In 2023, a mysterious phenomenon known as the Ispoko ravaged Africa, killing over 10 million people. The outbreak was concentrated in several countries, now known as the Izibaya, with Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and South Africa being the hardest hit.
The Ispoko, malevolent entities born from the energy of the dead, brought humanity to its knees. In a desperate bid to combat the crisis, the United Nations and the African Union formed a task force - the Izilwane - to fight back against the Ispoko and restore hope to a continent on the brink of collapse.
As the helicopters soared over the savannah, their rotors whirring in unison, the diverse group of Izilwane sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The fleet of choppers flew in a V-formation, their shadows gliding across the grasslands below.
Among them was Klaus, a German man with a weathered face and a gaze that seemed to hold a thousand stories. He stared at a picture in his hand, his eyes squinting as if trying to hold back memories. Nhlalo, sitting beside him, noticed the photo and asked, "Is that your wife?" Klaus's eyes softened, and he replied, "Yes. Her name is Anna." He smiled wistfully, then removed another picture from his pocket and said, "And this is my daughter, Sophia."
Nhlalo's eyes widened as he took in the happy family scene, a sense of normalcy that seemed out of place in the midst of their mission. "They're back in Germany, waiting for me to return," Klaus added, a hint of longing in his voice.
Nhlalo nodded sympathetically. Klaus then turned to Nhlalo and asked, "Do you have a wife?" Nhlalo's expression turned somber, and he replied, "I've lost everyone."
The man sitting opposite them, with a rugged face and an Irish brogue, spoke up, "You're too ugly to have a wife!" The other passengers burst out laughing, and Nhlalo's eyes dropped, his face stinging from the sudden jibe.
Just then, a soft-spoken man with an Indian tone spoke up, "They say, when the Ispoko come, they eat those who talk too much." His words were laced with a subtle warning, but the passengers laughed even harder, finding the absurdity of the situation humorous.
The Irish man replied, "Delhi, fuck, do we look like we're in India?" and the helicopter erupted in laughter again, the tension and awkwardness forgotten in the midst of their shared amusement.
The man emerged from the cockpit, a rugged smile on his face. "Welcome, folks, to the city of kings and queens... or what it used to be!" He gestured to the devastated landscape below. "We're approaching our main base in Mpopoma."
The Irish man looked up, curiosity etched on his face. "Mpopoma? What's that?" The man's smile turned wry. "Used to be a suburb, but now it's one of the biggest strongholds in southern Africa. We've got walls, weapons, and a team of Izilwane warriors to keep us safe."
Klaus raised his hand, a sheepish grin on his face. "I've seen an Ispoko on YouTube once." The man's expression turned serious. "Trust me, you don't want to see one in person. They're... different. Unpredictable. And deadly."
The Irish man gazed out the window, his eyes fixed on the approaching base. "Is that the base?" he asked, his voice tinged with excitement. The man nodded, his eyes scanning the team. "Yes, that's our home away from home!"
The man's smile grew wider as he said, "An Ispoko can be anyone... could be you or you or even me." His eyes gleamed with a sinister intensity as he paused for dramatic effect.
Suddenly, his body began to contort and twist, his limbs elongating and morphing into grotesque, vine-like tendrils. He burst out of the helicopter, sending it flying through the air like a toy. As he soared into the sky, his tendrils snaked out, binding the nearby helicopters in a crushing embrace.
"Mayday, mayday!" the pilots cried out in distress, their voices panicked as they realized they were trapped. "We're going down! Mayday, mayday!"
The helicopters crashed to the ground, their metal creaking and groaning as they were squeezed by the Ispoko's tendrils. Some of them exploded on impact, sending flames and debris flying everywhere. Others crumpled and collapsed, their rotors snapping like twigs.
The ground was littered with the wreckage of twisted metal and burning fuel, as if a tornado had torn through the area.
Nhlalo's eyes fluttered open, and he was met with a gruesome sight. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, his body battered and bruised. He coughed, and a stream of blood dripped from his mouth. He looked around, trying to take in his surroundings. Klaus was lying next to him, a metal rod protruding from his neck. The Irish man's head was crushed, his brains splattered across the ground. The other members of the team were similarly mutilated, their bodies twisted and contorted in impossible ways. Nhlalo tried to sit up, but a searing pain shot through his neck. He fell back down, his vision blurring. He knew he had to keep moving, but his body seemed paralyzed with pain. He looked around, trying to find a way out of the wreckage. But everything seemed hopeless. The city of Bulawayo was in ruins around him, buildings reduced to rubble, streets littered with debris.
The Ispoko's cry grew louder, and its vines pierced down, uprooting trees and causing destruction. The dead people around him started getting up, their bones creaking as they took their normal shapes. Nhlalo tried to crawl away, but Klaus's lifeless hands grasped his ankles, holding him back. He kicked and struggled, but the dead team members closed in, their cold eyes fixed on him. Fear overwhelmed him as he realized he was surrounded, with no escape from the horrors that surrounded him.
