Benin City – Rebel Staging Point – 4 Days to Unity Gala
Tunde stood under a flickering floodlight, sweat soaking through his shirt, fists bloodied and knuckles split.
He wasn't fighting anyone else — just a worn-down punching bag, his own memories, and the growing storm of Operation Husk whispering inside his head.
He remembered flashes now: needles in sterile rooms, artificial dreams whispered by machines, the cold voice of a woman asking him what he feared most.
"They made me," he muttered.
Arewa stepped into the light, face tight with concern. "What did you say?"
Tunde looked at her, jaw clenched. "I'm not just in the system. I was engineered by it."
....
SynGen AI Archives – Abuja – Classified Tier Zero
File Playback: Project Husk – Initiation Logs
Subject 117B – "Bako, Tunde"
Trial Age: 9
Gene-Splice Attributes: Enhanced neuro-synaptic reflexes, adaptive stress responses, controlled emotional flattening.
Parental consent status: Fabricated.
Samira closed the file.
"They always said you'd come back," she murmured. "But I never expected you to come back like this."
Eko-Bridge Underground – Lagos – Same Day
Glyph and Ejiro moved through the old subway tunnels with packs of rebels — university students, old NDLEC defectors, ex-soldiers, radical hackers — all gearing up for the Unity Gala strike.
They called it Operation Shatterpoint.
At a long table laid out with gear, Glyph addressed the group.
"We hit the Gala with three prongs. Team Echo disables internal surveillance feeds. Team Hammer infiltrates the gala floor — we go in dressed like media crews. Team Pulse uploads the final round of ThroneFiles live — in front of the President."
Ejiro smirked. "Revolution brought to you by lag-free 6G."
A cheer rose.
But Glyph raised a warning finger.
"Bako and Samira will be expecting chaos. So we give them something else…"
She tapped the screen, revealing a rendered image of a glowing drone swarm.
"…a signal storm."
....
Abuja – Minister's Compound – 2 Days to Unity Gala
Minister Bako sat in his war room, eyes hollow, haunted by truths only he and a few ghosts knew.
Tunde was a child of the very system Bako helped build.
Worse still, the leaked file wasn't even complete. Somewhere out there was the black archive — the deeper layer of Operation Husk. If the rebels accessed that, every high-ranking official involved in the genetic manipulation of orphaned children would be exposed.
He turned to Samira.
"Where's the black archive?"
She didn't flinch.
"You buried it in the Aso Rock vault ten years ago."
He shook his head.
"No. I buried half of it."
....
Ilorin – Secret Transfer Station – Same Night
In a storage unit under an old telecom tower, Alero met with a former NDLEC handler — Codename: Obara.
He was hunched, blind in one eye, missing two fingers, but his voice still carried the cold weight of truth.
"You want the archive?" he asked.
She nodded.
He slid an old drive across the table.
"It's partial. Just enough to prove Tunde wasn't the only one."
Alero stiffened. "There were more?"
"Dozens. Maybe hundreds."
She took the drive.
"And they're still out there?"
Obara exhaled smoke through cracked lips.
"Some are dead. Some turned. And some are still waiting for the war they were born for."
....
Benin City – Rooftop, Pre-Dawn – Day of Unity Gala
Tunde sat on the edge, watching the horizon blush with the first light of dawn. The city murmured below, unaware that by nightfall, everything might change.
Arewa joined him, two steaming cups of synthetic coffee in hand.
He took one, stared at it.
"You think we win tonight?"
Arewa took a sip. "I think we either change the game... or break the board."
He glanced at her. "You scared?"
He laughed quietly. "Terrified."
A pause.
"You?"
He turned to face him. "I'm scared of one thing."
He raised an eyebrow.
"That we pull it off… and the world decides to go back to sleep anyway."
He looked away, eyes on the skyline.
"Then we wake them up again."
....
Abuja – Unity Gala Begins – 8:00 P.M.
Searchlights cut through the evening sky. VIP hovercrafts lined the private landing zones. The Presidential Orchestra played synthetic jazz. Waiters in white gloves moved like ghosts through a sea of powerful men and women draped in gold, diamonds, and designer neural implants.
And somewhere, beneath the glow and glitz...
Tunde Ajayi walked through the front gates.
Dressed as press.
Holding a mic.
Smiling politely.
A ghost among gods.