Now You Get It

About 5 minutes before the university was infiltrated, the following had occured in Mass Media area of Lusaka

"Michelle, relax chikala. I know we're both drunk, but just chill." Serah said, leaning on Michelle's shoulder, her eyes fixed on her face. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Okay, okay, Serah. Chill. I'm drunk, but not that drunk, you know? Alright, let me focus." Michelle replied with a laugh, also steadying herself against Serah.

"Exeh, hold up. Let me call this guy. Maybe he can get us some more booze." Serah said, pulling her phone out and dialing.

"Yah, man. Exeh, you've seen those cops? You think they know we have weed?" Michelle asked, glancing toward the ZNBC gate, where three guards stood watch, armed with AK47's.

"How exeh?" Serah said as the phone rang next to her ear.

"I don't know exeh that's why I'm asking ah," Michelle responded.

"Last exeh…" Serah began before answering the call. "Hello—George, exeh! Hi, man! It's Serah, exeh!" she said as they walked past the ZNBC gate.

As the two drunk girls strolled by, the guards glanced at their behinds and smiled in satisfaction.

The Zambia National Broadcasting Corporation (ZNBC) Building stood tall and unyielding, its towering walls a silent witness to countless stories over the years. It was a symbol of communication, a bridge between the government and the people. But today, it would become a stage for something far more sinister.

A sudden wail of a siren pierced the air, its sound rising above the morning hum like a knife through fabric. Heads turned instinctively, eyes narrowing to locate the source. A Toyota Land Cruiser ambulance appeared, its white body glinting under the sun as it sped down Alick Nkhata Road. The vehicle weaved through traffic with calculated urgency, its siren commanding obedience as cars and pedestrians moved aside.

As it approached the Thabo Mbeki Road intersection, the traffic lights stayed green, an unusual coincidence that seemed almost deliberate. The ambulance hurtled past, its driver honking aggressively to clear the way. Inside the vehicle, figures moved, their outlines obscured by frosted glass, adding to the growing unease.

The gates of ZNBC loomed ahead, manned by the three unsuspecting guards exchanging small talk. The ambulance swerved sharply, its tires screeching as it turned into the compound. The guards barely had time to react before the vehicle came to a sudden jarring stop, just meters inside. Dust rose around it, swirling in the still air.

"Nanga iyi motoka?"(What's with this car). One guard asked his partner.

"Kaya."(I don't know). The other guard responded.

"Kapena pali problem mukati" (maybe theirs a problem inside) the third guard added.

The back doors of the ambulance burst open, revealing soldiers clad in dark combat gear. The ZNBC guards barely had time to grab a hold of their guns properly, when one of the soldiers, a tall, broad-shouldered man, held up two severed chicken heads and threw them onto the ground with loud thuds.

The guards' faces shifted from confusion to horror. One stumbled back, clutching his chest and dropping his gun. Then, as though possessed, all three guards turned and sprinted headfirst into the compound's fence. The sickening sound of bone meeting concrete echoed across the compound.

Two other soldiers jumped down from the ambulance, their expressions cold and detached. Without hesitation, they dragged the guards' lifeless bodies into the vehicle. The back doors slammed shut, and the ambulance rolled further into the compound, stopping again about a hundred meters away.

Meanwhile, the streets outside seemed oblivious to the unfolding drama. Bystanders walked past the high ZNBC walls, unaware of the dark events taking place just beyond their view. Somehow no one outside the fence had noticed the guards committing unintentional suicide.

Back inside, the silence was broken by the growl of engines. Four identical Land Cruisers, followed the path of the ambulance, entering the compound in quick succession. One by one, heavily armed soldiers stepped out, their faces obscured by masks, their wrists adorned with crude bracelets made of bone. They moved with purpose, their boots thudding against the pavement.

The soldiers fanned out, their sharp eyes scanning every corner.

Suddenly, a strange fog began to creep in, curling around their feet and rising steadily until it cloaked the compound. The bystanders and staff inside froze, watching as the fog thickened. It wasn't natural. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it dissolved, leaving behind an eerie stillness.

In the minutes this unknown mist lasted for, the Soldiers had seized control.

Staff and bystanders were rounded up, herded toward the front of the X building, hands on their heads, like sheep to a pen. Many whispered prayers under their breath as soldiers barked orders.

Just then, a new sound cut through the tension. The smooth hum of an approaching engine.

A sleek black Toyota Land Cruiser SUV rolled through the gates, number plate BH5, its glossy surface reflecting the chaos around it. The vehicle came to a slow stop near the gathered crowd, its presence commanding silence.

