It was just another night at Westin’s Colony, a residential area comprising around fifty houses, nestled away from the hustle and bustle of the town. People lay awake on their beds, some reading, some watching television, some tucking their little ones in bed and shushing them to sleep, and some casting occasional glances at the bedroom window that faced the street. In some time, a sharp noise, accompanied by a shrilly voice, was heard all over the neighbourhood, “Clang! Clang! Clang! Ayo Goka!” And strangely, like clockwork, the lights went out, the sounds died down, and a blanket of silence descended over the locality. Sebu’s footsteps echoed softly on the pavement as he moved through the colony. The chilly night air wrapped around him like a familiar blanket, and the rhythmic tap of his bamboo stick against the metal gates became the neighborhood’s lullaby. A tall, lanky figure, clad in a beige uniform and a heavy jacket, strolled the streets with a bamboo stick in hand....
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