“The NBI is coming.”

Terrible sentence to hear when the weekend is nigh.

Robin goes home. Alan goes home. The reporters. Even the guards eventually go home. You know who stays?

You. Alone. Inside a government building you pretend is a fortress. You really bought this thing, huh?

Bato, you were safer missing. You were a former police chief! Intel was your thing. Unpredictability. You spent your whole life understanding one basic rule: hard to catch the guy nobody can find.

And for six months nobody could find you. Then suddenly Alan needed one more vote and:

“Get in the van, Bato.”

Unbelievable. Because that’s exactly what the NBI will say to you too.

Soft voice. Hand on the shoulder. “Brother, don’t worry.”

Let’s just say the timing was incredible, Bato.

For months, you were in hiding, panicking, then suddenly one more vote became very important and, wow, the Senate transformed into a sacred constitutional sanctuary. Amazing institution. Very protective suddenly. People are going to notice that, brother.

They’re going to notice that the exact moment you became “protectable” happened to be the exact moment your vote was essential.

And now look carefully at what happened to you. You’re still crying. Laughing. You’re pleading. That doesn’t look like a man who feels protected.

If somebody risks everything to bring you out of hiding, you expect at least insomnia from them afterward.

Was the new Senate President even there with you that night? That’s a rough enough thought.

You came out of six months of hiding to help make a Senate President. And then spent the night with Robin. You must have slept like someone hoping that Senate Presidents will still matter after the voting ends.

Bato, have you noticed Alan getting more religious lately? Very concerning.

Honestly, if we were you and Alan suddenly put a hand on our shoulder, saying: “Brother… the Lord will guide us…” We’d start stretching our legs immediately.

We don’t even know what color Alan’s hair is anymore. That’s what scares us. Brother, nobody this moisturized is truly under pressure. All while the protection arguments are dying one by one.

“No senator has ever been arrested in the Senate.” Immediately fake news, Alan. Trillanes? Arrested there. De Lima? Arrested there. Even the former IBP chief is saying: “The Senate cannot do anything.” They convinced you to leave hiding for a building that legal experts are now describing as irrelevant.

You keep looking at the Supreme Court like it’s the final gavel. Maybe they will help you. Maybe they won’t.

And now you’re appealing to Bongbong, instead of relaxing inside your fortress.

“Mr. President, please help.”

“Sec. Boying, you’re a good man”

Imagine spending years inside one of the fiercest political machines, only to end up dependent on the discretion of the rival camp.

That uncertainty should terrify you already. While the lawyers keep talking about process and jurisdiction, you keep sounding like a man looking for reassurance anywhere he can find it.

Maybe the Senate. The Court. Maybe faith. Too many maybes, brother.

You’re scared, Bato. You got nothing left. Only your vulnerability. It’s a very sad thing to watch.

You’re crying, pleading. We see a loser. A sinking ship. And you don’t save a sinking ship. You grab the good stuff and you get out. You salvage the parts that are still afloat and you leave the rest to the sharks.

And now recess is coming. And when the lights go out and the building gets quiet, you start asking yourself a very nasty question: After the vote was secured, what exactly changed for Bato dela Rosa?