Jesus, I’m… I’m Agent Bonifacio’s NBI asset! I’m not here to hurt him, I just want to know if he’s alive! Please… I’ve been looking for him everywhere.”

Gregoria De Jesus turns her around and observes her better. “You’re just a kid.”

Emily nods, “I’m… I’m about to be 17.”

“You can’t be NBI.”

“We’re…not.” Emily looks down at her twiddling fingers, nervous to answer more.

Gregoria narrows her eyes at her, “You have a group. And it’s a secret group.”

Emily looks away, and she is sure that her silence makes her look guilty than anything. In her defense, she does not know what she can keep and not keep from Agent Bonifacio’s beloved, who has equal stakes with what he is and what he owns.

“Is that the reason why Andoy almost died?” Gregoria demanded, though Emily appreciates that she’s not snapping to her. She’s just a kid after all.

She nods again.

Gregoria De Jesus sighs. She walks towards Agent Bonifacio’s bed, and with the tenderness of her look to his face, Emily could tell that she’s not angry at him or at whatever group he’s in. She’s amazed of her beloved, just like everybody else of the group has been.

“I have two terms to this group of yours, hija.” Gregoria de Jesus starts, still looking at the Agent’s face.

“Um, yes ma’am.” She answers weakly.

“First, I don’t want you disturbing him about these missions of yours anymore. He’s retiring and that’s final.”

Emily gulps, unsure of a reply. This will not be her decision, but of Agent Bonifacio’s himself. She guesses she could wait until he’s awake, but based on what she heard from the Agent, his fiancé could be strong-willed when she wants to.

“…and second,” Gregoria De Jesus stares at her with a look that says she will not be welcoming disapproval, “I want to be a part of your group.”

Short 3: La Liga Groupchat

VisayanJoanof Arc: @Henerala! How are you there? How’s the current assignment?

TheGreatestMentor: It’s morning already. Where’s the tableau? I am yet to see anything in the morning papers.

GranConsejo: Is the Ministro vomiting again? Haha.

GranConsejo: Where you, bakla?

TheGreatestMentor: Moises! Don’t call my student as such!

VisayanJoanofArc: No, no, Chief. They call each other that since high school.

TheGreatestMentor: Oh. Never heard you call each other like that before?

GranConsejo: Because he wasn’t out. Since he’s engaged (to that man??? Of all the men???) I guess it’s okay now.

TheGreatestMentor: I have gathered that he never thought of himself as someone capable of love, much more gay love.

GranConsejo: HAVE YOU SEEN HIM AND HIS COLLEGE BEST FRIEND? THEY WERE SO SUS. SO TOUCHY.

VisayanJoanofArc: Sus? Touchy? Moises, I never peg you as someone to use juvenile words.

GranConsejo: YOU GUYS ARE THE ABNORMAL ONES! OLDIES!!! ANCIENT VAMPIRES!

VisayanJoanofArc: I’m not the one who sent a handwritten cursive letter for personal updates.

TheGreatestMentor: Poor Ministro was trying so hard to crack your letter he thought was a code.

GranConsejo: THAT WAS A MOCKERY! OF SUCH PROCESS! HE’S NEVER CHECKING THE GC!!!

GranConsejo: WHY DO WE EVEN NEED CODED CORRESPONDENCES WHEN WE HAVE THIS GC ANYWAY????

VisayanJoanofArc: Because GCs can be compromised. Moises, we already told you about this.

GranConsejo: Fine, fine. I hope we know a lot about technology. BUT WE’RE JUST A BUNCH OF OLD PEOPLE!!! AND YANO IS A HUNDRED YEARS OLDER THAN ME!!!

TheGreatestMentor: Why are you always using the shouting letters?

VisayanJoanofArc: Because he’s always shouting.

VisayanJoanofArc: Wait. Something is of greater importance. 

VisayanJoanofArc: Henerala?

VisayanJoanofArc: Siz?

VisayanJoanofArc: Oh no, she’s dead.

VisayanJoanofArc: Atecooo 😭 😭 😭 Uwi ka na.

GranConsejo: Atecoo? And I’m the juvenile one?

VisayanJoanofArc: Henerala 😭 😭 😭

Henerala: You stupid lawyers are noisy!

Henerala: Are all lawyers like this? None of you stops yapping.

Henerala: Shit, you’re all so abnormal, even Ministro.

GranConsejo: Says the over-powered military general who I firmly believe is an aswang.

TheGreatestMentor: I’m normal (smile emoji)

VisayanJoanofArc: Atecooo 😭 😭 😭

VisayanJoanofArc: How are you? How is the assignment? You did not update us.

Henerala: I don’t know where to start…

Henerala: It was a crazy night.

TheGreatestMentor: Did my student had psychosis mid-assignment again?

