Lagos wears two faces.
By day, it pretends - a city of commerce, ambition, noise that drowns out the rot.
By night, it drops the mask - and the teeth come out.
Kidnappers prowl the highways.
Gunmen stalk the alleys.
And the lagoon carries more bodies than fish.
Power sits fat at the top: politicians with bloodied hands, officers counting bribes, soldiers renting out their rifles.
Everyone's on the take. Everyone's compromised.
Everyone - except the few too stubborn, too scarred, too damned hard to bend. Ekama Pepple knows the city's second face.
She's walked its darkest corners, seen the children traded for ransom, heard the mothers scream into pillows.
Now they call her Chief Superintendent.
Head of the Anti-Kidnapping Squad.
Seven loyal officers at her back.
But titles don't mean safety.
Uniforms don't stop bullets.
And the men she hunts aren't ghosts - they bleed, but not before they make you bleed first. This is not a story of justice.
Justice is too clean, too soft, too slow for a city like this.
This is a story of blood, smoke, and betrayal.
Of streets where the strong feed on the weak, and only the ruthless walk away breathing.
This is the story of Lagos.
And the woman who chose to tear it open, one bullet, one body at a time.
The Bridge of Lies is waiting.
And once you step onto it, there's no turning back.