Benin City, 2079 – Abandoned Port District – 8:19 P.M.
The smell of rust and salt hung in the air like regret.
Beneath the skeletal remains of cargo cranes and collapsed shipping docks, Tunde, Alero, and Octave followed Major Arewa through a maze of derelict containers. Makeshift solar panels glowed weakly on rooftops, barely powering the underground resistance hub. The area had once been the throbbing heart of Edo's trade routes — now it was a graveyard for lost futures.
"This place looks like it's waiting to be forgotten," Alero said, her voice hushed.
Arewa's expression was grim. "That's the idea. Bako's eyes are focused on Lagos and Abuja. No one thinks there's still life here."
"Then we hit him where he's blind," Tunde said.
Inside the bunker — reinforced steel, low ceilings, maps, tech racks — resistance members assembled. There were fewer than two dozen: ex-agents, rogue AI handlers, grassroots hackers, a woman who used to design weaponized drones for the Ministry but now built them for freedom fighters out of spare parts and willpower.
Arewa stepped forward.
"We don't have an army," he began, voice sharp. "We have ghosts. Each of you is a fragment of a broken system. They left us behind. Used us. Tossed us out when we stopped being useful. But we know their pressure points. We remember where the blood pooled."
He pointed to the center of the room — a rotating digital model of Abuja's Core Communication Tower.
"If we take this tower, even for twenty minutes, we expose everything. The WhisperSpine files. The bio-drug black sites. The laundering networks across the Sahel and Gulf. And we don't just
leak it to the usual watchdogs. We drop it everywhere. The Net. DarkGrid. Pirate frequencies. School holos. Church streams. Everywhere."
Octave nodded slowly. "Public betrayal is the one thing Bako can't algorithmically erase."
"But we'll need access codes," Alero said. "Real-time encryption busters. That tower is guarded by federal smartkillers and two orbital gun drones."
Arewa gestured to a wall locker.
"Which is why we're going to steal an NDLEC asset first."
He opened the locker.
Inside hung four pristine Ghost Operative suits — top-tier, adaptive-camouflage infiltration gear, capable of bending light and masking heat signatures for up to 30 minutes. One had Tunde's name on it.
Tunde's throat tightened. He hadn't worn that kind of gear since the Academy.
"These were taken from a convoy we hit last month," Arewa explained. "They were supposed to go to Bako's White Ops division in Abuja. Now they'll take you into it."
"Wait," Tunde said, frowning. "You want us to go inside an NDLEC vault?"
"Not just any vault," Arewa replied. "The Zone 4 Data Silo beneath the University of Abuja. It's where they keep rotating access keys for tower control. Every week, new handlers upload fresh encryption strands. If we intercept it before it syncs, we can ride it straight to the top."
Octave blinked. "That's... suicidal."
"Maybe," Arewa said. "But it's our best shot."
Alero exhaled sharply. "Then we hit them fast, no hesitation. In and out in one breath."
Tunde looked down at the Ghost suit, then back up at the map of Abuja.
For the first time in years, his mind quieted. No doubt. No uncertainty.
"Gear us up," he said. "We leave tonight."
Hours Later – Benin City Outskirts – Hidden Launch Pad
The launch vehicle was an old air-sled, wrapped in thermal-reduction plating and masked by static fields. As it powered up, the small team boarded: Tunde, Alero, Octave, and two resistance specialists — one named Mako, an explosives expert, the other a mute net-runner known only as Glyph.
As they rose above the crumbling skyline of Benin City, Arewa's voice came through the comms.
"Don't die for the mission," he said. "Live to finish it. We only get one chance to shatter their mask. Make it count."
Tunde clenched his fists.
"We will."
The sled disappeared into the clouds, heading north.
Behind them, Benin fell quiet.
Ahead, Abuja waited — glittering, monstrous, and unaware that its secrets were about to bleed.