The year is 2225. In the former Niger Delta, now called Down-Creek, much has changed over the past two centuries. Technology has advanced so rapidly that cars not only drive themselves but hover like low-flying aircraft. The entire architecture of Down-Creek is aquatic: buildings float, bricks are lab-designed to withstand the impacts of climate change, and the infrastructure adapts to the rhythms of water.
This transformation wasn’t born of innovation alone, it was survival. After decades of oil contamination and toxic leaks, the city was forced to adapt swiftly. The crisis was catastrophic as eighty percent of the vegetation was eradicated, and thousands of people lost their lives. The water remained saturated with chemicals the government to this day struggles to clear.
Scientific strategies helped slow the death toll. Cyborgs were deployed to assist in hospitals and police stations, especially in high-infection zones where human survival was near-impossible. A nationwide curfew was enforced with a lockdown from 10 p.m. to 5 a.m. daily.
To manage population pressure on fragile infrastructure, the government imposed strict birth limits: only two children per family. Any additional children were seized by the state, raised by the system, and reintroduced at age 21 to a sterilized zone in what was formerly the south-eastern Anambra State now referred to by its scientific designation, PSG-100. It was the only area the government had successfully decontaminated, and it was fully operated by cyborgs.
This fuelled public suspicion and deepened mistrust toward President Obele’s administration. Yet, despite growing unease, she continued to win elections, manipulating public perception with calculated precision. After all, it was her government that had saved the Delta from total collapse, restoring fragments of vegetation and stabilizing the region. Whether people liked it or not, none of it would have been possible without the innovations her administration adopted.
Artificial intelligence had become the only viable path forward, but the speed of its expansion terrified many. It felt as though cyborgs were replacing humans, aided by the very government sworn to protect them.
Children raised by cyborgs lacked essential traits like empathy, intuition and cultural memory. The rise of cyborg labour displaced human workers, igniting waves of unrest. Orire was among those who protested, but President Obele responded with force, cyborg police trucks, mass arrests, and exile for repeat offenders.
Orire learned the hard way. After her own jail time, she realized that the most effective way to fight was not through confrontation but through infiltration. She would learn the system, master its language, and use it against itself.
Tonight, she works as usual. She moved like myth, gliding between boats and beneath the thick mats of algae that cloaked the water. Her black, lab-tailored swimsuit was coded to regulate body temperature in the ice-cold currents. This was her hometown, and she knew it like the back of her hand.
Fluent in both Itshekiri and Nembe, Orire had been home-schooled since the age of five and by twelve, she had already learned to code, a skill that now proved invaluable to her smuggling business. Her mother, a scientist employed by Biotech for forty years, had exposed her to the intricacies of genetic research. Orire had volunteered at the lab for five years while studying at university, absorbing everything she could.
Though the entire Delta is aquatic but none of its water was safe to consume. Clean water was so rare that it had become a commodity occasionally traded like currency.
Orire inherited her interest in scientific research from her mother, and her smuggling instincts from her father. Her favourite time to work was two hours before midnight, few patrols roamed the Delta by that time, and she had mastered the art of evasion. Whether by encrypted digital capsule or by submerging herself in algae-infested waters, she always found a way to disappear.
By day, she gathered algae for chemical processing. By night, she traded in contraband, bio-codes suspended in liquid-genes that rewrite forgotten ancestry, and restore what contamination had erased in many children.
Tonight’s assignment was different. Three clients were expecting her after 1 a.m. but she was not comfortable meeting anyone at the deep hush of night. Too many things could go wrong. The fine for traveling during restricted hours was as steep as 8 million naira or six sachets of water and working in the dark came with its own dangers. One could never be sure if it was a trap or if it was a criminal after her capsule and contraband.
So tonight, she brought Taye and Fefe. Better safe than sorry.
She halted abruptly, raising her hand to signal her companions to stop and listen. For a moment, she thought she’d seen a shadow but as she looked closer, she realized it was only a tree, a mangrove. Its gnarled limbs swaying gently in the water, she exhaled and motioned for them to move on.
