Warri – Hologrid Market Hub – 9:45 A.M.
The smell of sea salt and burning bio-fuel clung to the humid air. Warri's Hologrid Market was a dizzying maze of floating screens, drone vendors, street hackers, and heavily modified tricycles. It was also one of the last places in the south where black data still flowed freely, unmonitored by the National InfoGrid.
Tunde, dressed in a patched denim jacket, walked beside Arewa and Glyph. The trio moved like current through the crowd — eyes sharp, steps measured.
They were here for a ghost.
A deep net informant known only as One-Eyed Prophet.
He claimed to have access to a pharma ledger — one that could tie the Neurotrace shipments to a private security conglomerate operating out of Senegal. A group with shadow funding from Bako's circle.
"The Prophet doesn't do face-to-face," Glyph murmured. "He speaks through a synthetic hawker avatar. No eye contact. No names. Just riddles."
Tunde raised a brow. "Why do I feel like we're walking into a trap?"
Arewa smirked. "Because we probably are."
....
Meanwhile — Lagos Island — SynGen HQ – 10:12 A.M.
Samira Bako stood before the panoramic glass of SynGen's main executive floor, staring at the sea. Her reflection shimmered beside floating ads for their new "CureX Booster Program."
The same booster that masked early Neurotrace symptoms in test subjects.
She wasn't there as a daughter anymore.
She was there as a shareholder.
"Phase IV trials are compromised," her assistant whispered.
Samira didn't turn. "How many samples leaked?"
"Three vials. One drive."
"And the boy?"
"Still breathing. Still digging."
She exhaled slowly. "Then feed him more."
Her assistant blinked. "Ma?"
Samira's gaze was calm, precise.
"Give him a little more truth. Let him taste the edges of the empire. The bigger he paints the monster, the harder the public backlash when he fails."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Besides… every storm needs a hero to drown."
....
Warri – Below the Market – 10:39 A.M.
Tunde followed Glyph down an alley guarded by two kids with silver teeth and dart guns. They entered a cold basement lit by flickering blue strips.
In the corner, perched on a shattered fridge, sat an old man wearing a VR helmet patched with duct tape and cloth charms.
His voice came from a nearby drone — cracked, metallic.
"NDLEC boy. Ghost of the compound. Son of the silence."
Tunde froze.
The drone hovered closer. "Your face carries the past, but your shadow walks toward the fire."
"Are you the Prophet?" he asked.
"No names," the voice replied. "Only signals. You seek the truth. I give you coordinates. But every answer has a price."
Tunde nodded. "What do you want?"
The man pulled off his helmet. One eye socket was hollow, wrapped in cybernetic scar tissue. His remaining eye glinted.
"Bring down the place that made me blind."
He handed Tunde a sealed chip.
"Inside — a cargo manifest from a pharma lab in Gwagwalada. Leased by a shell company registered in Kenya, funded by foreign arms groups and funneled through... Ministerial Health Aid. Your uncle has fingerprints all over it."
Glyph scanned it. "Encrypted with quantum-class trace. We'll have to break it on the move."
Tunde took the chip and turned to go.
"Ghost," the man called out. "When you stare into the system... be ready when it stares back."
....
Benin City – Alero's Safehouse – 12:17 P.M.
Alero reassembled her sniper rifle in silence while Ejiro scrolled through intercepted comms.
"They're on the move," Ejiro said. "The NDLEC strike unit. Bako's private dogs. All heading toward Gwagwalada."
Arewa's voice crackled over the comm. "We just got the manifest. It's real. This isn't just drug smuggling — it's biotech warfare disguised as public health. They've been testing control compounds on low-income zones. Mind suppression. Behavioral damping. All under Kasim Bako's oversight."
Alero's hands didn't shake. She inserted the final bolt.
"Then we stop being mice."
Ejiro looked up. "What do you mean?"
Alero's eyes were steel.
"We burn the lab."