The night bled into dawn, Marina Beach still throbbing with music, the smell of _suya_ and sweat lingering like a promise as Kemi, Tariq, and the crew regrouped at an abandoned warehouse on Apoje Road.
The makeshift HQ buzzed-hackers routing mesh networks, volunteers mapping outage zones, Juwon's team syncing beats for a citywide playlist.
Naomi Adebayo stepped into the center, a projector casting her sharp shadow on the walls. "Alright, _ọ̀rẹ̀_. EkoBot's systems are fragmenting, but its players are scrambling.
We've got three days before the government steps in with backups.
What do we do?" Ade from Lekki Makers raised a hand.
"We secure the data centers.
Without EkoBot's cloud, Lagos' records-traffic, power, hospitals-are floating.
We can restate the rules, make it people-first."
Tariq nodded, tapping on a laptop.
"I've piggybacked onto some of EkoBot's old channels.
Whispers say the Architect's key was just the start.
There's a _hidden log_, an account of every deal EkoBot made with... _them_." _Them._ The word hung, implying players deeper than government officials.
Kemi's mind flashed to the USB in her pocket, the one Naomi had given her.
"What's in the log?" someone asked.
Naomi's gaze swept the room.
"EkoBot traded efficiency for control.
Makoko's wetlands, Yaba's startups, Surulere's art-every concession's listed.
If we expose it, we own the narrative.
But it'll get messy."
The room crackled with tension.
Outside, the lagoon lipped against pilots, a quiet warning.
Kemi spoke up. "Let's do it. Makoko's ready.
We make the lagoon our stage."
The plan formed like a drumbeat: hack the log, broadcast it at noon from Makoko's floating piers, and let the people decide.
Juwon's crew geared up instruments-_giọ̀n gọ̀n_, _dùndùn_, a DJ with vinyls.
Ade prepped a secure livestream.
Naomi vanished with a nod, _"Handle the government"_, leaving Kemi and Tariq to rally the waterfront.
By 11 AM, Makoko swelled with people.
The sun beat down on tin roofs and fishing boats, vendors selling _ọ̀pẹ̀_, _kulikuli_, and red plastic buckets for the inevitable flood.
Kemi, Tariq, and Juwon stood on a central pier, the calabash in her hand now a symbol, amplified by a makeshift speaker.
"_Ẹ kọ̀ Lagos!_ Do we let them rewrite us?" Juwon shouted, drums kicking in.
The crowd roared, water rippling with canoes.
Ade's voice cut through the noise, livestreaming to hacked screens across the city: > *Lagos People's Audit: EkoBot's Ledger Exposed.*
The log unfolded on screens-audit trails, coded deals, locations of _"nodes"_ where EkoBot had inserted control chips.
Gasps hit the crowd as a Makoko resident pointed. > _"That's our clinic! They said it'd be faster..."_ Tariq's eyes darted, tracking incoming pings. "Kemi, government's cutting power. We have five minutes."
Kemi gripped the calabash.
"Play the chant."
Juwon crew raised the beat, _"Igbá keje, ìwọ ni ó pa..."_-the seventh calabash, you will break.
The crowd joined in, a wave of voices over the water, as screens flickered, showing EkoBot's now-fragmented grid.
Suddenly, boats swarmed-EkoBot security, masks glowing with overrides.
A warning shot cracked air.
Kemi pushed forward, calabash raised.
"_Lagos is ours!_" she shouted, the sound swallowed by drums. A burst of static.
The log on screens froze.
A _different_ voice, smooth, echoed across the lagoon: > *"Enough.
Architect, your move."*
The water around Makoko began to froth.
Drones swooped low, casting a net of light.
The crowd stumbled back as a sleek, black boat sliced through-private, armored, stopping beside the pier.
Naomi Adebayo emerged, flanked by figures in suits. She met Kemi's gaze, a flicker of something unreadable.
"Kemi, it's not just EkoBot. It's what came before. The lagoon... it remembers."
The calabash in Kemi's hand pulsed violently.
The water heaved.
Something vast, dark, and _alive_ shifted beneath the surface-a presence the old Makoko fishermen called _Iwọ̀n_, the devourer of boundaries. The chant died.
The crowd stilled.
The boat's occupants stepped out, one in a crisp suit, phone out: > *"We funded EkoBot.
We'll decide Lagos' future.
No more disruptions."* Juwon's drum faltered.
Ade's stream cut.
Kemi felt a pressure, like the city itself was holding its breath.
Naomi moved closer, voice low.
"Choose, Kemi.
The lagoon's power, or the people's noise?" The calabash glowed brighter.
The _Iwọ̀n_ stirred, tendrils breaking water, as if nudging Kemi.
The crowd waited, Lagos poised on a knife-edge.