Oyo–Northern Road — Nightfall
The storm had passed, leaving the sky bruised and trembling.
Bayo drove through the fog, headlights cutting narrow tunnels through the wet air. Tope sat beside him, half-asleep but alert enough to catch every shadow that crossed the road.
They had been driving for hours — from Ibadan to Oyo, and now pushing north toward the edge of Kogi. The minibus rattled like an exhausted beast, its wipers groaning with each pass.
Bayo broke the silence.
"Eagle-One won't stay in one place. If he reached out, it means the ground's shifting faster than we think."
Tope adjusted the cracked radio. "You think Ayo reached him?"
"He's the only one who could," Bayo said. "No one else can mask a signal through that much interference."
The words hung heavy. Tope turned her face toward the rain-streaked window. Her reflection looked older, harder — not the woman who once repaired solar lamps for a living, but a survivor sculpted by loss and purpose.
---
Flashback — Abeokuta (The Night of the Raid)
The walls had burned faster than the alarms could scream.
Ayo's small voice had echoed from the comm link, calm amid chaos.
"Mom, don't wait for me. System's overloaded. I'll ghost out."
Bayo had pulled Tope by the wrist, forcing her toward the tunnel.
"Now!"
She had turned, wanting one last glimpse — but all she saw was smoke, sparks, and the fading glow of Ayo's screen.
Then the ceiling collapsed.
Now, as the van rolled through the quiet Nigerian countryside, that memory returned with every flicker of lightning.
---
Somewhere North — Midnight Transmission
Static crawled across the spectrum. Then, faintly, a child's voice surfaced:
"See you in the next shadow."
Eagle-One froze mid-step inside the safehouse. His reflection shimmered across a monitor full of shifting maps. He spoke softly into the dark.
"Signal confirmed. Ghost frequency east of Kaduna."
One of his operatives frowned. "Isn't that—?"
"Yes," Eagle-One said. "It's the boy. He's still moving."
He switched channels, patching into a secure line. The transmission pinged back from multiple relays — Lagos, Ibadan, Port Harcourt — all still alive, barely.
"Tell Bayo to keep breathing," he said. "The air's turning in our favor."
---
Roadside Stop — Edge of Kogi, Dawn
The horizon began to pale — first grey, then faint gold. Bayo pulled over by an abandoned gas station. The structure leaned like a tired sentinel, its pumps long stripped for parts.
Tope stepped out, wrapping her scarf tighter. The ground steamed as the sun rose, releasing the scent of wet dust and diesel.
"Strange," she said. "This place feels… waiting."
Bayo scanned the surroundings. "It's one of the old relief hubs. From the flood years. They used to store emergency rations here."
"Now it's ghosts and wires," she muttered.
He smiled faintly. "Everything useful becomes invisible before it's needed again."
They entered the small shack attached to the station. Inside, beneath layers of graffiti, a crude symbol was etched into the wall — a triangle with a single line crossing through it.
Tope traced it with her finger. "Eagle-One's mark."
Bayo nodded. "We're close."
---
Interior — The Shack
Dust motes floated through the narrow light filtering from the window. A metal case sat under a tarp. Bayo knelt, brushed it clean, and pried it open.
Inside — not weapons, but documents. Old drives, coded maps, and an envelope with his name.
He unfolded the note:
"You taught me to breathe beneath the system.
Now it's time to make it choke.
— E1"
Attached was a small transponder, pulsing faint blue. Coordinates.
Tope leaned over. "That's Kaduna sector."
Bayo nodded. "Ayo's last ping."
She caught his arm. "We're walking into a hive."
He met her eyes, steady. "Then we sting first."
---
Meanwhile — Lagos
Mutiu's workshop was no longer hidden. It was a crater of silence.
News crews circled the site, flashing lights across twisted metal. Chuks watched from the crowd, his face masked with dust.
"They burned it clean," a voice said beside him. It was Sister M, her hoodie drawn low.
"Not clean enough," Chuks replied. He pulled a small flash drive from his pocket — soot-streaked, half-melted. "One backup survived. He made sure of it."
"Who?"
"Ayo," he said. "The boy's everywhere and nowhere."
They slipped away before the authorities noticed. The resistance was shifting — going wireless, faceless, untouchable.
---
Northern Highway — Midday
The van jolted over potholes. Ahead, dry plains stretched under a harsh sun.
Bayo drove with purpose, eyes narrowing on the map spread across his lap.
Tope broke the silence. "You ever think about leaving?"
"Leaving?"
"Yeah. Just—stop running. Hide. Maybe live like the rest of them. Pretend not to see."
He thought for a long while. "I tried once. It lasted until the first blackout. Until I smelled the smoke again."
Her lips quirked into something between a smile and sorrow. "We're all addicts to the truth."
"Truth's the only drug that burns clean," he replied.
They drove on.
---
Kaduna — Industrial Outskirts, Dusk
A cluster of abandoned fuel silos rose against the blood-orange sky.
Bayo parked behind an overturned truck, scanning the area through binoculars.
Movement — faint figures, three, maybe four.
Eagle-One's people.
Tope adjusted her earpiece. "You trust him?"
Bayo exhaled. "He taught me to vanish."
"Then he can unmake us just as easily."
Before he could respond, a coded chime buzzed in the radio:
"Windline secure. Blue circle clear."
That was Eagle-One's call sign.
Bayo opened the door. "Let's end this silence."
---
Abandoned Refinery — Twilight
They found Eagle-One in the shadows — tall, gaunt, eyes like weathered glass. His scar caught the last light.
"Still breathing," he said with a rare smile.
Bayo gripped his hand. "Barely."
Eagle-One gestured to the massive screen set up between broken machinery. "Look."
The projection displayed multiple live feeds — from Lagos protests, Jos community centers, Port Harcourt docks. People chanting one phrase:
AIR BELONGS TO ALL.
"They think it's over," Eagle-One said. "But this—this is only the breath before dawn."
Tope stepped forward. "We have coordinates of their next shipment routes — Babarga to Kaduna. We can expose them."
Eagle-One shook his head. "Not yet. We time it with the southern gate. Two strikes, one heartbeat."
Bayo frowned. "We'll need Ayo for that sync."
A silence fell. Then, softly — from one of the nearby terminals — a familiar voice whispered:
"I never left."
The screens flickered, reforming into Ayo's face — faint, pixelated, but unmistakable.
Tope gasped, hand over her mouth.
"Ayo…"
"Hi, Mom," he said, smiling faintly. "Ready to crash their lungs?"
---
Closing Sequence
Outside, thunder rolled again — not from clouds this time, but from the awakening of an entire network.
The north and south grids began pulsing in unison, each linked by Ayo's mirrored systems.
Across Nigeria, hidden devices blinked awake — in churches, schools, market stalls, and taxi dashboards.
Bayo turned to Eagle-One. "It's starting."
The older man nodded. "The air's about to turn red."
Tope whispered a quiet prayer. "Let it cleanse, not consume."
Bayo gripped the comm switch. "Then breathe deep, everyone.
This is the dawn we fight for."
The lights flared—
and the screen cut to black.