Prologue
On the night of the great solar storm, the sky bled red over the Philippines.
At first, scientists assured everyone it was nothing but an extreme geomagnetic event—rare, but not unheard of. A disruption in the Earth’s magnetic field, they said.
A natural phenomenon that would mess with radio signals and power grids, maybe knock out a few satellites.
But they didn’t expect people to wake up differently.
It started with whispers, tsismis passed between neighbors.
A fisherman in Zambales claimed his hands moved faster than his mind, pulling in nets before he could even think to grip them.
In Manila, a university student collapsed in the middle of a crowded train, clutching her head, screaming—“Ang ingay! Tumahimik kayo!”—though no one had spoken.
A construction worker in Cebu fell from a three-story scaffold, and when his coworkers rushed to him, expecting broken bones, he simply stood up and dusted himself off.
Most dismissed these stories as exaggerations, or lasing na kwento over tagay. But then the accidents began.
A boy in Davao ran so fast he disappeared. No body, no footprints—just gone.
A woman in Bacolod touched her husband’s arm, and his skin withered into dust before she even realized what she had done.
In Quezon City, a tricycle driver lost control of his emotions in the middle of traffic—and every single car within ten meters stalled, their engines dead as if drained of life.
The government acted fast.
Within months, SIGMA was formed. Their mandate was simple: identify, regulate, and if necessary, neutralize anyone with abilities.
At first, people believed SIGMA was a good thing.
The news called these new abilities "anomalies", branding them unpredictable, dangerous.
The idea of control was reassuring.
Mas mabuti na raw ito—before someone set a whole barangay on fire or collapsed a building by accident.
But it didn’t take long before “regulation” turned into something else.
Those who voluntarily registered with SIGMA vanished. Some returned… different. Quiet, empty-eyed, like shadows of who they once were.
Others never came back at all. Families of powered individuals started disappearing, their names erased from public records.
The people who spoke out against SIGMA—activists, journalists, even former officers—found themselves branded as threats.
And so, the country split.
Some still clung to the idea that SIGMA was protecting them. Others, especially those with abilities, had no choice but to go underground.
Resistance groups formed, pushing back against the government’s tightening grip.
Now, a decade later, the world is divided. Some still believe in SIGMA’s promise of order and protection.
Others fight against its grip, resisting a system that seeks to erase them.
And in the heart of it all—two women on opposite sides.
Jhoanna, isang anino sa kalsada, a rogue with speed faster than the eye can track, surviving on the fringes of the law.
Aiah, an elite SIGMA enforcer with electricity at her fingertips, sworn to bring order.
Neither knows it yet, but their collision will shake the foundations of everything.
Because power was never the real danger.
People were.