Episode 21: President, Prototypes & Pillow Talk
The jet hummed through the sky, slicing through clouds like a blade. Inside, tension buzzed just as loud.
Zahara sat in the corner, knees pulled to her chest, eyes locked on the tablet screen replaying footage of her younger self being experimented on. Her hands trembled — but only a little. She wasn't the same girl in that video anymore.
Martins stood at the window, arms folded, his jaw tight.
Tunde? Oh, Tunde was definitely not keeping quiet.
"So," he began, dramatically swirling a cup of instant coffee, "let's address the hummingbird in the hangar…"
Martins turned slowly. "Please. Don't."
Tunde smirked. "Too late. Have you been shagging Zahara?"
Martins choked on air. "What—?!"
Even Zahara blinked. "Excuse me?!"
Sophia, from across the cabin, didn't look up from her tablet. "Ten credits says he lies."
Tunde leaned forward, grinning. "Because—and I say this with deep concern—if you two are gonna keep doing the whole 'intense stares and weird romantic whispering' thing, I'd rather not walk in on any malfunctioning limbs or bedroom system overloads, okay?"
Martins narrowed his eyes. "You're one code line away from getting tossed out of this jet, no chute."
"Ohhh," Tunde grinned wider. "So you have been—"
"Enough!" Zahara laughed, throwing a pillow at Tunde's head.
Martins turned to Zahara, slightly flushed but still smug. "You gonna save me or let him keep going?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. He's asking valid questions."
Everyone burst out laughing — even Sophia cracked a rare smirk.
Then, the holo-comm chimed.
A secure line.
The seal of the United Territories lit up.
Martins and Zahara exchanged glances. Martins answered.
The President's face appeared — dignified, grey-haired, and clearly not in the mood for small talk.
"Martins. Zahara. I've just been briefed on what you're walking into."
Zahara straightened. "You knew, didn't you? About the lab. About me."
There was a pause. The President sighed. "We had suspicions. Redacted files. Quiet whispers. But nothing confirmed. The Architect has been erasing history as fast as we've been uncovering it."
"Why wasn't I told?" Zahara asked, her voice sharp.
"Because I made the call to let you have your truth. Not theirs. I never saw you as a weapon, Zahara. I saw you as a daughter."
The words landed heavy. Zahara froze. Sophia turned, surprised.
"Wait… like, actual 'daughter' daughter?" Tunde asked, blinking. "Did we just unlock a royal soap opera subplot?"
The President chuckled softly. "No, Tunde. Not biologically. But when you guard someone with your life, share dinners, talk about dreams and fears… you don't need blood to love someone like family."
Zahara looked down, touched — but conflicted.
"You're walking into a storm," the President continued. "But you won't walk alone. You've got the best team I know… and me. We'll get through this. Together."
The line cut.
There was silence in the jet.
Tunde cleared his throat. "Okay. That was… really wholesome. I feel like I should hug someone. Or eat ice cream."
Sophia tossed him a protein bar. "Closest you're getting."
---
As the jet descended toward Lairen, the atmosphere changed.
Below: a ghost town.
Half-covered in fog, half-lit by strange glowing circuitry spread across the land like veins.
Martins gripped Zahara's hand. "Ready?"
"No," she whispered. "But I'm going anyway."
And with that, they jumped into the unknown.