Page 105 of In Love After Office Hours

2.Old people.You don't even have to talk. All you have to do is listen. Stick to them like glue if you can.

3.People who are full of themselves.This type is easy to spot, and they'd be happier if you don't speak at all. Their talk might occasionally bore you to tears, but it's better than having to speak at all.

4.People with marriage or travel plans.Ask about their plans, and say no more. They'll be more than happy to take up the slack.

5.Same age, same gender. A self-deprecating approach to conversation is always ideal as this effectively establishes your lack of interest in competing with them.

6.Same age, opposite sex. Underscoring your lack of viability ensures that they do not waste time drawing you out of your shell.

P.S. Above all else, avoid speaking to wildcards, i.e. smoldering hot Greek billionaires who think your silence is a challenge to their masculinity. If you spot this type, run away - as fast as you can, and never look back!

As the Filipino (viral) meme goes, "Kapag tumingin ka, akin ka."

Prologue

NINETEEN YEARS AGO

Every gang had its own hierarchy, and in this dark and grimy corner of Athens, new recruits were fair game. Pests or pets, that was how they were called, and always, it could only be one or the other. Pests got beaten up every minute, and they were the lucky ones. They only needed to survive a thrashing until they toughened up enough to fight back.

Pets, however...

It was the faintest sound, a door carefully and stealthily being opened, but it was more than enough. The seventeen-year-old boy lying on the floor was awake in an instant, but even so his body remained motionless and his eyes closed, the pace of his breathing slow and deep.

Go away. Please go away. Please.

Even though the boy already knew it was hopeless to pray, he did so anyway in a desperate bid to stave off the inevitable.

Another sound penetrated the darkness, so much louder now, as if it were a blatant challenge for the boy to face his fears. His fingers tightened under the pillow, curling around the knife handle even as the sound made him sick with fear.

The boy knew he was too much of a survivalist to fight to the death if he found himself outnumbered, but he also knew it was not in him to submit passively. He could never be the type—-

And then it happened.

Too fast. Too sudden. Or perhaps it was just too terrifying that even though all the signs were there, the boy had made himself blind and deaf to all of them.

The knife was torn from his grasp as countless hands flipped him to his back. He tried to struggle. He tried to scream. But reality was as he had long feared, and there were just too damn many of them. In mere moments, the room reeked of the most depraved desires. It was all there - in the way they looked at him, the way they laughed as they tore the clothes off his body.

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