"Welcome to my ultimate man cave!" Bathala exclaimed with a twinkle in his eyes, his arms spread out in a way like he was proudly presenting the room to an invisible audience. I could not help but look around the room and be amazed by its paradoxical existence—it was both cramped and spacious, and both terrifying and comforting.

Every corner of the room was filled with objects that may provide glimpses of Bathala's soul. On one side were all heavy looking contraptions that I have only ever read off in books, metal and rubber that they said could tone someone's muscles. On another was a glass cabinet where miniature figurines could be seen. Each figurine's head was so unproportional and significantly larger than their body that it was quite baffling that they could still stand on their own. There was still a lot more that I could no longer recognize, and I was coaxed to sit in a plush, surprisingly comfortable black chair with wheels.

Once I had settled down on the chair, Bathala began explaining what the contraption in front of me was and how it functions. If he were not threatening me earlier, I would have revelled in the idea of the almighty Bathala, whom all salos feared in the Keeper Hulmusayan, is acting like a complete dork in front of me. His eyes lit up as he further explained everything about the contraption in front of me, one he referred to as a desktop computer.

"So it's like the Exorbit?" I asked to clarify my understanding of how it works.

"It's not like an Exorbit—it is an Exorbit. Only it was more tangible and not implanted in the body," he replied while nodding and making air quotes when saying "like."

"So which one do you like better, Bathala?" I asked, challenging him. But as for me, I knew I would definitely prefer this desktop computer, for it being tangible and outside the body made it felt like I could separate it from myself instead of letting it control every aspect of my life.

Bathala only stared at me, the twinkle in his eyes gone, and his face looking serious and deep in thought.

"My feelings about this don't matter," he replied, but the look on his face tells me that deep down, he feels the same way as I do with the Exorbit. "What matters now is what you'll be doing with your limited time."

Bathala's thumbs moved as he looked into a small rectangular contraption in the wall, a few feet above and away from the monitor of the desktop computer. It then showed some sort of countdown, with the 24:00:00 in big, red font, and the letter labels of the hours, minutes, and seconds below them.

"You have 24 hours to find what you're looking for. But before I allow you to use my computer, figure this out first," he said as he threw a pen, a piece of paper, and a smaller piece of laminated paper on what he referred to as the keyboard of the desktop computer. "No extensions."

"And if I did not want to do it?" I said through gritted teeth.

"Up to you," he shrugged. "But ..."

He swiped his thumb slowly down his throat after he said that. I gulped and looked down at what was written on the paper.

010001110110111101101111011001110110110001100101001000000100000101101110011010010111010001101111

Ones and zeros written randomly by hand? What was I supposed to do with these? Is Bathala pranking me right now?

I flipped the laminated paper, hoping to make sense of what this means. But... nothing. The only thing that could be seen on the other side was the ink that had bled through it, showing the numbers in reverse. I looked back and saw Bathala running without leaving his spot, holding on to the handle of the contraption that whirred as he ran on it.

"What are you doing, looking at me instead of figuring that out, Pinta Banaag?" Bathala said in between breaths.

"What are you doing?" I countered.

"Running ... on a treadmill," Bathala replied as he caught his breath. "This is getting harder than usual; it seems like my age is starting to take a toll on me."

"Is this some sort of prank, Bathala?"

"That," he said as he pointed at the timer—20 minutes have now passed. "That isn't a prank. I won't hesitate to take your life should you fail."

I stared at Bathala in disbelief, and he just stared back with a blank face. I held his stare for long, but I was just annoyed at how he did not budge, so I looked away. The numbers now swam in my eyes, with me still not understanding what they were for, and what I should do with them. But then it hit me—these are strings of ones and zeros! These are binary strings! I looked back at Bathala again and smiled at him, thinking that his hint was on the treadmill.

"The fuck are you smiling at?"

"Nothing, really," I answered as I looked away, smiling. "Thank you."

I read the code again, and realized the next problem: I barely memorized the conversion tables. I looked back at the time when I told myself I would not really need this and just skimmed it over. Ugh! I looked over at Bathala and saw him still running, his breathing more labored than earlier.

"You seem to be enjoying seeing me suffer," he said, panting. "I'll be the one who will have the last laugh later if you waste your time watching me rather than figuring that out, though."

I looked back at the timer—23 hours and 15 minutes remaining.

"I need an ASCII table," I pleaded. "That's the only way I can solve this."

"Only way?" Bathala boomed. "I had you memorize those years ago. Maybe I was wrong about believing in you."

"Maybe you are," I replied, nodding. "So let's end it here now. We're just wasting each other's time."

"I can't let you leave without figuring out the puzzle," he huffed. The old man was still going at it with his treadmill, and I knew he wanted to act firm, but his twitching eyes and shaking hands betrayed him. "If you really want to leave now, that means you'll have to die now."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll try," I declared as I reviewed the handwritten code again. The flash of desperation on his face made me want to do it, more than the desire to fix my Exorbit and get together with Agui. He looked like he was already pinning the last bits of hope in me to decipher the code, although why he did not do it himself was beyond me. I looked at the timer—22 hours and 45 minutes remaining—then looked at Bathala again as I heard the humming of the treadmill stop after a beep. This time, he was staring at the posters that populated the wall across his figurines with oversized heads. At that moment, I felt like I saw the kid underneath the shell of an old man, longing to enjoy the things that made him happy without restrictions. And just as I feared and loathed Bathala earlier, I felt bad for the kid he once was, and it brought me the urge to figure out what he wanted me to know by decoding this binary string.

