It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon in the slums of Tondo, Manila. Heat clung to the air like sweat, and the scent of fried fish and diesel lingered. Gabriel sat at a rusty sidewalk table sipping lukewarm coffee, the worn soles of his military boots barely touching the ground. He had lived in the shadows since the incident-since the uniform he once honored branded him a murderer.
Then the shots came.
Pop. Pop. A scream. Then another.
From the end of the narrow street, a man emerged dragging a child-maybe eight or nine-by the arm, a pistol in his other hand.
"Back off!" the man shouted, wild-eyed, voice cracking. "They took everything from me! I swear, I'll do it!"
The street froze. No sirens. No cops. Just silence and fear.
Gabriel stood. Calm. Calculated. He walked forward with both hands raised, like muscle memory from his old life.
"I've been where you are," he said, voice low, steady. "I've lost things too."
The child whimpered, trying to pull free. The man's hand trembled.
"This won't fix it," Gabriel continued. "It never does."
"Don't come closer!" the man shouted. "I'll shoot you-I swear!"
Gabriel kept walking, then did something no one expected.
He grabbed the barrel and pressed it to his own forehead. "Then do it," he said. "If it'll ease your pain, pull the trigger."
The man's breath caught. His grip faltered.
"This kid-he's my boss's son," the man muttered. "They fired me. Said I stole. Lies. I worked every damn day and they won't pay me. My kid's in the hospital. I just need money."
Gabriel's hands lowered slowly. His voice softened. "I believe you."
He pulled out his wallet, tattered and nearly empty. Inside, just two thousand pesos-money he borrowed from his siblings.
He handed it over. "Here. Take it. Run. Go be with your son. Before the cops come."
The man looked at him, stunned. Then dropped the gun and sprinted away, disappearing into the alleyways of Tondo. Gabriel vanished too.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The police arrived minutes later, when it was all over. The crowd slowly scattered, whispering about the nameless man who ended a standoff with no bullets fired.
---
Gabriel walked home under the Manila dusk, shadows lengthening across crumbling sidewalks.
As he crossed a footbridge near the train tracks, a man brushed past him. The stranger dropped an envelope. Gabriel called after him, "Sir, you dropped this!" but when he turned-no one.
Weird. He looked around. No footsteps. No trace.
He flipped the envelope over.
"To: Gabriel Santos"
His breath caught. No return address. No sender. Just his name in neat black ink.
He slipped it into his jacket pocket and kept walking.
---
That night, in his dim apartment, Gabriel sat on his rickety chair near the window. Water dripped from a crack in the ceiling. He retrieved the envelope.
Inside was another, sealed with deep red wax bearing a strange symbol. No name. No markings. Just an uncanny silence.
He broke the seal.
Inside, a single note, handwritten in elegant calligraphy:
> "A second chance - would you give it all?"
Gabriel frowned. Tossed it on the table. Some scam? A prank?
He tried not to think about it.
---
The next day, he tucked the envelope into his old military jacket and headed out.
Job hunting again.
The first stop was a construction site in Pasay. He waited in line under the sun until the foreman glanced at his papers.
"You served?" the man asked.
Gabriel nodded.
"Dishonorably discharged?"
Another nod.
The man scratched his head. "Sorry, sir. We got a clean-hands policy. Orders."
Next, a security agency. The HR lady-young, maybe fresh out of college-looked at his name and paused.
"There's... a case," she whispered, half-horrified. "We can't take the risk."
By afternoon, Gabriel wandered through Divisoria, watching students, vendors, jeepneys crammed with strangers. He passed a fast-food stall and saw teenagers laughing over fries.
One bumped into him. "Sorry, man," the kid said, but when their eyes met, the boy's smile faded into a pitying glance.
Gabriel looked away.
---
Back home, his apartment building creaked like it was trying to sigh. He climbed the cracked stairs to the third floor. At his door stood Mang Ruel, the landlord, keys jingling in hand.
"Three months, Gab," he said, not unkindly. "You're a good guy, but rules are rules."
"Give me until Friday," Gabriel said. "I'm trying."
"You said that last week. Two nights, brother. Then I change the lock."
Gabriel nodded silently and entered his unit.
It smelled like damp socks and cup noodles. He sat near the window, watched life below, and clutched his phone.
He dialed his sister. No answer. Tried his younger brother.
"Gab, anong kailangan mo na naman?" his brother said flatly.
"I need five thousand. Just to keep the room. I swear, I'm trying."
"You've borrowed too much. Walang bumabalik. The family's done. Move on."
"I didn't kill that civilian. They pinned it on me. I-"
"You want advice?" his brother said coldly. "Go to the family. Beg. Cry. Even if you didn't do it. 'Cause right now, no one believes you anymore."
The line went dead.
He called his ex-wife next. Straight to voicemail. He didn't leave a message.
---
The following morning, he begged a jeepney driver friend to let him tag along.
"Baka malas ka, Gab," the man joked that afternoon. Fewer passengers. Less money.
The next day, he was ghosted.
Hungry, wet, and nearly broke, Gabriel walked past a lotto booth and stopped. He bought a 6/58 ticket.
Why not?
---
That night, he sat at a roadside karinderya, spooning rice into his mouth as the draw played on TV.
One by one, the numbers appeared.
Matched. All six.
His spoon dropped.
He ran-through puddles, up stairs, straight to the landlord's unit.
"I won!" he shouted, ticket in hand. "Tingnan mo! Look! All six!"
Mang Ruel took the ticket, squinted. Then looked back at the TV.
"This is 6/58," he said. "Tonight was 6/56. The 6/58 draw's tomorrow."
Gabriel stared at him, the world crumbling again.
Mang Ruel put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry."
"I didn't even check the date, Mang Ruel," Gabriel muttered. "For a second, I thought... maybe the universe finally gave me something."
Gabriel walked back to his unit, stripped off his shirt, and sat in silence.
"Putang inang buhay 'to," he muttered, voice cracking.
---
The next morning, the city moved on-but he didn't.
He packed. Folded clothes. Gathered documents. As he reached behind a shelf, something slid to the floor.
The envelope.
He picked it up again.
> "A second chance - would you give it all?"
He didn't have much left to give.
But he still had hands. Eyes. Rage.
And maybe... that was enough.
