11: WHISPERS OF THE UNSEEN

Chapter 11: Whispers of the Unseen

The weight of Dangote's words lingers as I step out of his office into the cool Lagos night. "Extinction-level bad." The phrase loops in my mind, an eerie echo of something I've refused to fully acknowledge.

If even men like Dangote are preparing, then I'm already behind.

I slide into the backseat of my car, my driver waiting in silence. "Home," I murmur. As we pull away from the compound, I stare out the window, the city lights blurring into streaks of yellow and white.

"Ava, what do we know about the anomalies?"

> "No official sources have classified them as related events, but patterns suggest they are not random. The acceleration rate indicates a looming catalyst."

A looming catalyst.

I rub my temple. "So, something—or someone—is causing this."

> "Uncertain. But if I were to calculate probability, there is a 78% chance these events are interconnected. However, with more data, this number could increase."

More data. I need more than speculation—I need proof.

And that means chasing down the anonymous email.

---

Two days later, I arrive at the meeting location—a secluded rooftop bar in Victoria Island. It's a high-end place, the kind where Lagos elites sip overpriced whiskey while pretending they aren't being watched.

I scan the crowd. No one stands out.

Then, I notice him.

A man in his forties, dark sunglasses despite the late hour, sitting alone with a glass of water. He's dressed too plainly for a place like this—jeans and a simple white shirt—but something about his posture tells me he's dangerous.

I approach. He doesn't look up.

"You're the one who emailed me?" I ask, sliding into the seat across from him.

"That depends." His voice is smooth, calculated. "You're the one trying to understand the storm before it swallows the world?"

I narrow my eyes. "Who are you?"

For the first time, he looks at me. Behind the sunglasses, his eyes are sharp, assessing. "Call me Mr. Cole."

Not a real name. But I don't press.

"Alright, Mr. Cole. You said we're tracking the same thing. So tell me—what do you know?"

He takes a slow sip of water before responding. "You ever hear of the Mandela Effect?"

I frown. "You mean when people remember things differently from reality?"

"Exactly." He leans in. "What if I told you that's happening on a global scale—right now?"

I pause. "Explain."

"Small details are shifting. Government archives, satellite images, old records—things that shouldn't change are changing. And the people at the top? The ones who actually notice? They're terrified."

A cold feeling creeps down my spine. "What are they afraid of?"

Cole exhales. "That this isn't just a phenomenon. That someone—or something—is rewriting reality."

My grip on the table tightens. "And you think it's connected to the anomalies?"

He nods. "I know it is."

I sit back, my mind racing. "Then why tell me? Why not go to the government, or the UN, or—"

He laughs, low and humorless. "You think they don't know? You think they're not scrambling behind closed doors?"

I say nothing.

Cole leans forward. "Here's the truth, kid. You're new money. You're powerful, sure, but in their eyes? You're a nobody. And that's exactly why you're useful."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"You have no official ties. No one's watching you—yet. You can move in ways they can't."

It takes a second for the implications to sink in.

He's right. If world governments are already aware of the anomalies, they'll be restricted by bureaucracy, politics, and red tape. But me? I can act freely.

And they know it.

I exhale. "So what do you want from me?"

Cole smiles. "To be ready. Because when the real storm hits... you won't be able to ignore it anymore."

---

After the meeting, I return to my Lagos fortress, locking myself in the training room. If the world is unraveling, then I need to push my abilities further.

I start with gravity control.

The room trembles as I extend my reach, forcing the gravitational field to shift. A weight rack in the corner lifts off the ground, floating midair.

"Faster," I whisper to myself.

I flick my fingers, and the rack shoots across the room, embedding itself in the far wall.

Good. But not enough.

I turn to telekinesis next, focusing on precision. A knife on the table rises into the air. With a thought, I send it spinning, weaving through an imaginary obstacle course.

Better. But still not enough.

Finally, I test my pocket space.

I reach inside, feeling the familiar pull as I retrieve an item—an old, rusted coin. Something I picked up weeks ago without thinking.

But when I flip it over, my stomach drops.

The markings are different.

I know this coin. I studied every scratch, every groove. But now, the symbols on its surface have changed.

A chill creeps up my spine.

Cole was right.

Reality is shifting.

---

I need allies.

But Dangote alone won't be enough.

No he won't.....he's not the only power house in Africa and I think it's time to set my goals appropriately

I think of the other powerful figures I tried to reach out to before. The ones who ignored me.

It's time to try again.

I spend the next few days reaching out to my contacts, pushing harder than before. Most still refuse to acknowledge me.

But one does.

Hearing a 'ding' sound coming from my phone,

A coded message arrives in my inbox.

Encrypted. Highly secure.

I decrypt it, my heartbeat steady.

Only three words stand out:

Keep digging. We see you.

I inhale slowly.

The world is watching me now.

I wanted to play in the big leagues.

Now, I have no choice.

The storm isn't coming.

It's already here.

---