The gray sky stretched endlessly above, heavy and bruised with clouds. A swarm of birds darted in every direction, wings beating frantically, as if even they had lost their sense of direction. Below, the city lay in ruin—a mosaic of chaos and noise. Buildings leaned at impossible angles, roads split open like cracked glass, and terrified people stumbled through the wreckage, crying, shouting, and searching for loved ones.
A woman, her dress streaked with blood, clutched her baby to her chest as she limped past a fallen sign. Dogs barked wildly, cats hissed and darted under wrecked vehicles, their cries blending with the shrill wails of sirens and the muffled sobs of survivors.
Then, almost at once, phones all over the city began to buzz and vibrate. Alarms blared from every direction, overlapping into a single, desperate noise.
A calm, clear voice cut through the chaos, broadcast from countless devices at once.
"This is emergency news," the woman's voice announced steadily. "More than one thousand people have been injured, and one hundred confirmed dead so far. Local governments are still verifying reports. Meanwhile, PHIVOLCS has detected unusual activity in the Philippine Trench. A helicopter has been dispatched to assess ocean conditions and the potential risk of a tsunami. For now, authorities advise all residents to remain vigilant, stay away from damaged structures, and avoid returning home until further notice."
A pause. Then the same voice returned:
"Power outages may last up to a week, depending on aftershocks. Signal towers are partially functional, so you should still be able to contact your loved ones."
The message echoed down the broken streets, carried by the wind that smelled faintly of ash and rust. For a moment, everything felt suspended—fragile and trembling, the air thick with fear and dust.
Zep and Louie moved separately through the ruins, each weaving between cracked walls and fallen poles. Their shoes crunched over shattered glass. Every breath burned from the smoke and dust that hung like fog. Around them, people were pulling others from rubble, shouting names, praying under their breath. The steady hum of sirens filled the background like a heartbeat.
By mid-afternoon, the evacuation areas were still chaotic. Debris littered the streets, and worried voices mixed with the steady drone of engines and helicopters overhead. Yet within the noise, there was a strange sense of relief—six hours had passed without another major quake. People whispered thanks to God even as they clung to what little they had left.
On Ongpin Street, Manila, a female reporter and her team rested beside their damaged van. Lilaya sat quietly with her notebook, her forehead streaked with dust, her camera slung loosely around her neck. Her crew tended to scrapes and bruises, still shaken but grateful to be alive.
A few meters away, two police officers observed the scene. One of them—Adrian—watched the reporter with casual curiosity. He approached her slowly, brushing the dirt from his uniform.
"How are you?" he asked, smiling faintly. "I'm sorry if I didn't look at you nicely earlier." His tone was light, almost teasing. "What's your name again? Aya?"
Lilaya looked up sharply. "It's Lilaya, sir," she said, stressing the word sir. "Please, don't come too close."
Her teammate glanced at her, confused by her sudden tension. Adrian only chuckled and slipped his hands into his pockets.
"You're harsh," he said, pointing lightly at her. "I like that… I like you."
Before she could respond, a firm hand rested on his shoulder. It was Ibarra, his older partner. His calm, steady voice carried quiet authority.
"That's enough, Adrian."
Adrian's grin faded. "I'm… sorry, Lilaya," he muttered before walking off.
Ibarra gave her a polite nod. "Please forgive my companion's behavior. He means no harm."
Lilaya exhaled slowly. "It's fine," she said. "Just… keep him busy."
The officer smiled faintly and moved to help nearby civilians.
Lilaya returned to her seat beside her team, her pulse still unsteady. For some reason, everything around her felt sharper—the wind colder, the light dimmer, the voices clearer. She didn't know why, but something in her senses had changed since the quake.
Around noon, Zep finally reached his neighborhood. The road was cracked and littered with broken poles and shattered fences. His house stood tilted slightly, its roof half-collapsed. Sparks flickered from a cut electrical line, snapping in the damp air.
Neighbors were cleaning debris together, their faces gray with exhaustion. Zep rushed forward and peered through the doorway.
His heart lurched. His mother was inside, limping slightly as she gathered broken dishes and scattered clothes.
"Mom!" Zep shouted.
She turned in surprise, eyes widening, then smiled in relief. "Zep!"
He ran toward her. "Mom, what happened to your leg? Why are you limping?"
"Oh, this?" she said with a small laugh, trying to hide the wince that followed. "A piece of wood fell when the shaking started. I got stuck for a bit, but the neighbors helped me."
Zep's chest tightened. "You're hurt because of that? I'm sorry, Mom… I should've been here. You must've been so worried."
His mother smiled gently, touching his cheek. "Don't be sorry, son. I'm just glad you're safe. That's what matters."
