Sanctum
.
THUD!
.
The impact echoed through the underground training facility.
A reinforced punching bag swung violently before its steel support bent under the force.
.
THUD!
.
Another strike.
The heavy chains snapped.
The bag crashed across the room, slamming into a concrete wall hard enough to leave a crater.
.
Samuel stood motionless.
Six years old.
His breathing remained calm.
His fists were wrapped in white training bandages stained with dust from shredded padding.
.
Scientists stood behind reinforced observation glass.
Tablets in hand.
Eyes fixed on the data streaming across their screens.
.
Heart rate.
Stable.
Muscle activity.
Increasing.
Reaction time.
Above projected values.
Bone density.
Continuing to rise.
.
A fresh punching bag descended from the ceiling.
Its frame had been redesigned.
Thicker chains.
Denser composite fibers.
Titanium reinforcement beneath the outer layers.
.
Samuel stepped forward.
His right fist shot out.
.
BOOM!
.
The room trembled.
The front of the bag imploded before the entire frame tore free from its mount and skidded several metres across the floor.
Fragments of composite material scattered like confetti.
.
New readings flooded the monitors.
Every graph climbed higher.
.
Behind the glass, researchers quietly recorded the results.
One replaced a cracked sensor mounted on the wall.
Another updated Samuel's physical assessment file.
A third requested that Engineering reinforce the training room for the seventh time.
.
Far below the rising numbers...
One conclusion remained unchanged.
.
**Subject Samuel.**
**Physical development continues to exceed all projected models.**
Lagos, Nigeria
.
The diesel engine rumbled to life as the garbage truck pulled away from the sanitation depot.
.
Its route never changed.
Factories.
Warehouses.
Industrial estates.
Medical facilities.
Collection after collection.
Hour after hour.
.
To anyone watching...
It was just another refuse truck making its daily rounds.
.
By late afternoon, it rolled through the gates of a sprawling landfill on the outskirts of the city.
Mountains of refuse stretched toward the horizon.
Excavators crawled across the waste like giant insects.
The smell alone was enough to make most people leave within minutes.
.
He had worked there for years.
Long enough to know every route.
Every driver.
Every collection point.
.
The truck reversed toward its assigned dumping zone.
Hydraulics hissed.
Several tonnes of rubbish slid onto the growing mountain below.
.
Almost.
.
Before activating the final release, he climbed into the rear compartment.
Ignoring the scattered waste, his eyes searched for several black refuse bags marked with nearly invisible blue tape.
.
One.
.
Two.
.
Three.
.
Four.
.
He dragged them aside before emptying the remaining load onto the landfill.
.
His partner glanced over.
"Done already?"
.
He nodded.
"Your turn."
.
Without another word, he loaded the marked bags into an old white delivery van parked behind a maintenance shed.
No company logos.
No licence plates worth remembering.
Just another forgotten vehicle among dozens of others.
.
An hour later...
The van disappeared into an abandoned industrial district.
.
Inside an ageing warehouse, the atmosphere changed completely.
Steel security doors.
Dozens of surveillance cameras.
Armed guards watched every entrance.
Electronic locks secured every storage room.
.
This wasn't a gang hideout.
It was a business.
An illegal one.
.
Rows of shelves held hundreds of tiny glass bottles.
Each contained varying amounts of faint blue residue.
Some glowed brightly.
Others barely shimmered.
Every bottle carried a handwritten label.
Grade A.
Grade B.
Grade C.
Residue.
Dust.
Powder.
.
In another room...
Workers wearing respirators carefully processed the weakest samples.
The residue was mixed with chemical compounds before being compressed into pills.
Others dissolved microscopic quantities into liquid stimulants.
No one knew what the blue substance actually was.
They only knew one thing.
People paid extraordinary amounts to buy it.
.
Collectors.
Drug manufacturers.
Private researchers.
Wealthy thrill-seekers.
The customers changed.
The demand never did.
.
At the centre of the warehouse sat a reinforced office overlooking the operation.
Stacks of cash covered one desk.
Cryptocurrency transactions scrolled endlessly across multiple monitors.
Maps marked delivery routes across West Africa.
.
The man removed his work gloves and sat down.
To sanitation workers...
He was just another refuse collector.
.
On the dark web...
He was known by a different name.
.
**The Blue Devil.**
.
Named after the mysterious substance that had built his empire.
Blue Devil Dust.
.
He smiled as another notification appeared on his screen.
A new buyer.
Another order.
Another fortune waiting to be made.
.
He had no idea...
Among the countless anonymous customers now watching his listings...
The warehouse doors rolled shut.
.
The office overlooked the entire operation.
Workers moved between stainless-steel tables while others packaged shipments into unmarked crates.
Stacks of cash occupied one corner.
Cryptocurrency prices filled another monitor.
.
A heavy knock came from the door.
.
"Boss."
.
"Come in."
.
The door swung open.
A short, chubby man hurried inside carrying a tablet beneath one arm and two pill bottles in the other.
His grin stretched from ear to ear.
.
"Blue..."
He laughed.
"Business is booming."
.
Blue looked up from the ledger on his desk.
"Talk."
.
"I just got two fresh orders from High Tide."
He placed both bottles on the table.
"They want Devil Pops."
He shook the first bottle.
Dozens of blue tablets rattled inside.
.
"And..."
He lifted the second bottle.
"...our newest creation."
A greyish-green capsule rolled against the glass.
"Lilith."
.
"They're taking ten bottles of each."
"Fifty pills per bottle."
"One million naira each."
.
He quickly tapped figures into his calculator.
"Twenty million."
He looked up with a smile.
"And judging from their message..."
"...they're planning to make it a monthly order."
.
Blue leaned back in his chair.
A faint smile crossed his face.
.
"You know what to do."
.
The chubby man nodded.
"Already in motion."
.
He collected the bottles and left.
The office became quiet once again.
.
Blue's gaze drifted toward a locked display cabinet.
Rows of products rested neatly behind reinforced glass.
Blue powders.
Grey capsules.
Amber injections.
Clear inhalers.
Black cartridges.
Each carried a different label.
Each promised a different experience.
Some heightened awareness.
Some numbed pain.
Some flooded the body with impossible energy.
Others...
People simply bought because they couldn't explain what they felt.
.
Years earlier...
It had started with a few glowing bottles.
Curiosity became experimentation.
Experimentation became products.
Products became an empire.
Blue opened a ledger.
The numbers continued climbing.
Hundreds of millions of naira.
And still...
The demand kept growing.
.
He closed the book and reached for the next order.