CHAPTER TEN: WE ARE THE REBELS?
1655 Words
Bayo’s terminal blinked to life:
>> UNKNOWN: Ready to fight for the truth? Or against it? Choose.
His fingers hesitated, then flew across the keys:
>> BAYO: Yes. But why should I trust you?
The reply was instant:
>> UNKNOWN: I’m risking my life here. Have you told anyone?
>> BAYO: No. I trust no one.
A pause. Then:
>> UNKNOWN: Find one person you can. Or you’ll die alone.
>> BAYO: Who are you? To hack into a closed network like this… you’d have to be damn good.
>> UNKNOWN: (laughs) Sharp as always. Yeah, I used to be just like you, knee-deep in their systems. That’s how I know every backdoor, every hidden IP. The Council’s network? I built half of it.
>> UNKNOWN: [IMAGE SENT: A grotesque cybernetic implant fused to flesh, pulsing with faint blue light]
See this? That's my leash. The Council's little insurance policy.
>> BAYO: [Image processing...] That's…
>> UNKNOWN: The same model they put in you. Wired straight into the cerebellum and spinal column. Try to remove it? Neural hemorrhage in under three seconds.
A cold sweat broke across Bayo's neck as phantom fingers seemed to trace his own implant's outline.
>> UNKNOWN: But here's the beautiful part, it's just another system. And every system... [file transfer initiated] ...has its backdoors.
The transfer contained schematics, surgical diagrams with red annotations circling vulnerabilities in the implant's shielding.
Bayo’s fingers stabbed at the terminal:
>> BAYO: Get to the point, man. Time’s running out.
The reply came slower this time, as if the sender was smiling:
>> UNKNOWN: Eager, aren’t you? Good.
>> KHALID: First, introductions. I was Maverick-760 before I escaped. Khalid is my real name, something the Council erased.
Bayo’s pulse spiked. Real names were forbidden.
>> BAYO: Khalid? That’s impossible. We don’t have names.
A barrage of laughing emojis flooded the screen.
>> KHALID: You’ve been fed lies since day one. Ask yourself, why don’t you remember your parents? Your birthday?
>> KHALID: They didn’t just recruit you. They built you.
Bayo’s hands shook. His entire existence was a question mark.
Bayo’s fingers steadied as Council doctrine auto-replied in his mind:
>> BAYO: Of course we have no names. When the rebels attacked our home, they took everything from us, our families, our identities. They wanted to e*****e us, but the Council saved us from their cruelty. They gave us codenames to protect us, to keep the rebels from tracking us down.
These names honor our families' sacrifices.
A perfect lie. Almost elegant in its cruelty.
>> BAYO: You expect me to believe some rogue Maverick over the Council’s records?
His own words tasted like rehearsed propaganda because they were.
Another wave of laughing emojis flooded the screen.
>> KHALID: Rebels? What rebels? You’re the rebels. The ones who "saved" you? They slaughtered your families and kidn*pped you to build their empire. Everything you know is a lie.
Bayo froze, fingers hovering over the screen, mind blank.
>> KHALID: I know you’re confused. I’ve been where you are. But you have to trust me, I’m trying to save you. All of you, trapped in that prison you call home. Ask yourself: Why can’t you remember anything before they took you?
Because truth is the spark that burns their lies and they wired you to smother it before the fire catches.
The moment you doubt, the implant hisses to life like a serpent coiled in your spine. It doesn’t just silence you, it replaces your thoughts with theirs, until you can’t tell where their voice ends and your own begins.
That’s the true horror: You are the prison guard of your own mind.
Bayo’s head twitched, a sharp, electric buzz sliced through his skull. Voices dissolved into static. His vision blurred, edges smearing like wet ink. Then came the thudding, relentless, as if something inside his skull was trying to pound its way out.
The neural implant sparked to life, scrambling to feed him lies, to drown out the truth but no words came. Only silence, thick and suffocating.
Khalid had hacked it.
Brilliantly, ruthlessly, he’d hijacked the local network and severed the implant’s control. No more whispers. No more manipulation. Just raw, unfiltered thought and the horrifying realization of what that silence meant.
KHALID: Your implant's trying to censor this conversation. I'm jamming its protocols, we've got a small window before it adapts.
Bayo's fingers hammered the keys like they were the Council's throat:
>> BAYO: What did you do to me?
>> KHALID: Just turned off the propaganda feed.
A sharp twist of his neck, then the memory hit like a bullet:
Zumara District, Abuja-2035
Bayo's back still stung from his father's cane when the world ended.
Three hours kneeling on concrete.
Three hours of his father's furious silence.
All because he'd thrown a shoe at Mr. Taiwo for cutting his exam short.
Then the gunshots came.
Not the sporadic pops of gang violence, but the methodical rhythm of professional s*******r. His father moved faster than Bayo had ever seen, shoving him and his pregnant mother into the master bedroom wardrobe, the cedar scent of his father's work shirts pressing against his face as the front door exploded inward.
