....Naomi Cross....
The ping of a new email sliced through the quiet hum of my room. My fingers hovered for a second before I clicked open the encrypted message. The subject line read: New Assignment, "Priority Alpha".
Mr. Segun. Nigeria. The name flickered on the screen like a ghost from a past I never wanted to revisit. The exact location was a mystery, just a pin somewhere buried deep in Lagos, no further coordinates. Typical.
I leaned back, eyes narrowing as the room seemed to shrink around me. Nigeria. The word unlocked a door I'd slammed shut years ago.
I was seven. The kitchen smelled of stale palm oil and the faint metallic tang of the rusty sink. Aunt Mabel stood over the stove, her back to me, while I washed the dishes, careful not to drop a single cup.
I didn't hear the door creak open behind me, didn't feel her presence until her cold hand gripped my school bag, yanking it from the table.
Her voice was sharp as a blade slicing through the humid air. "What's this? Money hidden away like a thief."
I shook my head, heart pounding
She ripped the bag open. There it was. Crumpled naira notes ,the scraps of my feeding money, the little I'd managed to save after buying my own lunch at school.
"You think you can steal from me, child of a worthless mother and useless Father?" Her voice raised now, thick with venom. "I saved you from the gutter. Took you in after my brother died and your mother left you for death at one year and ten months. And this is how you repay me?"
Neighbors gathered at the windows, whispers trailing like smoke through the street. Her words branded me , thief, a nobody.
I remember the sting of her hands, the bruises blooming under my thin sleeves. But worse than the pain was the shame, the tears I swallowed as I stared at the cracked floor, wishing I could disappear.
It wasn't the first time. It never got easier.
The memory settled like a weight on my chest, the ache familiar and raw. But it wasn't just pain, it was fuel. It sharpened my edge, made me harder, colder.
I sat back down, fingers twitching as my mind raced. Mr. Segun, just a name to most, but to me, another piece in a deadly puzzle.
I opened a secure terminal on my laptop, lines of code and encrypted files flooding the screen. My fingers danced over the keys, running through every algorithm I'd built to trace digital footprints. My codename, Firefox, wasn't just for show. I was a ghost in the network. No one tracked me, no one pinned me down.
The email had included a scrambled data packet, something the organization called a "lead seed." It was rough and fragmented but enough to start a hunt. The location was buried somewhere in Lagos, hidden behind layers of proxies and false GPS signals.
I cracked my knuckles and smiled to myself.
This was what I lived for.
My laptop vibrated, another encrypted message.
"Eyes on target compromised. Extraction delayed."
My pulse quickened. Extraction delays weren't good. Someone was onto me, or worse, onto the victims.
I closed my laptop, the glow of the screen fading against the darkening room. Firefox wasn't just a code name. It was survival.
I slipped on a pair of black gloves, grabbed my gear, and slipped out the back door. The city was waking, but I moved through the shadows like a whisper. The chill of early morning air bit at my skin as I disappeared into the noise.
Naomi Cross, assassin and ghost.
Time to find Mr. Segun. Time to remind him why people like me don't disappear quietly but the thought of going back… it twists something deep inside me, a knot of dread I can't shake.