Henerala: Oh, I don’t think so. And I don’t think he will ever do from now on.

GranConsejo: I’m

GranConsejo: scared.

VisayanJoanofArc: What do you mean?

VisayanJoanofArc: Wait, how are you? Did the assignment… fight back?

TheGreatestMentor: That would be very new, if so. Someone overpowering you is new.

Henerala: Oh, it’s new. Everything is new. I’m still confused right now. I just got out of surgery.

TheGreatestMentor: ???

GranConsejo: CONTEXT!

VisayanJoanofArc: pelase epxlajn!!!!!

Henerala: Wait, let me gather my thoughts. I would usually organize everything in a file for more detailed report, but seeing as I’ve worried you, I will start with the most essential.

GranConsejo: Ok. Gora.

Henerala: I got stabbed. But I didn’t feel it, don’t worry. I was out of consciousness when I was stabbed. I’m okay now, I promise.

TheGreatestMentor: Why were you out of consciousness? Why were you stabbed while unconscious? I am screaming as I typed this.

Henerala: Ministro’s fiancé attacked me.

GranConsejo: That guy?????? That guy is the attacker???

Henerala: He’s not a normal guy. Important detail will be included in written report. It’s too risky to share here.

VisayanJoanofArc: Henerala. I’m crying. How are you? My goodness. Why did he attack you? Why would he stab you?

Henerala: He was not the one who stabbed me.

VisayanJoanofArc: …

VisayanJoanofArc: I think I should just see you, you don’t sound well. What’s the hospital?

Henerala: Yes, my head still hurts. Anesthesia not fully off. At least the guy has anesthesia in his basement.

Henerala: and I’m not in a hospital.

GranConsejo: Then where are you??

TheGreatestMentor: You said you just got out from surgery?

Henerala: Yes, in Congressman’s house.

TheGreatestMentor: You had an on-call surgeon? Is that a thing?

VisayanJoanofArc: Not a medical expert, but I’m pretty sure that makes you prone to infection.

Henerala: No, I’m in a sterile zone.

GranConsejo: There’s a sterile zone in that guy’s house?? Why?

VisayanJoanofArc: I’m going there! I’m getting suspicious of the guy. Why did he attack you? Why does he have a sterile zone in his house? Where is Ministro? Should I bring a gun?

Henerala: Ministro is here. Beside the Congressman. Congressman is checking his stitch work on my chest.

TheGreatestMentor: Pardon? His stitch work?

GranConsejo: He’s the surgeon???

VisayanJoanofArc: YOU GOT STABBED IN THE CHEST?

VisayanJoanofArc: HOW ARE YOU?

VisayanJoanofArc: HOW ARE YOUR BOOBS?

Henerala: My boobs are fine. The assignment stabbed me higher, which was not so critical.

TheGreatestMentor: Wait, Henerala. You must start from the top. As much as you can. What happened last night.

Henerala: so.

Henerala: The thing is.

Henerala: alright, Ministro says it’s fine. Says we will have this conversation eventually. But I must be coded.

GranConsejo: Gora. I’m getting nervous here.

Henerala: You know the entity we have been sharing reputations with?

VisayanJoanofArc: Yes, that entity. What of it?

Henerala: The Congressman is that entity.

VisayanJoanofArc: Wh

TheGreatestMentor: Rest for now, Henerala. We will have an official meeting about this. I trust Ministro to take care of you for now.

VisayanJoanofArc: …

VisayanJoanofArc: 😦

VisayanJoanofArc: Atecco??

GranConsejo: He’s the Ripper????

VisayanJoanofArc: Moises!

GranConsejo: Ay, sorry.

GranConsejo: *GranConsejo deleted a message*

GranConsejo: @Ministro!!!! Baklaaaaaa!!!! OF ALL THE MEN!!!!!

Short 4: Gregorio Del Pilar

The neighbors had run away from his house by the sound of their screaming and calls for water. The noise around him passes by his ears; he lets them continue, and he could not care less. The sound of screaming, the sirens, and the fire engulfing every piece of object within the house become a background.

Goyong stands still in the middle of the living room. Something has finally been done to the bloodied floor that was stained for weeks with nobody volunteering—not one neighbor, friend, or relative—to clean it up. Nobody has done anything for him or for his uncle, for this empty and blood-stained house in the middle of a populated residential, so it is a relief that the floor and the couch is burning right in front of him.

The fire grew bigger until it engulfs the ceiling. A beam that holds the roof together is slowly being charred, and the boy knows that later, it will burn enough that it will fall on his head. And he will burn. He will burn in his uncle’s house, the house that raised him in love and discipline. He closed his eyes, nothing in his thoughts, nothing in his vision, and nothing to get his legs moving. There is just silence in his mind as his hand grip a piece of paper that shows his uncle’s handwriting. He refuses to look at it further after reading its full contents, so he closes his eyes, looks up, and silently cries.

