Like what most people do nowadays after waking up, Ardes Lee's first action was to check his phone. It was safely hidden under his pillow when he deftly grabbed it with his eyes still closed. He then pressed his right index finger on the small, circular indent at the back to unlock the device. Bright, bluish-white light suddenly illuminated his face and he instinctively squinted at the glaring screen.
'23:32.'
It was thirty-two minutes past eleven o'clock in the evening, still a little too early for Ardes' work which starts at 2:00 a.m. As a call center agent from an offshore site, Ardes was already used to getting up at night when everyone else not on the night shift are about to hit the sack.
Even with about two and a half hours left before he had to don his headset and read his script to callers from halfway around the world, Ardes thought it was best to get ready early so he won't be late. He rented a small room in Cubao, a commercial area in Quezon City, while working at an outsourcing company called Ticel Incorporated in Mandaluyong City. As he did not own a car, this meant that he had to commute a little over 7 km just to make it on time. Although the distance may not be that far when considered objectively, the highway which would take him straight to the office is famous for being perpetually congested with vehicles of all sizes. Thus, it was always deemed wise for a commuting person to start preparing for work at least two hours before their shift starts, especially on a Friday night like tonight when day workers and young people flock entertainment establishments to start the weekend off.
"I better get ready."
Ardes went inside the bathroom to shower after munching on a sandwich. It was a basic ham and cheese sandwich, hastily prepared beforehand and unceremoniously eaten without hesitation; a long-time favorite from his childhood days when his mom used to make him the very same sandwich to take to school.
Back then his classmates called him the "Break Kid." He almost always seemed to know when it was break time like recess or lunch. He would always blurt out that it was time for a break in the middle of a teacher's lecture. Dumb kids used to say he was always hungry so he always looked forward to break time.
The nickname he earned in elementary school soon became too embarrassing for him to bear as he grew older. Although his friends thought it was funny, Ardes knew he wouldn't survive high school with that nickname hanging over his head like a label designed specifically for dorks. This was why he stopped announcing the time and people eventually got over it. Looking back in hindsight, Ardes thought he was too self-conscious at that early age. He figured it was the media's fault for always depicting kids being bullied at school on almost every show on television.
In truth, Ardes only knew the time because he was sure of it. To be clearer, Ardes has a weird sense for time. For as long as he could remember, or maybe for as long as he became able to tell what the short and long hand said, Ardes would subconsciously look at his watch and find it showing the exact time for any scheduled break. Soon he got used to it and there came the time when he didn't even need to look at his watch anymore. He just knew.
It wasn't just limited to recess or lunch; Ardes soon discovered that he was actually seeing some sort of pattern whenever he looked at his watch throughout the day. 05:50, 10:10, 11:11, 12:34, 15:16… These were random times but the numbers were seemingly pre-arranged. The issue wasn't really just about him looking at the face of his old Mickey Mouse watch at these specific times; it was how often he did and the subtle feeling he gets the moment before he would casually look over his left wrist to check the time.
Ardes would feel an indescribable itch at the back of his mind, an itch that could only be scratched by focusing his attention elsewhere. It would gnaw at him, clinging at the back of his mind like a pitiful girlfriend after a sour breakup. It was only after looking at his watch that he found out about this particular "talent" of his. A talent he could not accurately describe with words even if he tried.
Of course, all this meant nothing to him but a source of amusement; the weird feeling he gets and the time shown to him gave no particular import to his daily life. It was like a series of coincidences involving time that kept repeating day by day. Ardes just accepted it as a quirk -- something that made him more unique than he initially thought he was.
***
'00:11."
Ardes flipped his left wrist towards him and saw it was eleven past midnight. Wearing a gray hoodie and a pair of black pants, Ardes was seated at a window seat inside a bus headed to Mandaluyong City.
Epifanio de los Santos Avenue, more commonly referred to as EDSA, is the longest highway in the metro. Its length is almost 24 km long, passing through six cities from Caloocan City in the north all the way to Pasay City in the South. In the middle of the long stretch of asphalt was Cubao in Quezon City where Ardes currently lives and Boni Avenue in Mandaluyong City where Ticel Incorporated was located.
