Good day, Gentlemen, Ladies and Everyday people running about their daily lives, looking to get over the line...
Permit me to share with you a passion project that i worked on during my University years. Took me 2 years to finish it, and some courage to share it on Nairaland.
Feel free to leave behind criticisms or DM me privately if need be...Enjoy

PROLOGUE

“Don’t try to fight it” the man in the gas mask said as his eyes darted round the chained woman. “Pain, fear, agony…is inevitable” he continued, pressing his fingers into the woman’s wounds to reopen them.
Turning his eyes briefly from the woman, he looked to his side; there was a burnt man in what appeared to be a freezer absorbing the gas that hovered over the vacuum space.
“It is the very essence of nature and life” the man said, returning to the woman as she stared at him, trying to figure out the monster that hid in the mask.
She was bloodied all over, sweating and panting as blood flowed through her wounds, making her efforts to keep a keen focus on the man futile. She looked to her right, the direction that was the source of illumination in the room.
It was some big container made of translucent glass that shone voluminous light; blinding to the sight and perspiring to the skin. Inside it was a boy; his skin the very color of the light. If one didn’t know, he would be mistaken to think the boy was the source of the light. But reverse was the case as he was rather a victim to the light. The more the light peered through him, the more his skin bleached, taking the color of the light.
“It brings out the best in us” the man in the gas mask continued; gently and softly as he watched tears roll out from the woman’s cheeks. He turned to look at his work desk to see blood splattered all over his tools; particularly the sharp ones. He looked at the woman again and then the others that were chained and hanging in the air. Some were dead with blood still oozing out of their wounded body; and others, burnt beyond recognition and hanging lifelessly in the air, waiting to be buried.
Out of them, was one body that was fast decomposing unlike any dead body before, and to its right, a woman burning in flames while hanging. The man in the gas mask turned his eyes from her and to the woman in front of him. He picked up his flame thrower, lighting it up distances from the woman.
“…we only get to live when we feel pain and agony…we only get to adapt when we fear it coming for us all over again,” the man said, taking the flame thrower together with its flames closer to the woman.
He paused to admire the color of it; blue, he smiled.
The woman panting as she watched the heat and flames head for her, hung stiff in the air with her cuts and bruises. Below her was an obese woman, probably in her mid-thirties, strapped to a table with iron chains, begging not for the woman who was about being burnt alive but herself.
Upon where she laid, was a machine rolling and jabbing the chains at her muscles as it continually pulled at her hinges. It was as if the machine was aiming at stretching her muscles.
The man in the gas mask paid no heed to her cries though. Instead, he continued talking. “Only then can we become better,” he said. “Only then can we realize what we are capable of” the man added, taking the flame thrower closer and closer to the woman who hung in the air at his mercy. Her skin already covered in blood, continued reddening.
She looked to her leftward axis to see the body that had been fast decomposing, completely crumble to dust. Perhaps her body would do the same, she hoped, closing her eyes as the flames met her skin.
The woman had almost leapt out screaming but couldn’t as no sound made its way forward. Her throat apparently had been burnt beforehand; something made evident by her cut off tongue.
“…our hidden potentials unlocked because of pain, agony and fear” the man in the gas mask said, taking the flame thrower from the woman’s skin to see the spot for which he torched, melt.
He launched the flame thrower at the woman again, but this time to her face. The man had almost fired the flames straight at her left eye only to in time, swing and aim at her red hair. The woman’s eyes widened spontaneously to catch the name tag on the man’s lab coat; ‘Dr. T Nolan’ it read. As her hair burnt, so did the woman glisten her eyes on the man’s name; panting and sweating as she hung stiff. Much could not be said for an old man who found himself nailed to a pavement meters from the woman; battered and bloodied with holes in his skin while being exposed to a great deal of nitrogen gas. Instead of freezing up, his wounds in the most excruciating way possible, healed up as the gas found its way into his body.
Few meters from him again, stood a glass tank; this one much bigger than the others. In it, was a teenage girl, kept company by different breeds of snake, who rather than keep calm, kept coming for her. The girl’s skin was already covered in blood and cuts but the snakes weren’t satisfied. Slowly, they came for her while she struggled. Then out from among them, rose the very largest; a python. At first, it stood still, but when the girl made a second attempt at movement, launched itself at her. It stretched its skin round her body, allowing its comrades to feed on her.
