The fishing village slept in shadows, but Dre was wide awake. He stared at the ceiling made of rusted zinc and wood, listening to the sound of waves crashing just beyond the shore. Each crash echoed the pounding in his chest. He had not slept properly in days. Fever still lingered in his blood. But the fire inside him burned through it all. There was no time to rest. The revolution was no longer a whisper. It was thunder. And thunder did not wait.
At sunrise, Dre stepped outside the hut, the coat from the old fisherman still hanging loosely on his shoulders. The villagers watched him with cautious eyes. Some offered nods. Others handed him food. A young girl gave him a beaded bracelet and whispered, Thank you for being brave. He held her hand for a moment and smiled. Then he looked up at the sky. It was time to move again.
He left the village by boat. The old man who helped him escape rowed in silence. As they reached the mainland, the man spoke without looking at him.
They think you are dead. That is your power now. Do not waste it.
Dre nodded and climbed off the boat. Lagos greeted him like a restless lion. Police checkpoints covered most of the major roads. Armed soldiers patrolled markets. Drones buzzed above rooftops. Loudspeakers barked orders for citizens to stay indoors after dark. Martial law had transformed the city into a prison. But even in the thickest chains, some people still danced. Some still defied.
Dre moved like a shadow, changing clothes twice, stealing a delivery uniform, and disappearing into the crowd. He made his way to the old university library in Yaba, a dead spot in the surveillance grid. Kemi had once mentioned it in a coded message. If anything went wrong, that was their new base.
He knocked three times on a dusty iron door. A small slit opened. Two eyes appeared. Then the door opened.
Malik pulled him in and locked it behind them.
Holy hell, you look like a ghost.
I feel like one Dre replied.
Kemi appeared from the back room, her face lighting up when she saw him. She hugged him hard. We thought we lost you.
You almost did he said. But I am not done.
They sat down around a table lit by candles. Maps. Notes. Phones. Memory cards. Everything was still there. Still burning.
The broadcast worked Kemi said. Obayemi lost half his international support. The European council froze his foreign accounts. The UN is asking questions. Even the military is divided. Some commanders are refusing to follow orders. The people are rising.
Malik added But they hit back. Hard. Five safehouses raided. We lost two more allies. And now there's a price on your head. Ten million.
Dre smiled weakly. That means we are close.
What do we do now Kemi asked.
We finish it Dre said. We burn the lie at the root. The building where this all began. The Vault.
Kemi's eyes widened. You are insane. That's suicide.
Not if we use the silence. They think I am gone. That's our advantage. We get in. We expose everything. Then we disappear before they blink.
They planned for two days. Called in old allies. New faces arrived. Young. Some barely older than children. But they were ready. They had seen too much to be afraid now. This wasn't Dre's war anymore. It was everyone's.
The Vault sat in Ikoyi. Clean. Polished. Hidden in plain sight. Officially, it was a data storage facility for national security. In truth, it was where secrets went to sleep. Videos. Documents. Names. Histories. Buried and encrypted. Untouchable.
Until now.
The team approached at midnight. Dre led the way, dressed as a security technician. Malik hacked the outer locks. Kemi disabled the motion sensors. They entered through the back, silent and swift.
Inside, they moved through sterile corridors lined with cameras. But the feed was looped. Malik's trick. They reached the core chamber in ten minutes. Dre held up a stolen access card. The door clicked open.
They stepped into a cathedral of lies. Rows of servers blinked in blue light. Digital tombstones of stolen truth.
Kemi whispered Are you sure about this
Dre nodded. Let the world see what they buried.
They uploaded everything. Every file. Every image. Every confession. They sent it across multiple platforms. Backups in clouds. Links to journalists. Encrypted emails to watchdog groups.
Then the alarms screamed.
They are here Malik yelled.
Dre looked at Kemi. You know the plan. Get them out.
She grabbed his arm. You promised.
I never do Dre said. That is how I survive.
He ran toward the front exit. Pulled the fire alarm. Triggered the sprinkler systems. As the lights flickered, he set off a smoke bomb. Chaos exploded.
Outside, armored trucks arrived. Soldiers stormed the building. But the team had already scattered through maintenance tunnels. Only Dre remained.
He walked out slowly, hands raised.
You wanted me alive he shouted. Here I am.
They tackled him. Dragged him to a van. Hood over his head.
Hours passed.
When the hood came off, he sat in a cold room. Shackles on his wrists. Across from him sat Obayemi.
You should have stayed dead the man said.
Dre smiled. You should have buried the truth better.
Obayemi slammed a folder on the table. You think this changes anything? You think hashtags and leaks scare me? I own the silence in this country.
Not anymore Dre replied. Now the silence belongs to us.
Obayemi leaned in. They will forget you. You will rot here.
Dre looked him in the eye. No. They will remember. Because I am not alone. And this fire doesn't die. It spreads.
He was dragged away. Locked in darkness. Left without food for two days. But he heard things. Guards whispering. Officers arguing. Protests at the gates. His name chanted in the distance.
On the third day, a door opened.
Kemi stood there.
We are not done she said.
Behind her, Malik grinned. Told you we would come find you.
Dre stepped into the sunlight. Blinded. Broken. But standing.
And the people were waiting.
Thousands filled the street. Flags waving. Voices raised. Red cloth tied around arms. Some cried. Some smiled. All chanted one word.
Dre.
He looked at them.
Then at Kemi.
Then he raised his fist.
Not for victory.
But for vengeance fulfilled.
And justice born anew.