Core City lay under a dark shroud. Baylon and Ijoma, hidden on a rooftop, were barely visible. Stars twinkled faintly above, their light soft on their faces. Below, the city murmured – distant traffic, whispers of nightlife.

Ijoma whispered, her voice cautious. “There are risks,” she said, her eyes reflecting the city's glow. “It's not just us. Our families, friends…” Her voice faded, leaving unspoken fears hanging in the air.

“Yeah,” Baylon, fists clenched, felt the burden of her words. “But we need help.” So they’d set up a meeting to ask for it.

Adanmaz stepped onto the rooftop, moonlight revealing his anxiety. He glanced between Baylon and Ijoma, fear and confusion in his eyes.

“What are your plans?” Adanmaz's whisper was strained, his gaze flickering nervously, fearing unknown consequences.

Ijoma and Baylon exchanged a look. In Adanmaz’s apprehensive eyes, they saw their shared fears.

Baylon addressed Adanmaz, his voice soft yet resolute. “We’re standing up,” he said.

Adanmaz’s paused, absorbing the words. The air vibrated with the promise of a new era.

Baylon stepped toward Adanmaz, his hands punctuating his passionate words. "Adanmaz, this is everyone's fight.”

Adanmaz, skepticism in his eyes, asked, "What if it makes things worse?" His voice carried the weariness of long oppression.

Ijoma, standing close, spoke up. "Small victories matter, Adanmaz."

“You’re just being greedy, just like the rich people.”

“To ask for basic rights?” Baylon held up Okamen’s manifesto. "This is about more than wages. It’s about life."

Adanmaz’s furrowed brow relaxed as he mulled over their viewpoint. Above, stars hinted at endless possibilities.

Baylon spoke, "We could make own futures.”

"I hear you," Adanmaz said. "But history's full of failed revolutions."

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Baylon's intensity waned momentarily, sobered by reality. Adanmaz's fears were valid.

“Successful ones too,” Ijoma said. Ijoma moved closer, her voice firm. "We know the dangers, Adanmaz. But we're done living in fear."

“I have to think.” Adanmaz left. His footsteps receded into the night.

Baylon and Ijoma remained, overlooking the city and Ravo River, bathed in a gentle light.

Ijoma seemed anxious. "Baylon," she whispered urgently, "Adanmaz's could cause trouble. What if he speaks out? What if he is working for Ugoth?"

"I want to trust him," Baylon admitted, his voice laced with melancholy.

The rooftop, once a canvas for their dreams, now felt like the setting for a more ominous path. The city lights cast elongated, foreboding shadows.

#

The factory fell silent as Ayodele entered. She owned the factory, or at least she supposedly did. Or maybe it was her family. Baylon had never seen her before. Her presence dominated the space, commanding attention and respect. She moved purposefully, her footsteps resonating against the concrete, demanding silence and obedience.

Her sharp voice broke the silence. "Foolish tales," she declared, her tone dismissive, "are disrupting our harmony." She dismissed the idea of injustice within her factory with a wave of her hand.

Ayodele's gaze swept over the workers, cold and calculating. They stood still. "Okamen, a traitor, has been apprehended," she announced, her words heavy and ominous. "Remember, rebellion leads to ruin, not redemption."

The workers exchanged glances. Ayodele's statement was more than a fact; it was a threat, a reminder of her power and the consequences of defiance.

Her figure remained dominant on the factory floor, the air thick with tension. Her gaze challenged each worker, daring them to speak against her. But none did, the fear of retribution holding them back.

Her stance firm, her gaze unyielding, Ayodele conveyed a clear message: dissent was not an option. The path she laid out was one of compliance and submission, and any deviation would be met with severe consequences.

Her voice softened, her gestures became more grandiose, as she spun a narrative of her generosity. "Your comfort and satisfaction are my priorities," she claimed, “I’ve brought you all a free lunch and sweets as a token of appreciation.” The atmosphere shifted.

The dim factory brightened momentarily at her announcement. Some workers smiled at the thought of a brief respite from their harsh routine, clapping and murmuring thanks.

Baylon wondered how many cheered for fear of Ugoth's wrath and job loss. Survival demanded compliance.

Apart from the subdued celebration, Baylon and Ijoma observed with sober expressions.

Baylon's determination grew as he watched Ayodele's empty promises sway his colleagues.

As the food circulated, Baylon accepted his portion automatically, his zest absent. The treat's sweetness couldn't veil their grim reality – Okamen's absence, the uncertain journey ahead, the sacrifices for their cause.

Ijoma whispered, “It’s not a reward. It’s her putting us in our place.”

In the factory's feigned joviality, Ijoma's hand touched Baylon's arm. “We’re in this together.”

Ayodele observed them, her smile sharp. “Eat up.”

Baylon set his food down and walked away from his plate. Ijoma did the same. Their subtle resistance went unnoticed by many but caught the eye of a few workers.