Rail Yard Outskirts, Ibadan — Pre-Dawn
The drainage tunnel spat them out into the underbelly of a sleeping city. Cold mist clung to Bayo Adeniran's soaked clothes, his breath forming clouds in the faint dawn light. Tope followed close, her wrist bruised from the tunnel walls, mud streaking her face like war paint. Abeokuta — their hideout, their safe house — was gone, a memory devoured by fire, smoke, and static.
For a long moment, they paused.
Dripping pipes echoed in hollow concrete. Distant train horns sounded like low roars. Somewhere far off, a street vendor called out through the fog.
"We made it," Tope whispered, coughing.
Bayo glanced back into the tunnel, where the last coils of smoke curled like dying spirits. "For now," he said, his voice low, wary.
They moved toward the tracks, crouching behind rusted containers that reeked of oil and decay. The first freight train rumbled past — a shadow of iron and sound, masking their movement as they crossed to the service line. Every scrape of metal and shift of gravel was amplified by their nerves.
Tope's voice cracked. "We left everything. The drives, the archives—"
"Not everything," Bayo cut in, tapping the side of his neck where a tiny chip glowed faintly. "Ayo mirrored the archive before the wipe."
Her eyes sharpened. "You think he—"
"I know he did. He wouldn't vanish without leaving a trail."
The mist thickened, charged with the electric promise of rain. The air felt dense, alive, as if the city itself were holding its breath.
---
Somewhere in Northern Nigeria — Unknown Location
A static-filled radio whispered faintly in the dark.
"See you in the next shadow."
The voice was childlike, distant, then gone.
Eagle-One — a man with a scar dividing his face like an ancient map — listened quietly. His lips twitched in a smile. "Still breathing, little ghost."
He turned toward the glow of multiple monitors. A digital map pulsed, alive with blinking dots — northern routes, southern ports, and a new thread weaving invisibly between them.
"Bayo," he murmured. "You're not alone."
A hand brushed over the controls, and a cascade of encrypted signals flowed across the screen. Somewhere, Ayo was watching, unseen but omnipresent.
---
Ibadan — Abandoned Textile Warehouse, Morning
Sunlight leaked through holes in the roof, slicing through dust motes like golden knives. Bayo stripped his soaked jacket, draping it over a flickering bulb powered by a makeshift battery pack. Tope leaned against a crumbling pillar, exhaustion softened by resolve.
"Mutiu's network is quiet. Lagos cells too," she said, scanning her tablet.
"They'll surface," Bayo replied. "But not yet. The vultures think we're dead. That's our advantage."
Encrypted alerts scrolled across his cracked field tablet:
Subgrid: compromised
Node Babarga: active
Signal North: unverified
He exhaled, a mist forming in the early light. "They're tightening again. The rot's growing roots."
Tope knelt beside him, fingers tracing the edge of the tablet. "We cut them before they bloom." Her tone was fierce, yet beneath it was a mother's fear for a child lost somewhere in the machine.
Bayo studied her face. "When this is done, you'll find him."
She shook her head. "When this is done… we'll breathe clean air."
---
Road to Oyo — Midday
They rode in a stolen minibus, battered windows rattling with every pothole, faded paint peeling under the sun. The countryside blurred past — dry brown grass, red soil, old oil drums dotting the farmlands. Bayo drove in silence, Tope's eyes flicking between static bursts of coded transmissions over the radio.
At kilometer marker 42, a distant explosion rippled across the horizon. Bayo slowed instinctively.
"Mutiu's cell?" Tope asked.
"Or a message," he muttered. "Someone's still out there."
The radio crackled, faint but distinct:
"South mirror restored. Northern gate breached."
"Repeat — gate breached."
Tope leaned forward. "That's not from us."
"No," Bayo said. "That's from him."
He pressed the accelerator, the minibus roaring to life, dust spiraling behind them. Every mile brought them closer to the northern networks, and deeper into the shadows.
---
Kano — Underground Data Hub, Afternoon
Beneath a derelict mosque, hidden servers hummed with quiet defiance. Figures in hoods moved like ghosts under the dim glow of modified lamps. On one screen, Ayo's avatar flickered — a small kite tracing lines over circuit nodes.
"He's alive," a technician whispered.
Their leader, a woman known only as Sister M, smiled faintly. "Alive… and watching."
The data feeds pulsed with life. Northern nodes, southern ports, trade patterns, shell companies — each link traced with meticulous care. Somewhere in the shadows, Ayo orchestrated the next phase.
---
Lagos — News Tower, Evening
Chaos reigned. Two senators had fled, whistleblower videos exposing Babargas exports contaminating water sources went viral, and the phrase THE AIR IS OURS trended globally.
Governor Okunlola watched the screens, hollowed by panic. "You can't kill what breathes without permission," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
His aide's phone rang. "Sir, new leak — Abeokuta network survived."
Okunlola turned slowly. "Then God help us all."
---
Rail Line — Oyo Border, Nightfall
Rain returned, thin, persistent, cold. Bayo and Tope camped under a disused bridge, their minibus cooling beside them. Mud soaked their boots, but their eyes remained sharp, scanning the horizon.
"Next move?" Tope asked.
"We go north," Bayo said. "Eagle-One will reach out. Ayo's signal's coming from there."
He unfolded a faded paper map — analog, free of digital trace. Tiny red circles marked Babarga, Kaduna, Jos.
Tope traced one circle with her finger. "You think the country will change after all this?"
Bayo's eyes narrowed against the rain. "Change isn't an event. It's erosion. We just started the flood."
Lightning split the sky. Faint static carried across the horizon, whispering:
"See you in the next shadow."
Tope froze. Her gaze met Bayo's.
The storm rolled closer, a mirror to the tension simmering across the nation.
---
Closing Note
Between thunder and rain, movement pulsed across the north and south — in whispers, on screens, and in unseen hands.
Ayo's voice became legend. Bayo's face a rumor. Tope's fight a memory.
The air, once stolen, now belonged to the people.
And the shadows… had only just begun to move.