By late 1998, the dust of the transition had settled into a fragile, uneasy peace. The military junta had retreated to the barracks, and the civilian government was beginning to breathe. In the streets of Lagos, the name WATCHMEN had become a folk legend, a whisper used to frighten corrupt bureaucrats. But for Silas, living in a small, nondescript house in the coastal outskirts of Badagry, the silence was louder than any riot. He spent his days repairing fishing nets and his nights watching the horizon where the Atlantic met the Nigerian sky.
The NSDI had been officially dissolved, replaced by a civilian-led intelligence bureau, but Silas knew better. You cannot simply delete decades of institutional ruthlessness. The "Broad Forces" had merely changed their suits. The capitalists and the Lagos political elite, exposed by the Ledger, hadn't vanished; they had simply moved their assets into the shadows of the new democracy, waiting for the public's memory to fade.
[SCENE START]
EXTERIOR: BADAGRY BEACH - DUSK
The waves crash rhythmically against the shore. SILAS (late 50s) is sitting on a driftwood log. AMAKA (30s) approaches from the palm groves, looking more like a corporate consultant than a spy.
AMAKA: You're getting too good at being a ghost, Silas. It took me three weeks to find this place.
SILAS: (Without looking up)
Then I'm losing my touch. It should have taken you six.
AMAKA: The transition is stalling. The trials of the NSDI leadership have been moved to closed-door sessions 'for the sake of national stability.' And Tunde? He's disappeared. The rumor is he's working for a private security firm funded by the very oil magnates the Ledger named.
SILAS: Money is like water, Amaka. You can dam it, but it will always find a new path to the sea.
AMAKA: They're starting a new project. They call it 'The Tredex Recovery.' They're trying to find the 1914 dark-pools I locked away. Tunde knows the digital signatures better than anyone. If he unlocks that money, he can buy the upcoming election before the first ballot is cast.
SILAS: (Standing up, brushing sand from his trousers)
The 1914 mandate was to protect the nation from its elite. If the elite are now using our own tools to enslave the new government, then the mandate hasn't ended. It's just evolved.
[SCENE END]
The drama shifted back to the heart of Lagos the glitzy, high-stakes world of Victoria Island. A secret summit was being held at a private estate belonging to Chief Onigbinde, one of the capitalists Lugard had feared nearly a century ago. Tunde, scarred from the fight under the Iroko tree and driven by a vendetta, was the guest of honor. He had a plan to bypass the "Scorched Earth" protocol by using a physical hardware key one that had been hidden in a secondary WATCHMEN file leaked during the '93 crisis but never recovered.
Silas and Amaka knew that the only way to stop the Recovery was to infiltrate the summit. This wasn't a mission of poison or printing presses; it was a mission of surgical extraction. They needed to destroy the hardware key before Tunde could link it to the global servers.
[SCENE START]
INTERIOR: ONIGBINDE ESTATE - NIGHT
A lavish party is in full swing. Men in expensive agbadas and women in silk gowns mingle under crystal chandeliers. TUNDE (40s, with a faint limp) stands on a balcony overlooking the lagoon, speaking to CHIEF ONIGBINDE (60s, opulent and cold).
CHIEF ONIGBINDE: The Transition Council is busy playing at democracy, Tunde. They don't realize that the real power in this country has always been in the ledger. When do we get access?
TUNDE: The hardware key is being synced now. Once the 1914 funds are unlocked, we won't need the NSDI. We'll be the ones who decide which bridges get built and which politicians stay in office. Silas Okoro thought he could kill the Watchmen by giving the book to a judge. He forgot that the Watchmen were built by capitalists like Lugard to keep the market stable.
ONIGBINDE: And Silas?
TUNDE: A relic. A ghost haunting a limestone basement that no longer exists.
Suddenly, the lights in the estate flicker and die. The hum of the backup generators fails to kick in.
TUNDE: (Pulling a pistol)
Security! Check the perimeter!
[SCENE END]
In the darkness, Silas and Amaka moved like the Original Watchmen of 1914. They didn't use high-tech gadgets; they used the darkness and the architecture of the house against its owners. Silas entered the study through a service lift, while Amaka jammed the estate's external communications.
Silas found the hardware key a small, unassuming brass cylinder connected to a high-end mainframe in Onigbinde's private office. He didn't just pull it out; he replaced it with a Ghost Protocol drive.
[SCENE START]
INTERIOR: ONIGBINDE'S STUDY - CONTINUOUS
SILAS is working at the terminal. The door bursts open. TUNDE enters, his weapon leveled.
TUNDE: I knew the smell of salt and old stone would follow you here, Silas. You just can't stay dead, can you?
SILAS: (Turning slowly)
The problem with people like you, Tunde, is that you think the WATCHMEN were about the money. You think the 1914 mandate was about profit.
TUNDE: It's always about the profit! Why else would Lugard have bothered?
SILAS: It was about control. Lugard knew that if the wealth of this nation was left to men like you, there would be no nation left to rule. The 1914 money wasn't meant to be spent. It was meant to be a weight, a ballast to keep the ship from tipping over.
TUNDE: Give me the key.
SILAS: I've already initiated the Ghost Protocol. In thirty seconds, the 1914 accounts won't just be locked. They'll be dissolved. The assets will be distributed into a hundred thousand small, anonymous micro-grants for schools and hospitals across the country. The bank is closing, Tunde. And you're overdrawn.
TUNDE: (Screaming) I'll kill you!
[SCENE END]
The two men fought in the pitch-black study, a desperate scramble of shadows and suppressed gunfire. This was the final battle of the Split. The man who wanted to own the secret versus the man who wanted to set it free. Tunde, fueled by greed, was reckless. Silas, fueled by a century of duty, was inevitable.
Amaka appeared in the doorway, a flare in her hand. The blinding white light illuminated the room just as Silas pinned Tunde against the mahogany desk.
"The mandate is over, Tunde," Silas whispered. "We aren't watchers anymore. We're just citizens."
The estate being swarmed not by the NSDI, but by the new, civilian police force, tipped off by Amaka. Chief Onigbinde and Tunde were led away in handcuffs, their dreams of a secret financial empire shattered. Silas and Amaka stood on the lawn, watching the sunrise over the Lagos Lagoon.
"Is it finally done?" Amaka asked.
"For us, yes," Silas said. He looked at the brass key in his hand, then tossed it into the deep, dark water of the lagoon. "But as long as there is power, there will be those who want to hide it. And as long as there is a Nigeria, there will be someone watching from the shadows. They just won't be called the WATCHMEN."