The pounding boots on the bridge finally arrived with flashing lights, pulse stunners and stern voices cutting through the charged air. EkoBioGen security, forever clad in their reinforced grey bio-uniforms, moved with practiced efficiency, their expressions professionally impassive but politely perfect while their sharp eyes moved discreetly, taking in the scene and neurally recording it for future references – Disa, still breathing hard on the floor glanced over while the girl huddled defensively against the railing,

  “Situation report!” the lead guard – as described on the holo tag at his wrist barked, his voice amplified slightly by an invisible throat mic.

  Disa scrambled to his feet to stand at attention, dusting and adjusting his scrub aware of how rough he must look.

  Eyes to the ground in reflex of both authority and habit he answered.

  “She… she went over the railing…….”.

  He started then stopped when the guard grunted impatiently.

  “I pulled her back.” He finished lamely in a thin voice. at the back of his mind he was aware of another voice screaming at him to tell the whole story about the incident, but he couldn’t.

  Everything that happened from the moment he saw her, reached for her and pulled her back till now felt too personal.

  The guards exchanged glances which he caught in the blurry reflection of the plasteel material the entire bridge was mostly made of but he ignored it. One of them moved cautiously towards the young woman, hands held open, palms out, adopting the calming posture drilled into hospital staff for dealing with distressed patients. “Ma’am?, Are you injured?, Can you move?.

  She flinched violently the minute he moved closer to her position, and reacted by pressing herself harder against the cold metal. Her wide eyes, darted between the guards and Disa, the earlier fury now overlaid with a stark pain and desperate panic that caused something inside him to squeeze which confused him.

  “Ma’am ?, we need to get you checked out.”

  The guard implored again still moving closer. But she said nothing, just shook her head mutely, and squeezed herself even closer to the railing. a tremor running through her slight frame and she just continued shaking her head the wild look in her eyes growing the second.

  “Subject is non-responsive and exhibiting signs of distress”.

  the guard reported calmly but dispassionately into his mic to his commanding officer in way that made him want to reach into his throat and yank out his cords before yelling at him to be nicer to the girl who had just experienced a life threatening situation – even though she had been courting said situation.

  “Requesting medical eval and psych consult transport to Assessment Ward 7 Now.”

  Within moments of the request two medical orderlies followed by a drone arrived with an anti-grav gurney. They approached the young woman with practiced gentleness, murmuring fake reassurances. She resisted passively at first, a low whimper escaping her lips, but the fight seemed to have been drained out of her, leaving behind a fragile shell that felt wrong.

  As they carefully lifted her onto the gurney, securing the soft restraints, her gaze locked with Disa’s one last time. They looked hollow and dull with a profound emptiness that chilled to the bones him and left him as baffled as her earlier rage had. Her gaze faltered, her eyes closing slowly as if the effort of seeing, and being seen, was too much to bear – it was a a feeling he recognized instinctively, one he knew like the back of his hand as was as clear as his reflection in the mirror.

  As she was smoothly wheeled away on the gurney back into the bright atmosphere of the hospital, Disa watched her form disappear. He was left standing alone on the bridge with the lead guard and his subordinate, a slight wind swept through the area, with a low howl innocent of the life-or-death struggle that had just taken place.

  The lead guard turned back to him, his expression unreadable as. “Your name and designation, intern?”. He asked flicking a dismissive glance at the empty space where his holo badge on should have been on his chest.

  “Disa Akinjide. General rotation genetics laboratory intern” ……. Sir ” he added after a brief pause

  “You witnessed the event?”

  “Yes sir, I was… out here. Taking a break. I saw her…...”

  “Saw her what ?”.

  The question was sharp and insistent. Disa could recognize it for what it was, but rather than answer he looked up and into the officer’s eyes and wisely kept his mouth shut.

  “And you intervened?”

  He asked again.

  “Yes. I Did……, sir” The words felt inadequate and clinical, failing to capture the heart-stopping terror of that desperate grab, the terrifying lurch of gravity and the unfamiliar desperation he had felt in that moment.

  As the lead guard's hand quickly moved over the data pad on his wrist, accompanied by appropriate noises, Disa's attention was caught by the tribal tattoo peeking out from his sleeve, a custom of ethnic identification that had become common in Nigeria after the purges of the last century.

  “Your actions are noted, Intern Akinjide. Standard procedure requires a full statement. Report to Security Hub 3 within the hour, permission has been sent to your supervisors…..” He paused, his gaze flicking to Disa’s mismatched eyes, a micro-expression of disgust flashing in his eyes before being smoothed away so quickly and politely Disa almost thought he had imagined it.

  “You can return to your duties for now intern. Dismissed.”

  The urge to remind him he had a name was strong but Disa pushed it down and tried to appear non combative as possible.