But before they could take another step, a blue-ray light flashed across the water.
“Police!” Taye hissed, diving beneath a cluster of dead leaves drifting on the surface.
A patrol boat hovered nearby, its searchlight sweeping the water. Orire’s thoughts raced. If they were caught, it meant a hefty fine, two years in prison, or three years burned from the country.
“Hello, citizens. Anyone here?” came a voice from the blue light, mechanical and rising. A cyborg officer.
Orire didn’t waste any time. She signalled to Fefe to follow Taye and, pulling out her capsule, she dived into the water too. Straining her eyes to see inside the murky water, she punched coordinates into a scanner and tracked it to focus on the patrol boat’s sensor array. The capsule flickered purple — a successful digital shield.
The cyborg circled them for ten tense minutes. Orire remained submerged, motionless, lungs aching. The cyborg did one last circle and then drew away.
Orire surfaced. Her heart felt like fire and the first breath she drew provided welcome relief. She slapped the water to alert the others that the coast was clear.
“Goodness, I thought they’d never leave,” Fefe gasped as she surfaced. “We need to move quickly. It won’t take long before they realize the sensor has been disabled.”
“That way,” Taye said, pointing with his finger
“Let’s go,” Orire urged, her voice low and urgent. She surged forward, swimming like a fish. Her companions followed, and within five minutes they reached an orange-painted hybrid floating house.
Orire scanned the surroundings, ensuring they hadn’t been followed. Then, three knocks, two, and three again. The door swung open. Eight knocks instead of a bell was their code.
A woman in her thirties stood in the doorway, silent.
“My world, your world, equal to one world,” Orire said, exhaling and raising her hand.
“With one heart,” the woman replied, her face softening into a smile. “Welcome. I wasn’t sure you’d make it. There are so many patrols tonight.”
Orire nodded briskly. “That’s why we need to work fast. We have to reach the second client before reinforcements arrive.”
She pulled out the capsule, now displaying encrypted text, and opened her phone to check the messages.
“Delia is the client. Seventeen years old,” she said, scanning the data.
The woman nodded and led them to the teenager’s room.
Delia lay fast asleep. Her skin glowed faintly, and her eyes were sunken, a sign of something deeper. Fefe and Orire exchanged a glance. Fefe, with ten years of nursing experience, had seen this before, metabolic dermatitis triggered by prolonged exposure to algae and dehydration.
Still, Orire activated the capsule’s medical scan to be sure. It flickered, then pulsed with light as diagnostic rays swept across Delia’s arm, numbers cascading across the screen.
“Why didn’t you take her to the clinic?” Taye asked, his face wearing a frown. “The medical-aid burned us for two months for using the card to buy water,” the woman said with a sigh. “You know water is expensive.”
Orire’s expression shifted. Her mind flicked to the daily reality they all endured, an area shrouded in water, yet none of it safe to drink.
“But there are thirst-suppressing pills,” Fefe pointed out.
The woman’s expression shifted sharply. She turned to Fefe, with eyes blazing. “Does it look like they’re working?” she snapped. “What do you take me for? Why would I spend our medical aid on expensive water if the government’s pills actually worked?” Her anger hung in the air.
“Don’t worry,” Orire interjected gently, gesturing for Fefe to let it go. “She’ll be fine after tonight. I’ll administer an anti-pathogen serum, along with a slow-release wet gene tablet and hydrate her.” She added, pulling out a small bottle. “It’s purified in the lab, it is safe to drink, but only a quarter cup daily while her body adjusts.”
The woman clapped her hands in gratitude, tears gleaming in her eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t need to,” Fefe said softly. “It is the little we can do. We have to stick together, it’s the only way we will survive these unprecedented times.”
“Just make sure she doesn’t speak of this to anyone,” Taye added, his tone firm. “Anyone practicing biomedical work must be registered. If word gets out, the police will arrest us.”
The woman nodded repeatedly. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure.”
