Manila, Philippines – 11.45 PM. The glow of neon signs flickered against the rain-slick streets as Kiran navigated the back alleys of Binondo. Manila was alive, restless, and undercurrents of corruption pulsed beneath its bustling nightlife. His contact was late. A bad sign.
Kiran adjusted his cap, gripping the flash drive in his pocket. Days of tracing financial records had led him here—to evidence linking a high-ranking senator to the Nine Dragons. Offshore accounts. Military contracts. Political endorsements. The Syndicate wasn’t just surviving—it was evolving.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Ramil, a local fixer with one foot in the underground, hurried toward him.
“Took you long enough,” Kiran muttered, scanning the street behind him.
“We have a problem,” Ramil said, out of breath. “They know. I don’t know how, but they know.”
Kiran stiffened. “Who?”
“The senator’s people. Maybe even the Syndicate.” Ramil hesitated. “They killed Marcos.”