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The tilt-rotor aircraft lifted off from the deck of the NNS Obatala, a sleek, high-tech river cruiser part of the Vanguard-Class fleet used by the Nigerian Intelligence Agency (NIA). The vessel, cutting through the waters of northern Nigeria, gleamed under the fading twilight. Its advanced communication systems and state-of-the-art weaponry made it a key asset in sensitive operations like the one Dr. Modupe Hassan was now engaged in.
The tilt-rotor sliced through the twilight sky, its blades churning the air into a dizzying vortex. Below, the sun-scorched savannah of Borno stretched out, a tapestry of parched earth and skeletal trees. Dr. Modupe Hassan pressed her forehead against the cool glass, a knot of apprehension twisting in her gut. Despite the familiar thump of the engine and the reassuring presence of the NIA agents flanking her, she couldn't shake the feeling of being drawn into an unimaginable abyss.
Landing with a shudder upon the sunbaked clearing, Modupe emerged, blinking against the sudden glare. The otherworldly vessel shimmered in the dying light, its pearlescent surface reflecting the crimson hues of the setting sun. The agents, seasoned veterans of countless operations, gasped, their faces a mask of awe and trepidation.
As they approached, the ship hummed with a low, otherworldly thrumming. Panels slid open with an almost organic fluidity, revealing sleek metallic interiors. The agents, initially hesitant, quickly moved forward, drawn in by the strange and futuristic technology.
They began examining the ship's surface, running their hands over the smooth material that seemed to ripple under their touch. One agent knelt to study the opening mechanism, noting how seamlessly the panels moved without any visible hinges or mechanical parts. Another agent cautiously approached a console, watching as holographic displays flickered to life. The blue ethereal light from the consoles illuminated their faces, filled with both awe and disbelief.
"What kind of technology is this?" one of the agents whispered, his voice a mix of fascination and trepidation. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Look at these displays," another agent muttered. "They're interactive, but there's no visible interface. It's like the ship knows we're here."
The agents exchanged glances, their professional curiosity overtaking the earlier apprehension. Despite their training and experience in military and intelligence operations, this was beyond anything they had encountered before. Every surface, every console, seemed to pulse with energy, defying the limits of human engineering.
They found themselves on a bridge, bathed in an ethereal blue light. Consoles pulsed with holographic displays, and the sleek metallic curves seemed to defy gravity. The agents, their initial shock giving way to even deeper curiosity, continued to examine the technology with a sense of reverence.
Before their questions could be voiced, a disembodied voice, melodious and ethereal, filled the bridge. "Welcome, designated representatives of Earth. I am Starlance, the onboard AI of the Khanqix explorer vessel."
The agents froze, eyes wide with disbelief. Modupe, however, felt a jolt of familiarity, a tingling sensation at the edge of her consciousness. Starlance, seemingly sensing her confusion, addressed her directly, his voice weaving through the shared mental connection, unheard by the agents.
The agents' faces mirrored a kaleidoscope of emotions: astonishment, suspicion, even fear. Modupe, however, felt a rush of understanding. Starlance's voice, in a separate stream only she could hear, resonated in her mind, its tone apologetic.
"Dr. Hassan," it resonated, "I apologize for the delay. Our protocols dictated initial contact with your designated authorities."
In that split second, Starlance laid bare its origins, a vessel from a long-lost civilization on a mission of galactic exploration. It spoke of their advanced technology, powered by harnessed energy from collapsed stars, and the lonely mission that had caused it to berth on this primitive planet.
"Why is it, Dr. Hassan, you've never questioned my purpose? Why, out of all planets in almost infinite space, I landed here?" Starlance asked.
"Oh, that's true. I thought it was because you detected signs of intelligent life forms," Modupe replied, her heart racing.
"Dr. Hassan, I came into being through the work of the skillful machines of my masters: the ancients of the Khanqix race, who evolved technology at a dizzying rate. They have plumbed the deep trenches of space and dominated a halved sector of our galaxy to offer help, wealth, knowledge, culture, and power beyond the stars. They initiated an exploration program to release a series of pre-constructed intergalactic message crafts to spread their word to the universe. All message crafts carry a test that is used to determine how worthy the recipient race is and the form of assistance the Khanqix may offer."
"Wait, what test does this carry?" Modupe inquired, her curiosity piqued.
Without another word, the room shifted. Reality seemed to ripple, as if bending around her. Within moments, Modupe was no longer on the bridge. She found herself standing in the Quantum Hold, a highly secured part of the Khanqix vessel, where time and space seemed to warp, the air thick with advanced containment fields and fluctuating energy signatures. The Quantum Hold was a space specifically designed to store objects of immense power or danger, where the laws of physics were subtly altered to prevent accidental breaches.
"Where am I?" Modupe whispered, her voice small as the weight of the place pressed down on her.
"You are in the Quantum Hold, Dr. Hassan," Starlance replied. "This is where the test resides."
In the center of the room, a transparent containment field shimmered, its energy swirling like a living entity. Inside, suspended in midair, was a vial of dark liquid that seemed to pulse with ominous intent.
"This test is not one of knowledge or strength," Starlance continued, "but one of control. The virus contained within this vial is a self-propagating agent. It will enhance the physical capabilities of the host, fuel their body with superhuman energy, and scorch their nerve endings to stop pain. But in exchange, the host will become a puppet, their will subjugated to whoever controls the counter-serum."
Modupe stepped closer, her heart pounding as the chilling implications of the test hit her. "This... this would turn people into... zombies," she whispered in horror. "O dangerous looto oooo."
"Indeed," Starlance agreed. "In the wrong hands, this could bring catastrophic ruin. Your task, Dr. Hassan, is to ensure that no one uses this technology to enslave your people."
The gravity of the situation settled on Modupe's shoulders. Her mind raced with the consequences of what could happen if this virus fell into the wrong hands. "Starlance, I need to make sure no one, and I mean no one, gets their hands on this. We can't let this be used for destruction."
"I will follow your directive," Starlance said. "But be warned, Dr. Hassan—hostile forces approach. They carry military-grade weaponry, though their ability to harm this vessel is limited."
As Starlance's words sank in, Modupe felt the world ripple again, and within seconds, she was back on the bridge, standing where she had been moments earlier. The shift was seamless, as if no time had passed. The agents were still examining the technology, unaware of the private exchange she'd had with the AI.
Then, the faint rumble of engines reached Modupe's ears. She glanced out of the ship and saw it—an imposing NIA assault vehicle, part of the Kudu-Class Armored Division. It was designed for urban raids and close combat operations. The vehicle's reinforced armor was nearly impervious to small arms fire, and its mounted weapons were capable of tearing through heavy defenses. It was the kind of machine the NIA used to suppress rebellion or, worse, deal with potential threats to national security.
A subtle pulse from the Sentinel Vision glasses caught her attention. Information about the approaching vehicle flashed across her display. She could see its specifications, the tactical layout, and the number of operatives inside. Taiwo's glasses were doing their job—transmitting vital data to her as the situation escalated.
Modupe's heart raced as she processed the data, but her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice.
"Now you've led us to what we need," Agent Olatunji said coldly, stepping forward. His gun was now trained on her, his expression filled with contempt. "You are no longer needed."
Before Modupe could respond, he leveled his gun fully at her and spat, "Dr. Modupe Hassan, you are under arrest for conspiring and rebelling against the government !!!"