FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
John had just attended a high-profile political conference, seated among a select group of dignitaries. His journey from a national champion to a global leader had been remarkable. Today, he was specially invited by the presidential aspirant, Mr. Dere Ometie, a charismatic figure whose speeches brimmed with promises of progress and technological integration into governance. John had earlier discussed a potential collaboration with Dere, envisioning a future where technology would reshape the country's political landscape.As John awaited his turn on stage, he glanced around the opulent hall, filled with influential figures. Soon, he was called up to speak. With confidence, he addressed the audience about ushering in a new era where youth would spearhead change, emphasizing the role of technology in this transformation. He concluded his speech with a powerful statement.
"All the technological advancements mentioned—and more—await our country if you vote Dere for president."
The crowd erupted into a fervent applause, their enthusiasm nearly overwhelming. John, momentarily taken aback by the intensity, reassured himself with a mental note.
'This was to be expected. We're talking about multi-billionaire John here.'
After his speech, Mr. Dere and John exchanged handshakes, their grips lingering for photographs. Mr. Dere playfully raised John's hand as if declaring him a wrestling champion, a gesture that elicited smiles and laughter.
Amid the commotion, a young woman in the crowd discreetly pulled out her phone, snapping a quick photo before slipping away to exit the conference.
As the event continued, John was inundated with handshakes and photo requests from other dignitaries. The repetitive interactions began to wear on him. He leaned towards Adeola, his ever-present AI companion.
"Haaa, can't wait to get back to heroing. Who'd have thought it would be this tiring?"
"Huh, you asked for a meet-up to expand your influence. This is part of the deal," Adeola responded.
John smirked. "I see you're developing quite the annoying personality."
Adeola projected a pixelated emote of frustration to his AR glasses. John chuckled, shaking his head as he made his way to the car. Once inside, he waits till the vehicle gets out of view of people. His futuristic armor emerged from the vehicle, donning the signature Iron Hero colors. With a powerful leap, he jetted into the sky, letting the car drive itself home.
"Where to, boss?" Adeola's voice crackled through the comms.
"Let's head to Central Park. Time to greet a few fans."
John paused momentarily.
"Um, Adeola."
"Yes, boss?""What do you think of Mr. Dere?"
"I'm sorry, boss, but I can't form a judgment with the limited data I have on him. As an AI that values accuracy, I avoid making assumptions."
John contemplated this. "Hmm, assumptions. Blessing doesn't seem to trust him, though."
"I'll monitor him more closely," Adeola assured.
John's thoughts drifted. "I wonder how she's faring…"
"Who?" Adeola inquired.
"Blessing. It's been a while since we last saw her."
"You're lucky she didn't ban you from visiting her. What you did still affects her. It's remarkable she continues to use her prophetic abilities to save you," Adeola replied.
"Haaa, who could wish this handsome face any harm?" John joked, his tone lightening despite the seriousness of the situation.
Blessing sat in her car, clutching a well-worn book titled Destined to Reign as the vehicle smoothly navigated through the city traffic. Her destination was church, and as she gazed at the aged cover, a sense of nostalgia washed over her.
"How far I've come since first reading this book," she murmured to herself, reflecting on the journey she had undertaken.
Her mind drifted back to the day John had delivered the package from her coach to her hospital room.
"Hmmm, I understand you now, Mrs. Samuel," she whispered, recalling the impact of that moment.
The car halted, and a synthetic voice broke the silence.
"We're here, ma'am."
"Thank you very much," Blessing replied, stepping out of the car to a warm reception.
She was greeted by a throng of people, exchanging pleasantries as she made her way to the service hall. Before she could slip past the crowd, a young woman with a child stumbled in front of her.
"Please, beg Him to save my baby," the woman pleaded, tears streaming down her face.
Blessing immediately crouched down to support the woman, her voice soothing.
"He is always willing to save, dear, your baby included."
She guided the woman inside, whispering a few words of comfort. Blessing handed her a card from her purse.
"She'll be okay. Take this card to the Believers Life Building; they'll be able to help."
