Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The First Mission

The summons came at dawn.

No bell. No warning. Just Osebɔ standing in the doorway of the sleeping quarters, his presence cutting through the quiet like a blade.

“Dress,” he said. “You’re going outside.”

Kojo sat bolt upright. “Outside as in… outside outside?”

“Yes.”

Adwoa was already on her feet.

The briefing room was lit only by a single lantern. A map of Accra was laid out on the table, marked with red symbols that pulsed faintly.

“Sunsuma has moved again,” Osebɔ said. “Not directly. Through a proxy.”

“Another syndicate?” Mawuli asked.

“A preacher,” Osebɔ replied.

Kojo blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

“A man who gathers lost boys,” Osebɔ continued. “He feeds them purpose, then empties them. When they break, he takes what remains.”

Obrimpong’s jaw tightened.

“Your task is not confrontation,” Osebɔ said. “Observe. Extract if possible. Leave no trace.”

Adwoa frowned. “And if he resists?”

Osebɔ met her gaze. “Then you decide who you are.”

They arrived at night.

No uniforms. No symbols. Just dark clothing and lighter steps.

The compound sat at the edge of the city—once a community center, now something else. Songs drifted out, slow and hypnotic. Young voices sang along.

Kojo whispered, “This feels wrong in a very specific way.”

Mawuli nodded. “He’s binding them with belief.”

They split.

Obrimpong and Adwoa slipped through the back, moving window to window. Inside, boys knelt in neat rows, eyes unfocused. At the front, the preacher spoke softly.

“You are chosen,” he said. “The world has rejected you—but I have not.”

Obrimpong felt something twist in his chest.

“Two exits,” Adwoa murmured. “Five guards.”

“We don’t fight,” Obrimpong said. “We free.”

Mawuli’s voice crackled in their earpiece. “Basement confirmed. Something sealed down here.”

Kojo added, “Also, I distracted a guard by pretending to be lost—he cried. — I feel bad.”

“Focus,” Adwoa hissed.

In the basement, Mawuli found the source.

A symbol etched into concrete. A siphon. Slowly draining something unseen from the boys above.

“Sunsuma’s work,” Mawuli muttered. “Indirect. Clever.”

He began dismantling it—slow, precise.

Upstairs, the preacher paused mid-sentence.

His eyes went black.

“You,” he said, pointing directly at Obrimpong’s hiding place. “Come out.”

Adwoa stepped forward instantly.

“I said him,” the preacher snapped, veins darkening along his neck.

Obrimpong moved.

Not hesitating.

Kojo dropped from the ceiling behind the preacher, clapping loudly. “Hi! We’re here about your building permit.”

The room erupted.

Adwoa incapacitated two guards in seconds. Obrimpong reached the nearest boy, cutting bindings, whispering, “Go. Now.”

The preacher screamed—not in pain, but rage.

Shadows surged.

“Now would be a good time!” Kojo yelled.

Mawuli’s voice came through, strained. “Almost—!”

The symbol shattered.

Light rushed back into the room.

The boys collapsed, sobbing.

The preacher fell to his knees, empty.

They vanished before sirens arrived.

On a rooftop blocks away, they regrouped, breathing hard.

“No casualties,” Mawuli confirmed.

Adwoa nodded once. “Good.”

Kojo smiled shakily. “First mission. Nobody died. That’s a win.”

Obrimpong looked back at the compound.

“This is what we do now,” he said.

From the shadows across the street, unseen, Sunsuma watched.

“Excellent,” he whispered. “They’ve stepped onto the board.”

Now this is turning out to be a proper hunt.