As their fangs struck at her and their venoms penetrated her skin, so did her facial muscles wrinkle and turn green. Her eyes soon joined in the greenish coloration when she eventually let out her loudest yell.
“You are right to feel and fear it. It’s what makes us human…coming out of it however, is what makes us different,” the man in the gas mask said, finally taking the flame thrower and its flames to the most sensational part of the woman’s body.

IN THE SHADOWS
Mushin’s boulevards were always the most dangerous in Lagos as they carried strange tales at night. Stories of mystery were never lacking particularly in Mushin. Those worth telling and those not worth telling; ranging from rape, unaccounted murder, missing persons or much weird; missing parts. People dreaded this place, including journalists who wanted headlines but also wanted their heads intact. Mad people were even said to have seen foul creatures and some, a bogey man lurking in the dark waiting for a prey.
However it was, Agnes didn’t care or didn’t seem bothered by it. She took that route and footed it like it was the morning of Christmas. Maybe it was the hunger in her, or perhaps the wrapped parcel she was holding that weighed on her and made it look like she was unworried. Or maybe she wanted to witness such tales herself. Either way, everything was a mystery locked in the dark of the night. She was always a staunch critic of superstition and wanted to prove to people nothing of such existed, and was only in the minds of children to scare them from staying late at night. What she didn’t know though, was that, such tales were told since time immemorial for a reason, and she was working against history with the worst being, history was about teaching her a lesson.
“Heyz…fine gal” trouble sensed her and called to her before she could walk farther. It was firm and calm, “fine gal. Nibolon lo?” trouble in the guise of Eulogy; a rough guy one would mistake for a man due to his hugeness and love for huge things.
Eulogy came with a rough jacket on this time to show off the rough hair on his chest and the foul odor of his body. Its scent transcended to the crooked knife he had on him as an escort. If Mushin was a country, Eulogy was its president.
Agnes didn’t know what to do that instance. She had heard of Eulogy, but never knew the guy himself, or that he came to Mushin considering the power struggle amongst area gangs.
She thought of running off but instead settled on hasting her footsteps. That didn’t help though as in doing that, the footsteps she heard tripled. Eulogy didn’t come alone.
“Fine gal stop now”
“Oh God” Agnes gasped realizing what she had gotten herself into. What made her take that path? She asked herself as she stopped to look at the noodles that were in her parcel, the reason she was even out in the first place.
“I say stop abi you no dey hear word” Eulogy said getting angry as he marched with his boys towards Agnes. All Agnes wanted to do was reach home on time while taking a shortcut but she didn’t realize she never left home in time.
“Am sorry…” she thought of apologizing but before she could finish the guy slapped her hot on the cheek. “…You dey craze…?” Eulogy shouted, holding his finger to his head to signify insanity as he questioned Agnes. Left with no option but to shake her head, Agnes stared at him while glaring around. “You no happy say na lite we want lite you abi you want make we leave jack-knife for your to-to?”
Eulogy did not stop with just questioning. He preferred to exert action by hitting his victim along with his gang. That was if they were in a good mood. Moreover, they never stopped with just hitting; they preferred to pull off their trousers down allowing their victims to see what they were in for. The higher their dicks charged, the more trouble their victims felt.
The shortest in the group began the planned action of the day by tearing Agnes’ shirt in half to reveal a bra that held her breasts firm. The boy smacked his lips while the other four and Eulogy waited in readiness. He was overjoyed with the thought of being the first to lick those succulent perks without any interruption. Slowly he tore of the bra while watching Agnes sob to silence; fully aware it wouldn’t do anything. But before he could bring his tongue to his object of obsession, a heavy brick flew out of nowhere hitting him on the head. It was perfectly aimed, precise and did the job that everyone got startled for what came next.
“Hit the road and let the girl go Adekunle. Sex this hour is bad for all” said a voice that had a masked figure in a dark raincoat to account for it. It was soft but serious as Agnes looked unto it as some kind of savior.
Eulogy insulted by the person, came forward and looked straight at the figure that stood 15 paces away from him, fingers fisted. No one would tell you he was vexed before you’d believe. In this case one can’t tell who was the angrier.
