Achilles sat by the window, watching the streetlight flicker like it was fighting sleep. His skin was sticky with sweat. The fan in the corridor wasn’t working, NEPA had struck again, wicked as usual.

But that wasn’t what kept him awake.

It was that folder.

R.E.D.S.I.S.T.E.M.

Password protected. Refused to open.

He tried “123456”.

He tried “Naija”.

He tried “Jesus”.

Nothing.

Each time, the same cold response: ACCESS DENIED.

He stared at the screen, the reflection of his tired eyes bouncing back at him. For a moment, he saw a younger version of himself back when his parents were still alive, before everything went quiet.

Age 12.

They were driving back from his cousin’s naming ceremony in Festac. His father was humming Oliver De Coque, his mother laughing at some dry joke.

Then… flash of headlights.

Screech.

Black SUV.

The next thing he remembered was waking up in LASUTH, bandages everywhere, no parents, no relatives, just one hospital worker telling him:

“You’re a strong boy. Ajegunle boys no dey cry.”

That was the first time he heard it.

And it stayed.

Present day.

Achilles stood up, grabbed the flash drive, and slipped it into the waistband of his shorts. Even if he was being tracked or anyone broke into the room tonight, they won’t find it where they expect.

He walked to the corner of the room, moved his bucket aside, and pulled up one of the floor tiles. A small hole beneath held old notebooks, expired ID cards, and one small Ziploc bag, his memory box.

He dropped the flash inside.

“Nobody go see am there,” he muttered.

Then he locked the laptop, placed it under his pillow, and finally laid down.

Still, no sleep.

His thoughts drifted to Tari her gap tooth smile, the way she always said “you dey overthink” with that Calabar sharpness. They hadn’t spoken in two weeks. He had ghosted her. Not on purpose.

He didn’t know how to explain that he felt like a ticking bomb.

Morning.

By 6:30 AM, the compound was already noisy, children brushing teeth with chewing sticks, Mama Ifeoma shouting about firewood, someone playing Burna Boy from a cracked Bluetooth speaker.

Achilles stepped out shirtless, wore his slippers, and made his way to Alhaji Musa’s cyber café.

The place was dark, dusty, and smelled like engine oil and dreams. Only two working systems, both wheezing like asthmatic dogs.

He sat by the corner, plugged in the flash.

Opened Google.

Typed: “R.E.D.S.I.S.T.E.M password hint bypass.”

What he found made his throat tighten:

“Restricted Economic Donor System for International Surgical Exchange Management REDSISTEM.”

The name alone sounded like official evil.

But worse, he found a Reddit thread from four years ago someone warning about a secret donor registry linked to missing persons in Nigeria, Ghana, and South Sudan.

Most comments were deleted. The account that posted it? Suspended.

Achilles leaned back. Heart racing.

What had he stumbled on?

He was still reading when a shadow fell across the screen.

“Guy, you no dey fear?” a deep voice said.

Achilles turned.

It was Shina Wire wearing a face cap low over his eyes, mouth smelling of ogogoro and cigarettes. The man had disappeared years ago after EFCC burst his lodge.

Now he was back. And he was staring straight at Achilles like he already knew.

Achilles sat by the window, watching the streetlight flicker like it was fighting sleep. His skin was sticky with sweat. The fan in the corridor wasn’t working, NEPA had struck again, wicked as usual.

But that wasn’t what kept him awake.

It was that folder.

R.E.D.S.I.S.T.E.M.

Password protected. Refused to open.

He tried “123456”.

He tried “Naija”.

He tried “Jesus”.

Nothing.

Each time, the same cold response: ACCESS DENIED.

He stared at the screen, the reflection of his tired eyes bouncing back at him. For a moment, he saw a younger version of himself back when his parents were still alive, before everything went quiet.

Age 12.

They were driving back from his cousin’s naming ceremony in Festac. His father was humming Oliver De Coque, his mother laughing at some dry joke.

Then… flash of headlights.

Screech.

Black SUV.

The next thing he remembered was waking up in LASUTH, bandages everywhere, no parents, no relatives, just one hospital worker telling him:

“You’re a strong boy. Ajegunle boys no dey cry.”

That was the first time he heard it.

And it stayed.

Present day.

Achilles stood up, grabbed the flash drive, and slipped it into the waistband of his shorts. Even if he was being tracked or anyone broke into the room tonight, they won’t find it where they expect.

He walked to the corner of the room, moved his bucket aside, and pulled up one of the floor tiles. A small hole beneath held old notebooks, expired ID cards, and one small Ziploc bag, his memory box.

He dropped the flash inside.

“Nobody go see am there,” he muttered.

Then he locked the laptop, placed it under his pillow, and finally laid down.

Still, no sleep.

His thoughts drifted to Tari her gap tooth smile, the way she always said “you dey overthink” with that Calabar sharpness. They hadn’t spoken in two weeks. He had ghosted her. Not on purpose.

He didn’t know how to explain that he felt like a ticking bomb.

Morning.

By 6:30 AM, the compound was already noisy, children brushing teeth with chewing sticks, Mama Ifeoma shouting about firewood, someone playing Burna Boy from a cracked Bluetooth speaker.

Achilles stepped out shirtless, wore his slippers, and made his way to Alhaji Musa’s cyber café.

The place was dark, dusty, and smelled like engine oil and dreams. Only two working systems, both wheezing like asthmatic dogs.

He sat by the corner, plugged in the flash.

Opened Google.

Typed: “R.E.D.S.I.S.T.E.M password hint bypass.”

What he found made his throat tighten:

“Restricted Economic Donor System for International Surgical Exchange Management REDSISTEM.”

The name alone sounded like official evil.

But worse, he found a Reddit thread from four years ago someone warning about a secret donor registry linked to missing persons in Nigeria, Ghana, and South Sudan.

Most comments were deleted. The account that posted it? Suspended.

Achilles leaned back. Heart racing.

What had he stumbled on?

He was still reading when a shadow fell across the screen.

“Guy, you no dey fear?” a deep voice said.

Achilles turned.

It was Shina Wire wearing a face cap low over his eyes, mouth smelling of ogogoro and cigarettes. The man had disappeared years ago after EFCC burst his lodge.

Now he was back. And he was staring straight at Achilles like he already knew.