Ikeja – Morning
The rain had passed, but Lagos hadn't exhaled yet.
The city woke uneasy—traffic lights blinking erratically, banks half-open, and whispers crawling through newspaper stands and danfo queues about the blackout. Some said sabotage. Others said reform.
Bayo Adeniran knew better.
He stood outside the Ministry of Works, collar turned up against the damp wind. His shoes pressed into shallow puddles as he stared at the cracked marble steps leading to the glass doors. The name on the folder in his hand—Lagos North Development Contract—looked harmless, bureaucratic. But the numbers inside were rot disguised as progress. Billions meant for schools and roads had been swallowed by the same old mouths.
He moved through the metal detector. Inside, the air-conditioning wheezed like an old man. The smell of disinfectant and fear hung thick in the hall. The receptionist's eyes flicked up, then darted away quickly—like she'd been told not to see him.
"I have an appointment with the Director," Bayo said.
She hesitated. "Sir, the Director isn't—"
A voice cut in from behind. "Adeniran."
He turned. Dare, the journalist Tope had trusted, stood in the corridor—unshaven, eyes red from sleepless nights. His expression said more than words could.
"You're walking into a cage," Dare said quietly. "Come with me."
They moved down a dim corridor lined with faded portraits of smiling politicians. Faces that once promised progress now stared down like ghosts of betrayal. At the end of the hall, Dare stopped before an unmarked door, unlocked it, and gestured him inside.
The room was bare except for a dusty table, a fan that didn't turn, and a blinking old monitor.
"Everything's gone," Dare said. "The Chief's people wiped the ministry servers last night. But I found backups—fragments mostly. The rest... vapor."
He handed Bayo a flash drive. "One file kept reappearing, even after deletion—payment trail for North Axis Contract 74. Guess who signed the approval?"
Bayo connected the drive to the laptop. Numbers scrolled, names flickered—and there it was. Commissioner O. T. Balogun.
His jaw clenched. Balogun—the man who once stood beside his father preaching reform. The same man who'd told him years ago, "Your father's dream will live, boy. Lagos will rise clean."
Now, he was the rot his father had warned him about.
Bayo stared until the words blurred. "So that's what the blackout covered," he said softly.
Dare nodded grimly. "They didn't just kill power, Bayo. They killed proof."
Bayo pocketed the flash drive. His voice was cold, steady. "Then we light another kind of fire."
---
Transition – The City Breathes Gray
Outside, drizzle returned—soft, uncertain, as if Lagos hesitated to cry. Bayo stepped into the street, the flash drive heavy in his pocket. Traffic surged, danfos hissed, and the morning crowd swallowed him whole. Every step toward Yaba felt like a descent—not into darkness, but into clarity. The kind that burned.
---
Yaba – Afternoon
The rain came back as a drizzle, tracing silver lines down café windows. Conversations murmured low under static from a battered radio.
Tope sat at the back, hood drawn low, stirring a cup she hadn't tasted. Her eyes moved between the window and the door, nerves tuned to every shadow.
She unfolded Bayo's note sent through a courier:
"Meet me when the rain stops. Bring Dare if you can. North holds the key."
His handwriting was uneven—impatient, alive.
The bell above the door chimed. Bayo stood there, soaked from the drizzle, collar wet, fatigue carved into every line of his face—but his eyes still burned.
"You look like hell," she said.
He sat, exhaling. "Hell's awake early today."
"Tell me."
He slid the flash drive across the table. "Proof that the Lagos North contract was a shell. Billions moved offshore through ghost companies. Balogun signed everything—but the orders came higher."
"To the Chief?" she asked quietly.
He nodded once. "And if we expose him now, we won't live to see dawn."
Tope leaned back, heartbeat loud in her ears. "Then we wait?"
"No," Bayo said. "We adapt."
Rain tapped against the window like a clock counting down.
She reached across the table, her fingers brushing his. "You're still the same, Bayo—running toward the storm."
He gave a tired smile. "Someone has to."
---
Transition – Toward the Island
Hours later, when the clouds broke and the city's light returned in streaks of gold, the trio moved again. The storm hadn't left; it had only changed its name. By the time they reached the island, Lagos looked deceptively calm—a city pretending not to bleed.
---
Island – Evening
Traffic snarled, buses honked, and the illusion of normalcy returned. Beneath it all, fear hummed—a quiet tremor hiding behind routine.
Bayo stood by the waterfront, the lagoon reflecting streaks of dying light. Behind him, Tope and Dare argued in low voices.
"We can't release it now," Dare said. "Every network's being watched. The Chief's people are scrubbing everything."
"If we wait, they'll bury us," Tope countered.
Bayo turned. "We don't release it here. We send it through Port Harcourt—old channels, pre-digital bands. Analog radio frequencies they can't trace in real time."
Dare frowned. "That's a one-way shot. Once it's out, we disappear."
"Maybe," Bayo said. "But silence kills slower."
A phone buzzed. Dare looked down—Unknown Number.
Bayo's stomach turned. "Don't—"
Too late. Dare answered.
Static. Then a voice, smooth and low:
"You breathe too loud, gentlemen. Lagos hears everything."
The line went dead.
"They found us," Tope whispered.
"Then we move now," Bayo said.
They scattered—Tope sealing the drive, Dare grabbing maps and fake IDs. Bayo glanced across the lagoon. Somewhere in that glittering maze stood the Chief's mansion—untouched, untouchable. For now.
---
Transition – Into the Storm
The first drops of rain began again as they sped toward the bridge. Streetlights flickered on, painting puddles gold. Behind them, the lagoon shimmered like a mirror—and a grave. Ahead, the Third Mainland Bridge stretched into darkness.
---
Third Mainland Bridge – Night
Rain hammered the windshield. The car's wipers fought, clearing glimpses of red taillights ahead. Lagos stretched behind them—half-lit, half-dead.
"Do you ever think about stopping?" Tope asked.
"Every day," Bayo said, eyes fixed on the road.
"And yet you don't."
He smiled faintly. "Because if I stop, the silence wins."
Thunder rolled overhead, heavy as guilt.
"Once we cross," Dare said, "no turning back."
"There never was," Bayo replied.
A black SUV appeared in the mirror—no headlights, just shadow.
"We're not alone," he muttered.
"How many?" Tope asked.
"One car. Maybe two."
Lightning flashed, revealing the skyline behind them—Lagos, restless, alive.
Bayo's grip tightened. "Before we left the café, I sent a copy of the file through a university relay. If anything happens tonight, Lagos will still know."
Dare turned, stunned. "You did what?"
"Sometimes survival isn't the goal," Bayo said. "Continuity is."
Rain became a curtain. The SUV closed in.
"Hold on!"
A flash—thunder exploded. The SUV spun out, swallowed by the downpour.
Bayo drove on, knuckles white, breath ragged.
When they reached the mainland exit, he slowed. The rain softened to mist. Lagos glimmered behind them—bruised but breathing.
"You said Lagos deserves to breathe," Bayo said. "Now it will."
"And if they come for us?" Dare asked.
"Then let them find nothing but echoes."
The car disappeared into the fog.
---
Island – Same Night
In his penthouse above the lagoon, Chief Oladipo stood before a dead monitor, cigar trembling in his hand. On the screen that flickered back to life, a headline crawled across a foreign feed:
EXCLUSIVE: Lagos North Scandal — Evidence Surfaces Linking Officials to Offshore Funds
His reflection stared back—pale, furious, afraid.
For the first time, the darkness wasn't his weapon.
It was his mirror.