The scent of dew and earth followed them as Mina trailed behind Wes into the kitchen. He moved with the easy confidence of a man completely familiar with his surroundings. Opening cabinets and drawers, his motions quiet but deliberate.
"Sit down," he said, gesturing toward the island counter. "You'll just get in my way if you try to help."
Mina chuckled softly and obeyed, perching on one of the high stools. She watched him move across the kitchen with an efficiency that didn't match the laid-back tone in his voice. He cracked eggs one-handed, flipped a pan with a quick wrist motion, and pulled out ingredients she couldn't even name.
"I didn't know you could cook," she said, genuinely impressed.
"I get that a lot," Wes said, smirking faintly. "Cooking's relaxing. Logistics is about coordination, same thing applies here. You just replace shipments with spices."
She tilted her head. "So, you're like the CEO of a shipping company, right?"
"Shipping and logistics," he corrected smoothly. "We handle cargo transportation for businesses. Some of it is routine, manufacturing goods, agricultural exports, that kind of thing. Some of it is more specialized. High-value cargo that require secure transfers."
He said it lightly, but something in his tone closed the subject neatly.
Mina caught the boundary, nodded, and leaned her chin on her palm. "Still, this is not the kind of breakfast I was expecting."
"Good," he said. "Then I did my job."
He set down a plate in front of her, Longganisa and eggs, but elevated far beyond the ordinary. The sausages were browned perfectly, butterflied and glistened in a light glaze, resting over garlic rice drizzled with something dark and rich. The eggs were poached, dusted with herbs, and arranged like something from a magazine spread.
Mina blinked. "Okay… this looks way too good to eat."
Wes grinned. "Eat before it gets cold."
She took a bite and let out a soft sound of disbelief. "You're wasted in logistics. You could open a restaurant and make a killing."
"I'll add that to my retirement plan," he said, plating his own serving. "But I like the quiet life. Less chaos."
They ate in companionable silence for a while, broken only by the soft clink of utensils and the faint hum of morning outside.
Wes watched her subtly between bites, her shoulders still tense from the move, her eyes still shadowed by things she hadn't talked about.
"You know," he said gently, "it's okay to take it slow. Adjusting, I mean. You don't have to rush anything."
Mina looked up, caught off guard by his tone. "I know. It's just… weird. A month ago I was stressing about finals. Now I'm here, dropped out of college and halfway around the world."
"You'll find your rhythm," he said simply. "Manila's chaotic, but it grows on you."
She smiled faintly. "You sound like someone who's been here forever."
"On and off," he replied. "Business takes me around a lot. This place is more like home base."
"Home base," she repeated. "You make it sound like you're in the military."
He smirked. "Let's just say I took ROTC way too seriously in high school."
Before Mina could press the question, he stood up and went to the fridge. "How about we do something fun today? It will help you keep your mind off things."
"Something fun?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yup. Pop culture therapy. Do you like conventions?"
"Conventions?"
He nodded. "Comics, movies, games… that kind of thing. There's a huge pop culture convention today. I usually go whenever I have the time, I thought you might want to tag along."
Her surprise melted into a grin. "You go to conventions? You don't exactly seem the type, Uncle Wes."
"That's the idea," he said, rummaging through one of the side cabinets. "I'm a geek in disguise. Wait here."
He disappeared into his hobby room. Mina could hear the faint creak of drawers and the sound of something being unzipped. When he came back, he was holding a garment bag with a mischievous look in his eye.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Uniform," he said, placing it on the counter. "A friend left it here after last year's convention. Thought you might want to borrow it."
Mina unzipped the bag. Inside was a red and black Starfleet uniform dress and a matching wig, Uhura's from the original Star Trek series.
Her jaw dropped. "No way."
"Way," Wes said. "Perfect fit, I think. You'd look the part."
"You actually do cosplay?"
"Let's just say I'm… committed to character." He grinned. "Why don't you get changed while I get ready?"
"You have a costume too?"
"You'll see."
He disappeared down the hall before she could ask more.
Mina held up the uniform against herself in the mirror. It was sleek, flattering, and surprisingly well-kept. For a fleeting moment, she felt like a kid again, excited and carefree.
When she finally emerged, she caught sight of her reflection in the hall mirror and almost didn't recognize herself. The red uniform hugged her figure like it was made for her, and the black boots completed the look. She put on the wig and after some styling and teasing, everything was perfect. She felt like a completely different person.
