The night was thick with sirens and secrets.
Adesuwa crouched behind a shattered concrete wall in Surulere, her breath coming in rapid bursts. Her heart pounded like a war drum, each beat echoing with the bitter memory of the safehouse burning hours ago. Flames had devoured everything — documents, backups, years of work. Only instincts had saved them from the Circle's assault.
Now, she was alone. Or nearly.
Zee's voice crackled through her earpiece, low and tense.
"Eyes up, Suwa. Four SUVs inbound. Blacked out. No plates."
Adesuwa's grip tightened on her pistol. Her knuckles whitened.
"One magazine," she muttered. "Nine rounds. Four vehicles. They're getting bolder."
"Correction," Zee replied. "They're getting desperate. You hit a nerve."
She peered around the wall. Headlights sliced through the dark, bouncing off shattered glass and twisted steel. The city looked like a war zone.
"Options?" Adesuwa whispered.
Zee was already typing. The sound of her fingers flying over keys was strangely reassuring.
"Nearest cover: abandoned metro station. Two blocks south. If you reach it, I'll trigger lockdown protocols. Might buy you some breathing room."
Adesuwa exhaled sharply and nodded to herself.
"Copy."
She ducked low and darted into the shadows, heart thudding in her ears. Her boots splashed silently through puddles, broken only by the screech of tires and angry shouts behind her.
Flashlights swung violently through the alleys, beams dancing like specters hunting prey.
The metro station was a ghost's domain. Rust hung in the air like a second skin.
Every wall was a canvas of decay, graffiti smeared in layers—protests, art, slurs, dreams.
She bolted through the shattered entry, boots slamming on the grime-slick tiles. The echo of her movement sent rats scurrying.
Adesuwa didn't flinch.
She had learned a long time ago—fear wastes time.
A faded emergency panel caught her eye. She slammed her palm against it.
With a groan and a hiss of neglected hydraulics, iron gates shuddered to life, sealing the main corridor behind her.
Just as footsteps echoed beyond the gate.
Too close.
She ducked behind a rusted pillar, watching.
Four men. Armed. Not with guns, but machetes.
They wanted her alive.
Alive meant torture.
Alive meant leverage.
Alive meant pain.
Across the city, Tunde paced inside a run-down motel room with mold blooming on the ceiling.
Amaka sat motionless on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around her knees.
"She's out there, alone," she murmured, her voice cracking. "This wasn't part of the plan."
Tunde's jaw clenched. He rubbed his face. "It never is. Suwa said, Scatter if things go south."
"She's not just a fighter, Tunde. She's our friend."
The burner phone on the table buzzed. Zee.
"Move. Now," came her voice. No time for pleasantries.
"Meet at the old radio tower. Coordinates incoming in three… two…"
They didn't wait.
Tunde grabbed his jacket. Amaka didn't argue.
They moved like fugitives. Because they were.
Back at the station, the silence cracked.
A boot scraped tile.
A cough.
A blade dragged against metal.
Adesuwa readied herself, her pistol slick with sweat.
The first man stepped into her line of sight — she didn't hesitate.
She struck fast and brutally, the muzzle pressed beneath his chin.
One shot.
He dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.
Before the others reacted, she pivoted and swept the legs of the second.
He slammed headfirst into a steel bench, groaning once before going still.
Then the pain.
A blur of movement, and she was tackled from behind.
The gun skidded from her hand, lost in the darkness.
Her ribs screamed as she collided with the floor.
The third attacker loomed, knife flashing.
She rolled, eyes locking on a jagged shard of glass from a shattered map case.
She grabbed it and slashed upward.
The man howled, blood splattering.
But the fourth was already charging.
His boot connected hard with her side, sending her reeling into the pillar.
She braced herself as he raised a thick iron club.
A gunshot split the air.
The attacker staggered, then dropped like a stone.
Tunde stood behind him, gun still smoking, chest heaving.
"Hope I'm not too late."
Adesuwa gave a rasping laugh, grimacing in pain.
"You're right on time."
Amaka rushed to her side, eyes wide with worry but filled with resolve.
Adesuwa retrieved her fallen weapon and nodded.
"No time to rest. We have to go. Now."
The tunnels stretched ahead like the throat of a beast.
They followed Zee's voice through the maze of forgotten infrastructure, graffiti-tagged signs, and rotten cables.
A half-collapsed stairwell opened into a chamber where an old maintenance hatch gleamed faintly in the light of Amaka's flashlight.
Tunde wrenched it open.
Cool air spilled in.
Hope followed.
At the radio tower safehouse, Zee stood like a punk prophet in a war zone—combat boots, magenta braids, and six glowing laptops surrounding her.
"You looked better in your last selfie," she quipped as they entered.
Adesuwa collapsed into a chair, groaning.
"I had it under control."
Zee raised a brow.
"Sure. Bleeding and cornered. Very in control."
Amaka, still pale, stepped forward.
"Did you find anything… anything that can stop them?"
Zee's smirk faded.
"I found more than that."
She tapped a few keys.
A file opened.
A scrolling list — names, bank accounts, shell corporations.
And then a name at the bottom.
Project Sunrise.
Adesuwa leaned forward. "What is it?"
Zee's fingers danced again, and the blueprint expanded.
A luxury resort in Epe.
On the surface, paradise.
But beneath?
A private prison.
Training centers.
Human experimentation labs.
Silencing chambers.
"They're not just trying to rule Lagos," Zee whispered. "They're building a sovereign fortress."
Adesuwa's blood went cold.
"And it launches in thirty days."
"No," Tunde said. "They moved the timeline up. Two weeks. Maybe less."
"We need to stop this," Amaka said quietly. "All of it."
Zee looked around the room.
"If we fail… no one else gets a second shot. Not after this."
Far away in Dubai, Chief Obanla's tablet shattered against a marble wall.
Video from the metro feed had confirmed it — Adesuwa lived.
The girl was persistent. Dangerous.
Senator Kola-Ojo poured himself another drink.
"She's becoming a symbol. That's worse than a threat. Symbols inspire rebellion."
Obanla's jaw clenched.
"Find the leak. And pay them enough to sell their soul."
Back in Lagos, Adesuwa stood on the roof of the tower.
Below her, the city pulsed.
Wounded. But alive.
Tunde joined her, handing over a burner phone.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked.
She nodded.
"There's one person left who can help us. But he's a devil."
She dialed.
The man answered on the second ring.
"Didn't expect your voice again," he rasped.
"I didn't expect to need you again," she replied.
"You're kicking a hornet's nest."
"I need a swarm."
"Location?"
She named the warehouse Zee had secured.
"Once I show up," he said darkly, "there's no peace after."
"There was never peace to begin with," Adesuwa answered.
She ended the call.
Below her, Lagos breathed, broken, brutal, and beautiful.
And still worth fighting for.
This time, she wouldn't fight alone.