Chapter 29: The Father's Capture and the Twisted Alliance

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The color drained from Yuhan's face, leaving him frozen in place. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. The video looped on his screen—grainy, brutal, unmistakable. His father. Chief Li. Bound. Gagged. Breathing heavily in a room that felt more like a cell. Each pan of the camera landed like a hammer to Yuhan's chest.

It wasn't just a threat.

It was personal.

And it was war.

A hand instinctively gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white, breath shallow. His heart wasn't just racing—it was clenching, aching. That man, who had stood like an anchor during Yuhan's darkest days, was now reduced to a hostage in a sick power game.

His father was supposed to be untouchable. Untouchable and safe. Not dragged into the same web of secrets and vendettas that had already consumed Yuhan's soul.

For a few seconds, he didn't feel like the strategist. The tactician. The avenger.

He just felt like a son.

One who had failed to protect what mattered most.

Then came the rage. Sharp, blinding, volcanic. It shoved aside the pain and curled into something lethal.

"Dapo! Ngozi!" His voice cracked like a whip, loud enough to make the reinforced walls vibrate. "Now!"

They rushed in, alerted by the sheer volume and tremor in his tone.

He didn't say anything at first. He just pointed.

Dapo's jaw locked as soon as he saw the video. Ngozi gasped softly, her hand flying to her chest.

"Trace it," Yuhan growled, his voice low and shaking. "Frame by frame. Light. Shadow. Every sound. I don't care if it takes hours—find him. Find my father."

"And when you do…" He paused, his voice dipping to a dangerous calm. "Bring me the bastards who sent this. Alive."

Behind his eyes, all other missions had gone silent. The Genesis Initiative, the Librarian, Alhaji—they blurred into background noise. There was only one mission now. One priority.

Family.

---

Across Biogbolo, Shen Mochen leaned back in his chair, watching the chaos he'd helped orchestrate. The room was dim, lit only by the pale glow of his screen. The encrypted report on his desk confirmed the operation: Chief Li secured. No witnesses. Clean extraction.

But Mochen's attention wasn't on the words.

It was on the live feed of Yuhan.

He watched every flicker of emotion on the young man's face—shock, devastation, rage. And then... focus. A chilling, sharpened clarity Mochen recognized. It stirred something strange inside him. Not pride. Not victory.

Something deeper. Darker.

"He loves him," Mochen murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Truly loves him."

There was a tremble beneath his tone. Not weakness. Something possessive. The way a collector might speak of a rare gem with a crack down the middle—flawed, but impossibly beautiful.

Kola, standing nearby with arms folded, studied him carefully. "He'll come to you," he said. "He's cornered."

Mochen nodded. "Not just for the man. For the truth. That's what drives him. It always has."

Kola tilted his head. "And when he does?"

Mochen turned, the faintest smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. "We offer a trade. His father… for the ledger. And his cooperation in locating Alhaji."

"And if he resists?"

Mochen's gaze sharpened. "He won't. Because I know him. I know how his mind works. His heart too."

He stared again at Yuhan on the screen. Disheveled. Distraught. And alive in a way Mochen hadn't seen before.

> You're mine to break or build, Yuhan.

And Mochen intended to do both.

---

Back in Yuhan's compound, tension crackled in the air. Ngozi's team moved like shadows—sifting through metadata, voice samples, frame analysis. Dapo coordinated the strike teams, their weapons ready, their orders grim.

But it wasn't enough.

Whoever sent the video had covered their tracks too well. The footage had been laundered through a dozen proxies, wiped of GPS data, and recorded in a room as generic as it was cruel.

Then it came.

A message. Not from The Librarian. Not from Mochen.

Just text. Cold, impersonal. Untraceable.

> "The Chief has your father. He demands the Librarian's ledger. Come to his compound. Alone. Bring the 'Genesis' piece. Your choice: his life or his secret."

The words hit like another punch. They knew everything.

Genesis. The ledger. And just how deep Yuhan's love for his father ran.

His breath caught in his throat. Not from fear. From helplessness. They were no longer just playing with fire. They were setting his entire world alight.

For a long moment, he stood still, shoulders sagging, head bowed.

He hated how vulnerable he felt.

But he also knew what had to be done.

With steady fingers, Yuhan drafted a message to the one person who could still tip the balance.

---

> To: Mama Biola

My father has been taken. The price is the ledger. I must meet Chief Adekunle. Alone. I'm out of options.

Meet me at the old Lagos Gate checkpoint in one hour. Come alone. We need to talk. Justice waits for no one.

They know about Genesis. They said Mochen holds the first piece. Is there a connection to The Pact?

---

He hit send.

The silence that followed was deafening.

He turned back to the blueprint still glowing on his screen—an echo of everything that had brought him here. The Librarian. Genesis. The Guardian. The Pact.

It all felt orchestrated now. As if each move he made had already been anticipated.

And he hated that Mochen was likely counting on him to respond exactly this way.

But he had no choice.

Yuhan walked into his armory, every movement deliberate. The scent of steel and gun oil hit him like an old memory. He slipped into a lightweight combat suit, tailored for agility and discretion. He holstered his sidearm, ran a quick diagnostic on his comms, and checked the hidden blade in his sleeve.

No backup.

No backup plans.

Just him.

As he tightened the straps on his chest gear, his eyes caught his reflection in the metal wall. Cold. Calculating.

And yet beneath the surface—grief. Determination. A fury that no weapon could measure.

Then a new chime echoed.

One last call.

He turned.

The secure line.

Not Adekunle.

Not Biola.

Not the Librarian.

Shen Mochen.

Yuhan's finger hovered over the answer button. His hand trembled—whether from fury or fear, even he couldn't tell.

He took a breath. Deep. Grounding.

Then he pressed accept.

The screen flickered.

Mochen's face appeared. Calm. Cold. Smirking.

Eyes burning—not with cruelty, but something far worse.

Possession.

The moment stretched as Mochen leaned forward, voice smooth as silk and sharp as broken glass.

"Hello, Yuhan," he said.

"I see we've finally arrived at the truth."