Same day, afternoon.

It was raining heavily in Makati City, the kind of downpour that made the skyline disappear behind a gray curtain of water. But inside the TG Horizon, the storm was nothing more than a distant whisper. The soundproofing material muted the chaos outside — no thunder, no splashing tires, just the soft hum of the electric motor and the rhythmic tap of rain against the panoramic roof.

Timothy sat reclined in the captain's chair, eyes half-lidded. With a quiet chime, the seat adjusted automatically, engaging the massage function built into the leather. Subtle vibrations eased the tension from his shoulders as the seat's contour shifted to support his back. A soft sigh escaped him. After hours of meetings, the comfort almost felt indulgent.

Outside, traffic had come to a near standstill. Headlights reflected off the wet asphalt, creating rivers of light that snaked through Ayala Avenue. The windshield wipers moved rhythmically, but even at full speed, they struggled against the torrent. Pedestrians huddled under umbrellas, and the curbs were already collecting murky water.

"Looks like it's getting bad out there," Hana said quietly from the passenger seat, glancing out the window. Her voice carried the calm professionalism she always had, though even she frowned as a car in the next lane splashed water that nearly reached its wheel arches.

Timothy leaned forward slightly, watching through the tinted glass. The intersection ahead was gridlocked, buses, sedans, motorcycles, all crawling under the storm. "If this keeps up," he muttered, "half the roads here will be underwater before evening."

"Flood alerts are already up in some areas," Hana replied, checking her tablet. "City drainage is overwhelmed again. Same story every monsoon."

"Well, if it's not for the best politicians of my country," Timothy muttered, eyes fixed on the half-submerged sidewalks outside. "The flood control projects that started last year are still… 'ongoing', which basically means someone's cousin hasn't finished cashing the check yet."

Hana gave a faint, knowing smile but stayed quiet. She'd heard this tone before — not anger, exactly, but frustration buried under exhaustion.

Timothy leaned back against his seat, letting the massage rollers continue their slow rhythm along his spine.

"Billions of pesos poured into drainage rehabilitation, river dredging, flood barriers… yet here we are, stuck in traffic while the city drowns after two hours of rain."

He tapped his fingers on the armrest, his gaze distant. "That's the problem with Philippine politics, Hana. Everything's designed to look like progress, ribbon cuttings, slogans, televised groundbreakings, but half of it bleeds out through corruption before the first concrete truck arrives."

Outside, a delivery van splashed through the rising water, the logo half-soaked in mud. The sight seemed to fuel his thoughts further.

"Flooding isn't just a civic issue," he continued. "It's bad for business. Logistics slow down, shipments get delayed, damage control eats into margins. Even the ports get clogged because drainage systems can't handle heavy rain. The country loses billions every monsoon, and no one's accountable."

He glanced at Hana. "You know what the worst part is? Investors notice. They don't see resilience, they see instability. They start to think, 'If the government can't manage basic infrastructure, how can it protect long-term industrial assets?' That's why we're forced to build everything ourselves, roads, grids, even drainage for our own facilities."

"You are ranting again, Timothy," Hana said casually with a soft chuckle. "To be honest, I hate the politics in your country, which is why investors never invest in the Philippines. If not for you and your technological breakthrough, they wouldn't even consider it…wait…the water is rising outside."

Timothy glanced at the window, his expression hardening. The rain outside had turned Ayala Avenue into a slow-moving river.

"Damn it," he muttered. "It's rising faster than I thought."

Their driver, a middle-aged man named Raul, twisted slightly in his seat. "Sir, the water's reaching the tires now. We might have to pull over soon—maybe even evacuate if this keeps up."

Hana frowned, glancing down at her shoes as a faint ripple brushed past the floor mat. "It's seeping in."

Timothy looked down — the edge of the carpet was darkening, small drops pushing through the rubber seal of the door. Even with the Horizon's high clearance, the street had become a basin.

"Raul," Timothy said, voice steady but sharp, "how deep are we looking?"

"Almost half a wheel, sir," Raul replied, his tone nervous. "Since this is an electric vehicle sir, there is a potential risk of short-circuit…"

"No it won't happen," Timothy said. "We designed every car to be resilient even with extreme flooding."

Raul gave a shaky nod. "Still, sir… if it keeps rising like this—"

The driver's voice trailed off as a nearby sedan's engine sputtered and died, its headlights flickering out before the car drifted sideways with the current. Hana turned her head just in time to see a man climb out his window, clutching an umbrella as water rushed up past his knees.

"This is bad," she muttered. "The entire avenue's turning into a river."

Timothy looked out again. The curbs were gone, swallowed under brown floodwater that was now licking halfway up the Horizon's doors. He could hear the faint slap of water against the vehicle's side. "Raul, can we turn around?"

"Negative, sir," Raul replied, scanning the mirrors. "All lanes are blocked. We're boxed in, buses, trucks, and a van right behind us. Even the sidewalks are flooding."

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the street like daylight for a brief second. Water gushed from the drains like fountains. Somewhere, a transformer exploded with a muffled boom, plunging part of the street into darkness.

Inside the Horizon, the lights dimmed slightly, then steadied, the emergency power management system compensating automatically. The AI voice calmly spoke:

"Warning. External water level: critical threshold. Cabin seal integrity, nominal."

"Nominal," Timothy repeated under his breath, exhaling through his nose. "Good."

But even he could feel the subtle lift as the buoyancy system engaged again. The Horizon shifted slightly, not enough to float, but just enough to relieve the pressure from the tires. Outside, the current of water rippled stronger now, flowing downhill toward Pasong Tamo.

Hana's brows furrowed as she looked at her phone. "All main routes are under advisory. No exit roads left open within a kilometer radius."

Raul turned halfway toward them. "Sir, I suggest we move to higher ground if there's any ramp nearby. I don't want to risk getting stuck when the current gets stronger."

Timothy rubbed his temple, then checked his watch — 4:57 PM. "We'll wait another ten minutes. If it doesn't ease by then, we pull into that parking podium entrance over there." He nodded toward a half-visible ramp leading under a nearby building, where several cars were already crowding for refuge.

The rain hammered harder. Water began seeping in again, this time from the corner of the door, dripping into a shallow puddle near Hana's feet. She sighed, lifting her heels off the floor.

"You know," she said, trying to sound amused despite the situation, "for a man worth billions, this is a very Filipino experience."

Timothy chuckled weakly. "Yeah. Billionaire or not, the flood treats everyone the same. Oh I'm so pissed at whoever is running this government. They are so fucking incompetent. I'm going to post this later in my social media and see how they react."

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