“Alright, we need to leave now,” Orire said, tucking the capsule into her bag. She adjusted her swimsuit, increasing its thermal setting.
They slipped into the water together, the air shimmering faintly above them.
“The next house is five blocks away,” Fefe said, checking her S575 bio-water resistant watch. “We need to be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Wait,” she added, squinting at the screen. “The watch shows high levels of cyanobacteria in the water. We’ll need to take the east route.”
She opened the navigator, recalculating their path.
“What? But the east route is longer,” Orire protested, her brows furrowed.
“It’s either we reroute or risk high exposure,” Fefe replied. “The suit can hold off bacteria, but it’s not fool proof.” She added
Orire sighed and pressed her palm to her forehead, a gesture she always made when deep in thought. She shrugged. “We could try the upper route,” she said, eyeing the tangled pathways that snaked through the water city like capillaries.
Fefe was the first to object. “There? You’re joking. I’ve already been arrested three times. If they catch me again, it’s exile.”
“We don’t have much of a choice,” Taye interjected. “We can’t swim thirty minutes without being picked up by cameras or crossing paths with a patrol boat. If you prefer, we could postpone.”
Fefe shook her head quickly. “No. The client is scheduled for court tomorrow. He’s been loyal for six years. Besides, we’re already halfway.”
“Then the high route it is,” Taye said, swimming toward the solid ground.
They followed, keeping their heads low to avoid detection. They ran fast, but not fast enough. As they reached 7th Avenue, a sensory light triggered a siren and snapped a photo, alerting nearby patrols.
Within seconds, a floating police car emerged and hovered above them.
“Citizens, this is a lockdown. You’ve passed your restricted hour,” a cyborg voice announced. “You are under arrest.”
Orire, Taye, and Fefe didn’t wait. They bolted, turning sharp corners and racing toward the water, their only refuge. The house stood just ahead, half-concealed by trees. Instead of approaching the front door, Orire gestured to Taye, who tossed a handful of his kobo coins at a window tucked behind the foliage.
The police car passed without noticing them hiding behind trees
A head appeared in the window, and a man quickly opened it to let them in.
“This way,” the man said, without a formal greeting.
Orire and Fefe hurried into the lounge while Taye stayed behind to keep watch. A child sat awake, reading from a digital book, her eyes flickering in the dim light.
“Why isn’t she asleep?” Orire asked, glancing at her wristwatch.
“She was, until an hour ago. The patrol lights woke her. I couldn’t sleep either. I’m anxious about tomorrow,” the man said, his voice tight with frustration. “If she doesn’t appear on the registry as a citizen, the court might hand her over to social services. They’ll take her away.”
“We’re here,” Orire reassured them as she settled on the sofa. “We’ll set it right.”
She looked toward the dining room light. “Ile-AI Brightness increase by ten percent, please.” She said glancing at the lights inside the lounge. The light slightly increased
The man sat down, visibly shaken. “Miss, my daughter’s life is at stake, are you sure you can pull this off? I can’t lose her.”
“You don’t need to worry about the registry anymore,” Orire said, her voice steady. Her mind drifted to her father’s words: “Learn the system, Ori, and sing it by heart. Then there will be nothing to fear. The system has holes, but you won’t see them unless you understand its language.”
She smiled. “By tomorrow, she’ll no longer be a ghost. But remember, the law only allows two children per family. So, Hendrieta, the eldest, will now be registered as your brother’s child.”
The man’s face darkened. “But I don’t have a brother. And the state knows that.”
“I’ll create a bogus one,” Orire replied. “If there’s one thing about inscription, you can put information in as easily as you can take the information out.”
She tapped into the country’s mortuary system. “There were four deaths registered in October last year. I’ve just added a name and listed him as deceased. Now, the birth registry: Alero Ossayi. Address, year of birth, blood type O positive, fingerprints, all done.”
She stood up. “Make sure Hendrieta remembers the name: Efe Ossayi. Your late brother.”
Just in time Taye signalled from his sentry position at the window, a soft Hammerkop bird call.
