March 20th, 2028 — Subic Bay Freeport Zone

TG Motors EV Gigafactory – Main Assembly Hall

The factory floor moved like a machine with a heartbeat.

Robotic arms slid battery packs into chassis with mechanical precision. Overhead conveyors carried painted bodies in a slow, continuous river of metal. Forklifts glided across marked lanes, hauling pallets of components. Human workers watched screens, checked torque specs, signed off on QC sheets.

From the catwalk above, Timothy watched it all.

Subic had started as an ambitious idea on paper. Now it was a continent of steel and concrete dedicated to his vision—hundreds of thousands of square meters of manufacturing, stamping, painting, module assembly, LithiumX integration.

"Line Three is hitting 96% uptime over the last seven days," Hana said beside him, reading from her tablet. "Defects per thousand units are down twelve percent since we installed the new vision systems."

Timothy nodded slightly, eyes tracking an EV frame moving along the line.

"Paint shop?" he asked.

"Within control limits," Hana answered. "There were two minor incidents early this week, but nothing that stopped production. Maintenance already updated the SOP."

"Good."

He leaned on the railing, letting the noise of the factory settle under his skin. This—noise, motion, output—was the language he understood best.

"Tim," Hana said, tone shifting. "There's another matter."

He glanced at her. "Go on."

She hesitated for half a heartbeat. "We just received a request from someone who's here onsite. They're asking for a private meeting."

"Who?" he asked.

"A presidential candidate," Hana replied.

Timothy's expression didn't change, but his mind sharpened instantly.

"Name."

"If it's someone from the Duerte bloc, tell Security to escort them back to their convoy," he said flatly. "I'm not interested."

"It's not them," Hana replied quickly. "The name on the request is… Len Obredo."

Timothy went quiet.

The name wasn't unfamiliar.

She had run in 2022. Lost to the Uniteam. Became a symbol for a certain sector—progressives, professionals, students, people tired of dynasties and strongman theatrics. Since then, she'd kept a low profile but never fully disappeared. NGOs. Community programs. Policy circles.

Now, she was back. And gunning for 2028.

"She's in Subic?" Timothy asked.

"In the admin building," Hana said. "Second-floor conference room. They traveled light, one SUV, small security team. No media."

Of course. No cameras meant this wasn't a publicity stunt. At least not yet.

Timothy looked back down at the vehicles rolling off the end of the line—finished, tested, tagged with TG badges. These cars would end up in Manila, Cebu, Davao, Bangkok, Jakarta, maybe even farther.

Who sat in Malacañang would affect all of that.

He exhaled slowly.

"Alright," he said. "Clear my next hour. Move the supplier review to this afternoon."

"Yes, sir," Hana replied. "Should I have them brought to your office upstairs?"

"No," Timothy said. "We'll use Conference C overlooking the line."

Hana nodded, already typing. "I'll inform them."

"And Hana?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Remind Security," Timothy added, "we're neutral. No photos. No leaks. I don't want someone turning this into 'TG Motors endorses X' before I even say hello."

"Understood," she said.

They turned and left the catwalk.

Subic Admin Building – Conference Room C

The conference room was all glass and steel, overlooking the final assembly section. Through the wide window, EVs crawled under overhead lights while workers in TG jackets moved between stations.

Timothy entered first, Hana by his side.

Three people were already inside.

Two were clearly security—plainclothes, alert, standing near the door. The third stood near the window, hands loosely clasped, watching the line below.

She turned when the door opened.

"Mr. Guerrero," she greeted, offering a warm, steady smile. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"Ms. Obredo," Timothy said, extending a hand.

Her grip was firm. Not the limp, media-ready shake some politicians had perfected. Up close, she looked almost exactly how he remembered from old interviews—calm eyes, composed presence, carrying none of the arrogance he'd learned to associate with traditional power families.

"Please," he said, gesturing to the table. "Let's sit."

They settled opposite each other. Hana took a seat slightly behind and to Timothy's right, tablet ready.

"No entourage," Timothy noted. "That's unusual."

Len chuckled lightly. "If I showed up with three vans and a media pool, you wouldn't have agreed to this meeting."

"Correct," Timothy replied.

"That," she said, "is why we arrived quietly."

There was a brief silence, not awkward, just measured.

"So," Timothy said. "You're running."

Len nodded. "I announced last month. You were in Indonesia, Thailand, Vietnam, and others I think."

"Working on the other gigafactories that will open by next year," Timothy confirmed.

"I saw," she said. "You've been busy turning the Philippines into an industrial hub."

"That's the goal," Timothy replied.

"And that," she said simply, "is why I'm here."

He studied her for a moment.

"Let me set expectations," he said. "I don't owe anyone in politics anything. I'm not looking for positions, cabinet posts, backroom favors. I'm only interested in one thing: whether the next administration will help or hinder what we're building."

"That's fair," Len said. "And let me be just as clear: I'm not here to sell you slogans. I'm here to ask for something very specific—and to tell you what I'm willing to commit to in return."

commit to in return."

Timothy gestured with his hand. "Then say it."

Len took a breath.

"I want your support," she said. "Not just financially. Though I'll be honest—that matters. Campaigns cost money. But more importantly, I want your backing on one issue that will define the next twenty years of this country."

"Energy," Timothy said.

Her eyes brightened slightly. "Energy."

He tapped his finger once on the table.

"What's your plan?"

Len glanced briefly at the window—at the rows of TG units waiting to roll out.

"The Philippines is being strangled by expensive, unreliable power," she said. "You know that better than anyone. Every factory you build outside the freeport zones is hostage to generation monopolies and grid inefficiencies. If we don't fix that, everything you're building here will hit a ceiling."

"So far, I'm not hearing anything new," Timothy said. "Everyone knows the problem. Few are willing to touch the solution."

Len nodded slowly.

"My platform includes a full-scale energy transition," she said. "But not the fantasy kind where we pretend solar and wind alone can run a modern industrial economy."

She held his gaze.

"We need baseload. Stable. High-density. And I'm willing to say the word most candidates avoid."

She didn't flinch.

"Nuclear."

Hana's brows rose slightly. Timothy said nothing.

"I've already been briefed, at least at a high level, on your SMR acquisitions and the NuScale assets you own," Len continued. "I've seen the public documents about TG Energy Systems. What I don't see in most of our local policy discussions," she added with a faint smile, "is anyone who understands what a properly deployed nuclear program could actually do for this country."

Timothy tilted his head.

"And you do?"

"I'm not a nuclear engineer," she said honestly. "But I know how to listen to the right people and build frameworks that protect the public while allowing innovation."

She folded her hands.

"If I win," she said, "I will push for the creation of an independent Nuclear Regulatory Authority—modeled on the best practices of countries that do this right. I'll support a clear legal framework for SMRs, including land use, grid integration, and waste management. I will not weaponize approvals as political leverage, and I will not block projects just because they're 'new' or 'scary.'"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.