Micromanaged and Alone: One Man’s Drive Through Office Life and Traffic

Gustavo’s fingers were still stained with printer ink when he slid into the driver’s seat of his aging sedan. The dashboard blinked its usual warnings—low fuel, overdue maintenance—but he barely noticed. His mind was already elsewhere, tangled in the knots of another exhausting day at the office.

The engine hummed as he merged onto the freeway, Manila’s traffic already thick with impatience. He gripped the wheel tighter than necessary, jaw clenched, thoughts spiraling.

“What’s her problem?” he muttered, thinking of his supervisor.  

Bang Bang, Bayan! — The Memoirs of a Sentient Pistol in WWII Philippines

 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