Chapter 13

Chapter 13

A City That Watches

Morning in Banjul arrived quietly, as if the city itself was pretending nothing had happened.

Baba Jallow stood on the rooftop long after Mariama left, watching fishermen push boats into the water, watching taxis begin their endless arguments with traffic. Life continued. It always did.

That was the problem.

The ring rested cool against his finger. Too calm. Like it was waiting.

Baba sighed. “I don’t like silence. It usually means something is loading.”

The wind shifted.

Crows landed along the edge of the building—five of them this time. They stared at him with unnerving focus, heads tilting in unison.

“You don’t have to keep watching,” Baba told them. “I’m still here.”

One crow cawed sharply.

Then Baba felt it.

Not a pull.

A warning.

The city screens flickered to life.

Bus terminals. Market TVs. Phones across the city buzzed at once.

Mariama was halfway through a briefing when her phone vibrated. She looked down, dread pooling in her stomach.

A live broadcast.

The Architect appeared—no mask, no distortion. Calm. Centered. Smiling gently, like a man addressing students.

“People of The Gambia,” he said, his voice smooth and precise. “You have recently witnessed conflict. Violence. Fear.”

Baba swore under his breath.

“This,” the Architect continued, “is the cost of evolution.”

Images played behind him—enhanced individuals stopping crimes, rescuing civilians, standing in places police had failed.

“Governments move slowly,” the Architect said. “I do not.”

The feed cut to footage of the hospital fight—edited, reframed. Baba looked brutal. Inhuman.

Mariama slammed her desk. “He’s turning you into the threat.”

On the rooftop, Baba clenched his fists.

“Lazy Crow,” the Architect said, speaking Baba’s name openly now. “A symbol born of chaos. A necessary error.”

The Architect leaned closer to the camera.

“Tonight,” he said, “I will introduce order.”

By sunset, the city was divided.

Some people whispered Baba’s name with gratitude. Others with fear.

Graffiti appeared overnight—crow symbols crossed out in red paint. In other places, feathers were drawn like protective charms.

Baba moved through the city unseen, hood up, watching the tension grow.

“They’re choosing sides,” Mariama said over the phone. “And he hasn’t even shown his hand yet.”

Baba stopped walking.

“I think he has,” he said quietly.

That night, the ring activated on its own.

No heat.

No pain.

Just direction.

Baba followed it to the National Stadium.

Floodlights blazed against the dark sky. Thousands of people gathered—some curious, some angry, some terrified. Soldiers lined the perimeter, unsure who they were protecting against.

At the center of the field stood a platform.

And on it—three figures.

The prototype Baba had spared.

Iron Palm.

And a woman Baba had never seen before—floating slightly above the ground, eyes glowing white.

The Architect’s voice echoed through the stadium.

“Behold,” he said, “the first of many.”

Baba stepped into the light.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as crows filled the sky above the stadium, circling like a living storm.

Mariama’s voice crackled in his ear. “Baba… whatever you’re about to do—”

“I know,” Baba replied calmly.

He raised his arm.

The crow-shield unfolded, vast and terrible, wings spanning wider than ever before.

“I don’t like crowds,” Baba said softly. “But I really don’t like bullies.”

The Architect’s laughter echoed through the speakers.

“Excellent,” he said. “Let the city decide.”

As thunder rolled overhead, Lazy Crow took flight above the stadium.

And The Gambia held its breath.

—End of Season 01