The first explosion came from the fire pit.
Amadi had thrown one of the old fuel drums onto the flames as he moved. The blast sent heat and debris across the clearing, blinding the men long enough for him to become smoke and shadow. He moved like a demon in their confusion—silent, deadly, merciless.
Shots rang out blindly in all directions. He ducked low, rolled under a collapsing tarp, and dropped another target with a shot to the knee. The man screamed, but Amadi silenced him with a second shot to the throat.
Tactical. Efficient. No hesitation.
He wasn't here to send a message.
He was here to erase every man who thought taking children made them powerful.
Felix Danladi crawled across the dirt, coughing from the smoke, his ears ringing. The bottle had taken most of the damage, but his left hand was bleeding—cut deep. He scrambled behind a broken generator, gasping like a rat.
"Who the hell is this guy?!" one of his men shouted.
Felix didn't answer. He was too busy trying to make out the figure moving through the flames like the devil himself.
And then Amadi stepped into view.
Black vest. Blood on his knuckles. Glock raised. Calm eyes.
"You took something from me," Amadi said.
"I didn't take shit!" Felix barked. "We didn't know! We were just paid to intercept the bus!"
Amadi paused. "Paid?"
"Yes! Contract job! Some rich man. Said he wanted one specific kid. The rest were collateral!"
Amadi's finger tightened on the trigger. "A girl. Small. Brown eyes. About eight."
Felix nodded furiously. "Yes! Her! That's the one they wanted! Said she was leverage!"
"Where is she?"
Felix hesitated.
Wrong move.
Amadi shot him in the leg.
Felix howled, clutching his thigh as blood sprayed across the dirt. "Okay! Okay! They took her north—past Ilorin. There's a safehouse. Coordinates in my phone!"
"Unlock it."
Felix, sobbing now, handed over the cracked device. Amadi scanned it fast—recent messages, call logs, photos. One number kept recurring: "Client Z."
He sent the entire log to Baba.
"Track this number. High priority."
"On it," Baba responded. "Damn, Amadi. You lit that place up?"
"Still lighting it."
He ended the call and turned back to Felix.
"Wait! I told you what you wanted! Let me go!" Felix begged.
Amadi looked down at him with the cold detachment of a man who had buried mercy.
"You took my daughter."
"I didn't know! I was just following orders!"
Amadi raised the Glock.
"Then die with them."
The shot echoed through the clearing.
By the time the last man fell, the children were already gone—running through the southern trail, the flare burning like a comet above them. Amadi watched it fade into the sky, then turned toward the trucks the Red Scorpions had parked in the back of the camp.
One of them had fuel. Good.
He lit the others on fire.
Ashes rose into the night sky.
Let the world know he was coming.
Back in the Hilux, Sunday sat up when Amadi returned—soot-streaked and silent.
"Is Ife okay?" the boy asked, his voice small.
Amadi stared ahead, the wheel trembling under his grip.
"Not yet," he said. "But she will be."
The drive north was long, through towns that slumbered under flickering streetlights and roads patrolled by nervous checkpoints. Amadi didn't stop. He switched plates twice and took unmarked dirt roads past Ibadan. Baba sent updates on "Client Z" every hour.
"He's off-grid," Baba said during one call. "But the payment logs match a shell company based in Abuja. Real high-level ghost shit. Clean laundering, dark money. This isn't just some petty abduction."
Amadi's jaw clenched.
"Keep digging."
"You sure you want to open this door, Amadi? This ain't street-level crime. This is black suit, executive boardroom evil."
"They took my daughter."
That was all he needed to say.
It was 4:43 a.m. when Amadi reached an abandoned filling station outside Ogbomoso. The coordinates from Felix's phone led here.
The place looked dead—broken pumps, smashed windows, weeds growing through cracks in the concrete.
But he saw the fresh tire tracks.
Three vehicles. One heavy-duty. One had dragged something behind it.
He parked the Hilux in the trees and advanced on foot.
The station's main building had no lights, but faint movement showed in one of the back rooms—a glow, like a screen.
Amadi moved low, slipped through a shattered window, and stalked through the building like a wraith.
In the back office, he found a lone man watching CCTV feeds.
Security. Armed. Relaxed.
Too relaxed.
Amadi struck him with the butt of the Glock before he could turn around. The man hit the floor hard, groaning.
Amadi dragged him into a chair, zip-tied him, and woke him up with a slap.
"Where's the girl?"
The man blinked groggily. "What girl—?"
Amadi pistol-whipped him again.
"Ife Amadi. Eight years old. Taken from a school bus."
The man spat blood. "You're late. She's gone. Left here an hour ago."
"Where?"
He grinned through broken teeth. "You're not ready for who hired us."
Amadi leaned in close.
"Try me."