  His last run in with hospital security hadn’t ended well and he was loathe to repeat the punishment.

  A wave of numbness washed over Disa as the adrenaline subsided, leaving him shaky and with a peculiar sense of detachment, followed by a spreading chill. His eyes, reflecting the plasteel surfaces, exhibited a gentle pulsation of light, the intense glow from earlier finally toned down as his emotions stabilized.

  He quietly watched the guards execute a final inspection of the sky bridge before their own return indoors, the resolute and commanding sounds of their boots a distinct counterpoint to his internal disquiet.

  Disa remained on the bridge lost in his thought for a long moment unmoving, the wind whipping strands of his short dreads across his face.

  He could still feel the smooth texture of her skin, the sickening jolt in his shoulder as he caught her and pulled her back, the overwhelming relief followed immediately by the bewildering sting of her anger, and finally, that haunting emptiness in her eyes.

  He was preoccupied by the mystery of her identity and the desperation that would drive someone to seek death on a dimly lit sky bridge connecting sections of a facility dedicated to preserving life. More importantly though, he questioned why he hadn't been able to just look away and alert security, as protocol dictated, instead of getting involved.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  This was completely out of character for him, he reflected, flexing his hands and feeling the burn in his shoulders, before he turned his back on the bright city lights and – he hoped – the memory of those strangely familiar eyes he'd never seen before.

  Security Hub 3 was a sterile, windowless room smelling faintly of ozone and stale coffee. Two hours later, after a calm tongue lashing from two of his supervisors in the genetics research and development laboratory about the merits of not abandoning one’s duty post to take a break at peak time. Disa recounted the events – at least the watered down version and spiel he had given to the guards on the bridge again – this time to a weary-looking officer who typed his statement into a console with brisk indifference. The officer asked standard questions:

  “Had he seen the subject before? – No”.

  “ Did she say anything? – No”.

  “Did she appear intoxicated or disoriented prior to the attempt? ”. Disa answered honestly – No, she was only disoriented after the event. He omitted the major details he noticed about her – the fleeting glance at his eyes he couldn’t decipher her soft skin and her eyes a brown so deep they seemed to swallow the surrounding light. Disa felt an inexplicable even irrational urge to keep most of their interactions on the bridge private not just for her sake but to also preserve his job.

  So it felt irrelevant and too personal for this cold, bureaucratic process that hospital security mandated after near misses.

  After going through the same questions twice to ensure consistency the officer thanked him for coming, reminded him of patient confidentiality protocols, and waved him off with an absent wave.

  Dismissed carelessly for the second time that day. Disa gave a subtle roll of his eyes hidden behind his lens and walked out of the hub as fast as he could.

  The rest of his shift passed in a surreal haze while he performed his assigned task on auto pilot. He fetched blood samples, charted gene anomalies on holographic displays, assisted a senior lab intern he respected but kept a careful distance from in checking the condition of synth nerve cells in a patient’s leg bio graft.

  Even the usually unreactive lab drones seemed to pick up on his detached, robotic mood, prompting them to repeatedly check if he was alright.

  Irritated by their constant interruptions, Disa activated his neural audio implants, immersing himself in the classic Afro beats of old Lagos. This action, while technically against regulations, was a habit or vice – as he liked to call – it his aunt, a clandestine admirer of Asake and Arya Starr, had playfully introduced him to years prior one that like all her teachings had stuck.

  As Asake sang about being looked upon differently by the masses, Disa calibrated phlebotomy drones and let his mind wander, replaying the scene on the sky bridge in an unrelenting loop. The lean, the fall, the grab, the anger, the emptiness, and his own emotional reaction. Each repetition scraped anew at his already stretched nerves and caused several moments of frustrated expletives to escape the rigid emotional control he had perfected in public.

  His colleagues passing through or also working at the same station, shot him curious glances – news, even carefully contained news, travelled fast through the hospital grapevine always have, always will – and after the tongue lashing and shift extension he had received from his direct supervisors for taking his break on the sky bridge rather than the closest cafeteria station in the laboratory wing, everyone pretty much knew the “àjòjì”, had done something wrong again, but no one asked him questions directly – which he was grateful for since he had no answers to give. Perhaps it was due to the faraway look on his face, or simply the habitual detachment in his mismatched eyes. He made a mental note to order new tinted holo-lenses soon, before the hospital’s HR department called him in again regarding patient comfort and maintaining a positive work environment.

  He also tried not to think of the extra cost to his already stretched budget.

  Disa worked for hours non stop, yet by the end of his extended shift he still couldn’t shake the feeling of fragile weight in his arms, soft skin, the sheer finality the girl had courted without tears or fear. Nor could he shake the disturbing image of her fury after he had dragged her back . “Why be angry at being saved?”, He wondered. Unless of course……. – he paused in his stride at the turning that lead to sky bridge by the left and the dormitories on the right his final destination. Unless the life she’d been pulled back to was worse than the oblivion she sought. The thought was a cold slick of dread in his gut especially when he remembered her haunted eyes after, for the first time since the incident, Disa questioned his decision, although he had no regrets.