Orire moved toward the window, ready to jump, but something caught her eye, a cluster of water lilies, cattails, and lotus flowers blooming a few meters away. It always amazed her how nature found a way to bounce back.
She turned her head and saw the man watching her, as if he’d read her thoughts.
“They’re lab-grown,” he said, tossing her a bottle of purified water. Orire, who had momentarily forgotten about the payment, caught it with a nod of gratitude.
She nodded and raised the bottle to the man, in a quiet gesture of appreciation.
“Quick, Orire. We can’t waste a moment,” Taye urged. “The police are on the prowl. Three boats have already passed the house. We need to hurry back before we’re caught.”
Orire didn’t respond. She dove from the windowsill straight into the water.
“Three boats?” the man muttered, gripping the window frame as he leaned out. Below, Orire and her team were already swimming. “It’s usually one boat patrolling five sections. Why so many tonight?”
“We used the high route to get here,” Orire rasped. “You know how cyborgs operate, one movement and they swarm. We’re practically imprisoned in this place.” She added before sinking deep beneath the surface
If they were to avoid detection, staying submerged was their only option. Orire opened her capsule, using it for both light and navigation. Twenty minutes underwater was uncomfortable, even with a lab tailored swimsuit.
Taye was the first to reach his house, slipping through the pet door since the main entrance was locked. Fefe scrambled to her own door, dropping her key card twice in panic.
Orire wasn’t so lucky. She arrived just as a police boat passed her house.
Thinking fast, she scanned for the nearest Delta-Care Clinic, a 24-hour facility. She quickly crammed the first patient number she saw into her capsule, then let the device sink into the water in case the police decided to search her.
She pressed her watch as she raised her arms. Her swimsuit fibres shifted, morphing into peach-coloured pyjamas with a sleeping kitty printed on the front.
“Citizen, this is a restricted hour. Why are you out?” the cyborg officer asked, stopping the boat a few meters from her. A scanner touched his forehead and lit up as it scanned Orire.
“I was sick,” she said, turning to face him. “I’m coming from the clinic.”
The officer nodded and checked his wrist-pad for confirmation.
“Patient unique number?” He asked
“Dtk32074ps,” she said, holding her breath steady.
The officer paused, then nodded. “Ah, Bridget Rice. Good evening.”
He started the boat and drifted away.
Orire didn’t respond. She hurried inside and shut the door behind her. The capsule could wait until morning.
“Call Petunia,” she instructed, pressing her wristwatch.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for that lunch you promised,” she said, hoping the client understood the code.
“Oh, for Banga soup?” came the voice. “I heard tomorrow will be very cold. What happened?”
“There was so much blue,” Orire replied. “We’ll have to eat the soup in the morning if it’ll be cold by lunchtime.”
“Well, that’s fine. What time? You know crayfish spoils easily.”
“Eight to turn. I won’t be having cereal,” she added, then hung up.
“Co-pilot ilè, play my music,” she said, stepping into the shower. Blue water streamed out chemical-infused, good only for washing.
She paused before bed, gazing at the painting of old Port Zebei. The date in the corner read 22 July 2025.
“Those were different times,” she murmured.
Orire slept only a few hours. When she woke, it was drizzling. She stared at the cloudy sky, her eyes drawn to a crescent-shaped, red-coloured moon.
She took out a chemical-filled bucket and attached the sulphur filter to it. Then she dove into the water to retrieve her capsule. She found it lying nestled in a bed of kelp. She retrieved it, then raced toward Miebi’s house.
He was thirteen. He didn’t need much, just a contraband dose coded with inscription, designed to act as both pacemaker and DNA filler, repairing the gaps dug by the hostile and contaminated environment.
As the serum took effect, the boy’s eyes turned amber. His hair curled into soft, floating coils. He looked up at her.
The gene was working. It wasn’t natural but if it saved lives, it was enough.
Who knows? Maybe this was a future president. One who would give voice back to the people and silence the bots.
Orire smiled and gently fiddled with the boy’s hair.