Inside the hall, ushers directed her to her seat. As a guest speaker for the program, Blessing waited patiently for her turn at the pulpit, her nerves barely concealed. The thought of the questions she might face made her uneasy. Seated among other invited ministers, Blessing saw Mr. and Mrs. Xavier, the hosts, take their places. After the introductions, Mr. Xavier addressed her.
"Miss Blessing Onajite, we'd love to hear your story. How did you make it to where you are today?"
Blessing's smile was gentle but firm. "It's by His grace, Mr. Xavier."
She began her story, recounting her transition from a gymnast, acrobat, and contortionist trained by the legendary Samara Samuel. Her voice grew nostalgic as she described the accident that had left her unable to use her legs, a devastating blow to her career. She spoke of the book her coach had given her, and how it had transformed her life.
"...I didn't understand then how Coach Samuel managed her ailments, but now I do. The book changed everything for me, and..."
She continued, detailing her journey into ministry and the obstacles she faced. The crowd listened intently, applauding her courage and resilience. After the speech, Blessing participated in the singing and other activities, feeling a sense of fulfillment.As the service concluded, Blessing exchanged pleasantries with ministers and believers. One person handed her a letter, which surprised her. In an age where letters were rare, she scanned the name and recognized it as a political figure. She chuckled to herself, contemplating why such a message had arrived so late.
"Guess I have another busy day ahead," she mused, as she entered her car and set the destination to an abandoned building.
"Take me to No. 27 Damilare Avenue," she instructed.
"Yes, ma'am," the car responded.
As they drove, the landscape shifted from upscale to middle-class neighborhoods, evoking a sense of déjà vu in Blessing. The car stopped in front of an abandoned building. She stepped out and sat on a bench opposite it, her gaze fixed on the dilapidated structure. An elderly man, unnoticed until now, sat beside her. After a moment, he greeted her.
"Good evening, child."Startled, she turned to him.
"Oh, sorry, good evening. I didn't see you there…"She motioned to stand in order to greet properly, but he waved her to stay seated.
"Are you troubled, child?"
"Not exactly. Just a lot on my mind," she replied.
"You know, this place used to be a gym. I worked here once," he began, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "I remember…"
He recounted his experiences, but Blessing's attention was fleeting.
"...When the owner died, it shut down. I miss those days, but I know she died happy."
"Yes, she did," Blessing agreed softly.
"That sense of fulfillment, not many get that chance. I saw that smile on her face when she collapsed."
"Just as I expected," Blessing said.
She ordered coffee for them both. Despite the old man's initial refusal, Blessing persuaded him to accept. They continued their conversation until the evening grew late.
"It's getting late," Blessing noted.
"Let me drive you home," she offered.
The old man declined. "I'm not far from here."
"Then let me walk you," she insisted.
"Really, don't worry."
"I insist."There was a pause before he relented.
"Alright…"
They walked together, Blessing's car trailing them at a respectful distance. The old man seemed unperturbed by the futuristic vehicle, surprising Blessing.
"You seem quite updated on tech news, unlike most older men I know," she remarked.
"Maybe that's because I'm not like most old men," he replied.
"When I first saw the car, I nearly ran. My granddaughter was so embarrassed," he chuckled.
"She must have been mortified," Blessing added.
"Yes, but she's a good girl. She helped me even though she faced mockery from her peers."
"I guess you're one lucky grandpa," Blessing said.
"Sometimes I wish I could make her happier. She endures so much for me," he sighed."
Don't say that," Blessing interrupted gently. "By staying positive and showing gratitude, you're making her happy."
"I suppose," he conceded.They approached a small bungalow. The old man pointed to it.
"I live here."
As they reached the door, a teenage girl appeared, glaring at Blessing. The old man motioned for her to go back inside, which she did.
"I'm sorry," he apologized.
"She's just overprotecting. I'm all she has."
"Alright good night, Mr. Edema," Blessing said, heading to her car.
"What's your name again?"
"Blessing."
"Alright. Good night, Blessing."
"Thank you for the company," she replied, getting into her car.
She took out the letter from earlier and examined it again.
"I guess I have tomorrow scheduled up as well," she muttered to herself.
