Ilorin Highway — Pre-Dawn
The night hadn't broken yet, but the silence already had.
Bayo's truck tore through the flooded quarry road, headlights slicing the fog into shreds. The rain had stopped, but water still rushed down the gutters in frantic murmurs — like the earth whispering warnings no one could translate.
Eagle-One rode shotgun, his rifle balanced across his knees. Tope was in the back seat, headset on, eyes darting between the radio's blinking frequencies.
"Still nothing?" Bayo asked.
"Static," she said tightly. "Like something's jamming every band."
Eagle-One grunted. "It's not the weather. That's military-grade silence."
Bayo's hands tightened on the wheel. "They've launched the sweep."
The truck hit a puddle hard, spraying mud across the windshield. The wipers screeched. For a second, the road vanished.
Tope leaned forward, her voice low. "If they've reached Ilorin, that means they already mapped the pulse route."
Eagle-One nodded grimly. "The vultures are hunting by sound. The more we breathe, the more they listen."
The radio cracked — a faint heartbeat pulsing through static.
Ayo's code. One long, two short.
"He's still transmitting," Tope whispered, clinging to the sound as if it were breath itself.
Bayo's jaw set. "Then we move faster."
Outside, thunder rolled again — distant, deliberate, like the sky itself counting down.
Hook: And somewhere in that storm, the silence began to scream.
~ ~ ~
Abuja — Control Circle Command
Colonel Umeh's voice filled the war room like gravel on steel.
"Lock every relay south of Kwara. I want full radio silence within twenty minutes."
Dozens of analysts hunched over glowing monitors, faces pale in the cold light. The entire southern corridor flickered red on the screen — each mark a suspected transmission zone.
"Sir, Ilorin frequencies are unstable," a technician stammered. "The pulse keeps migrating through dead channels — like it's thinking."
Umeh's smile was thin, cruel. "It's not thinking. It's hiding."
He turned toward the senators watching from behind bulletproof glass. "The boy's network isn't powered by money. It's powered by people. We choke communication, we choke belief."
He nodded at his deputy. "Initiate Protocol Vulture. Black drones only. No signatures."
"Yes, sir."
The deputy hesitated. "And what about civilian zones?"
Umeh's eyes gleamed. "Air has no owner, remember? Let them suffocate equally."
The command board lit up — hundreds of drones lifting from shadowed airfields, their wings dark against the dawn.
Hook: By the time the sun rose, the vultures would already be flying.
~ ~ ~
Ilorin — Outskirts, Dawn
Bayo's truck rolled to a stop under an old bridge. The city beyond was waking, unaware that death had already taken flight.
Eagle-One spread a map across the hood. "We're here. The northern bypass is the only way to reach Oyo undetected."
Tope scanned the horizon. "There's movement ahead — patrols, unmarked vehicles. They're already sweeping."
"Then we cut west," Bayo said.
"West leads to the textile factory," Eagle-One countered. "Abandoned, yes — but high ground. Perfect for observation."
Tope checked the radio again. The static now carried faint rhythm — slower, fading.
"He's weakening," she said. "They've isolated his range."
Bayo's gaze hardened. "Then we draw their attention."
Eagle-One looked up sharply. "You mean become the noise."
Bayo met his eyes. "If they chase us, they stop hunting him."
Tope's breath caught. "That's suicide."
"Maybe," he said. "But so is silence."
For a moment, the three stood there, the air heavy with shared resolve — no heroes, no saints, only people trying to keep the air breathing.
Eagle-One finally nodded. "Then let's make them listen."
Before they moved, he recorded a brief audio line into the transmitter: "Keep the ground breathing."
It was quiet, almost prayer-like — but later, those words would outlive him.
Hook: And with that, they became the bait.
~ ~ ~
Ibadan — Hidden Apartment
The pulse returned.
Ayo sat in the dim light of his screens, the glow painting his face in ghostly blues. He had one hand on the laptop, the other gripping a small inhaler — not from illness, but from habit. His mother had used one just like it whenever panic stole her breath. He pressed it once, inhaling deeply — grounding himself in her memory.