The driver's door opened, and a man stepped out. He was short and buff, his head shiny and bald, his face hidden behind dark sunglasses. His combat gear was spotless, almost ceremonial, contrasting sharply with the dusty boots of his soldiers. He moved with measured steps, exuding authority with every stride.

As he approached the broadcasting studio, his soldiers stood at attention. The man's gaze swept over the crowd, lingering for a moment on the terrified faces of the hostages. He nodded to one of the soldiers, who immediately barked an order to secure the perimeter.

The time was 09:49am and TV screens across the nation flickered to life. The bald man stood front and center, his figure filling the screen. His voice was calm but carried the weight of unshakable authority.

"Citizens of Zambia," the bald man began, his words hanging in the air. "President Harambe Harambe has failed to lead this nation. I have taken control of ZNBC, Police Headquarters, and Central Police Station, as well as the Leopards Hill and Longacres University of Lusaka campuses."

He paused, allowing his words to sink in. The silence in homes and workplaces across the country was deafening.

"President Harambe," he continued, "after this broadcast, a timer and a phone number will appear on your screens. You have ten minutes to call that number and resign. If you don't, there will be consequences. Consequences you cannot undo. The choice is yours. It's either you or the nation."

The screen cut to a countdown.

Outside, the bald man—Commander Benzu Hamudula—returned to his car. The vehicle rolled away, leaving the compound as soldiers tightened their grip on their positions.

Across Zambia, families huddled around their televisions, their faces pale with fear. Mothers gripped their children's hands. People exchanged worried glances. The countdown ticked on, each second stretching unbearably long.

What would happen when the timer hit zero? No one knew. But in that moment, one thing was certain—Zambia would never be the same again.

09:50a.m. State House, Lusaka

The president's office buzzed with tension. Calls from frantic state officials flooded the lines, their voices a cacophony of demands and threats. President Harambe paced, his brow furrowed as he faced Honorable Suzyo Muyangana, his National Security Advisor.

"This is madness! Pure madness! What has this country come to?" Harambe barked.

Muyangana's lips curved into a wry smile. "It's terrorism disguised as a coup, your Excellency. Benzu Hamudula's bold, I'll give him that."

"Bold? My position is on the line! What's this man planning? 10 minutes to do what?"

"What's your move?"

Harambe's voice hardened. "Deploy the air force, the army, and the national service. I'm not resigning. This is treason, and I'll treat it as such. Let's see what Benzu does in these 10 minutes."

09:51 a.m, in the reception area, at University of Lusaka, Leopards Hill Campus,

Despair clung like a thick cloud, as the distant roar of thunder echoed through the air. Heavy rain began to pour, accompanied by jagged flashes of lightning that illuminated the darkened sky. Inside the reception area, of the campus, the weather's ferocity was muted by the solid walls.

Resting on a wooden bench, was one of the three combatants—Demetrius. His breath pulled as a harsh cough tore through him, and he slowly opened his eyes. Disoriented, he raised a hand to grip his aching jaw, the sharp throb bringing him back to reality. The polished wood beneath him felt oddly unfamiliar, and as he sat up, he glanced outside, taking in the torrential downpour. It took him a moment to piece it together—where he was, how he had ended up here. His thoughts circled back to the last thing he remembered before everything went black: the bone-rattling impact of a brutal uppercut.

Blinking away the haze, Demetrius looked around. He wasn't alone. Just a few feet away, Dante and Mandamus stood, their attention absorbed by their phones, faces lit by the faint glow of the screens. Neither seemed to notice Demetrius starring.

"I guess they brought me here," he murmured under his breath. He instinctively patted his pockets, searching for his phone, only to recall, it—and all his belongings—had been left behind in the lecture hall. The chaotic events from earlier flooded back to him, and he groaned. "Damn… I even forgot I was in class. Yo, guys," he called out, his voice hoarse. "What time is it?"

"09:52a.m bro," Mandamus replied without looking up. His tone was casual, but his words carried an edge of excitement. "You won't believe whats cutting in the capital."

Demetrius rubbed his temples, the fog in his mind slowly clearing. "What are you talking about? What happened? Are those soldiers still outside?"

Mandamus waved a hand dismissively, his attention still on his screen. "Yah man they're about. But chill bro—you're gonna wanna see this first." He held out his phone, offering it to Demetrius.

Dante remained silent, scrolling intently through his own device, his face impassive but focused.

