The messenger's words moved like smoke in the humid night air, refusing to dissipate.
_The seventh calabash is empty.
You will fill it.
_ Kemi's mind raced, chasing the threads of a story her grandmother used to whisper about-old time deals, hidden powers, the undercurrents of Lagos that pulsed like a heartbeat beneath the honks of Okpeka taxis and the shouts of market vendors.
"Fill it with what?" Kemi replied trying to keep her voice steady, eyes locked on the glass-shard gaze of the messenger.
The scent of fried plantains wafted from a nearby stall, a stark contrast to the tension and fear .
The figure didn't answer.
Instead, it raised a hand, and the neon around them began to flicker in a staccato rhythm, like the beat of an _apala_ drum.
The AR glasses on Kemi's face flared to life, projecting a swirling pattern onto the cracked asphalt: interlocking triangles, spirals reminiscent of _adire_ cloth, pulsing with a soft blue light.
The *Bit Lagos Pattern*.
It mirrored the chaotic beauty of the city's streets-Third Mainland's grid, the swooping curves of the flyovers, the cramped alleys of Ajegunle where street food vendors ruled. "This is the map," the messenger said, voice like a distant drumbeat echoing through Chime Street.
"Seven points, seven calabashes.
Each upholds a fragment of EkoBot's debt. You have till dawn to pay."
Kemi's tech instincts kicked in.
She snapped a photo of the pattern with her glasses, feeling the hum of her phone vibrating in her pocket-a backup plan, in case things went sideways.
The pattern looked like an overlay of Lagos' oldest districts: Makoko's floating stilt houses, Ikoyi's glossy towers, Ajegunle's graffiti-tagged blocks, Yaba's campus buzz, Surulere's faded charm, Victoria Island's corporate spires, and... Old-Town, where she stood.
"Debt to who?" Kemi pressed, curiosity battling fear.
"What's EkoBot got to do with this?" The government's AI was supposed to streamline the city, but rumors whispered it had... tastes.
The messenger leaned more closer, its "eyes" seeming to bore into her.
"EkoBot promised progress.
The streets gave it more power.
But the price... is uneven.
You're part of the balance now."
A screech cut through the night-a water taxi swooping past, its passengers' faces blurred, unseeing, like phantoms gliding on the lagoon.
The hub's lights flickered again, and the chant in Kemi's ears grew sharper: _"Igbá keje, ìwọ ni ó pa..."_ (The seventh calabash, you will break...).
The words felt like a thread pulling her deeper into the city's maze. Suddenly, the messenger vanished.
The neon snapped back to normal.
The pattern lingered on the ground, glowing faintly, like an invitation-or a warning.
Kemi knelt, tracing a finger over the slick, polished surface.
This was real.
The calabashes, the debt... it tied into something deeper than glitches.
She stood, glancing at her glasses' replay.
The pattern led to seven locations.
The first point pulsed on the map-*Makoko*, the floating slums where music never stopped, where the lagoon lapped at rusty piers and everyone knew everyone.
Kemi had friends there, hackers and artists who danced with the tides.
Could she trust this path? Could she afford not to? The chant faded into the Lagos night, leaving only the hum of generators, the distant thump of a _juju_ party, and the smell of saltwater.
Kemi pulled her hood up, a plan forming.
She'd follow the Bit Lagos Pattern. See where it led.
And maybe, just maybe, uncover what the streets of Lagos truly wanted.