Lagos, 2079 – Safehouse 7C, Yaba Tech Quarter – 5:17 A.M.
Safehouse 7C was buried deep beneath an abandoned augmented reality café in the tech-choked heart of Yaba. Above ground, flickering billboards screamed ads for neural implants and illegal gene-hacks. Below, the world went quiet.
Tunde disabled the old magnetic seal on the basement elevator with a coded pulse from his wrist chip. The rusted doors groaned open, revealing a narrow shaft coated in grime and neglect. Alero wrinkled her nose.
"This where you bring all your girlfriends?"
Tunde chuckled. "Only the ones with sharp eyes and faster reflexes."
Alero smirked but said nothing more as they descended.
The safehouse was small, sterile, and dimly lit — one cot, one console, a compact kitchenette, and walls lined with outdated weapons and surveillance gear. A spider-bot scuttled across the ceiling and blinked green in recognition of Tunde's bio-signal.
As the door sealed behind them, he slumped onto the cot, the day's weight pressing down on his bones. Alero placed the crate of Dust on the floor, then walked the perimeter, checking vents and security triggers.
"You're well-prepared," she said finally.
Tunde peeled off his jacket, revealing a sweat-soaked shirt and a bullet graze along his shoulder. Alero frowned.
"That wasn't from the dock fight."
"No," Tunde said grimly. "Someone tagged me yesterday near Tejuosho Market. I thought it was a warning. Now I think it was a message."
She crossed her arms. "Chrome?"
"Maybe. Or someone watching him."
Alero stepped close and examined the wound. Her fingers were cool, efficient. She pulled a canister of biofoam from a wall compartment and sprayed the wound clean. It hissed as it sealed.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"Don't mention it. If you die, I lose my entertainment," she said, but her tone was softer than before.
Tunde pulled out a microdrive from his boot. "I lifted this from the runner's body before we left. It was in his belt pouch."
He slotted it into the console.
The screen flickered to life, showing transaction logs — encrypted, tagged with high-clearance foreign protocols. Purchases of massive quantities of Neon Dust, routed through shell companies tied to Echelon Energy, a mega-corp with contracts in both Lagos and Abuja.
Tunde's heart sank.
Echelon was supposed to be clean. A UN-backed partner in Nigeria's new energy grid. If they were funneling Dust — this ran far deeper than Chrome or Vic.
Alero whistled low. "This is elite territory. You're poking snakes now, Ghost Boy."
Tunde turned to her. "You ever heard the name Kasim Bako?"
Alero's face changed subtly. Her gaze hardened.
"Why?"
"His name is tied to three of the companies in the data trail. He's a minister now — Security and Internal Tech. Used to be NDLEC. He trained with my handler before rising through the ranks."
She sat down. "I've heard whispers. They say he owns a lab in Warri that doesn't show up on any map. One of those black-site facilities
nobody talks about but everyone fears."
Tunde looked at the screen, then back at her. "Will you come with me? If we push forward, it won't just be dealers and drones anymore. It'll be ministers. Diplomats. Foreign partners. People who think they're untouchable."
Alero stared at him for a long time.
Then she said, "I told you — I don't dance with liars. But I do burn down broken systems."
She offered her hand. He took it.
They weren't partners yet. But they were no longer strangers.
Outside, the sun was rising over Lagos — orange light cutting through fog and steel towers.
Inside, the real war was just beginning.