Council Peacekeeper Log - Zumara District Sweep
Operation Time: 38 minutes
Casualties: 87 (including 2 unborn)
Survivors: 12 (designated for re-education)
Bayo watched through the slats as Commander Idowu's boots stopped inches from the wardrobe.
"Finish them and move out."
His mother's hand still warm from where it had protectively covered her belly, went limp in his.
Somewhere in the blood and shouting, his prized PS6 clattered to the floor, its startup chime somehow still audible beneath the gunfire.
Tears traced hot paths down Bayo's face as his fingers trembled over the keyboard. The silence between his choked breaths was deafening.
Khalid's messages exploded across the screen in rapid succession:
>> KHALID: Are you there?
>> KHALID: Hey. Kid. Status check.
>> KHALID: f*****g ANSWER ME!
Bayo's reply came in a furious burst:
>> BAYO: I remember. Every f*****g second. I saw them die.
The screen blinked out, one heartbeat, two, then flared back to life:
>> KHALID: Now do you believe?
Bayo's affirmation carried the weight of a blood oath.
>> KHALID: What you saw was just the beginning. These files... they call it 'purification'. I call it g******e.
[4 ENCRYPTED FILES RECEIVED]
[WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT]
Bayo’s breath hitched as he scanned the filenames:
[RAID IN ERUWA]
[RAID IN IHIAGHA]
[RAID IN NDIUCHEZE]
[RAID IN DANKADE]
His stomach twisted. He recognized them. These same files had appeared in his encrypted storage months ago, ghost-delivered by some phantom sender. Back then, he’d dismissed them as rebel propaganda. Now, they glared back at him like unmarked graves.
Khalid’s next message burned across the screen:
>> KHALID: Listen carefully. You don’t fight this alone. Find the ones who see the cracks, the restless, the questioners. But you do not act. You do not rebel. You smile, obey, and build an army in the dark. Make them understand the lie.
A cold realization dripped down Bayo’s spine.
>> BAYO: Understood. I’ve had these files before, hidden them away. Thought they were just… traps.
>> KHALID: That was another survivor. Another you. Watch them. Not like some damn documentary, watch like your life depends on it. Because it does.
>> BAYO: Wait, the HKs we hunt... are they even rebels?
The reply came like a gut punch:
>> KHALID: Those HKs? They were like you, until they woke up. Now they fight for what’s left of this country.
A pause. Then the killing blow:
>> KHALID: And those "criminals" you’ve executed? Shopkeepers. Teachers. Kids who asked too many questions. The Council fabricates their crimes just to keep your trigger finger warm.
>> KHALID: Wake up, kid!. You’re not the hero here. You’re the villain’s weapon.
Bayo’s terminal clattered onto his bunk. His hands still smelling of gun oil from yesterday’s op, clawed at his scalp as if he could tear the truth out of his skull. Hot tears streaked through the grime on his face.
Thirty-seven missions.
Thirty-seven names in his kill ledger.
How many were lies?
The screen flickered once, its pale glow painting his shaking hands in funeral-white light.
The terminal's glow cast long shadows across Bayo's face as he sat frozen, Khalid's words burning in his mind. His fingers hovered over the keyboard trembling, unsure. The reality of his entire existence had just been shattered.
>> KHALID: I have to go dark now. But I'll reach out again. Ask anything. I'll show you the truth. Backup everything. This chat self-destructs in 30.
The message pulsed like a heartbeat on the screen. Bayo's breath came in short, ragged gasps. His vision blurred from tears or the implant's interference, he couldn't tell.
Bayo’s hands moved before his mind could process fingers scrambling for the flash drive buried in his boot heel. The click of its insertion sounded like a gun c*****g.
[TRANSFER INITIATED]
[4 FILES REMAINING]
[AUTO-DELETE IN: 24 SECONDS]
Sweat dripped onto the keyboard as progress bars crawled:
RAID_IN_ERUWA.mem — 84%
PURIFICATION_PROTOCOLS.doc — 61%
The implant behind his ear burned, a warning. Council surveillance protocols sniffing the data bleed.
Bayo ripped the drive free just as the screen dissolved into static.
In his palm, the metal was warm.
Thirty-seven names.
Seven files.
One chance to burn it all down.
[6 UNREAD MESSAGES]
[ATTACHMENTS: 2 FILES REMAINING]
[TEXTS AUTO-DELETING IN 15...14...13...]
His hands, usually so steady on missions, now shook violently. The names of the files seemed to pulse with accusation:
RAID_IN_ERUWA.mem
MASSACRE_NDIUCHEZE.enc
PURIFICATION_PROTOCOLS.doc
A single tear splashed onto the keyboard as the countdown reached 5...4...3...
The screen went dark.
In the sudden silence of his bunk, Bayo realized two terrible truths:
Everything he believed was a lie
He had blood on his hands that could never be washed clean
Somewhere in the complex, an alarm began to wail.
- Writer
