The warehouse Zee secured was nothing more than a skeleton of concrete and steel.
Worn-out tarps fluttered against broken windows. Rats scurried in the corners. The smell of oil, dust, and forgotten battles lingered like a heavy fog.
Tunde paced restlessly across the cracked floor. Amaka sat against a rusted shipping crate, bandaging a shallow cut on her arm. Adesuwa stood by the open bay door, staring into the thick night, where Lagos buzzed with chaotic life.
Above them, the stars were veiled, hidden behind the city's eternal smog.
"We can't win this war playing defense," Adesuwa said without turning.
Zee rolled her chair closer, her laptops humming with life.
"Good. Because defense won't save us now."
Tunde stopped pacing.
"What's the move, then?"
Before anyone could answer, a low, deliberate knock echoed through the warehouse.
Three short taps.
A pause.
Then two more.
The signal.
Adesuwa tensed.
Tunde pulled his weapon.
Zee slid her fingers over the keyboard, ready to kill the lights.
Amaka rose to her feet, wide-eyed.
The door creaked open, revealing a figure framed by the sickly orange glow of a nearby streetlight.
He stepped in—tall, broad, wearing a faded leather jacket and a crooked smile that didn't reach his cold eyes.
Oba.
The devil Adesuwa once called an ally.
Oba surveyed the room like a king inspecting a crumbling kingdom.
"You've gotten sloppy, Adesuwa," he said, voice rich with mockery. "Inviting ghosts into your hideout."
Tunde bristled, but Adesuwa raised a hand to calm him.
"We're desperate," she replied evenly. "Desperate people make deals."
Oba chuckled, slow and dangerous.
"You always were the sharpest knife in the drawer. Shame you forgot knives cut both ways."
He sauntered in, casual but alert.
"So," he drawled, "what's the job?"
Zee swung a monitor toward him, flashing images of Project Sunrise.
Oba's smirk vanished.
"You want me to storm that fortress?" he asked, voice colder now.
"We want you to help dismantle it," Zee corrected.
Oba rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"You realize what you're asking? Sunrise isn't just a project. It's the future for the city's elite. The Circle isn't some cartel or gang. They're governance now."
Adesuwa crossed her arms.
"And if they succeed, freedom becomes a fairy tale."
Oba leaned in.
"And you think a handful of rebels can stop an army?"
Amaka's voice was quiet but firm.
"Better to die fighting than live as a slave."
Oba stared at her for a long moment.
Finally, he sighed and pulled a battered notebook from his jacket.
He flipped it open and began to sketch quickly.
"They built Sunrise in layers," he muttered. "Outer defenses—mercenaries, drones, sensor grids. Inner layers—automated security, AI surveillance, human guards. At the core… well, that's where the Circle's real secrets lie."
He tapped the center of the drawing.
"A man named Colonel Waziri runs the fortress. Ex-military. No loyalty except to the highest bidder."
Zee's eyes narrowed.
"And you know this because...?"
Oba flashed a grin.
"I built part of the security system. Before they decided I was expendable."
The team gathered around the map.
The plan, if it could even be called that, took shape piece by piece:
Zee would jam the surveillance feeds.Amaka and Tunde would create diversions.Adesuwa and Oba would infiltrate the core to steal the master access codes.
Timing was everything. A mistake meant death. Or worse.
"One shot," Oba said grimly. "No second chances."
They agreed.
Tonight, they would move.
The Road to Epe
The road out of Lagos was a ragged artery, pulsing with old traffic and newer, meaner checkpoints.
Military uniforms blended with private security patches — a sign the Circle had already extended its reach beyond the city's limits.
Zee drove an ancient truck that coughed and sputtered but didn't draw attention.
Tunde rode shotgun, a battered rifle cradled across his lap.
Amaka and Adesuwa sat in the back, heads low, eyes sharp.
Oba rode a stolen motorcycle ahead of them, a shadow moving through the dust.
Their radios buzzed with static.
