The news of Rafael's counter-suit spread like wildfire, shaking HydraCorp's image more than they expected. Stock prices dipped. Investors whispered doubts. Protesters marched outside HydraCorp's local branch office, waving AquaPure filters in defiance.
But HydraCorp wasn't a company that survived by playing fair.
In a skyscraper office overlooking the bay, HydraCorp's regional director slammed a fist onto the glass table. "Enough of this circus. If courts and media can't silence him, then we'll handle it… another way."
A man in a gray suit, face expressionless, nodded. "Understood. Shall I activate external contractors?"
The director leaned forward, voice low and venomous. "Do it. Accidents happen every day in Manila."
Back at the warehouse, Rafael was reviewing production schedules when the Codex flickered suddenly. The words that appeared froze his blood:
"Warning: Hostile surveillance detected. Probability of sabotage: 87%. Threat Level: High."
He glanced at the darkened windows, the hum of machinery suddenly feeling too loud, too exposed.
"Boss?" Maria, his lead engineer, noticed his expression.
Rafael forced calm into his voice. "Double-check security. Reinforce the gates. No one enters without clearance."
But even as he spoke, he knew HydraCorp wouldn't come at them openly. Not this time.
That night, the first strike came.
An electrical fire sparked near the generator. Flames licked dangerously close to stacked boxes of finished filters. Workers scrambled with extinguishers, smoke choking the air.
Rafael dragged a hose line himself, coughing, until the fire was beaten down. When the smoke cleared, he spotted the melted remains of a small black device—too precise to be an accident.
"Incendiary charge," the Codex confirmed in cold text.
Two days later, another blow struck. A shipment of AquaPure units bound for Cebu was hijacked on the highway, the truck driver found unconscious by the roadside. The crates vanished.
HydraCorp's shadow war had begun.
Rafael gathered his crew. "They've decided to fight dirty. Fine. Then we fight smarter. No fear, no panic—we adapt."
The Codex displayed tactical suggestions: reroute shipments secretly, hire loyal local drivers, install hidden trackers in cargo, fortify the warehouse with cheap but effective defenses.
Maria clenched her fists. "They want to burn us out? We'll make it so every move they make blows up in their faces."
But the danger grew more personal. Late one evening, as Rafael walked home alone through a narrow Manila side street, he felt it—eyes watching. Footsteps trailing.
The Codex flared:
"Immediate Threat Detected. Hostiles: 3. Weapons probable."
Shadows detached from the alley walls. Three men advanced, blades glinting under neon light.
One sneered. "Dela Cruz, yeah? HydraCorp sends their regards."
Rafael's pulse hammered. He wasn't a fighter—but the Codex whispered tactical overlays, escape routes, improvised defenses. His hand brushed a length of metal pipe leaning against a trash bin.
He gripped it tightly as the men closed in.