Demetrius took the phone, curiosity mingling with apprehension. His eyes locked onto the screen, the glow reflecting in his still-weary gaze.

Breaking News, Live On ZNBC

Declaration By Commander Benzu Hamudula, formally Captain Of The Zambia Amry, Commando Battalion, To The Resignation Of His Excellency, Preisdent Harambe Haramabe

Countdown: 08 Min : 27 Sec

(Click here to watch video)

Demetrius watched the video on Mandamus's phone. The broadcast was playing on nearly every channel in the country, looping ominously like a never-ending nightmare. The footage showed chaos—streets overrun with panic, soldiers stationed at key locations, and an unearthly phenomenon that defied explanation. As the pieces clicked together, Demetrius realized why the soldiers had come to his school.

"Damn," Demetrius muttered, his voice heavy with disbelief as he handed the phone back to Mandamus. "I don't even know what to say."

"Last exeh," Mandamus replied, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Turning toward Dante, Mandamus shrugged his shoulders and said, "Dante, chikala, say something!" His tone was a mix of frustration and urgency.

Dante finally looked up from his phone, his gaze steady as he locked eyes with Demetrius. "Demetrius, what's your full name?"

Demetrius raised an eyebrow, confused. "Huh? Why does that matter?"

"It's important for what I'm about to explain to you two, let me tell you mine, I'm Dante Chambachikola" Dante said, his voice calm but insistent.

Mandamus chimed in " Ati Chambachikola! Blown! Exeh Meech, just tune him your name. He told me the same thing and said he'd explain everything about those soldiers—and us—once you woke up."

Demetrius sighed, still skeptical. "Alright, fine. It's Demetrius Phungamakofi."

Dante nodded, a faint look of realization crossing his face. "I see… Skiide, you're not one of them."

Mandamus immediately bristled. "Chikala don't be calling me by my first name just 'cause you know it now. We ain't friends like that."

Demetrius turned to Mandamus, surprised. "Wait, your first name's not Mandamus?"

"Nah," Mandamus replied with a shrug. "It's my surname. My whole life, people have always called me that, so I just rolled with it."

"Okay, cool." Demetrius shifted his focus back to Dante, his curiosity peaked. "So, what exactly do you mean by he's not one them? What are you talking about?"

Dante leaned back slightly, his tone growing more serious. "What do you guys know about Juju?"

Demetrius exchanged a glance with Mandamus before responding. "If you mean all the weird stuff we've seen today, then nothing."

"Yeah, same here," Mandamus added.

Dante exhaled deeply. "Alright. Pay close attention. Juju is a bridge to the spirit world. A power our people have touched for centuries. Most users follow one of three paths. There's the Sorcerer—like Boneface. Their path is pure combat. Then there's the Witch-Doctor, who focuses on protection and healing. And the Diviner, who sees what others miss and can communicate with spirits."

He paused, letting it sink in. "The soldiers out there are mostly Sorcerers. My family... we walk the Diviner's path. We are connected to shadows."

Demetrius processed this. "Okay... so what does that make me? And Mandamus?"

"That's why I asked for your name, Demetrius Phungamakofi," Dante said, his eyes intense. "Your lineage likely carries a Muzi—an ancestral spirit. Which means you're a vessel for its power, which is why you're so strong. It's different from Juju. You're not a Sorcerer, but you have the potential for immense power."

Mandamus raised an eyebrow. "And me?"

"You," Dante said, a small smile touching his lips. "Your energy is different. You're what the old stories call a Peak Human. You don't use spirits; you perfect the human vessel. It's rare, but it explains your strength and... well, your appetite."

"Wow. That's a lot to take in," Demetrius murmured.

Dante nodded. "That's right."

Demetrius sighed, his voice dropping into a more determined tone. 'Alright. Now that we know all this, is there anything we can do to stop this coup attempt? Or at least protect ourselves? Somebody has to do something, right?'

Dante's expression grew serious. 'You're not wrong. But as things stand, the three of us aren't strong enough to take on an army of soldiers who are equipped with Juju. For now, our best course of action is to wait and see what happens when the countdown ends.'

Mandamus frowned. 'Mmm exeh, I'm not waiting to get slaughtered. Slow. If we have to fight, we need a plan. Let's start with this—it's safe to assume all those soldiers at the gate are using Juju, right?'

Dante nodded. 'That's right.'

Demetrius tapped his chin, his mind clearly working. 'I think we need to focus on what we can control. For now, that means going back to class and seeing what unfolds next.'

