By midday, Lagos roared in full rhythm: market stalls shouting prices, street vendors weaving through traffic, the scent of fried plantain and exhaust mingling in the heat. I walked to the corner shop for water, but my mind was elsewhere. The Protocol's words repeated in my head, echoing off every surface, louder than the city noise.
FIRST TEST INITIATED. HUMANITY'S BALANCE IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY
I hadn't even considered what that meant. How do you test humanity? And why start with me?
At the shop, a young boy tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. I instinctively reached to help him, my hand brushing against the concrete. The boy looked up, eyes wide, and I realized he had dropped his mother's small bundle of groceries. I scooped it up and handed it back. Relief flickered across his face.
OBSERVATION: RESPONSE TO IMPERFECTION NOTED
My stomach sank. Even a simple act—helping a child—was now a test. My anger at the city, at traffic, at the heat, at life itself, flared. I swallowed it down, feeling the familiar impatience coil in my chest. Yet, I stayed calm, letting the loyalty and empathy I carried guide me.
When I returned home, my sisters barreled into the flat, laughing as they bickered over some trivial argument about schoolwork. I wanted to scold them, to push them away, but the Protocol's unseen eyes seemed to remind me: every choice mattered. So I simply let them be, feeling the warmth of family prick against the tension in my mind.
My father looked up from his printing setup. "Late night again, Enoch?" he asked, not accusing, just observing. His voice had that calm authority I had learned to respect.
"I…" I hesitated, not wanting to lie, not wanting to admit I was already being watched and tested. I swallowed, "Just tired."
He nodded, accepting it at face value. And yet, I felt the unspoken: he knew I was different somehow, though he couldn't name it.
Later, alone in my room, I opened my laptop. The screen lit up, and the text appeared without preamble:
SCENARIO ONE: CHAOS AND COMPASSION
YOUR ACTIONS WILL DEFINE BALANCE
I stared at the words. The Protocol wasn't asking for answers. It was watching, measuring, interpreting. Every decision I made—how I reacted, who I helped, who I ignored—was now part of something bigger.
I thought of the young boy, my sisters, my parents. Ordinary people, ordinary moments, now framed as tests. My impatience flared again, but beneath it, I felt something else: determination. Curiosity. Responsibility. I was a part of this world, and suddenly, I understood the weight of small choices.
The Protocol waited. And so would I, ready to meet the first test, not as some superhuman hero, but as a human being navigating the mess, beauty, and responsibility of life in Lagos.