English Version: Sands & Sparrow

4

Present time. Manila, Philippines.

Heavy rain poured in the night; flashes of lightning powerfully ripped the sky like a piece of paper. A few blocks down a deserted street stood an old building that served as a hideout for syndicates. From the dark, a mysterious figure lurked in a corner. Like the speed of lightning, it moved swiftly. Soft moans were heard as, one by one, the lifeless bodies of men collapsed to the ground. Then another man felt the cold blade on his neck; without making a sound, his throat was slit in a heartbeat. Another guard whimpered to his final death, but before he lost his breath, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy human figure stabbing his companion.

An intruder had entered the building. A man with a gun tried to attack, but like the fate of the others, one swift movement of a sharp blade severed his throat, causing thick blood to flow down from his neck. Within seconds, he dropped to his knees, eyes wide open. A pair of black boots passed in front of his lifeless eyes, moving without a sound.

Between the harrowing darkness, raindrops became a rhythm; the sound of the storm transformed into an orchestra of deadly melody. The shadow elegantly trailed across the hallway. At a calculated speed, the throats of unsuspecting victims were cleaved, brains were blown out and scattered on the wall by a silencer, and knives were thrown into bodies with perfect precision.

The cold breeze entered through the open windows, causing the stench of the walls to reek with a foul odor. The pungency of human waste and old wet concrete emanated dirty air from a gust of wind. Dimmed, flashing lights on the dusty ceiling guided the hallways. Water dripped somewhere, echoing a hollow noise across the corridors.

Inside the office, Antonio hurriedly loaded ammunition into his gun, his shaking hands barely able to hold it, causing a few bullets to drop to the floor. A lightning bolt ripped the sky again, and the flash of light gleamed on his face as the lamp over the table flared. He flinched at the thunder, its sound like a huge boulder thrown from above, shaking the ground. The loud noises of nature made him fidget; the thunderbolt seemed to mock him, sending tremors through the windows as if an earthquake had occurred. "I-I'm going to k-kill you," Antonio hissed in fear while placing the revolver on the table. He received a phone call from one of his men, knowing what had transpired and readying himself to face his unknown enemy.

The door slammed open.

"B-boss...y-you must leave." His henchman arrived at the door, catching his breath and staggering towards him. Extreme loss of blood caused him to kneel on the floor, facing the table until he collapsed.

"F--uck," Antonio uttered in pure terror as his henchman died in front of him, a dagger stuck in his spine. He watched the blood slowly flow onto the carpet. The man had a temporary seizure, his feet trembling on the floor, and then he lost his breath in a snap.

"Twenty-seven," a mysterious voice counted the deaths through the narrow hallway, the words spoken with chilling calmness. Using a gun with a silencer, the locks were destroyed on every door as it fired a silent shot, again and again, each muffled pop followed by the sound of splintering wood.

Out of nowhere, lightning echoed through the night again, sending shivers down Antonio's spine. The flash was so bright it left after images dancing in his vision. The sound of thunder screamed like a banshee in hell, the boom so loud it seemed to shake the very foundations of the building.

Antonio kept firing the gun when he spotted a figure near the door. The muzzle flashes brightened the room briefly. But the shadow just stood there, staring at him, unmoved by the barrage of bullets. A silent, alarming presence watched him from afar without the slightest fear. He fired his gun again, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air, but the bullets failed to penetrate the body, falling off like pieces of crumpled paper with soft plinks on the floor. The shadow slowly emerged from the dark, wearing black long sleeves and pants with bullet holes on the chest and stomach, exposing smooth white skin beneath. He fired again, the gun's recoil making his handshake, but to no avail, only to see the cartridges resemble specks of dust wiped off the clothes. "You ruined my shirt again," a woman voiced to him with annoyance, her tone incongruously casual given the situation.