The Cul de Sac.

Sycamore Close was a cul-de-sac of quiet routines and privacy. Elsie Mensah, at No. 12, was an anomaly—a reserved woman who worked from home and never mingled. She lived a life so silent, neighbors barely noticed her existence. But when the war began, everything changed.

The first disruptions came in the form of power outages. Then, news broke about Russian aggression, triggering fear and confusion. Residents retreated into their homes, barricading their doors. Elsie, however, remained calm. Her house stood out; faint lights still flickered, low hums emanated from somewhere inside. Rumors began, but no one dared confront her.

On the fifth day, Greg from No. 4 knocked on her door, anxiety etched in his face. When Elsie answered, she was composed. "I’m fine, Greg," she said softly. Behind her, Greg glimpsed monitors glowing faintly.

"You seem...prepared," Greg ventured, uncertain.

"I always am," Elsie replied cryptically, shutting the door before he could say more.

That evening, Sophie from No. 7 arrived, clutching her toddler. Her voice trembled as she said, "Elsie, we’re running out of food. The shops are empty, and the water’s low. Please, we need help."

Elsie hesitated before letting her inside. The living room revealed a startling truth: maps lined the walls, monitors displayed cryptic data streams, and shelves brimmed with neatly labeled supplies. It was a control center disguised as a home.

For hours, Elsie calmly instructed her neighbors. She demonstrated how to ration their remaining food, purify water, and secure their homes. Her insight was unnervingly precise—she hadn’t just prepared for survival; she’d foreseen the crisis before anyone else.

The knock came later that night. A soldier stood outside, his uniform worn, his posture rigid. "Elsie Mensah," he said, his tone sharp. "We need you. It’s urgent."

The neighbors, gathered in her living room, exchanged stunned glances. Why her? What did she know?

Elsie stepped outside without hesitation, her movements deliberate. The neighbours wondered if she was in trouble. Greg followed, unable to suppress his mounting curiosity. "Elsie," he demanded, "what’s going on? Who are you?"

She paused, her eyes meeting his. For the first time, her expression softened. "Greg," she said calmly, "some answers carry risks you don’t want to take." He felt a mix of fear and apprehension and was quietly pushed back by an officer guarding the conversation she was having.

Before he could respond, a black SUV screeched to a halt in front of her door. The soldier opened the door, and Elsie climbed in without a word. The vehicle sped off into the night.

Inside, the neighbors were drawn to the monitors she’d left behind. One screen flickered to life, displaying encrypted messages. Another showed a chilling line: "Operation Sycamore: Phase Two Initiated." No one dared to touch anything. One by one they stood up and went back to their flats.

The hum of machines grew louder, as though alive. Fear churned in their hearts. Who was Elsie Mensah? A savior—or something far darker? The neighborhood’s mystery was only beginning.