The warehouse was quieter than it had ever been. Not the comforting kind of quiet that came after a long day’s work, but the heavy, suffocating kind that settled after something irreversible had taken place. True Genesis was no longer whole. Half of their people had walked out with Zubair, and the ones who remained looked lost, as if waiting for someone to tell them what to do next. Aisha sat on an overturned crate near the old loading dock, staring at the cold concrete floor. She hadn’t slep...

The morning air inside the warehouse was thick with tension, a dense fog of uncertainty settling over True Genesis. The night before had drawn lines in the sand, and now, those who once stood as a united front found themselves divided. Kunle sat at the edge of his cot, staring at the concrete floor, tracing the cracks with his eyes as though searching for answers. Aisha, across the room, was already awake, her hands curled into fists as she replayed last night’s argument over and over in her ...

Chapter 6: The True Genesis Connection The safe house was a stark contrast to the chaos of Lagos. Hidden in a dilapidated building on the outskirts of the city, it offered a momentary reprieve from the relentless pursuit of the coalition. Kunle and Aisha sat on mismatched chairs in a dimly lit room, the air thick with the musty scent of old wood and damp walls. Tayo stood by the window, peeking through a crack in the curtains, his sharp eyes scanning the street below. “We’ll be safe here for ...

Kunle sat cross-legged on the cold floor of his dorm room, a thin sheet of light spilling through the slightly ajar blinds. Across from him, Aisha leaned forward, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined the data chip. The small device seemed almost trivial in her hand, but Kunle knew it held secrets heavy enough to shatter worlds. “You’re telling me this little thing is what’s keeping you awake at night?” Aisha asked, raising an eyebrow. Her voice carried an edge of disbelief, but....

The bus rattled along the bumpy road as Kunle stared out the window, watching the countryside gradually give way to the sprawling chaos of Lagos. The city seemed to grow out of the earth like a living organism, its skyline a jagged mix of concrete and corrugated iron. Horns blared in the distance, the unmistakable soundtrack of a city always in motion. Aisha shifted beside him, pulling her NYSC jacket tighter around her shoulders. “Lagos is going to be a different kind of battle,” she said, h...

The Transition to "Better" TopicsAs we progressed through school, such topics were replaced with “better” and “more advanced” ones—essays on societal issues, scientific concepts, or historical events. These were deemed more intellectual and more worthy of our time. But what we lost in the process was the opportunity to refine the skill of personal expression. Writing became less about storytelling and more about meeting rigid academic criteria. This disconnection would come back to haunt me l...

Kunle sat at his workstation, pretending to be engrossed in his tasks. The lab’s usual hum of activity felt distant, drowned out by the hammering of his own thoughts. Ogundele’s words from earlier replayed in his mind: “There are layers to this facility you don’t understand. The less you know, the safer you are.” The warning had been clear, but Kunle couldn’t let it go. The encrypted message on the data chip, the images of memories—they gnawed at his curiosity like a persistent itch. As the d...

Kunle’s sleep-deprived eyes burned as he logged into his station but barely noticed. The hum of the lab, usually comforting, felt oppressive now, as though the air carried the weight of what he’d seen. Ogundele’s cryptic warning echoed in his mind like a drumbeat: “There are things about The Amotekun you don’t need to know.” Kunle glanced around the lab. It was still early, and most other interns hadn’t arrived yet. He hoped to bury himself in routine tasks, at least for the...

Kunle adjusted his glasses, the scratched lenses amplifying the faint glow of The Amotekun’s mainframe console. The supercomputer’s hum filled the cavernous lab, a steady, almost hypnotic sound that felt alive. Kunle wasn’t supposed to be here this late. Interns like him weren’t exactly trusted with unsupervised access to the facility’s core systems, but no one had stopped him either. He chalked it up to the usual indifference of his supervisors. They barely noticed him unless something broke...

How every day starts was never something I cared deeply about. The day started like every other day. From the 25th floor in Nairobi, looking down, I could see the morning rush. People poured into the streets, their grand campaign against traffic in full swing. The bell rang, and I got my Dawa, its sweet mint scent instantly filling the room. It was a good morning, the same as all other mornings.