Several nights ago, he asked Tito Emilio why he had to cut the officer’s tongue. He thought of it as nothing but poetic justice. He shrugged it off, despite his confusion, and asserted the rest of the night as if it was a crime of his own doing. It was not. It was a fully prepped stage and all he had to do was act according to the script that only exists in Emilio’s mind. He has been playing along his schemes, barking on command, and he is a fool who thought following his every order could keep him alive.

His uncle out-of-pocketly told him one time that Emilio Aguinaldo, a Congressman in Cavite, is the Ripper. He was not drunk and he was not tired. He was in full consciousness when he said that, sitting in the small circular dinning table while Goyong uses the table to write his essay assignments. “Okay.” Was all Goyong could say, because as interesting as the Ripper is, the kills only appear twice or thrice a year that people treat it as an unavoidable disaster that happens several times in their lifetimes, just like the many disasters that happen in this country. In the first place, he does not even know who this Aguinaldo person is. They’re not even in Cavite. Malolos is quite far from that cursed province, so he does not have to care. So what if he passes by Roxas Boulevard sometimes? He’s never seen one of those murder scenes, so he doubts the need to care about the Ripper’s identity.

His uncle had not only wanted to tell him the Ripper’s identity. No. He mentioned it, so he knows who to avoid when he dies. And he will die. According to his final letter, he knew he will die. His uncle prepared a plan to expose the Ripper if he dies anytime by the means of this house and Goyong.

And that’s why Goyong is on fire right now.

Goyong came into this house to recuperate after telling Jacinto the Ripper’s identity. It’s not like revealing it was very emotionally taxing, he just realized that he should stop being a dog that’s always fearing for its life, and Emily’s off-handed advice was enough to get him home with the huge amount of savings he got from Attorney Mabini’s generous allowances. He tried to clean the house thick with dust and blood all by himself, withstanding the grief that comes with it, as he usually does. What he did not expect was seeing a single page of paper stuck in between the pages of his favorite psychology book. It is addressed to him, and it is by his uncle’s handwriting.

It reads:

Goyong. My beloved nephew, my pride and joy. Know that I will always love you, and you are one of the best things that happened to my lonely justice-driven life. Had I realized sooner that I only want to see you grow up happy, I would have not let my patriotic principles get in the way of your future.

I’m writing this because I will die.

I might become a murder tableau in Roxas Boulevard. My God, I wish you will never have to see my corpse displayed brutally, only for Dimasalang to construct an article counting how much I deserve it.

I have a brother in France; his name is Juan Luna. I would not prefer you living with him as he has violent tendencies much worse than my own, but I do not want you living alone with nothing for we have no other relatives. Call him and he will answer. I hope you live well with him.

Stay away from the Ripper, Goyong. He will kill anyone who knows his secret. One look at you and he can tell that you know. Since you’re my only family, he might think I’ve told you and will come for you for nothing but a speculation. If so, run, Goyong. You must run. Hide from him. Outrun him. Do everything you can to stay alive.

I have planted many evidence around the house to incriminate the Ripper without involving you in this. Let them search the house or go to your Tio Luna before they do.

I love you dearly, and I’m sorry I don’t tell you much.

Would it be overthinking if Goyong speculates that it is too much of a coincidence that his uncle died the very day he wrote the letter? Indeed, he died in the hands of the most recent police chief. He could have asked more details, but alas, Emilio got to him first and severed his tongue. Would it be overthinking if Goyong recalls that Emilio uses impersonal weapons to kill people he does not see as a pig? His uncle is not a pig, so he did not die the way he expected in the hands of the Ripper.

That night when the police chief was thrown on his feet, he remembers the fear in his eyes that was not for the boy that held the knife but for the weaponless man behind.

And so what? The police chief deserved that, didn’t he?

Should he let the world know that Emilio Aguinaldo is the Ripper of Roxas Boulevard?

For what? For his safety?

What is the use of his life, compared to the great service of killing the country’s most dangerous people? If Emilio wants to kill him for knowing things he should not know, then so be it. The Ripping must continue. Besides, he has nothing to live for. Maybe he should just die here, with the evidence of the Ripper identity.

The fire reached the paper he’s holding, and while in an empty state, the flame approaches his hand quickly. The abrupt heat shocked him like a shout going through his body. It felt like those times when his uncle would startle him for lazing around. He could feel a ringing in his ears, making his mind come back to his situation, finally feeling the intense heat of what he has done.

Run.

His senses are saying.

Run.

He remembers the written word of his uncle’s neat handwriting.

Run, Goyong.

He told himself.

Run, Goyong. Run.

And he bolts out of the house. He might have nowhere to go, but he must run.