CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: ECHOES OF THE OLD WORLD

The Ruins Of Abuja

The ruins of Abuja loomed before them, swallowed by time and decay. The grand structures that once symbolized power and heritage now stood as hollow remnants of a lost civilization. But deep inside the National Museum, something remained.

Jace tightened his grip on his machete, his other hand resting near his sidearm. He had a bad feeling.

"We move in pairs," Captain Idris ordered. His voice was firm, and practiced- he had done this before. "No unnecessary noise. We take the artifacts and leave."

Jace exchanged a glance with Kunle. Something was off. The streets were too quiet, and there were no visible corpses- neither dead nor undead. That was never a good sign.

The group pressed forward, stepping into the museum's side entrance, their boots crunching against shattered glass.

Inside, the air was thick with dust. The once-polished marble floors were cracked, and broken display cases littered the halls. Ancient history lay scattered-shattered pottery, torn manuscripts, and rusted weapons of warriors long gone.

Jace's eyes scanned the area. No movement.

Kunle knelt beside a broken pedestal. The plaque was still readable: "The Ife Bronze Head." But the artifact was gone.

"Damn it," Kunle muttered.

Jace turned to Captain Idris. "Looks like someone beat us to do it

Idris didn't respond immediately. He was staring ahead, tense.

"Stay sharp," he finally said. "We keep looking."

They moved deeper into the museum, past collapsed walls and overturned exhibits. The deeper they went, the darker it became-as if the place itself wanted to swallow them.

Then, the whispering began.

At first, Jace thought it was the wind. But these were voices. Faint, hurried, echoing through the halls.

Kunle caught his arm. "Tell me you hear that."

Jace nodded. They weren't alone.

A shadow moved.

From the corner of his eyes, Jace caught the briefest glimpse-a figure slipping between the exhibits. Then another.

Captain Idris raised a fist, signaling his men to halt.

"Who's there?" his voice echoed.

No answers. Only whispers.

Then, a sharp clang metal object fell from the upper balcony, following to a stop near their feet. A human skull.

And then the moaning started.

Kunle raised his gun. "Here we go."

From the darkness, they emerged- figures wrapped in tattered clothing, their faces covered in dirt and blood. They weren't walkers, but they weren't quite sane either.

One of them, a man with hollow eyes and scars across his face, stepped forward.

"You shouldn't have come here."

Jace's gut twisted. They had stumbled into something worse than the dead.

Captain Idris took a step forward. "We don't want trouble. We're looking for the artifacts."

A laugh - dry, humorless. "The artifacts belong to the old world. We preserve them... and protect them."

Jace exhaled sharply. A cult.

The scarred man gestured behind him. More figures emerged, carrying spears, blades, and old rifles. Some wore masks made from animal skulls, their clothes stitched together from scavenged fabrics.

Kunle whispered, "Tell me we're not fighting a damn history club."

Jace flexed his fingers around his machete. It didn't matter who they were. These people were dangerous.

"We'll be taking what we came for," Idris said, keeping his voice even.

Scarface smirked. "You can try."

The moment was shattered by a single gunshot.

One of Idris' men panicked and fired, hitting a cultist in the shoulder. The man didn't scream, didn't even flinch. Instead, he charged forward, howling.

And then hell broke loose.

The cultists rushed them from all directions.

Jace ducked as a rusted machete swung past his head, slicing the air. He drove his knee into an attacker's stomach, sending the man sprawling. Beside him, Kunle fought like a wild animal, using his fists and knife to fend off the oncoming onslaught.

Captain Idris barked orders, but it was chaos.

The gunfire echoed through the museum, drawing the true monsters.

From the outside, the first walkers pushed through the broken windows, drawn by the noise.

Now they had two enemies.

Jace grabbed Kunle's arm. "We need to move, now!"

Idris' men were already falling back, firing at both the cultists and the dead.

Jace caught sight of a wooden crate near the grand staircase, its lid half-open. Inside, gleaming in the dim light, lay the Crown of Oduduwa.

He had seconds to decide.

Leave it? Or take the risk?

Jace gritted his teeth. If the New Order wanted this badly, it was worth something.

He lunged forward, grabbing the crown- just as a cultist tackled him from behind.

They crashed onto the marble floor, struggling. The Cultist's breath was foul, his grip iron-tight. Jace fought for his life.

Then-a gunshot.

The cultists went limp.

Kunle over them, smoke rising from his pistol. "You're welcome."

Jace gasped for breath. "We're leaving."

With the dead closing in and the cultists retreating into the shadows, they ran.

Out through the broken doors. Down the steps. Back to the waiting truck.

They had the artifact. But they had made new enemies.

They hit the road again, riding the quiet roads of Abuja. Jace stopped to view the city's big structures and he said to Kunle, "I hope this world gets back to normal."

Hours later, they returned to New Abuja. The gates closed behind them, locking them back into this manufactured world of control.

Jace tossed the Crown of Oduduwa onto Hamzat's desk. "Here's your artifact."

The Brigadier General examined it, a small smile playing on his lips. "Good You've proven yourselves."

Jace didn't like the way he said that.

Hamzat leaned forward. "I have another mission for you."

Jace clenched his fists. It was never going to end.