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Isko and Bertha circa 1943 |
Chapter 1: I Was Born in a Box, Not a Battlefield
They called me Lola Bertha. Not because I was old, but because I had the temper of a grandmother who just found out her favorite soap opera was canceled. I was forged in a dusty American factory, shipped to Manila, and promptly forgotten in a crate labeled “Miscellaneous Freedom.” That is, until he found me.
My wielder was a guerrilla warrior named Mang Isko—a man with the hygiene of a jungle boar and the tactical finesse of a drunk carabao. He wore banana leaves as camouflage and believed that shouting “BANG!” before shooting made the bullet faster. I adored him. Mostly because he was too stupid to use me properly, which meant I got to monologue internally while he missed every shot.
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💥 Chapter 2: Humans Are the Real Ammunition