Rafael sat at the edge of his narrow bed, the noise of jeepneys outside faint against the pounding of his own heart. Before him, floating in the air only he could see, the Codex pulsed with cold blue light.
"Alert: Local government procurement office has announced a small-scale bid for water solutions in disaster-prone areas. Deadline: 14 days. Estimated contract value: ₱2,500,000."
Two and a half million pesos. To Rafael, it might as well have been two and a half billion. His chest tightened, his fingers trembling against the thin mattress.
"This is the opening," the Codex whispered in his head. "Success probability: 63%. Failure probability: 37% (due to corruption, entrenched competitors, and low trust in new companies)."
Rafael rubbed his temples, a humorless laugh slipping out. "So… slightly better than a coin toss. Great."
But he knew—this wasn't just another chance to sell a few hundred straws. This was the threshold between obscurity and recognition. If AquaPure could land even a small government contract, it would leap from side streets and sari-sari stores into boardrooms and disaster relief operations.
The next morning, he stood outside the Quezon City procurement office, a weather-stained building whose faded signage announced government importance with all the enthusiasm of peeling paint. The sputtering air-conditioners barely held back the humid air. Inside, the lobby buzzed with a swarm of suited men and women—company reps with attaché cases, government staff lugging folders, and hangers-on who carried the unspoken smell of fixers.
Rafael felt eyes on him the moment he walked in. His plain jeans and worn jacket stood out sharply in a room where almost everyone wore barong or tailored suits.
Near the entrance desk, a man in a rumpled barong leaned lazily on a clipboard. His thinning hair was combed back with too much gel, and the faint scent of cigarettes clung to his shirt. He gave Rafael a once-over, his lips quirking into a smirk.
"You here for the water filtration contract?" His tone suggested disbelief.
"Yes." Rafael's answer was steady as he handed over a neatly bound folder—the Codex's optimized bid documents.
The man's smirk faltered as he flipped through the papers. His brows rose slightly, betraying surprise. "Huh. All attachments complete. No errors. That's… rare." He glanced at Rafael again, this time with a trace of respect buried beneath the casual dismissal.
Rafael only smiled faintly, saying nothing.
As the man scribbled something on his clipboard and waved him through, the Codex murmured:
"Subject: Antonio Reyes. Mid-level procurement staff. Prone to shortcuts, yet oddly diligent in paperwork. Probability of future contact: 48%."
Two days later, Rafael found himself sitting in a cramped café near the procurement office. The establishment smelled of burnt beans and old wood, its ceiling fans whirring weakly against the Manila heat. He nursed a cheap cup of coffee, half to stay awake, half to keep his presence unnoticed.
At the table behind him, three men in suits leaned close, their conversation bleeding into the room with the careless confidence of those who never imagined they'd be overheard.
"HydraCorp's the shoo-in," said the first, a stocky man whose gold watch flashed every time he gestured. "They've handled government water contracts for years."
The second, thinner, with hollow cheeks and nicotine-stained fingers, snorted. "Exactly. Even if this new player—what's the name? AquaPure?—has good papers, they won't get it. No connections."
The third man, younger, still with the nervous energy of someone new to politics, leaned forward. His voice dropped, though not enough. "Careful. I heard whispers. Someone upstairs is curious about AquaPure. They called it… 'innovative tech.' HydraCorp doesn't like competition. They're already moving to discredit them."
Rafael's grip on his mug tightened, the porcelain squeaking faintly under his fingers. HydraCorp. Of course. The multinational giant with deep pockets, lobbyists, and politicians already in their corner.
The Codex's voice cut through the haze of the café's noise:
"Warning: HydraCorp will attempt sabotage—legal, reputational, and possibly physical. Countermeasures required."
Rafael stared into the dark swirl of his coffee, his reflection fractured in the liquid's surface. Around him, the café's chatter carried on—students arguing over projects, a waiter wiping down sticky tables, a woman humming faintly as she counted coins at the counter. The city moved, unaware of the quiet war already forming.
His jaw tightened. HydraCorp had money, influence, and reach.
But Rafael had something they didn't.
The Codex.
And a will hardened by years of surviving when the world had nothing to offer him.
He exhaled slowly, eyes flashing with cold determination. "If they want a fight," he muttered under his breath, "they'll get one."