Dante hesitated. 'I'm not so sure about that. The class caught a good look at us earlier. If we go back now, we might attract unnecessary attention.'

Mandamus grinned, his confidence cutting through the tension. 'Relax, guys. What we need are disguises, right? Luckily for you, I've got four face masks, three spare outfits, and three different hats in my bag. Don't ask me why.'

Dante's skepticism softened into curiosity. 'That could work. Where are they?'

Mandamus' grin faded slightly. 'Well, that's the catch. They're in class with my homeboy Benjamin.'

Without warning, Dante pulled a pocketknife from his pants. In a swift motion, he slit his wrists and pressed them together, letting the blood pool.

'Dude, what the fuck?!' Mandamus exclaimed, his and Demetrius' faces a mix of shock and horror.

'Relax,' Dante said calmly, his voice steady despite the crimson flowing down his arms. 'Hold my shoulders, gentlemen.'

Despite their hesitation, Demetrius and Mandamus obeyed. As soon as they gripped Dante's shoulders, a chill swept through the room. The air grew heavy, the shadows deepening unnaturally. Dante murmured something under his breath, and a black aura began to radiate from him. The light dimmed as if the world itself was recoiling from what was unfolding.

'Mfinzi yogawana(darkness to split),' Dante intoned, his voice a blend of command and incantation.

In an instant, a bone-deep cold radiated from Dante's shoulders, leeching the warmth from their bodies. Demetrius gasped as the world lost its color, the polished floor and wooden benches dissolving into a uniform, inky gray. The air grew thick and heavy, smelling of damp earth and cold stone, and the frantic sounds of the university faded into a deafening, pressurized silence, like being plunged deep underwater.

For a moment, Demetrius felt his own form become fluid, a terrifying sensation of his bones turning to smoke. The world didn't just warp; it pulled apart around them, swallowed by a void that felt both infinite and claustrophobic. Then, just as suddenly, the pressure vanished. The scent of chalk dust and stale air conditioning rushed back in, and the solid floor of the lecture hall materialized beneath their feet, the sudden return to reality making them stumble, their breaths uneven, while Dante, stood unwavering.

Demetrius saw the wounds on Dante's wrists close up. A faint, dark smoke, like a puff of ash, wisped away from the skin. Where the deep cuts had been, there was now only smooth, unbroken skin. The healing was silent and complete.

'Don't take your hands off me yet. Right now, we're in a separate plain of existence. If you do, you'll become visible,' Dante said, his tone now calm but firm. 'Let's retrieve those disguises and see what comes next. Mandamus, can you see Benjamin?'

'Yeah, over there, that pussy ass nigga in the brown fit. Crouching by that desk. My bag's that black one over on the desk next to him,' Mandamus responded.

'Jeez man, relax man,' Dante said. He closed his eyes and focused his power. His shadow spread toward Benjamin's shadow, then reached the shadow of the bag. Once there, he engulfed it in darkness, and it disappeared, only to reappear in Mandamus' hand.

'Damn, dude, that was sick,' Demetrius pointed out.

'Thanks. Now let's put everything on quick. Once you guys let go, I'll hold your forms for one more minute. I can't go further than that yet,' Dante said.

'Wait, man, I don't have shoes. Won't that be suspicious?' Demetrius asked.

'Fine. Wait a moment.' Dante responded, then stretched his shadow toward Benjamin again, this time warping away his shoes.

Immediately, the shoes vanished off Benjamin's feet. Benjamin looked down, noticing he was barefoot, only his socks remaining. He froze in shock, then stood and glanced around, confusion and fear evident on his face. As he scanned the room, his socks disappeared too. He caught a glimpse of them vanishing before his eyes. 'Jesu!' he muttered, stumbling back slightly as he stared at his now-naked feet.

09:58a.m, inside the new lecture hall.

Chaos had claimed the room. The sharp glare of fluorescent lights reflected off rows of desks as hundreds of students scrambled in a frenzy. Their faces glowed with the pale light of phone screens, fingers flying across keyboards, voices overlapping in a frantic symphony of desperate calls and hurried whispers. The air was thick with urgency, confusion, and rising fear.

"A coup in Zambia." The words felt foreign, unreal. Yet the grim reality played out on their screens: shaky footage of soldiers moving through the streets, plumes of smoke rising in the distance, and whispers of people performing impossible, superhuman feats. The lecture hall buzzed, the atmosphere vibrating with unanswered questions.

