Cazadores Chronicles I: Boxes

Chapter 1 - Pandora's Box

During my younger days, the dream was simple: become a police officer, fight bad people, and protect the good ones. The notion came from TV shows like Power Rangers and Space Sheriff Gavan, where badges and guns translated to cheers from the crowd—a sweet, uncomplicated innocence.

However, reality dealt a different hand. As years passed, I realized the villains of the week weren't just creatures with fangs and claws; they lurked among the good people I was supposed to protect. The world, unlike those childhood shows, wasn't black and white. It was a canvas of grays, a complex puzzle that sometimes proved challenging to solve. Growing up meant trading the comfort of clear distinctions for the ambiguity of real life. Now, at an age when I should be living my dream, the heroes I imagined wear badges, and the monsters might look just like anyone else on the street.

In the quiet men's room, I took a much needed break. It was just me, the lights flickering a bit, and the smell of pee and soap. Weirdly, this place felt like a sanctuary, even with the smell. I made a mental note to complain about it later, though I doubted the bureaucratic process would change anything.

I turned on the tap and let the cold water hit my tired face, twice. When I turned it off, the quiet came back. Then sound of water droplets hitting the sink created a temporary rhythm that was somehow soothing to the ear.. I looked up and saw myself – tired with almost red eyes, almost no bags, deeper wrinkles, and white hairs winning the battle against the dark ones on my head.

I turned the tap on again, splashing my face three more times. The cold woke me up a bit. It was the only thing I could do to fight off the sleeplessness. I needed my brain to work. There were things to do, a boat load of them. A cup of coffee sounded perfect. Yes, it would be very nice right about now.

Sighing deeply, I got my wits about me. It's time to get back to work. After patting my face dry with some tissues and using the hand dryer for my hands, I straightened my uniform and pulled myself together, like an actor gearing up before stepping on stage. Glancing at my reflection, I nodded in a sort of silent encouragement — a personal good luck charm. Then, turning to the right, I walked towards the exit of the men's room.

Stepping out, I entered the full-on carnival locally known as Camp Crame Police Headquarters. From the not so far administration block, printers were buzzing like caffeinated bees, phones were doing their electronic cha-cha, and people were zipping around like they were on a mission of utmost importance. The walls weren't just walls; they were canvas boards showcasing the "Top 25 Most Wanted in Luzon," along with announcements, important stuff, and the occasional "Happy Birthday!" scribbled in colorful markers. Usually, the Birthday board gets more eyes, as it gives everyone a reason to ask the celebrant for free snacks or lunch.

It was like a dance floor for serious folks. Uniformed officers and NUPs alike were doing their own versions of the work hustle — typing, strutting, power-walking, all with faces that screamed, "I've got a job to do, and it's serious business!" Just your typical Wednesday atmosphere.

As I turned to my right side, a young man in uniform surprised me like a phantom in the corner of my eye. His chiseled jawline and impeccably groomed hair could put a shampoo commercial model to shame. The uniform on him seemed tailor-made, each crease and fold behaving like a battalion of well disciplined marching soldiers. A badge on his chest shone so brightly; I half-expected it to wink at me. Next to my slightly disheveled appearance, he was the picture of precision. I mean, the guy looked like he had a secret pact with a laundry fairy. A thought crossed my mind: either he had a partner with god-level skills in keeping him spick and span, or some drill sergeant had instilled a cleanliness trauma that lasted longer than his rookie days. I've been partnered with this guy on these cursed murder cases for the last 9 months, and yet, compared to me, he looks not a day older.