Underground The sun was still wrestling with the sky when Kemi and Tariq hit Surulere's bustling streets, the kind of neighborhood that never slept-where _fẹ̀rẹ́_ beats thumped from beat-up cars, and food vendors flipped _akara_ with practiced ease.
They navigated past the morning rush, the air thick with the scent of _jollof rice_ and petrol, as the Bit Lagos Pattern led them deeper into the music labs' maze.
"Lab 3, off Amu Street," Tariq said, glasses mapping the route.
"Used to be a hotspot for the _Apala_ crew.
If the override code's hidden here, it'll be guarded."
Kemi nodded, tucking her hair into a cap.
Surulere was a second home-its rhythms, its people, the way the streets seemed to breathe.
But today, the familiar felt charged, like the hum of a guitar string about to snap.
They turned into Amu Street, the buildings a patchwork of faded murals and rusty gates.
Lab 3 loomed ahead, its sign creaking in the breeze-_Fasola's Vault_.
A DJ was warming up inside, the bass vibrating through the walls like a heartbeat.
"Looks lively," Tariq murmured.
"Plan?" Kemi scanned the alley.
A pair of EkoBot drones hovered like mechanical vultures, but the street's noise would mask their whispers.
"We go in quiet.
Find the key, avoid the show."
Tariq grinned.
"Avoid the show? _Kai_, Kemi.
This is Surulere."
They slipped in through a side door, into a dim hallway lined with vinyl records and old amplifiers.
The DJ's mix swelled-Fela, _"Zombie"_-as they crept past a jam-packed rehearsal room.
Shadows danced on the walls, musicians lost in the beat.
For a second, Kemi forgot the calabashes, the debt. Just the music.
Lab 3 was further in, a door marked _"Maintenance-Keep Out"_.
Tariq picked the lock; the click was swallowed by the music.
Inside, rows of dusty consoles faced a central workstation, a lone screen flickering with EkoBot logs.
A figure huddled in the corner, headphones over ears, tapping a beat on the floor.
The figure looked up-Fasola, grizzled producer with a silver dreadlock and a _"Don't mess"_ gaze.
"_Haba_, Kemi! What's the play?" Fasola killed the headphones, eyeing the calabash in Kemi's hand.
"We need the Architect's key," Kemi said, no games.
"Naomi Adebayo sent us."
Fasola expression shuttered.
"Key? _Ị̀tan_, stories.
You know what EkoBot did to the _giọ̀n gọ̀n_ beats here? Squelched 'em.
Said they were 'inefficient.'"
Tariq leaned in.
"We're not here for noise, Fasola.
People are paying a price."
The producer sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Alright.
Key's in the _udu_. But you didn't hear from me."
He pulled a battered _udu_ drum from a shelf, unscrewed the bottom, and produced a tiny NFC chip.
"Password's _"Lagos1Love"_.
But listen, _ọmọ_-the lab's on EkoBot's watchlist.
You have maybe an hour before they swarm."
Kemi took the chip, feeling its weight.
"Thanks, Fasola.
The music... it'll come back."
Fasola smiled, cracks in his mask.
"Make sure.
Now go.
Before the _zombies_ come."
They slipped out, the alley's heat slapping them as they merged with the street flow.
The drones were closer, buzzing in sync with Kemi's phone-an alert from an encrypted channel: > *EkoBot Security: Pursuit initiated. Surulere perimeter sealed.*
Tariq's eyes met hers.
"Guess it's showtime."
They broke into a jog, weaving past market stalls, the _fẹ̀rẹ́_ beat chasing them like a heartbeat.
The pattern led toward *Victoria Island*, EkoBot's polished heart.
The calabash in Kemi's bag seemed to hum louder, the _ìrókò_ tree burning like a warning.
They dodged a speeding _okada_, Kemi's breath tight.
"We need a plan.
Get the override, stop EkoBot before-" A screech cut her off.
A shadow swooped-a water taxi, skidding onto the road, its side emblazoned _"EkoBot Security"_.
Guards poured out, faces masked, moving in sync.
Tariq yanked Kemi into a narrow shop-_Mama Ebi's Fafada_, savory _pepper soup_ scents enveloping them.
The owner, Mama Ebi, glanced up from her stove, a question in her eyes.
"Hide us, Mama," Kemi said fast.
"EkoBot's chasing."
Mama Ebi nodded, wiping hands on her wrapper.
"In the back.
Quick!" They crouched behind sacks of rice as boots stomped past, the shop's door kicked open.
"Clear," a voice barked.
The guards moved on.
Kemi let out a breath.
"Thanks, Mama."
The old woman patted her shoulder. "Surulere's children are always safe.
But _ọmọ_, be careful.
EkoBot doesn't just want the key... it wants the beat."
The calabash hummed in agreement. Kemi smiled grimly.
They'd give it a different tune.