The pistol’s cold metal dug into my ribs.

“Hoy!” the man yelled, snatching my phone before I could react. He quickly scanned the screen before tossing it to Ernesto in the front seat. “Little runt’s asking for help!”

The phone was still linked to Mother’s network. I wasn’t Reggie, who could hack even the most secure devices. I wondered if what we saw at the graffiti wall had been his work… or just wishful thinking.

I barely had time to read the message at first.

[Jayson? Jayson, are you alright? I need to talk to you. Please get back to me soon.]

“He’s not asking for help,” Ernesto muttered, scrolling through my Sent messages. “At least not yet, are you, Jayson?”

“Didn’t plan to.” I forced a smile. “Because that is not Janice.”

Ernesto and the gunman shared exchanged a look, but it was Ernesto who spoke. “How do you know?”

I could see the disbelief in their eyes, but there was no point in hiding anything. Not from them.

So, I explained how Bryce approached our safehouse and how we’d managed to ward him off—at least for now. The man had connections, belonging to the largest streaming giant in Manila. He would be back and bring more field agents with him.

Oh, and he was dating my sister. How in the world did that happen?

“That was likely him,” I said, and nothing more.

My heart sank, but I couldn’t afford to give Ernesto and my mother more ammunition. Janice was my sister, and one of the few people I trusted left. Getting at Bryce wouldn’t stop the rest of Metamatics from coming down on us.

Ernesto’s lips tightened into a thin line, his frustration barely contained. “This just keeps getting better,” he muttered, his tone heavy with sarcasm. He turned to the driver and the gunman, his eyes narrowing. “And all this today?” His disappointment was palpable, as if my very existence were a thorn in his—and Mother’s—side. “Shit, Jayson. What did you leave behind in the safehouse?”

“Most things.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up, but I swallowed it back. What was the point? I’d let down everyone—Ernesto, my mother, the entire operation. Were they really going to kill me?

The cold metal of the gun barrels digging into my ribs carried a silent threat—they just might.

Besides, after being away for so long, I doubted my mother had any attachment to me.

“I’ll let Es deal with that,” Ernesto told me, “but for now, good job. She’s going to at least be proud you warded off Metamatics.”

“Yeah, right.” I couldn’t care less about my mother’s pride now.

We passed under an arch of toll cameras, those silent sentinels tracking our every move as we merged onto the South Luzon Expressway. I briefly fantasized about tossing the driver out and taking the wheel myself, but what good would it do? We were all prisoners here, trapped by Manila’s relentless gridlock.

“Who was that cop?” I asked, breaking the awkward gun-toting silence.

“Baccay?” Ernesto asked. “Just a good friend. Your mother’s contact in the PNP. Not our strongest link, but definitely one of them.”

“And he just… shot Quin like that?” It was challenging to say it outright. Come to think of it, I didn’t see who pulled the trigger. I could only guess.

Ernesto nodded, locking his gaze and boring his eyes deep into me. “Yeah, man. You got someone killed tonight.”

That shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did. Who was Quin to me, anyway?

But the truth was, Quin was another human being, just like the officer Hannah had killed. Their deaths weren’t just casualties—they were weights on my conscience, dragging me down with every step.

Was this blood on my hands, then?

And worse, how much more would there be?

----------------------------------------

Mother was deep in the Black when they dragged me into her presence.

We stood at attention, arms folded, while she and her subjects—new faces all—lay sprawled across the couches in a drugged stupor. She was a queen among the dead, a necromancer matriarch.

I could see what the Black Fire testers were experiencing on the enormous flat-screen TVs scattered across the walls. On the screens, Seskone, The Vagrant King, stood over a cairn of skulls, briefing the mercenaries, his officers, and the potsoul named Quore. It was oddly satisfying to witness my team’s handiwork again and to know that Uncle Nestor had kept his word by uploading the show.

The thought of my uncle pulled me back to his promise. He had assured me that someone would come for me, but he kept the details vague—probably because if I ended up in the hands of Metamatics or the PNP, which seemed inevitable now, I wouldn’t be able to reveal anything. But so far, no one had made a move. I was entirely on my own.

“Beautiful.”

My mother had woken from her slumber, staring straight at me. She sat up slowly, her swivel chair in the center of the sea of couches like a throne. The dim light from the flat screens cast shadows across her face, sharpening her eyes. They converged on not just me but my future. My mother had the power to end me, all in the name of her legacy.

“Jayson, Jayson, Jayson.” She played with my name as if tossing a dagger between her hands. “Oh, what can I do with you anymore? I give you millions of PHP, safety, a bit of fame in our little pocket of the city, and even a chance to continue Kenneth’s legacy. And this is how you repay me?”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

I swallow. “I was only-”

“The PNP and Metamatics are going to know where we are! The whole damn city is going to know where we are! We’re going to be in Manila’s crosshairs in a few hours. Did you think about that?”

I had, only I didn’t imagine being under the city’s iron sights so quickly. After the Mandaluyong protest began, I banked on staying away from my mother, but I failed. At least Andrei and maybe even Reggie got out.

What about Shay? Baccay had taken her, but I hadn’t seen her at the mansion yet. A part of me wanted to find her right now if only to escape my mother’s torment.

She turned to Ernesto. “Did he tell anyone?”

The man shrugged. "It doesn't matter, Es. The Mandaluyong safehouse is compromised," he said, recounting everything I told him during the ride over. "Should we start evacuating?"

Mother sighed. “I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.”

Even this made Ernesto straighten. “Es?”

“I would love to go into damage control mode and sweep this under the rug, but we all know that’s not possible, so I’m not going to bother trying. This was, in hindsight, inevitable.” She scanned the sea of hallucinating bodies around her. “We have nowhere to go.”

