Mobola Johnson
The motorcycle sliced through Ibadan’s sleeping streets, weaving between danfo buses and startled pedestrians. Streetlights flickered over Zainab and Tayo like interrogation lamps. She pressed her hands against his jacket, not for comfort but for balance. She did not trust the man steering her fate at 120 km/h.
He slowed only when they reached a quiet mechanic yard near Mokola roundabout. He killed the engine. The silence hit hard.
Zainab jumped off immediately.
“You were at the bar,” she said. “Before the lights went out. Before the fire.”
“Yes.”
“You contacted Dupe. You asked for the USB.”
“Yes.”
“And she died.”
He flinched. So there was guilt in him.
“It was not supposed to go that way,” Tayo said. “I warned her. They were closing in.”
“And what are you doing?” she demanded. “Saving me or delivering me?”
He met her eyes. “I’m the reason you are still alive.”
Zainab’s heartbeat skidded. Rage and relief fought inside her.
“Explain,” she snapped. “Now. And no lies.”
Tayo took off his helmet. Without it, he looked like the man she once loved — determined, flawed, complicated.
“I worked in defense signals,” he confessed. “Babel never ended. It evolved. They don’t need TV broadcasts anymore. Now it’s embedded in apps, ads, data. Total influence. Total control.”
Zainab’s skin prickled cold.
“They think you have the last piece,” he continued. “The shutdown protocol. Your father’s failsafe.”
“My father built a kill switch?” she asked quietly.
Tayo nodded. “He hid it. They never found it.”
“So they killed him.”
Tayo’s expression confirmed the truth.
“Who leads them?” she asked.
He hesitated. That alone terrified her.
“You already know the name,” he said. “General Kolapo Sanni may be dead… but his successor is worse.”
Zainab felt something dark rise in her chest. “Say it.”
Tayo swallowed, then spoke:
“Your uncle. Adewale Adebayo.”
The world tilted beneath her feet.
“My mother’s brother?” she whispered.
“He took over Babel after Sanni. He’s the man in the black Toyota.”
Zainab stumbled back, breath thin.
Her **own family** was hunting her.
Before she could question further, Tayo grabbed her wrist.
“We need to move.”
Headlights blazed across the yard. A convoy. Government-grade vehicles. The kind that never carried good news.
Tayo pulled out a suppressed pistol. “Stay behind me.”
Zainab didn’t need to be told twice.
A voice boomed from a loudspeaker:
“Zainab Adeyemi. By order of the National Security Directorate, surrender yourself.”
Tayo cursed under his breath. “They brought the Directorate themselves. He wants you alive.”
“He?” Zainab asked.
Tayo’s jaw clenched. “Your uncle doesn’t send messengers.”
The gates crashed open. Armed men poured in.
Tayo fired. Zainab ducked behind a rusted vehicle. Sparks flew as bullets danced around them.
Tayo shouted, “Run. Find the Custodian. He’s your only chance now.”
“What about you?”
He didn’t answer. He just turned and kept firing.
Zainab hesitated for one breath.
Then survival took over. She sprinted toward a narrow alley as Tayo held the line. She didn’t look back.
She couldn’t.
Some truths were too heavy for the past. And this one… might destroy her future.
Next Episode
*As Zainab flees deeper into the city’s underbelly, she learns that the Custodian has been preparing for her arrival for years. But when family becomes the enemy, where can loyalty survive and who can she trust with the truth that could collapse a nation?*
Mobola Johnson is a gifted creative writer with years of experience in storytelling.