The ASCII table was too long for me to remember, and I gave up doing so. Instead, I decided to turn the binary string into hexadecimal, for I was pretty sure that I could properly recall the values of the ModR/M table, more than I could the ASCII table. I wrote everything in one go and did not dare to review for fear I might be more confused if I did. Then I rewrote the binary string into the paper I could write on.

I looked up again at the timer—12 hours remaining.

I no longer dared to look at Bathala and proceeded to decoding the binary string. There were a few fumbles here and there, but I finally came up with 476F6F676C6520416E69746F. I took a deep breath as I translated the hex code to text. Just as I wrote the last letter, a pop and a fizz filled the room.

"Google Anito," I exclaimed, which made Bathala's jaw drop.

"Well done, Pinta Banaag," he said as he put down a black and green can with an M written on it beside his keyboard, followed by a plastic cup with the lid dangling off of it. I saw steam coming off of it, followed by a strange but oddly pleasant aroma that made my stomach grumble.

"Eat these first before you start on your next task. You still have 9 hours to do it."

"Next task?" I groaned.

"Just be thankful that you won't be starving here," he responded as he handed me a fork.

"No," I answered as I put away the fork. "If I still have tasks I need to accomplish, I think I shouldn't be wasting time. Give me the instructions on what I should do.

"That's the spirit," he said, just as my stomach growled and gurgled. "But I don't think your stomach agrees."

I looked at Bathala's smug smile as I sipped into the rich, creamy broth inside the cup, which lingered even after I swallowed it. It tasted so good that I decided to enjoy it, with all the thin, curly white strings and tiny bits floating on it.

"These are instant seafood noodles," Bathala said in between sips from his own cup. "They've been my favorite since I was younger."

"So you stocked up on them?" I asked, now feeling the dread of eating what could have been expired food. "Are these still edible?"

"What do you think?" Bathala laughed. "I'm not trying to kill you yet. You still have time remaining to do what I need you to do."

"How come they're new when we don't even produce these kinds of foods? And don't we have a shortage in food, so we only get rationed Taiyou?"

Bathala just shrugged. "You're asking me too many questions. Finish that up and proceed with your next task."

*****

7 hours and 35 minutes remaining.

I sure took time to enjoy the food and drink that Bathala offered me. Weird enough, I felt like the drink helped me stay awake. Bathala's seemingly unlimited supply from his cabinet and refrigerator also now made me curious as to what I could find out from browsing the internet using this computer.

"We have access to the internet? But I thought we now only have the intranet because there's no point in having an internet when the Tanglawos are the only people that survived after the war and earthquake?"

"You may use the computer to browse the internet and do what was written in that paper," he said, my original questions left unanswered as he slumped into a corner with a black beanbag chair, a black handheld device in between his hands.

"Why don't you just do this yourself?" I asked, but as usual, my questions fell into deaf ears. If he were not able to hear me or just plainly ignored me, I have no idea, so I just turned around again and looked through the internet.

It took me a while to figure out how to access the software within the desktop computer as their mechanics were a bit different from the exoApps. When I finally was able to understand that I needed to make two taps on the mouse, it took me a few more minutes (or maybe even an hour or so?) to know which of these icons in the desktop computer can be used to look through the internet. My method of getting through everything was not efficient, but can you even blame me? I never even took the time to stare at them when Bathala was talking about them.

"The apps were already obsolete, anyway," I thought back then. "No need to memorize everything."

I was already regretting my previous decisions when I finally got to open a software that, when opened, showed more icons, but also bore the words "Google" on top of them. I went through everything again and saw a bar changing texts whenever I clicked on the icons in this specific software, so I figured I could use that to key in "Google Anito", and so I did.

I was given an AI Overview of Anito, which was described as a deity of an ancient religion in the Philippines. I was about to complain again and ask Bathala if it were a joke to Google Anito, as it may be just a play of words to say I just need to find God. But in the corner of my eye, I saw a small text that said "Do you mean Anito Tuazon—politician from the Philippines?" in blue, which compelled me to go through it.

There, I saw hundreds and thousands of images of this certain Anito Tuazon, waving his hand and smiling beside a woman who I can immediately recognize as Diwata. I also got to see news and articles about him, including "Tracking Anito Tuazon's Whereabouts" and "Hope May Be Lost for the Philippines as Wesley 'Anito' Tuazon disappears".

I read the titles aloud as I go, hoping to elicit a reaction from Bathala. And I did—I heard the sound of Bathala's footsteps getting nearer until he got too close that I could hear his breath.

"Someone finally did it!" he exclaimed, and I swear he was crying from how his voice was wavering. "That article is wrong. Hope isn't lost!"

I didn't get to ask what he meant by that, for he wrapped my head in a heavy device that felt constricting, and in which I only saw nothing but darkness.