“But the other safehouses, Es.”

“They’re all gone,” my mother admitted. “It’s all dominoes—a house of cards. After one falls, so do they all.”

I instinctively stepped back, but Ernesto’s grip on me tightened. I could feel the rage seeping through him.

“Let go of him,” my mother ordered.

“Es, I’m half tempted to shoot the boy.”

“I said let go!” Mother screamed.

The room silenced, and I stepped further away from Ernesto.

Mother’s gaze locked onto me. “Do you realize the futility of running now? You should have seen it all along. If you had, maybe you would have taken this operation more seriously.” She paused, her voice softening with a touch of mockery. “But there’s no point in being angry with you. We’re all just going to die here. And it’s all your fault.”

Defeat settled in, but I don’t think it was tinged the same way as my mother’s. To me, it was a sense of resignation and relief. Andrei would be alright. Shay would, too.

Damn that moment. It stayed with me.

“And Janice, too,” Mother continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “That little wench. At least she’s producing interesting results. Did you tell her too?”

I shook my head. Janice was still in the dark about Mother’s illegal dealings. In hindsight, I should have told her everything. She was my sister, after all.

I clung to the faint hope that, somewhere in the future, I’d get the chance to sit down with her and explain what a terrible brother I’d been. At least she was making strides in her career, with a boyfriend to back her up.

A boyfriend who wanted me dead.

Well, according to Mother, that last point was a certainty.

“Do I have to put chains on you, you stupid child?” Mother’s voice sharpened, cutting through my thoughts. “Handcuffs? My God. I didn’t want to do that. I trusted you—or at least I thought you wouldn’t muck everything up when running away. You’re a slippery runt.”

Her tirade seemed endless and, honestly, trivial. I endured it, all the while wondering how I’d gotten myself into this mess and whether there was any way out.

The TVs flickered, scenes from The Crest and its Killers playing out. Seskone was envisioning his plan, Toben’s grin eerily mirroring my mother’s.

“Do you know why I let you even make this show?” she asked me.

The answer seemed obvious. “Because it’s the most successful show in our lineup.”

“Yes, of course. Can’t deny that.” She nodded while something cold formed in her eyes. “But there’s a bigger reason. You see, it’s quite clear what Kenneth is doing with it.”

I knew exactly what she was getting at.

“Kenneth is trying to teach you through it,” she continued, each word dripping with condescension as if I was too hopeless to teach. “It’s like he’s making you a bible. You’ve seen it too.” She raised a finger, ticking off each point like a lecture. “Episode 1: Rise up against adversity. Manila was that before, but I guess that’s me now. I’ll take it.” Another finger. “Episode 2: Family is more important than anything. You really should have taken that advice, Jayson. Maybe you didn’t see it by then.” Her last finger joined the others. “Episode 3: With power comes responsibility. I hope you see now the power you wielded and the consequences of using it poorly.”

I’d known these things, especially the last point, but hearing Mother articulate them felt like she was prying into a conversation meant only for Papa and me. It sickened me. I wanted her out of my head.

I wanted her out of my life.

“Did you see the footage of our dispensary in Quezon City, Jayson?” she continued, her voice chilling to ice. “They ripped that place to shreds. That’s what they’re going to do to us.” She spread her arms wide. “But, unlike you, I would rather fight to protect what I’ve built.”

She scanned the bodies around us, but now with a twisted sense of purpose.

“They’re not wealthy people,” she said, nodding to the unconscious forms, “but do you know how many capture drones are going to flock here and see this? We’re going to lure every damn drone in the city.”

Oh my god. Even more blood on my hands. Would it ever stop? “You’re crazy.”

“You’re not crazy enough!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls. “You’ll be here to witness our destruction! And you’ll never forget what a failure of a son your failure of a father raised!” She threw her arms out as if embracing her madness. “We go down with the ship! We burn ourselves in this house of cards!”

Even her words sounded like a script from television. She really was a lunatic, and I was stuck in her twisted plot, as I always had been since the day I stepped foot on this mansion’s steps.

Ernesto stepped back, his face tight with barely concealed rage, before fuming out of the room, possibly to carry out her orders.

“We need to fortify, Ernesto!” Mother called after him, almost mocking. We all knew what was coming.

I really was going to die here.

Maybe this was what I deserved—to leave this life and stop being a burden to the people who depended on me. But I couldn’t shake the thought that I’d never see them again.

But, hell, I didn’t want to die here. Maybe it was selfish, but I wasn’t ready. I should have been six feet underground already, off this mortal plane. But I was stubborn. I had to admit that.

Stubborn and young. Only twenty-three years old. Not even a third of my life lived, and already it was over.

I wanted to see my friends again. I wanted to see Shay again. The Bernals hated me, but the Vargases didn’t. I wanted to see them, too— that fragment of my family that always cared.

Papa’s fragment.

He wanted us to be free. I had to remind myself of that. What would he think of me now, cornered like this?

“The city will remember me,” Mother said, her voice cold yet sure. “Not just from the way they’ll inevitably destroy us, but from what we do before we die.” She prattled her fingers together, sinking into her swivel chair. “Go call your uncle. It doesn’t matter. Tell him you’ll die, but before that, tell him I want Episode 4.”

I swallowed hard. Even in this nightmare, it was easier to focus on something else. “And Episode 5?”

My mother frowned. “Canceled. No, Jayson, you’ll have to search your father’s book to find that lesson.”

Leaving Papa’s work unfinished was just another blow in a series of gut punches—each one harder to bear than the last.

But somehow, maybe from my mother’s twisted glee or the pride in her eyes as she moved among the hallucinating bodies, I knew the remaining episodes of The Crest wouldn’t be her final act.

There was something bigger coming.