The city had stopped whispering. Now it roared. Fires burned in metal drums on every street corner. Not out of chaos but unity. People cooked in them. Warmed their hands beside them. Told stories around them. Dre's stories. Kemi's courage. Malik's madness. The legends were already spreading and Dre had not even fallen yet. That was the part that made it powerful. The movement was still alive and yet it felt mythic.
But inside Dre there was no room for myth. Only urgency. Eliza was recovering. Shade had vanished. And Obayemi had not made another move. That worried Dre more than anything. A man like that did not retreat. He regrouped.
In the safehouse Malik pored over intercepted messages. Some encrypted. Some not. A few were disturbing. Foreign agents watching the chaos. Intelligence reports suggesting Dre was being groomed by outside forces. Journalists now referring to him as an extremist. The government shifting the narrative again.
They are painting us like terrorists Malik muttered.
Kemi sipped from a metal cup. Let them paint. The people know the truth
Dre stayed quiet. He stared at the map. Circles marked on Ikoyi. Victoria Island. Areas too clean too quiet. As if untouched by all the fire. That was a sign. Obayemi was there. Or worse hiding something bigger there.
We need to move Dre finally said. The silence is their plan. If they make us stall we give them time to rebuild
Kemi nodded. Then we go loud again. What do you suggest
Dre pointed to an old broadcast station. Abandoned for years. It had a signal tower still standing. Strong enough to reach the entire country.
We hijack it. This time we do not just speak. We show them. Everything. The footage the names the files. One full hour of nothing but truth
That is suicide Malik said quietly. They will come with everything they have
Then we die telling the truth Dre replied. Or we live because we did
They prepared in silence. Every move calculated. Eliza insisted on joining. Bruised but burning inside.
They reached the station by nightfall. Barbed wires. Rotting signs. A fallen logo hanging off one bolt. Inside dust covered ancient boards and broken glass. But the core tech still pulsed faintly. It could work.
Kemi rewired the control room. Malik climbed the rusted tower to realign the frequency dish. Dre gathered the footage. Everything they had gathered. Torture videos. Secret tapes. Financial frauds. Election tampering. The blood under the gold.
At eleven forty five p.m. the station lit up.
It began.
Dre stood before the camera. No script. Just him.
This is not about me. Not anymore. This is about what they did while we begged for water. What they stole while we waited in queues. What they broke while we prayed for mercy. And now you will see it
The screen shifted to footage. Graphic. Brutal. Real. A mother screaming in a flooded hospital. A boy being dragged from a protest. A judge signing off an execution for cash. Name by name. Face by face.
Across Lagos people gathered in silence. In clubs. In schools. In churches. Even some police officers watched. Some turned off their radios. Others wept.
Obayemi's estate was silent. Then shattered.
He threw a glass at the screen. Get me the army now. I want them wiped off the face of this country
His advisor whispered Sir they are everywhere now. You cannot erase them. You can only silence them
Then silence them Obayemi growled.
Armored trucks rolled out within minutes. Airspace locked. Communications jammed. But Dre was already done.
The broadcast ended with him staring into the camera.
My name is Dre. I was born of vengeance. But I live for justice. And I will not run
He walked out of the room. Sirens echoed. Boots thundered.
Kemi looked at him What now
We split Dre said. Get the team out. Go dark. Regroup in seven days. If I am not there keep going
Eliza shook her head. We do not leave you
Dre smiled. Then come find me
He ran toward the back exit. Distraction. He led the soldiers away. Ten trucks chased one man. Helicopters overhead. A thousand lights searching for one flame.
He disappeared into the underbelly of the city. Through gutters. Rooftops. Markets. At one point he jumped into the lagoon. Swam until his lungs screamed. Climbed out near a fishing village. The fishermen stared. One of them nodded slowly.
You are the one who speaks the fire
Dre coughed blood. Help me disappear
The old man handed him a coat. Fish-smelling. Heavy.
I buried my son last year. He believed in you. So now I believe in you too
Dre hid in a hut for two days. Feverish. Breathing ash and memories. But every hour someone brought food. Water. News. They told him the people were still standing. That the streets had not broken.
When he finally stood again his hands trembled but his heart burned.
This is not over he whispered.
And in the distance a new fire rose in the sky.