Ever since ancient times, knowing how and when has made people powerful.
Kings rose because they understood timing. Empires fell because someone knew where to strike. Information—knowledge—has always been the difference between those who lead and those who follow.
But what if knowledge could also be… poisonous?
Strange thought, isn't it?
Let me ask you something.
You've heard the saying curiosity killed the cat.
But why?
Why would something as simple as curiosity lead to death?
Because it wanted to know.
To understand what something was… what it did… what would happen if it acted.
And sometimes—
that desire to know leads you somewhere you were never meant to go.
Do you see where I'm going with this?
If you do, then you already understand something most people don't.
If you don't… that's fine.
It just means you're still living in a version of reality that hasn't been questioned yet.
A version that might not even be real.
I used to be like that.
Unaware.
Unquestioning.
Safe.
Until the day I died.
Yes.
You heard that right.
I had to die… to understand.
To see beyond what I thought I knew.
To realize that knowledge isn't just power—
it's risk.
It's consequence.
It's something that can reshape everything you thought was real.
Funny, isn't it?
That something as final as death… could be the beginning of understanding.
So—
let me take you back.
To where it all began.
18 Years Earlier
[Mombasa Hospital | August 25, 2005 – 9:45 PM]
The hallway was quiet, lit by pale fluorescent lights that hummed faintly overhead.
A man stood near the far end, his posture straight, a phone pressed to his ear. His expression was calm—professional—but his eyes carried focus, the kind that came from years of experience.
He listened more than he spoke.
"How is he?"
The voice on the other end was controlled, but there was tension beneath it.
Dr. Mwenyeji glanced down at the file in his hand before answering.
"He's recovering well. The surgery was successful, and his condition is stable."
He paused briefly, scanning the report.
"If everything continues like this, he should make a full recovery within a couple of weeks."
A short silence followed.
"When can he come home?"
Dr. Mwenyeji didn't answer immediately.
His gaze lingered on a particular section of the file—long enough to matter, short enough to go unnoticed.
"I'd prefer to keep him under observation for a few more days," he said at last. "There are still some tests I'd like to run."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"If all goes well," he continued evenly, "he can be discharged the day after tomorrow."
"…Alright."
The tension in the voice softened—slightly.
"I'll come pick him up then. Thank you, Doctor."
"There's no need to thank me," Dr. Mwenyeji replied. "I'm simply doing my job."
The call ended.
He lowered the phone slowly, exhaling under his breath as his grip loosened.
For a moment, he stood still.
Thinking.
"Let's finish the rounds first," he murmured quietly. "Then I'll check on him."
A faint pause.
Then, almost amused—
"These kids…"
Before he could move—
a voice echoed through the hallway speakers.
"Dr. Mwenyeji to Ward 7C, please."
"I repeat—Dr. Mwenyeji to Ward 7C."
He stopped.
A small, knowing smile appeared on his face.
"Speak of the devil."
He turned toward the corridor leading to the children's wing, slipping the file under his arm.
"Well… I suppose I should go see our little problem first."
His footsteps echoed softly as he walked down the hallway.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Completely unaware—
that this moment…
would mark the beginning of something far beyond his understanding.
Something that had already begun…
long before anyone realized it.
To be continued…