“Say wetin? Who you be?” Eulogy demanded, giving confidence to his gang as they marched to him in support. They wanted to remind the figure that he was out marched. One bringing out a gun to also tell him he was outgunned. “You know who I am? You no dey fear face…?” he threatened.
The figure still in silence, counted his chances before acting, once he was done he walked towards the gang saliently. The guy with the gun cocked his pistol knowing how the game was going to end. Agnes kept watchful eyes while in fear’s grip.
“I warn you to not come closer,” the gun guy warned pointing the weapon. The figure didn’t listen though. He walked up to them and threw the first punch at the guy left to Eulogy.
It was a mere punch quite alright, but not by a mere man, thus making the punch not a mere punch. The punch lifted the guy up six feet literally against a cemented wall as the wind gave a loud thud.
The gun guy seeing this wasn’t the usual brawl; pulled the trigger. But before the sound could go off, the figure held his hand, and with a gentle twist, broke the bone holding his wrist and pride in place. The thug didn’t want to, but had no choice but to yell to the dark. But even that didn’t stop there for him, for as the bullet hit the floor, the figure twisted his neck without any effort. The only option the gun guy was left with was fainting to the floor.
“Jesus. This guy no be man oh” the youngest in the gang yelled as things unraveled. He was able to spur the gang into action, as the two standing, with Eulogy, ran up to the guy seeking vengeance. They started throwing punches at the figure, fighting dirty, and kicking the figure wherever they felt pleased, seeking to pull off his mask.
When it was obvious the figure was tired of the childish brawl, he grabbed Eulogy by the neck above the floor with 2 fingers while the two watched.
Letting them know what he was capable of, he flung Eulogy straight at the sky allowing him to hit the ground high while his blood splatter to the floor in a loud bang. Not satisfied, the figure picked offense with the rest for hitting him in the most delicate part of his body. Gently, he rushed at them, kicking the two with his two feet consecutively.
If he was an ordinary man, the two’s legs wouldn’t have given a cranky sound or more less had their legs broken but this it did, thus cementing the fact he wasn’t ordinary. The figure then went back to the first guy he punched who had recovered and was now seeking revenge against him. He pulled him by the shirt, smacked him against the wall and floor effortlessly before punching him hard on the face. His face puffed with blood leaving the ground broken in pieces.
“Jesus…!” Agnes was forced to exclaim that minute, having witnessed all the superhuman feats the figure had done. The figure realizing the fight was over, looked at Agnes and nodded like a superhero would. He leapt onto the roof of a saloon few paces beside him before climbing the tall building that stood next to it. Before she knew it, he was gone.
Agnes left wondering in the dark, decided running off that instance rather out of curiousity than of fear. Eulogy and his gang lied fallen on the floor with little to no breath in them, only Eulogy’s eyes were open, like a blind man’s. Agnes couldn’t wait to get home knowing there was a lot for her to gossip about that week if at all she were to forget.

Captain Jones brought his legs forth to his desk as he sighed rubbing his beards. That was 27 years’ worth of service in the military and 2 years as a security guard on an amusement park—he said to himself.
He picked up a photograph of himself lying next to him to remind himself of this reminiscing on his accomplishments, failures, and regrets and wondering if promises were actually worth keeping. He sank himself low to his chair letting the wind blow at him in mockery while he drank the remaining gin left in his bottle. Was it worth it? He asked the wind in defeat while switching on the radio to keep him company. He picked up the last set of his cigar and a lighter to juice it up and burn his shame so he could listen well to the radio broadcast. He needed it, he sure did—he acknowledged to himself singing Jim Croce’s Time in a Bottle along with the radio, while looking at his empty gin bottle and wondering if actually ‘time’ was in it. No—he answered closing his eyes noticing the wind surging much higher than usual. ‘We interrupt this program to bring you…Breaking News: Residents of Louisiana, Florida are asked to evacuate their premises for an incoming hurricane heading the streets. We repeat….’ The radio channel cut up interrupting Captain Jones’ cool moment. Picking offense, he hit the radio off.
