Ogologos High — Rooftop
7 PM, After School, 12/04/xx25
The building of Ogologos High pierced the evening moonlight like a monument to control. Seven visible floors rose above the city, but those who passed by often swore it looked more like ten.
The architecture defied logic—each level constructed with ceilings high enough to swallow two entire stories. Yet even stranger was the seventh floor, whose roof seemed impossibly tall, as if something else lurked just beyond it.
Something did.
There existed a hidden floor between the seventh floor and the rooftop—no visible access, no hallway signs, no stairwell reaching it. Only the elevator could reach the rooftop, and only if you knew how.
The rooftop button on the elevator's panel was a decoy. Pressing it activated a concealed section of the interface—if, and only if, the right fingerprint was applied. That was merely the first test.
What followed was a gauntlet of high-security biometrics—iris scanning, palm geometry, vein pattern analysis, and even DNA verification. A foolish game for any ordinary student. But for one person, this was merely the daily ritual.
Beyond the rooftop elevator doors, past the whirring machines that powered the school's vertical transport system, there stood a discreet metal door. It didn't belong. Its digital lock blinked with expectant intelligence, waiting to recognise the authorised cleaner assigned by the Ascension Foundation. Few even knew such a cleaner existed.
Inside that door lay a modest chamber. Polished walls. Industrial silence. But at the far end—embedded seamlessly in the floor—was a trapdoor with a biometric scanner of its own. Once opened, it revealed a staircase, descending not into the depths of the school but into a luxury that felt worlds removed.
This was the hidden Rooftop Penthouse.
And its owner? A boy born of dynasties.
He lounged on a crimson velvet chaise, a designer suit clinging to his slim frame like tailored armour. Every inch of him radiated calculated luxury, a birthright. A diamond-studded pocket watch peeked from his blazer. His cufflinks glittered. His shoes shone like black mirrors. He did not wear these things to impress. He wore them because they were the only things befitting someone like him.
In his hand, a wine glass, half-filled with a deep red vintage. Across from him, a bottle sat recorked in an ice bucket. He sipped idly, as if tasting liquid thought. Not because he liked wine—but because it helped him think.
The glass lounge, located beneath the centre chandelier, gleamed with programmable lights. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city of Ayodale like a painting. Radiating from the central lounge, sections housed a media production suite, drone command centre, server vault, and surveillance monitors tracking every hallway, classroom, courtyard, and staircase of Ogologos High.
He had eyes everywhere...
And those eyes...
...never blinked.
A tablet rested on his lap, displaying student profiles—confidential files taken from the school's encrypted database.
Confidential?
Angus chuckled.
I own the damn word…
He flicked through them like audition tapes.
"Pass," he muttered. "Boring. Shallow. Repulsive."
Then he stopped.
A boy's photo glowed on the screen—lush black hair, slouched shoulders, melancholic eyes.
"Fabulous," he whispered, leaning forward.
Thomas Baker.
"A transfer student?" He raised an eyebrow. "No academic credentials. No entrance merit. Ah... of course." He chuckled darkly. "Daddy works for us. A pulled string here. A favour granted there. Typical."
His finger hovered over the profile's summary.
"Looks fragile. That could work. He'll scream well."
Another swipe. Another freeze.
Cacey Summers.
His face lit up with childlike glee.
"Now, what have we here...?"
He read in silence.
Rumours of disobedience.
Accusations of indecency.
Dismissal from her last school.
"But look at her," he murmured. "Beautiful. Defiant. The rare kind that believes in justice."
He sat upright, the tablet tossed aside like a finished script.
He stood.
crossed the lounge,
and approached the wall-sized whiteboard.
Already, names were scrawled across it in crimson marker—
targets,
roles,
scenes.
He uncapped the marker and added two more.
Thomas – The Broken Protagonist
Cacey – The Righteous Rebel
He stepped back,
admiring the symmetry.
A weak hero.
A glowing saviour.
The tragedy writes itself.
He turned toward the surveillance hub,
hands behind his back.
He watched in silence…
The location of his drama...
"Oh yes," he said. "This will be my best production yet."
This was no school to him.
It was a sandbox.
A theater.
A live simulation.
Ogologos High was his laboratory.
The students? Guinea pigs.
He had long stopped attending regular classes.
He had passed his high school exams in secrecy.
At home, his tutors taught him legal theory, economics, and governance—
all the knowledge he would one day need to inherit the Ascension Group of Companies.
Coming to Ogologos High wasn't a necessity.
It was a hobby.
A social experiment.
And thanks to the shadow organisation quietly operating under his command,
it had become something more profitable.
Entertainment.
Hand-picked students—brilliant, beautiful, vulnerable—were being manipulated into roles. Unwitting actors in twisted performances.
The recordings?
Carefully edited and distributed to private clients.
The most promising girls?
...sold to the highest bidder.
The school administration knew nothing.
The students suspected little.
And those who did?
Silenced.
The cameras hummed softly. The digital painting on the wall shifted from abstract waves to a forest aflame. The soundtrack changed to a soft, sinister waltz.
He picked up the wine bottle and glass.
The air felt thick.
His head was full of ideas—too many to fit in this penthouse.
He walked out,
through the machine room,
then onto the rooftop.
Ayodale lay below him like a city on strings.
Neon lights flickered like fireflies.
Traffic crawled like insects along the glowing grid.
He imagined himself standing atop a spider's web.
"Soon," he whispered, stepping toward the boundary wall, "all of this will belong to me."
He sat on the edge, letting the bottle rest beside him.
Far beyond the glittering skyline,
the silhouette of the Ekwensu Ogologos Mountains loomed.
Cool air swept down from their ancient peaks.
He inhaled it deeply, letting it mix with the wine.
Somewhere out there, the next day, Thomas Baker and Cacey Summers were waking up, unaware that their lives had already been cast.
Unaware that the game had already begun.
And Angus…
Has never lost…
At least not till now…