"Checkpoint ahead," Oba's voice crackled. "Three men. Light arms. Play it cool."
They slowed.
Soldiers flagged them down lazily, too bored or underpaid to be truly dangerous.
Zee smiled her brightest smile.
"Evening, officers. Just delivering supplies to the new resort project."
The soldier yawned, barely glancing at their forged papers.
He waved them through.
Adesuwa exhaled slowly.
One obstacle down.
Many more to come.
Sunrise Fortress
The resort gleamed under a false moon—artificial lights sculpting a paradise out of the mangroves.
Palm trees swayed in fake breezes generated by hidden fans.
Music drifted across the manicured lawns.
But beyond the illusion, steel and concrete rose like a fist against the horizon.
Guards moved in tight patterns.
Cameras watched in blinking silence.
Their entry point was an old drainage culvert, long abandoned during construction.
Zee's drone had mapped it.
Now, Adesuwa and Oba crouched by the rusting grate.
"You sure you're ready?" Oba whispered.
Adesuwa smiled thinly.
"Born ready."
They slipped inside.
The tunnel stank of stagnant water and mold.
Rats squealed as they passed.
They moved fast, keeping low.
Minutes stretched into an hour.
Finally, they reached the access hatch.
Oba jimmied the lock with a skill that made Adesuwa wonder just how many other fortresses he'd infiltrated.
The hatch creaked open.
They emerged inside a maintenance corridor, walls gleaming sterile white under harsh fluorescent lights.
Oba checked his map.
"Left. Then second right."
Adesuwa led the way.
At the first turn, they ran into a guard.
For a heartbeat, all three froze.
Then Adesuwa acted.
A brutal elbow to the man's throat.
A sharp twist of his wrist.
The guard crumpled silently.
They dragged him into a supply closet.
At the server room, Zee's voice crackled in their ears.
"Firewall's live. Ten minutes before backup systems kick in."
Oba set to work, hacking into the physical terminal.
Adesuwa watched the hallway, heart hammering.
Minutes crawled by.
"Got it," Oba muttered, slipping a flash drive into the console. "Copying files now."
Alarms started blaring.
Zee's voice sharpened.
"You're compromised. Guards inbound!"
"How long?" Adesuwa snapped.
"Two minutes!" Oba barked.
Footsteps thundered closer.
Adesuwa gritted her teeth and pulled a smoke grenade from her belt.
"Buy us time," she muttered.
She yanked the pin and hurled it into the hallway.
A hissing cloud swallowed the corridor.
Gunfire erupted blindly.
Adesuwa returned fire, keeping the soldiers pinned.
The servers hummed, blinking furiously.
Oba yanked the flash drive free.
"Move!"
They bolted.
The Escape
Tunde and Amaka triggered their diversion—an explosion near the east wing.
Guards flooded toward the smoke.
Oba and Adesuwa raced across the lawn, gunfire snapping at their heels.
Zee's truck screeched into view.
They dove into the back as bullets punched through the chassis.
Zee floored it, tires screaming.
They tore through the outer gates, out into the night.
Aftermath
Back at the warehouse, they collapsed in a heap of exhaustion and adrenaline.
Zee immediately plugged the flash drive into her laptop.
Lines of code scrolled across her screen.
Her eyes widened.
"It's worse than we thought."
She turned the laptop toward them.
Blueprints for Project Sunrise.
Contracts.
Blackmail files.
Hit lists.
And plans for expansion—Abuja. Port Harcourt.
Africa, then beyond.
Sunrise was just the beginning.
Amaka's voice was a whisper.
"They're building an empire."
Tunde's hands curled into fists.
"Not if we burn it down first."
Adesuwa stared at the glowing screen.
"First, we expose them."
Elsewhere
Chief Obanla watched footage from Sunrise.
His agents' reports were grim.
"The breach was internal," one whispered.
Obanla's eyes narrowed.
He poured himself another drink.
"If they think they can fight gods," he muttered, "then let's remind them what hell feels like."
He dialed a number.
A woman answered.
"Activate Omega."