Demetrius weaved through the restless crowd, his face partially obscured by a simple mask and hat. He moved with purpose, careful not to attract attention. His jaw tightened as he muttered to himself, his voice almost lost in the din. "Of all the days to ask Anne out for lunch, Meech…you picked this one? Perfect timing, man. Couldn't have picked a worse day if I tried."

He scanned the room, his sharp gaze flicking over familiar faces, but none of them were hers. "Where is she? I can't see her anywhere."

Finally, he reached his seat. Dropping into a crouch, he stretched his arm toward his bag, the cool fabric brushing against his fingers—

"Excuse me, what are you doing? That bag isn't yours."

The voice, calm but firm, pierced through the chaos. Startled, Demetrius froze and looked up. Anne stood over him, her sharp, unwavering gaze a mix of suspicion and something deeper.

He sighed, tension flooding his chest as he straightened. "Anne, it's me. Meech."

For a moment, she didn't move. Then, recognition dawned, her expression softening before she lunged forward, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Her body trembled against his as she spoke, her words spilling out in a frantic rush. 'Oh my Gosh, Meech! I've been looking everywhere for you! Are you okay? What happened?" She pulled back, grabbing his arm, her fingers brushing against his hand. Her eyes widened in horror. "Jesus Christ, your hand. What's this? Are you hurt? Demetrius, what is going on? And why are you wearing a mask and a hat?"

Demetrius winced, his head swiveling to check if anyone nearby was paying attention. He leaned in, his voice low and urgent. "Shhh. Anne, I need you to calm down. Please. I don't want anyone noticing me. Can we talk outside the hall? Just grab your phone—we need to go. Now."

She stared at him, uncertainty clouding her features. "Why just my phone? What about my bag? What about Taonga and Natasha? They're still in here"

He's jaw clenched, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "I can't save everyone, Anne. Trust me. I wish I could."

Her frown deepened. "You're scaring me, Meech. What's going on? Just tell me!"

He stopped abruptly, placing his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes. His voice softened, but his intensity didn't waver. "Anne, do you trust me?"

Her breath caught, fear momentarily giving way to something steadier, more certain. She nodded. "Yes. Of course I trust you."

"Good," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Then come with me. We're out of time."

"Out of time?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Is this about the countdown?"

"Yeah," he admitted, his expression grim. "It is. And trust me, things are about to get bad—really bad. I can't let anything happen to you."

Without waiting for her response, he grabbed her hand and led her out of the lecture hall into the wide corridor beyond. The chatter of the students still inside faded into the background, replaced by the echoing hum of air conditioning and faint footsteps against polished tiles.

Two figures waited by the wall ahead. Dante leaned casually against it, his glossy black tracksuit gleaming faintly under the dim overhead light. His expression was hidden by a mask and hat. Beside him stood Mandamus, posture rigid, arms crossed over his chest, his face equally obscured.

"Dante, exeh, you know I once hit you up about that Legal and Academic Writing group assignment," Mandamus said to Dante.

"You'll have to be more specific. A lot of people hit me up for that," Dante replied.

"Ah, you know what? Never mind. Homeboy's back."

They both looked ahead at Demetrius, who was exiting the hall with Anne.

"Just her?" Dante asked, his voice light but laced with curiosity. His dark eyes flicked over Anne, assessing.

"Yeah," Demetrius replied curtly, leaving no room for argument. "Is it time yet?"

Mandamus glanced down at the phone in his hand. The screen displayed a red countdown ticking toward zero. "Ten seconds left," he said simply.

Anne stiffened beside Demetrius. She recognized Mandamus from earlier—though they hadn't exchanged more than information about what was happening, his presence had left an impression. Now, seeing him here, her unease deepened.

"Ah ah, it's you again. Is this your shawty Meech?" Mandamus asked, glancing at them.

Demetrius didn't answer but wondered momentarily how the two knew each other.

Anne's voice trembled. "Meech… what's happening? Who are these people to you?"

Demetrius didn't answer. He pulled Anne closer, his gaze locked on his phone as the final seconds ticked away. Across Zambia, phones and televisions blared a synchronized alert. Screens everywhere displayed a single, unyielding message:

COUNTDOWN: 00 MIN:03 SEC

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, like a dam breaking, a collective gasp erupted from the nation. The ground beneath their feet seemed to hum with energy as the countdown ended.

Anne's grip on Demetrius's arm tightened. She didn't know what was coming, but deep in her gut, she knew it would change everything. This wasn't just the beginning of a new chapter—it was the end of the world they'd known.