On nights when he got the opening shift at 9:00 p.m., Ardes would usually ride the Manila Metro Rail Transit System or MRT to work. Tonight, however, he had no choice but to ride the bus since the last train already left at 10:30 p.m. Ardes didn't mind the closing shift as much. Leaving for work at around this time meant he didn't have to squeeze in with the crowd of people going home for the day (or for night shift workers like himself, going to work for the night) inside one of the passenger compartments. Ardes found it bothersome and uncomfortable to be packed inside the small space with others like a bunch of sardines. The seats would be completely occupied then, taken by lucky early boarders, leaving everyone else standing on the aisle, grabbing at any available handrails they could find. Sometimes, people held on to other things rather than handrails. Ardes experienced it himself one evening while squeezed between two heavyset men. He felt something lightly brush against his abdomen until a few moments later, he felt a definite cupping to his nether regions.
'I couldn't see where that pervert was hiding, but the next time someone cups a feel on me...'
Ardes abruptly shook his head to prevent more of the unpleasant memory from resurfacing and the violent actions he was thinking about. He took his phone out and opened the Messenger application. He was late two days ago because of an obstruction along EDSA due to an accident. Despite being a legitimate reason for being late for work, his supervisor gave him a strict sermon.
Jenny Ocampo, his supervisor, was the type of person who highly valued performance in the workplace. Every stat, or metrics as they call it in the industry, is vital to the overall ranking of the teams. Metrics such as Average Handling Time (AHT), After-Call Work (ACW), First Call Resolution (FCR), and Customer Satisfaction (CSAT) all played a big part on a team's standing as well as an agent's personal performance. These are the metrics that would usually determine if you qualify for a raise at the end of the year or a promotion if you've been performing well in the company long enough, and consecutively at that.
Naturally, attendance is just as important a metric as any. Being late or absent for work without an acceptable reason more than twice in a row can even get you fired. Such is the type of industry he got himself into, Ardes mused. You can start working in a jiffy and can get fired just as fast if you're not careful. Of course, not all call center companies are the same, but most follow a similar attendance policy.
Just as these metrics were more often than not geared towards the agents, supervisors have their own metrics. To put it simply, the performance of the team itself is part of a supervisor's metrics. As such, a single incidence of being tardy or absent meant the whole team's overall stats would plummet. When that happens, the person who gets to shoulder the burden would be none other than the supervisor leading the whole team. Jenny was not the type of supervisor who would lightly let someone off just because he was sick or late because of heavy traffic.
His fingers moved fast as he pressed one key after another to form a message. Basic protocol was to inform his immediate supervisor if he thinks he would be late. Ardes was confident he was going to make it early tonight but he decided to shoot Jenny a message to try to get on her good graces again. It was his not-too-subtle way of sucking up to her.
'Hey, Sup! Just wanted to let you know I'm already on my way to the site. Won't be late, promise!'
A reply soon came after a few seconds. Ardes smiled and read the texts inside the chat bubble.
'Yeah? Good to know! I expect to see you here soon, Lee. Don't disappoint me.'
'Sure thing, Sup. I'm already at my stop. See you and the team in a bit.'
Just as the message was sent the bus came to a stop at the side of the highway. The bus conductor began shouting "Boni, Boni!" to the passengers and a handful of people began standing on the aisle. The doors opened and one by one the standing passengers got off the bus. Ardes was the last to get off as he had to wait for the guy sitting next to him to wake up so he could get out of the window seat. The stop was at the corner of Boni Avenue and just a few minutes away from the office building. From here he has to cross the overpass to the other side of EDSA where a 12-story building was located.
While crossing the overpass along with other people, Ardes instinctively looked at his watch. He felt a familiar sensation at the back of his head at that moment.
'01:01'
Usually, this would have sufficed. However, the itch he was feeling, the one he could not scratch, was still there even after looking at the time. Ardes frowned and came to a halt at one side of the overpass. He kept staring at his watch, now a silver plated digital Timex, and waited for the itch to disappear. When 01:02 and then 01:03 came, he felt his chest tighten.
'Did it somehow break? Is the watch running late or is it running fast?'
Ardes checked his phone and saw that it showed the same time as his Timex. He was a bit lost. A simple matter like this was enough to bother him. After all, he grew up thinking the itch he always felt was somehow connected to the time at hand. It was then that he heard the sound of a motorcycle coming to a stop somewhere below the overpass. Ardes rushed towards the stairs as fast as he could, not knowing why he felt the need to do so. The itch he was feeling was begging to be scratched.
What he saw when he arrived downstairs sent a shiver down his spine. Two men were on a motorcycle and one of them, the one not driving, was pointing a gun at someone.
Bang! Bang! Bang!