His code was cracking under the strain. The vultures' drones had begun to jam shortwave bands, forcing him to route through weaker frequencies.
He muttered under his breath, "Come on, come on…"
Lines of text scrolled like rain.
Then, a flicker — a video feed request. Anonymous. Encrypted. Familiar.
He opened it.
A pixelated face appeared: Bayo. The signal was poor, but the intent was clear.
"Stay off high bands," Bayo's voice rasped through distortion. "They're sweeping for your frequency. We'll draw them south. Do not — repeat, do not try to help."
Ayo's fingers trembled. "But you can't—"
The feed glitched out, replaced by static.
Ayo slammed the table. "You think I'll just watch?"
He switched networks, fingers flying. If Bayo was going to be the noise, then he would be the echo — a decoy behind the decoy.
His reflection blinked back at him from the screen, eyes dark and defiant.
Hook: For the first time, the eagle took flight.
~ ~ ~
Ilorin — Factory District, Mid-Morning
The trio reached the abandoned textile plant just as the first drone passed overhead — silent, sleek, and black as oil.
Bayo crouched behind a rusted machine. "Eyes in the sky," he whispered.
Tope adjusted the scope of a borrowed rifle, scanning the skyline. "Two more to the east. Triangular formation."
Eagle-One unpacked the transmitter rig. "Let's give them something to find."
He connected a power bank and switched on the decoy broadcast. Within seconds, the air filled with coded noise — Ayo's pulse, mimicked perfectly. The machines hummed like a second heartbeat.
Bayo took a deep breath. "Now they'll think we're him."
Tope's voice was steady. "And if they don't?"
He looked at her, a flicker of something human passing between them. "Then we make them remember who taught him."
The first drone fired.
The explosion tore through the lower floor, shaking the building. Dust rained from the ceiling. Eagle-One grabbed the transmitter, yelling, "They've locked on!"
Bayo pulled Tope down behind a fallen loom as shrapnel hissed through the air.
Another blast — closer.
Eagle-One shouted, "Hold the signal! The longer we pulse, the more time he gets!"
Bayo's hands were bleeding, his ears ringing, but he didn't stop. "We hold."
Hook: And outside, the vultures circled closer to the sound of courage.
~ ~ ~
Abuja — Control Circle Command
"Targets confirmed," the analyst said. "Three pings in Ilorin. High bandwidth. It's them."
Umeh's grin widened. "Bring the house down."
The drones' feed switched to infrared — three silhouettes amid ruin and dust.
A senator behind the glass turned pale. "They're just civilians—"
Umeh cut him off. "They're ghosts. And I'm exorcising the nation."
He leaned toward the mic. "Engage Protocol Silence."
The screens went white.
For a few seconds, there was nothing but static — and then the sound of the city's heart slowing, like air being stolen from lungs.
But even silence can carry echoes.
~ ~ ~
Ibadan — Minutes Later
Ayo's laptop flashed red: SIGNAL LOST.
He stared at it, numb. "No…"
He tried rerouting — nothing. The decoy stream was gone. The Ilorin link severed.
His breath quickened. "Mom… Uncle Bayo…"
Then something changed — a faint tone, embedded deep within the static. Hidden. Human.
He amplified it — and heard Bayo's voice, barely audible, whisper through distortion:
"Keep breathing, Eagle."
Ayo's eyes filled. He straightened, wiped his face, and began typing again.
"No," he said softly. "They won't end like this."
He initiated a new transmission — one he'd never planned to use.
The Air Seed Protocol.
Hook: And as Ilorin burned, the wind began to carry rebirth.
~ ~ ~
Closing Note
The vultures silenced cities, but they could not silence breath.
Where their drones fell, graffiti rose.
Where their noise died, whispers multiplied.
The boy's pulse returned — not in code this time, but in the sound of thousands chanting one truth:
"Air belongs to none."
And somewhere far from the smoke, an eagle stirred — wings ready, heart unbroken.