By 6 AM, the video had 2.3 million views.
By 7 AM, it had been shared to every Facebook group in the Philippines, from "Dumaguete Buy and Sell" to "Siquijor Mystical Creatures Support Group."
By 8 AM, Glad's lower half had been reattached, she'd drunk her morning blood-coffee (half blood, half coffee, zero judgment), and she was staring at her phone in absolute terror.
"Alexa," she whispered. "What is... 'viral'?"
"Viral means something spreads rapidly through social media," Alexa replied cheerfully. "Like that video of you flying over Dumaguete last night. It's very popular! Congratulations on your internet fame."
Glad gripped the edge of her sink so hard she cracked the tile. "Fame? ALAKSHOW?! I'm a SECRET creature! I've been hiding for CENTURIES!"
"Well, you're not hiding very well anymore. Would you like me to play the comments? There's one here from 'Manileño_Mike' that says—"
"NO."
"—quote, 'She flew like my Tita after one glass of wine at the family reunion.'"
"I SAID NO."
A knock at her door made Glad nearly jump out of her skin—which, given her condition, was a genuine risk.
"Tita Glad?" came a young voice. "It's me, Rigen. You forgot to turn off your data again, and your bill is—are you okay? You look pale."
Glad opened the door to find Colene's younger sister, Rigen Rivera—a twenty-two-year-old programming whiz with glasses too big for her face and a perpetually worried expression. She was also Glad's favorite human, partly because she fixed her phone, and partly because she didn't ask questions about the vials of red liquid in the fridge.
"I'm fine," Glad lied, sweat beading on her forehead. "Just... hot."
"It's 6 AM."
"Very... very hot."
Rigen stepped inside, immediately noticing Glad's phone screen frozen on her own flying image. "Oh, you saw the video! Ang galing, 'no? Somebody dressed up as a Manananggal for Halloween early. The special effects are amazing."
Glad stared at her. "You think it's... a costume?"
"Of course! My Ate Colene's video is everywhere. People are saying it's the best Filipino cosplay they've ever seen. Maypa, some foreigners think it's real! Can you imagine?" Rigen laughed, settling onto the sofa—dangerously close to where Glad's lower half had sat the night before. "Anyway, I came to fix your WiFi. Your router's acting up again."
While Rigen tinkered with the modem, Glad's phone continued buzzing with notifications. Facebook. Twitter. TikTok. Even her rarely-used Instagram had messages.
"Are you the flying lady?"
"San mo nabili yung wings mo, teh?"
"Kakainin mo ba ako? Charot!"
Glad had survived wars, revolutions, and the introduction of karaoke. But this? This was different.
"Rigen, honey," she said carefully. "If someone wanted to... disappear from the internet... how would they do that?"
Rigen looked up from the router. "Delete all your accounts, I guess. But why would you want to? You don't even have any accounts."
"Not me. Someone else. Hypothetically."
"Hypothetically, they'd need to contact every platform, request removal under privacy laws, and hope the content hasn't been downloaded and re-uploaded by other users." Rigen shrugged. "But once something's viral, it's basically impossible to erase completely. Why?"
Glad opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by another knock—this one more aggressive.
BAM BAM BAM.
"OPEN UP! BARANGAY HEALTH INSPECTION!"
Glad froze. Health inspections weren't done at 8:30 AM. And barangay officials didn't knock like they were serving a warrant.
Rigen peered through the window. "It's Mang Berting. And he's carrying... is that a bolo and a bottle of holy water?"
Glad closed her eyes.
Of course.
Of COURSE.
The one person in Dumaguete who still believed in the old stories—who spent his retirement posting "MANANANGGAL SPOTTED" memes in group chats—had seen the video.
And he was coming for her.