Mobola Johnson
There was no grace period. No time to vanish slowly. The instant Zainab’s report hit the internet, the state retaliated.
A government bulletin appeared within an hour:
“Rogue journalist promoting foreign destabilization propaganda.”
Every TV station repeated it. Talk shows dissected her motives. Online trolls dragged her name through the mud. Strangers called her a traitor. Old friends kept silent.
By morning, Zainab was Nigeria’s most wanted truth-teller.
Her aunt’s house in Surulere was raided while neighbors watched. They murmured that she escaped through the back. They were right, barely.
Now she sat in a small apartment in Ibadan, one of Ebun’s secret safe rooms. Dust-covered files and coded correspondence were scattered across the floor, left behind when authorities stormed the Bodija residence.
Fear lingered like perfume.
Zainab reviewed every document again. So much had been erased from history. But one name survived every purge:
Amir Hassan.
Data architect.
Government contractor.
Disappeared four years ago.
A handwritten note beside his last known report read:
“Reset the signal. Humanity is programmable.”
Zainab’s blood chilled. Whoever he was, he understood Babel better than anyone alive.
She dialed the number Musa had smuggled to her before the bullets came. Someone answered immediately.
“Delete this number.”
The call ended.
Zainab stared at the phone. She called again.
The voice snapped, “Try that again and people with shovels will find you. They don’t believe in shallow graves.”
“I have the Babel archive,” she replied calmly.
Silence. Thick. Heavy.
Finally:
“Where did you get it?”
“My father died protecting it.”
A long breath on the other end. Then:
“One hour. Polytechnic of Ibadan. Library basement. Come alone. You bring shadows, you leave in a body bag.”
He hung up.
The Polytechnic library’s basement felt like a graveyard of forgotten knowledge. Dim lights flickered as she walked through metal doors toward a room glowing with old computer screens.
The man inside looked exactly like someone the world should fear. He was calm, sharp-eyed, and utterly unimpressed by danger.
“Amir?” she asked.
He didn’t respond. Just gestured. “The drive.”
She handed him a copy, keeping the original tucked deep in her clothing.
He plugged it in. Lines of encrypted madness rushed across his screen.
“This,” he whispered, “is not supposed to exist.”
“You can help me decode it.”
“You think this is about decoding?” he scoffed. “Babel isn’t history. It’s current affairs. It never shut down.”
Zainab swallowed her panic. “Then we expose everything.”
“You don’t grasp the scale,” Amir said without looking up. “Revolution is romantic until the bullets arrive.”
Zainab stepped forward. “They already have.”
That forced him to meet her eyes. He saw resolve, not fear.
Before he could speak again, Amir flinched. He heard something.
Boots. Too many boots. Moving with purpose.
He slammed a key. All screens went black.
“You didn’t bring them here?” he demanded.
“I led no one,” she shot back.
“We move. Now.”
He shoved a small flash drive into her hand. “Names. Accounts. The next layer of Babel. Guard it like your heartbeat.”
The door burst open, armed men in black.
Amir yanked a hidden exit open and dragged her through, sprinting into a damp service tunnel.
As they ran, Zainab processed a single truth:
This man knew how to survive.
And now, she had no choice but to survive with him.
They emerged behind the library, breaths ragged. The night air felt like a warning.
Amir said, “You want justice. Good. But now you are part of a war. And wars are not kind to idealists.”
Zainab didn’t answer. She looked back once at the darkness behind them.
She would not be intimidated. She would not disappear quietly.
This was her father’s war.
Her aunt’s war.
Now it was hers.
She tightened her fist around the flash drive.
No more running without fighting back.
—
Next Episode
Musa returns from the shadows with a confession that shatters everything Zainab believed about her family and the man in the black Toyota finally reveals his allegiance.
Mobola Johnson uses her experience in storytelling to entertain and educate readers.
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