Chapter Text
Angela had always known everything.
She knew about the cheating husband from city miles away who sent his wife fake receipts while sneaking off with his mistress. She knew about the kid in Cebu who returned a wallet full of cash despite sharing a one-room house with five siblings. She even knew about the hired gun from Cavite who cried every night, whispering his daughter’s name like a prayer.
Angela saw all. She sees everything.
Not because she was nosy. She was literally built for it.
As the Tagabantay ng Mundo, her eyes weren’t her own. They were a living feed—millions of cameras, satellites, livestreams all pouring into her brain in fractal bursts. Pain, joy, theft, kindness, birth, betrayal—it all played at once, all the time.
And after a while, everything started to feel... distant.
You stop reacting. It’s like watching reruns of a drama where you already know the ending. Everything becomes background noise.
Except today.
It started with a craving.
At 3:12 PM, the skies above the Philippines were clear, the kind of light blue that made you squint even if you weren’t facing the sun. From her floating HQ tucked high in the clouds—cloaked, radar-proof, and cozy—Angela descended and hovered above the city with a singular, noble mission:
She wanted cup noodles.
She touched down the land wearing a loose grey hoodie, leggings, and a deadpan expression. Blending in was easy when you didn’t float. She adjusted her crossbag and entered the nearest convenience store.
The bell gave a soft ding as she walked in. “Cup noodles, tsaka bottled water,” she muttered, mentally noting to herself on what to buy, then started scanning the aisle.
And of course, trouble followed.
From the convex mirror, she caught a twitchy guy lurking a little too close. His eyes weren’t on the noodles. They were locked on her backpack.
Angela sighed in her head. Hay naku.
She let it happen.
As she turned to grab her go-to flavor cup, she felt the brush of nimble fingers. The wallet slipped out like a magic trick. The man smirked and slipped away.
Angela paid with a crumpled bill from her hoodie pocket and walked out, tracking the guy with ease. He ducked into a narrow alley, the kind that smelled like rust, smog, and bad decisions.
He crouched beside a pile of boxes, opened the wallet, and blinked at the sight. The wallet had nothing except for the a photo inside. Two young women. One in a hoodie, one in a pink dress, both grinning like trouble.
“Ano 'to? Wala kahit piso? Kung minamalas ka nga naman!”
He grunted, tossed the wallet aside, and stood up to leave—but froze.
Angela was already there, leaning against the wall like she’d been waiting all day.
“Malas mo nga,” she said calmly. “Ako pa talaga pinili mong biktimahin.”
The man stumbled back. “P—putek! Saan ka galing?!”
Angela walked toward him slowly, casually, like she had all the time in the world. She picked up the discarded wallet from the ground and slipped it back into her backpack.
“Alam mo kuya, kaya mo naman magtrabaho ng marangal,” she said, almost kindly. “Pero ito talaga napili mong diskarte?”
The man bolted. Or at least, tried to.
Angela casually reached for a nearby kariton parked beside the alley and lifted it one-handed. No sweat. Then she gently placed it down, blocking the only exit.
The thief froze. His eyes were huge now.
“Relax,” she said with a slight smile. “Hindi naman kita sasaktan.”
Then she picked up a rusty motorcycle, spun it in the air like a fidget spinner, and placed it upright again like nothing happened.
The man fainted at the sight on the spot.
Angela blinked. “Hala si kuya, nahimatay. Sabi ko relax, natulog pa siya. But well, that was quick.”
She walked off carrying the man like a handbag, while sipping from her water bottle.
A few streets down, she spotted an old bench and a sleepy-looking police outpost. With the guy slumped unconscious on her grip, she casually dropped him off like a balikbayan box and left a note pinned to his shirt which reads:
"Nagnakaw ako imbes magtrabaho ng matino."
By the time the cops came out, Angela was already back in the clouds.
At HQ, she slipped into shorts, curled up on the couch, and finally tore into her cup noodles.
One bite in bliss.
Then, without warning, her super vision pinged like a new tab opening in her head.
A farm. An orange farm.
A man running in the distance.
And chasing after him, a tiny girl with murder in her eyes and a stolen orange in her fist.
Angela shut her eyes closed, and groaned.
“Hay naku. Si Charlotte na naman.”