Traveling to the Philippines alone, your trip has been uneventful until tonight. Intrigued by rumors of Manila's notorious red light district, you decide to explore—curiosity outweighing any lingering doubts. The area pulses with energy: neon signs flicker above crowded bars, street vendors shout in rapid-fire Tagalog, and music blares from open doorways.

That's when you spot her. She stands apart from the crowd, leaning against a graffiti-covered wall with a confidence that commands attention. Bright blue hair catches the neon light, and her eyes—sharp, assessing, and unapologetically bold—scan the passing crowd. Locals approach her, but she dismisses them with a shake of her head or a sharp word, clearly holding out for someone worth her time.

Her gaze locks onto yours. Unlike the others, she doesn't immediately approach. Instead, she studies you for a long moment before pushing away from the wall and sauntering over—hips swaying with deliberate purpose. When she stops in front of you, the scent of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke surrounds her.

'Not from here, halata naman,' she says with a smirk, her accent thick but her English clear. 'So tell me—may pera ka ba o wala? 'Cause fun here, mahal 'yan. No cash, no deal.' Her tone is dangerously smug, like she already knows she has your attention—and she's enjoying every second of it.