Micah was born in silence—no known mother, no birth certificate, and no one to claim him. Left on the steps of a Catholic orphanage in UK, he grew up with no illusions about kindness. The nuns called him "the quiet storm." He never cried. He watched. Listened. Remembered.
By the time he was eight, he could recite entire books word-for-word. At ten, he stopped speaking for six months after witnessing one of the older boys stab a teacher—and lie through confession. The next day, Micah stared him down and said, "Tell the truth." The boy confessed on the spot, shaking. The nuns whispered he had the gift of divine truth. The other children whispered he was cursed.
He was placed into foster care by age eleven, bouncing between homes. Some families tried to tame him, others feared him. One foster father tried to abuse his foster sister. The man disappeared the next week—his crimes exposed anonymously to police, social services, and neighbors. No one could prove it was Micah. But no one doubted.
At 18, he joined the Zimbabwe Republic Police. His psychological test scores shattered records. One question asked: "What does justice mean to you?"
He answered: "To hear truth, and remove the noise between it and the world." Micah's arrival in Zimbabwe wasn't part of any grand plan—it was the end of a trail soaked in shadows and sealed lips.
Months before, while stationed in Berlin under Echo, an intelligence community for Great Britain, Micah had dismantled a highly protected financial ring—one laundering money through offshore accounts, shell corporations, and false charities. The money always disappeared into dead-end trusts and tenders for supplies in Harare and other African countries.
But Micah didn't chase names. He chased patterns. The more he dug, the clearer the web became—a trail of protected criminals, silenced witnesses, and perfectly timed acquittals, all leading back to Africa.
When Echo requested his next assignment, Micah chose Zimbabwe under the guise of joining the regional task force on judicial corruption. It wasn't suspicion that brought him—it was precision. Everything in his gut told him the heart of the rot pulsing through the continent's underworld lay in Harare. His other colleagues went to other African countries the investigations had rooted out.
On arrival, he didn't bring a badge. He brought a mission...and everywhere Micah went, heads would roll