Mr. Edema watched as Blessing's car disappeared down the street, then turned and entered his modest home. Inside, his granddaughter had already set his meal at the dining table. He took his seat, but before he could dig in, she shot him a question with a trace of concern.
"Who was she?"
"Just a discussion partner for the evening," he replied casually.
"What did we say about talking to strangers?" she asked, her tone a mix of stress and concern but not outright anger.
"I'm sorry, but she seemed like a decent person. I think you could learn a thing or two from her," he said, trying to reassure her.
"Learn a thing or two? What could I possibly learn from someone who just chats with any stranger she meets?"
"Are you calling me a stranger now?" he teased, giving her a mockingly grumpy look.
"No, not you. But what if—"
"Alright, alright, I get it. I'm just trying to get under your skin," he said with a chuckle.
She sat down across from him, pretending to frown.
"Oh, what would I do without my super grand kid?"
She rose from her seat, slipping on her jacket.
"I've got somewhere to be tonight. Sleep well."
As she headed for the door, Mr. Edema sighed softly.
"I promised we'd meet up. I don't want to disappoint them."
"Just don't do anything I wouldn't do," he advised with a knowing smile.
"What could I possibly do that you didn't teach me?" she quipped before leaving.
As she exited the house, Mr. Edema resumed his meal, lost in thought. Outside, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number.
"Walker, it's Kayla. I'm heading to the meet-up location."
"See you there, Jackson," came the reply, delivered in a familiar Western accent.
Kayla pushed her way into the bustling club, weaving through a sea of drunken bodies and gyrating figures. The pounding music and strobe lights created a chaotic atmosphere. She scanned the room, searching for her contact amidst the frenetic energy.
"Brown hat," she muttered to herself, trying to cut through the noise.
"Shouldn't be too hard to spot in here."
She continued through the crowd, her eyes darting from one person to another. After a few minutes, she finally spotted him—an incongruous figure in the throng of revelers, his skin tone making him stand out starkly against the backdrop.
"Gotcha," Kayla said under her breath, heading towards the table where he sat. She took a seat directly across from him, her gaze steady and unyielding. As he looked up, his face came into view—Chase. He hadn't changed much over the years, still wearing that same smug smile.
"Good day, my lady. How's the party?" he greeted with exaggerated politeness.
"Cut the chit-chat," Kayla snapped. "You said you have the information I need. Let's see if you can still live up to your reputation."
Chase chuckled, the sound almost too cheerful for the grimness of the meeting.
"Really rude for a pretty girl like yourself. But if that's how you want it, I'll play by the rules."
Kayla's irritation was palpable, though she tried to mask it.
"So, 'Kayla' is the name we're using today, huh?" he said with a smirk.
Her expression tightened. "Are you trying to piss me off?" she demanded.
"Okay, okay. Sorry," Chase said, raising his hands in mock surrender.
"Now, the man you're looking for is meeting someone at Van Vogel Suites tomorrow night. He won't be there until evening, so time it right. He'll leave right after the meeting."
Kayla's skepticism was evident. "How do you know so much detail?"
"Because that's what I do. I know details. For instance, I know that you are…" He leaned in and whispered something into her ear. Kayla's eyes widened in shock.
"How could you know that?" she whispered back, her voice trembling slightly.
"Told you," Chase said with a shrug. "It's what I do—know details."
Kayla stood up abruptly, her face a mix of frustration and disbelief.
"Oh, and…" Chase added, pulling out a stack of cash.
"Take back your money. Do me a favor and look after your grandpa… and yourself. Besides, your money's useless in my world."
Surprised, Kayla accepted the money and hurried away, her thoughts a whirl. 'I'm a hypocrite,' she mused bitterly. 'So much for talking to strangers.'
As she arrived home, she unlocked the door and entered, shrugging off her jacket and inner vest. She winced slightly, revealing a scar on her stomach. Mr. Edema sat up in bed, his sudden movement causing Kayla to flinch.
"Gramps!" she exclaimed.
"Sorry," Mr. Edema said softly.
"I guess some scars don't fade, huh Dumi?"
Kayla looked up, her face reflecting a blend of sadness and resolve.
"I guess so."