📍 Safe House – Dawn 🕣 6:00 AM
Dawn bled through the single window, spilling pale gold across the cramped safe house. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams like tiny rebels in still air, indifferent to the chaos their human occupants faced. Maka sat at the center of a nest of obsession—tangled cables, notebooks filled with frantic scrawls, and the humming server they'd retrieved from Alimotu's lab, pulsing with latent energy. Thirty-six hours of relentless work had pushed her body to its limits: raw eyes, stiff fingers, and a caffeine-fueled determination that bordered on mania.
Before her lay the final barrier: a labyrinthine encryption module guarding the DAN's core like a dragon hoarding treasure. It had resisted every modern key, every sophisticated cracking attempt. Maka's temples throbbed with the mental effort, but still she pressed on.
Her gaze drifted to the Lagos Underground stylus lying beside her laptop—Bayo's gift. The precision tip gleamed in the early light. A desperate idea sparked. Maybe the solution wasn't in the code itself but in the physical, tactile reality Alimotu had left behind.
Hands trembling, Maka picked it up. Cool metal kissed her fingers, grounding her. She pressed the tip into a stubborn, non-standard port that had seemed decorative.
A soft, definitive click echoed through the quiet room.
The encryption dissolved like morning mist. The screen flickered, revealing the truth beneath the ruse: the "obsolete" code was deliberate. Alimotu hadn't left a decayed network—she had left a weapon. The screen now displayed a Digital Antibody System, designed not merely to create a decentralized financial web, but to identify, isolate, and dismantle centralized control nodes. A body fighting disease. A system designed to hunt JAGABAN.
Maka leaned back, heartbeat echoing in her ears. She wasn't just building an alternative anymore—she was holding the cure.
---
📍 Safe House – Morning 🕘 9:00 AM
Silence stretched after the Phoenix Group's 48-hour deadline expired. Silence more threatening than any text or call. Then her personal phone vibrated—a violation of every precaution. Not the burner. Her main device.
A single message:
"We protected your parents from further 'surveys.' A demonstration. The offer is now a demand. Meet. Today."
Attached: a crystal-clear photo of her parents' shop from yesterday. Her mother laughed with a customer, oblivious. But in the background, two blurred but unmistakable figures lingered near the entrance. Maka's stomach tightened. They weren't just watching—they were inside her life.
Her laptop pinged simultaneously—a digital echo of the human threat. A new log appeared:
[POISON PILL]: TARGET SYNCHRONIZATION 92% COMPLETE. LAUNCH READINESS: STANDBY.
Two countdowns—one digital, one human—tick-tocked in frightening synchrony.
Bayo's scanner pinged, sharp and urgent. He paled. "They didn't just get an address from Layo. There's a live feed. A binary beacon in the Aṣẹ-Ajé metadata… it activated the moment you decrypted the core."
The betrayal wasn't simple. It was layered, insidious, and far more dangerous than they'd imagined.
---
📍 Ikeja Computer Village – Tech Hub Rooftop 🕛 12:00 PM
The Phoenix Group had chosen their battlefield with precision: a rooftop café overlooking Lagos' sprawling tech labyrinth. The city below roared with digital life—clattering keyboards, acrid solder, traders hawking RAM and routers. This was the bloodstream of the economy they sought to manipulate, and Maka knew it in her bones.
Chioma, their contact, leaned against the parapet, silhouette sharp against motherboard graffiti and satellite dishes. Her eyes were flat, absolute. "The Aṣẹ-Ajé files," she said. "Not a request. We don't want to bury the DAN. We want to weaponize it."
She gestured to the urban chaos below. "We will turn Alimotu's ghost into a precision missile aimed at her brother's empire. We will burn everything down. Everything your little river touches will either bend or break."
Layo's bracelet burned against her wrist. The quartz stone pulsed, a silent alarm. She met Maka's eyes, tapped the bracelet twice: confirmation. Every word, every movement, layered with deceit.
Chioma nodded toward the distant needle of Adebayo Tower. "Let the lions fight. We'll scavenge what's left of both legacies."
Surrounded by the very community they were sworn to protect, the threat crystallized. The choice between power and conscience had never been starker.
---
📍 Safe House – Evening 🕖 7:00 PM
Panic arrived like a wave. Bayo stiffened at the window. "They're here." Alhaji's security teams moved with predator-like precision, trained eyes sweeping, ears tuned to movement. The binary beacon had done its work.
The room erupted in chaos. Maka yanked laptops shut, cords tangling. Bayo hoisted the server, knuckles white.
Layo stood frozen, a statue carved from guilt. Tears traced tracks through the dust. "It was me," she whispered, voice breaking. "The Phoenix Group knew about my dad… threatened his pension. All he has left after Adebayo destroyed everything. I gave them this location. I thought it was… a show of faith. I didn't know…"
The betrayal landed like a hammer. Breath left the room in a collective gasp.
Bayo hefted the server, jaw set. "She built her future here," he said, voice thick with grief, both ancient and raw. "And we're losing it."
Maka shoved her personal phone deep into her pocket. Another message flashed:
"The river always flows to the sea. We'll be waiting at the mouth."
The threat wasn't over. It had evolved.
---
📍 Moving Car – Night 🕘 9:00 PM
The borrowed sedan smelled of fried plantain and sweat, a capsule of shattered trust and desperate flight. Layo's quiet sobs filled the backseat. Bayo drove, grim profile, eyes darting to mirrors. Maka sat beside him, Alimotu's completed code glowing on her laptop.
The final piece clicked into place with the force of destiny.
Alimotu's journal entry—"He cannot own a river."—wasn't mere poetry. It was the DAN's genetic blueprint: flow around the dam, seep into its foundations, let relentless collective pressure do the work.
But as Maka scrolled deeper, a chill settled in her bones. The DAN's antibody function was absolute. Its core contained a binary rule: ANY_CENTRALIZED_NODE = THREAT.
She looked up, face pale. "This… this isn't just a scalpel. It's a bomb in disguise. It won't just target JAGABAN. Any centralized system—banks, governments—it could trigger catastrophic collateral damage."
Bayo's voice cut the tension, low and steady. "My mother's offer still stands. Geneva is safety. But it's surrender. Always has been."
He offered the choice again. The river or the dam. Surrender or war.
Maka looked at Layo, then at Bayo, then at the glowing lines of code that held the power to remake their world. "You broke our trust. But Alhaji broke your father. Adebayo breaks everything they cannot control. We fix this together, or not at all. That's the new protocol."
She took a deep breath. The weight of the future pressed down, heavy as Lagos heat, sharp as a blade.
"Pull over," she instructed Bayo.
The car slowed into a dim, anonymous side street.
She looked at both of them, her team fractured but necessary, her choice clear. "We don't run. We don't hide. We flood the market."
For the first time since the night of the Whisper Gala, Maka felt the river stir inside her. And now, there was no dam that could hold it.