He lowered his gaze, guilt written on his face. "Still… I made you anxious."
"It's over now," she said softly. "Let's just clean up before this house collapses completely."
Zep nodded and began helping her move what little they could save. The air was thick with the smell of dust and damp wood. Every creak of the damaged beams made his stomach tighten, but he worked silently, focused.
By four in the afternoon, the sky had darkened, heavy with rain clouds. In the evacuation zone, Lilaya and her team climbed into their van, hoping to rest. The air inside was hot and smelled faintly of smoke and gasoline.
After a brief discussion, Lilaya decided they should return to the studio to report the latest updates. As the driver started the engine, a knock on the window startled them. It was Ibarra, his face lined with concern. Behind him stood Adrian, silent this time, his usual grin gone.
"Are you leaving already?" Ibarra asked.
Lilaya nodded. "Yes, sir. We need to send the footage and update the station."
Ibarra gave a short nod. "Be careful on the road. Some bridges are still unstable."
Adrian leaned slightly to the side, eyes meeting hers through the glass. He smiled faintly. Lilaya didn't return it. She looked forward instead, her fingers tightening on her seatbelt.
"Let's go," she told the driver quietly.
As the van rolled away, the first drops of rain began to fall, pattering softly against the roof.
Every road was cracked and uneven, some sections broken open into small sinkholes that made them impassable. Traffic enforcers stood in the rain, waving flashlights as they redirected cars toward safer routes.
Lilaya and her team's van crawled along the damaged road, its tires thudding over scattered debris. People still lingered outside, too afraid to return to their homes. Many sat huddled beneath umbrellas or plastic sheets, waiting for military trucks to bring them to the evacuation site where tents had been set up. Others had fallen asleep by the roadside, exhaustion winning over fear.
Suddenly, the drizzle turned into a downpour. Sheets of rain hammered against the roof of the van, blurring the windshield. It was already past 6 p.m., and the streets were nearly empty.
With the power still out, the city was shrouded in darkness. A few solar-powered lamps flickered weakly, their light dim and trembling under the storm clouds that had lingered for days.
Inside the van, Lilaya leaned forward from the passenger seat beside driver seat. "Maybe try the radio," she suggested softly. "There might be updates."
The driver nodded but frowned at the cracked windshield. ""This van's a mess—debris smashed the windshield. I just fixed this last month!"
In the back, three of their crew members were half-asleep, earphones in, swaying gently with the movement of the van.
The radio finally came to life with a burst of static before a calm, male voice emerged:
"It's a rough night for everyone. Heavy rainfall is expected to continue until midnight due to the southwest wind. Roads will be dark, and visibility remains low. Please stay inside your evacuation areas and avoid unnecessary travel.
Police and firefighters are distributing batteries and supplies. Local mayors have ordered additional patrols to ensure safety in all affected zones. Let's all remain alert and take care of each other tonight."
The voice faded into faint static again, blending with the rhythmic drumming of rain on metal.
Lilaya leaned her head against the window, watching the rain blur the world outside into streaks of silver and shadow. The city felt quieter than ever—too quiet, she thought.
The driver finally decided to pull over. The rain had grown too heavy; they could barely see the road ahead.
"Where are we?" Lilaya asked, leaning closer to the fogged-up windshield.
Her male companion checked his phone. "Umm… Google Maps says we're near Arroceros Forest Park."
Outside, the world was a blur of darkness and rain. The faint glow from a few nearby buildings—powered by generators—cast weak reflections on the wet road. The park's gate loomed just ahead, half-hidden behind sheets of falling water.
They stayed still for a moment, listening to the rain drum endlessly against the roof. The van's wipers squeaked back and forth, struggling to keep up.
Something shifted in the shadows outside. It was faint—a flicker of movement among the trees.
"It's really dark out there," said one of Lilaya's crew from the back seat, pressing his face close to the window. "I can barely see anything… it's kinda creepy."
Lilaya chuckled softly. "You're thinking too much."
He frowned. "What? I just said it's dark and scary—how is that thinking too much?"
Then he smirked, tilting his head toward her. "Don't tell me you're scared too?"
Lilaya rolled her eyes but didn't answer, her gaze still fixed on the blackness beyond the glass.
Their laughter cut through the tension for a brief moment—until the light from outside suddenly vanished.
The windows turned pitch black. The van rocked slightly, as if something—or someone—was pushing against it.
Everyone froze.
Then came the sound. A heavy, dull thud against the side of the van. Another. Then another.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
It wasn't a tap—it was sharp, like wood being chopped. The sound echoed through the rain, growing faster, harder.
The five of them stared at the windows, breaths held, as the van shook again under the weight of something unseen.
To be continued..