Kidpinoy gets Slaughtered #4
The rain over Manila did not wash away the heat; it only made the air thick, smelling of ozone, exhaust, and impending ruin. For ten years, the city had slept under a blanket of unyielding peace. The criminals had whispered his name in the dark like a curse; the demons had crawled back into the fissures of the earth; the alien armadas had bypassed the archipelago entirely, warned away by the legend of the sun-kissed protector. KidPinoy. At only five-foot-five, with a body of hard, taut sinew and an armor-like ten-pack of abdominal muscles that had deflected tank shells, he was the undisputed, unbeatable champion of the Philippines. None knew his origin, only his deeds. None knew his name, only his absolute, stoic silence in the face of evil. Until today. In the center of the ruined Quirino Grandstand, under the glare of hovering television drones and the terrified eyes of thousands of hostages corralled in the plaza, the hero stood. His humble black compression pants and shirt we...