  As hours turned into days. Disa fell back into the demanding rhythm of his internship, the initial shock of the incident receding into a dull background hum after it’s initial roar through the hospital’s grapevine. For him though, it remained as persistent as a fly attracted to honey.

  Even during its rainy season, Lagos remained intensely hot. Brief, heavy rains would temporarily cleanse the city's neon-stained streets, only for the oppressive humidity to return. In the meantime the Sky bridge access remained closed to all staffs and patients since the incident. But even without going to the bridge since then, Disa couldn't shake the memory of the girl. Often he caught himself wondering what had happened to her and lingering around wards hoping to catch a glimpse of her, during routine deliveries.

  He struck gold a week later, while on a sample collection and drone delivery to the psych wards. The nurses on duty were taking a break nearby and chatting amiably.

  “ Isn’t the patient who tried to go over the bridge, the same girl who overdosed on her meds the last time she was admitted”.

  “ Yes now that you mentioned it that’s true”.

  “One has to wonder if back then was an accident or intentional”.

  “ Yes ohhh, and didn’t she have a peculiar name?, ”

  “I think she was named after death or something?”.

  “Beeni, Beeni, it had an ancient yoruba ring to it”.

  “ That’s right, her name tag back then was “Abiku Bello”.

  “Ahhhh, what sort of parents name their child so callously”.

  “Rich ones of course”

  “Shhhh, shhh, awon ogiri ma leti !!, àjòjì den be larin wa”. – shhh the wall have ears and there’s a stranger amongst us.

  Suddenly, another nurse interjected, casting a significant glance towards the corner where he stood at the reception data bank, deliberately registering the drone's statistics. A short, awkward silence followed, and even though their conversation shifted, he could sense their coded discussion about him continuing.

  Leaving the station, he adjusted his new holo-lenses, trying to ignore the usual obvious stares and whispers directed his way. However, the name he had just overheard lingered in his mind, proving harder to dismiss.

  “ABIKU”, in ancient Yoruba folklore the name was used to signify a spirit child, one destined to die and over and over again in a never ending cycle of grief and devastation. It was also an unusual name in modern day Lagos, especially with the abolishment of several traditional and ancient cultural practices across all ethnic groups in the early 2040’s, followed by the diversity purge in later years.

  The name was befitting for her, as the first person Disa knew with the courage to embrace the end in an era where forever youth is the norm and desperation the currency of those willing to do anything to achieve it.

  Disa was curious about her, he wanted to know more about her and if he was being honest he wanted…, no he needed to know why.

  Following that his brief stint as an eavesdropper, he started noticing her – Abiku – as he worked. He’d catch brief glimpses of her now and then in the hospital’s winding hallways and long corridors.

  Once he saw her being escorted by an orderly towards the physiotherapy wing, her face pale and withdrawn, eyes fixed on the floor. Her every stepped looked defeated yet regal at the same time.

  Another day, he noticed her sitting alone in a corner of a the crowded cafeteria mainly used by patients and their visiting families, pushing untouched and tasteless food around on a tray, while looking utterly lost amidst the crowd. She took a moment to push her tray aside then turned to look at the holographic imitation of Lagos city the window next to her with an intensity that made his chest ache, her profile sharp and longing against the synthesized sky projected on the walls.

  Each sighting sent a strange jolt through him, a mixture of residual shock, protective instinct, and increasing curiosity. He noted the lack of visitors, the way staff interacted with her – professionally, kindly, but with a subtle distance, as if handling something exceptionally fragile…….., something precious.

  Before he knew it, he found himself altering his routes between wards, lingering near the psych wing entrance whenever she went in for assessment. Soon he was fabricating reasons to be on floors he had no business being on, adding on extra shifts and volunteering for duties that actually took him out of the laboratory and into the wards even though he loathed the interactions with most of the patients and nurses. hoping for another glimpse of her.

  Days he was off from work and had no reason to be on hospital grounds. He thought about her name while absently working on his assignments. “Abiku”, a name that carried the devastating fate of its owner in every syllable.

  He couldn’t even begin to imagine the weight of carrying such a burdensome identity in a hyper-modern world that still clung fiercely to its ancient roots and beliefs Despite the government repeated efforts to phase them out.

  He saw the pitying glances some of the older nurses gave her, the way they whispered her name and shuddered while snapping their fingers to the back of their head to ward against the ill fortune attached to it.

  It wasn't lost on him that within the walls of a place devoted to meticulously and flawlessly sustaining life, her gaze was fixed on firmly on death.