Noir Club, VIP Corridor – Midnight
The deeper Tunde moved into Noir, the less it resembled a club and more like a cathedral of secrets. The music quieted into a pulsing hum. Every corridor had eyes — some biological, some digital. Surveillance drones hovered like lazy insects, recording more than movement.
Broda Vic met him near the hallway leading to the VIP lounge, lit by dim amber light and lined with private VR pods. The bouncer's mood had shifted — colder, businesslike.
"You talk fast, but you need to move smarter," Vic said, sliding a retina scanner over Tunde's face. "No weapons, no recording. You clean?"
"Clean as Lagos rain," Tunde replied, playing the street-smart arrogance of his cover.
Vic smirked. "Then come."
He led Tunde through a coded door that hissed open with a whisper. The VIP section looked like a dream rendered by someone on ten different substances — curved white furniture, ceilings that mimicked the cosmos, tables with no legs, only levitating glass.
At the center sat a slim, gold-skinned man with diamond studs embedded along his jawline — Obi "Chrome" Maduka, mid-tier dealer and rising lieutenant in the Dust network. Rumor said he once beat a customs drone to death with a music speaker just for flying too close.
He looked up, bored. "You're the Benin ghost I been hearing about. Engineer turned... what? Hustler?"
Tunde shrugged. "I fix things. Codes. Networks. People."
Chrome tossed a micro-vial across the table. It spun once and landed perfectly upright.
"Neon Dust. One hit, and you'll feel like a god. Two hits, and you might forget you're human. That one's on the house. Let's see how you like it."
Tunde picked it up, turning it in his fingers. The vial glowed faintly — pink and blue fluid inside, too smooth to be natural. A whisper of heat passed through his fingers.
He slipped it into his coat. "Appreciate the gift. I don't taste what I sell."
That earned a nod of respect. "Smart man."
Then Chrome's tone shifted. "You want in, you prove you're useful. I got a shipment stuck near Third Mainland docks. Drones won't fly low enough to pick it up. My runner's ghosted. You get that crate back, and maybe we talk business."
Tunde didn't blink. "Location. Contacts. Extraction time?"
"You'll get all that. But one rule — if you see a girl named Alero near the crate, walk away. She's poison, and not even the bosses mess with her."
Tunde filed the name instantly. Every word mattered. Especially ones people tried to downplay.
"Understood."
Vic handed him a tiny flashchip with the coordinates. "Don't die. The boss hates delays."
As Tunde exited, Zara blocked his path. Her voice was low but amused. "You really diving in fast, Ghost Boy."
"Got any advice?"
"Yeah." She leaned in, breath hot against his ear. "In this place, loyalty's a hologram. You stare too long, it disappears."
She disappeared into the crowd, leaving the scent of smoke and challenge behind her.
Tunde tightened his grip on the flashchip.
The mission had begun. His first retrieval. His first real test.
And already, ghosts were whispering names he didn't yet understand.