Then, Wes's bedroom door swung open.
Mina froze.
Out stepped a Klingon.
This was not a flimsy, store-bought Halloween costume. This was a bona fide alien warrior straight off a Hollywood soundstage. The creature's prominent brow ridges and aggressive nose were high-end prosthetics, blended seamlessly with studio quality makeup to hide the edges. The armored vest looked like it was crafted from genuine leather and was adorned with shiny metal plates. Even the frizzy, long hair that fell in layers on the costume's massive shoulder pads was a high-quality human hair wig. The entire costume reeked of indulgent expenditure and obsessive commitment.
"Qapla'!" he growled dramatically.
Mina burst out laughing. "You're insane!"
"Authentic," he corrected. "There's a difference."
"You look incredible!"
Wes smirked, his fanged grin oddly charming even through the makeup. "Shall we, Lieutenant Uhura?"
She gave a playful salute, with her hand formed like three massive fingers. "Live long and prosper."
"Wrong alien species but I'll let it slide since you look adorable in that uniform."
Mina felt her cheeks flush at the compliment but smiled to kept it hidden.
He led her to the garage, and her laughter doubled when she saw the van, his "shuttlecraft", gleaming like a real Federation transport under the morning sun.
"Is this seriously what we're taking?"
"Warp-ready and road legal," he said proudly.
As they climbed in, Mina couldn't stop smiling. For the first time since she'd arrived, she felt light again, no thoughts of her parents, no questions about locked doors or secret floors.
Just her and Uncle... no, she scratched out that thought. Just her and Wes, the Klingon and Lieutenant Uhura, boldly going to where she's never been before.
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The small roadside eatery in Quezon City was a stone's throw away from Wes Chai's deceptively simple, walled-off property. It was 9AM and the place was packed with hungry diners having breakfast. The clatter of spoons against plastic bowls, the murmur of Tagalog, and the rich scent of garlic and ginger hung heavy in the humid air. Rico, however, felt none of the warmth. For the past hour, he'd been performing the agonizing charade of consuming a bowl of arroz caldo, earning him the increasingly hostile stares from hungry diners queuing for his seat.
Three months. That's how long Rico had been with Aegis Security. His distinguished service record with the Navy SEALs had been enough to get his foot in the door, but only just. He was a Level 1 Contractor, a designation that typically confined him to shipboard security for their partner company, Transnational Logistics Group (TLG). It meant a competitive base pay and annual bonuses, certainly more than what most Private Military and Security Companies offered, but Rico craved more. Level 2, that was where the real money was, the missions, the operations, the adrenaline.
A rare opportunity had arisen, specifically requiring an operator of Filipino descent who was fluent in the local language. Born in the Philippines and having immigrated to the US at the age of twelve, Rico was the perfect fit. He'd jumped at the chance, banking on successfully completing this mission to secure a permanent Level 2 placement.
His briefing was concise and left no room for error, an unknown entity has been observing Wes Chai, the charismatic CEO of TLG, for over a month now. Rico's mission was to tail and identify both the observer and their organization, without being discovered.
His current target sat inside a beat-up '93 Toyota Corolla, parked within suspicious proximity outside a 7-Eleven across the street. The observer was an Asian male, either Chinese or Korean, who possessed a startling lack of awareness for blending into a Filipino street scene. Either he's new to this, or he doesn't take his assignments seriously, Rico thought, shaking his head.
His phone buzzed, a secure, encrypted message from HQ.
WES CHAI ON THE MOVE. FOLLOW OBSERVER AND REPORT. DO NOT ENGAGE.
Rico tucked the phone away. With a final, desperate gulp of the now lukewarm arroz caldo, he stood, ignoring the immediate scramble for his vacated seat. He walked to his rented scooter, a nondescript Honda Click. As he donned his helmet, he pretended to fiddle with the ignition, a casual observer in a sea of morning commuters.
A few moments later, Wes Chai's "shuttlecraft" minivan, a custom-built, heavily accessorized behemoth, that simply screamed geek, passed him by. Rico had to hand it to the man, it took a different kind of confidence to drive something so ostentatious in a city like Manila. But then again, he mused, guys with money always did have a tendency to go over the top.
Rico waited, allowing three cars to pass after his target's Toyota passed him by. He kicked his scooter to life and merged seamlessly into the flow of traffic, a shadow among shadows.