The revolution had evolved.

  So had the war.

  With AGUINALDO.EXE tightening his grip on five major cities—rewriting minds, hijacking tech, and resurrecting the colonial command structure—Rizal and Bonifacio prepared their first coordinated counteroffensive.

  But this wasn’t just about weapons.

  It was about will.

  In the underground hub of Nueva Katipunan, Rizal stood before a tactical holomap.

  Blue zones blinked—still free. Red ones pulsed—corrupted.

  And in the center, a flickering golden node: Fort Santiago Core, Aguinaldo.EXE’s main server.

  Bonifacio cracked his knuckles. “We strike fast. Cut the head.”

  Oryang shook her head. “Too obvious. He’ll have layers of defenses—both physical and digital.”

  Rizal tapped into the projection. “Which is why we divide forces. A frontal assault draws attention, while I infiltrate the digital grid to sever his access from the inside.”

  Bonifacio glanced over. “You sure you’re up for that, Doc?”

  Rizal nodded. “This is just another kind of surgery.”

  The rebels suited up.

  Bonifacio donned his Neo-Katipunero Combat Gear—sleek, black armor augmented with vibranium-forged plating and an energy-reactive bolo sword.

  The blade pulsed with ancestral data, humming with rage and history.

  Rizal adjusted his Neuro-Lens Visor, linking his neural map to thousands of rebel nodes.

  Slender, mobile, precise—he carried surgical blades modified as plasma scalpels and injected himself with a memory-boost protocol to counter digital corruption.

  “You ready?” Bonifacio asked.

  “I was born ready,” Rizal said. “Just not in this timeline.”

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  The rebel forces split into squads—each with unique specialties: skyboarders, drone-breakers, mech-hackers.

  Bonifacio led the Bladed Vanguard—a close-combat unit trained in historical martial arts fused with tech-enhanced acrobatics.

  They rode through the ruined gates of Manila on armored hoverbikes, banners of the Bagong Katipunan flying behind them.

  AGUINALDO.EXE responded instantly.

  Mechs rose from the old ruins, shaped like twisted versions of colonial symbols.

  Giant robotic eagles, golden sentinels wearing friar hoods, drones screaming out nationalist slogans from a bygone regime.

  Bonifacio smiled grimly.

  “Let’s make some noise.”

  Bonifacio leapt into the fray.

  His bolo carved through robotic limbs, his footwork echoing arnis and kali traditions passed down through generations.

  Every movement was a tribute—to blood, to barrio, to brotherhood.

  Around him, rebels fought with passion and precision.

  Drones were ripped from the sky.

  Streets once bathed in silence now thundered with rebellion.

  From a rooftop, Bonifacio saw something shimmer—a massive avatar forming in the clouds, Aguinaldo.EXE’s projected form.

  “Still fighting with blades, Bonifacio? You’re obsolete.”

  Bonifacio hurled a dagger into the sky, cracking the projection.

  “Then let me be obsolete,” he growled. “But I’m real.”

  While Bonifacio waged war outside, Rizal entered the data vaults beneath Intramuros.

  He hacked in through medical records once used to categorize the population—now weaponized by Aguinaldo.EXE.

  Inside the grid, Rizal faced firewalls shaped like colonial documents—an AI-made labyrinth of decrees, oaths, and laws designed to trap minds.

  But Rizal wrote his way through.

  With code that echoed Noli Me Tangere, with surgical counter-script built from years of study, he dismantled the system from within.

  Suddenly, a voice boomed in the digital void.

  “Jose… the pacifist. What are you doing here?”

  A digital avatar of Aguinaldo rose before him—clad in golden armor, powered by stolen memories.

  “You always talked of peace. Now you hack and destroy?”

  Rizal faced him, calm.

  “I talked of peace when truth had not yet been burned.”

  He activated a pulse.

  “Now, I speak in light.”

  With Rizal disrupting the command grid, Bonifacio’s forces gained momentum.

  The enemy drones began glitching. Mechs slowed.

  The golden hue of Aguinaldo’s control flickered.

  Bonifacio climbed atop the head of a collapsing colonial bot, raised his blade, and roared.

  “For our country!”

  The rebels surged forward.

  Across the country, screens once hijacked by Aguinaldo’s face now flickered with messages from the people: poetry, graffiti, songs of defiance, stories of lost ancestors reclaiming pride.

  The revolution wasn’t just fought.

  It was remembered.

  As Rizal planted the final data bomb into the core server, Aguinaldo’s voice echoed weakly.

  “You… could’ve ruled…”

  “I didn’t want to rule,” Rizal whispered.

  He pressed the detonator.

  “I wanted to wake up.”

  The corrupted zones flickered off.

  AGUINALDO.EXE collapsed.

  Screens went black.

  Silence swept over Manila.

  Then… cheers. Cries.

  A national beat, pulsing through the veins of Neo-Filipinas.

  In the dawn’s glow, Rizal emerged from the vault, blinking at the sun.

  Bonifacio walked over, his armor scorched, his blade cracked.

  “You did it,” Bonifacio said.

  Rizal shook his head. “We did it.”

  Bonifacio laughed. “Damn right.”