“I’ve heard this news before…” he said, wondering if there were better things than constant reminder of failed predictions. He smoked his cigar again to keep his head down with his eyes still shut listening to the winds. They were growing higher and more vicious. His door and windows were now shaking greatly, but still Jones didn’t let the troubles of the world ruin his moment. Whatevs, he mouthed listening to the outstanding waves and chatter coming from outside. Just when it couldn’t have been any worse, the door flung at him with might jolting the Captain off his Disneyland. It was Eric.
“Captain, there is a hurricane headed here. We gotta go”
“What?” he couldn’t comprehend if he was questioning factuality or his annoyance for his moment being ruined but his added words spoke for him, “Are you serious?”
The captain got up instantly with added age to his buttocks while grabbing his framed photograph along. His cigarette being the only thing he left behind. Eric on the other hand didn’t wait for the captain to get up before racing off.
Outside was mass chaos filled with scuffles of people trying to get off the site as fast as possible with roars of tidal waves coming high above but yet to be seen. It was like the clouds and wind had decided on masking the worst possible scenario leaving only the surging thunderstorm to give a hint of what it was going to be. For the clouds up north were deep blue if not dark, giving a bleak coloration of dark water. It was rotating fast, faster than any storm that had ever moved. From the way it was, one couldn’t tell if at all rain was falling or about to, the grounds east coast was already spouting water making it look as if rain was falling from the ground into the sky. Captain Jones stood wondering what best he could do as he calculated the storm’s top speed and how best he could run. He looked helter skelter catching his eyes on the raging trees, and noticing the leaves on it were even running for their lives. Few paces below the trees laid a boy not more than 4 years, stuck in a merry-go-round screaming, trying to catch the captain’s attention. “Great God!” he shouted having figured out the equation in this whole situation as he stood confused itching whether to make a move forward or backwards from the incoming storm. He knew he was already doomed but what about him?
Captain Jones dragged his old butt driven with age and regrets towards the helpless lad as he saw the trees too trying to run off. He knew he had to be quick unless the trees left without him or worst, took him in their scuffle. As he moved, he felt his legs dragged down both by the heavy wind and 29 wasted years as he looked around to see thunder laughing at him. He could feel water under his feet now. One more step, he assured himself still looking around till he got to the boy.
“It’s okay, son. You’re going home. Fun’s over for the day” he mumbled forcing a smirk on his face not sure if he was being ironic or heroic. He managed to lift the wedge holding the boy stiff with his last strength as he begged the trees to wait much longer for him. This may not work according to plan—he settled to advice himself still holding the wedge. He kept his eyes deeply focused at the southern coast that felt safe hoping for a rescue he knew wouldn’t come. Was he that much of a failure? “It’s okay, son” he assured the boy who realized much earlier he was rather being mocked. The boy settled to his fate.
Just when things couldn’t have gotten any worse, the grounds up south which he considered safe sprouted with a whoosh of wind in Captain’s eyes, tearing the soil as it gained momentum. It was fast, quick; quicker than anything ever seen. It was like the more the wind came in contact with soil, the more it increased its mass carrying along stones and massive energy of air. It was as if it was forming a whirlwind but this one strong enough to knock things over as canopies, metals were folding at sudden contact with it. Captain Jones would’ve thought of it as a tornado but this wasn’t as big as it but much stronger than any he had ever seen. And much faster, the weird part was the fact that the wave was green.
Saliently it came as the two chilled to their fate and watched the trees scream foul. The whirlwind arose shoving enough dirt into their eyes as it made its way opposite them into the incoming thunderstorm. It left them unharmed as it instead fought its way to the storm. Strong, tough and of great magnitude it was as it ran opposing sides to the storm. Round and round it went anticlockwise as if having studied the movement of the hurricane. It became obvious this was a gladiatorial battle as everything around them suffered with none willing to stop. It went on for 6 minutes making it obvious an unstoppable force had met an immovable object. When it was quite clear none was willing to surrender, the whirlwind began sucking the energy out of the hurricane converting it to its. The sky started getting much darker and darker now, ready for the big bang while the trees, the wind looked on for mercy.
Captain Jones having managed to lift the wedge and dragged the boy off from it, looked on with his last breath while the boy looked at the lagging trees,
“Will I see my mummy again?” the boy asked,
Captain Jones looked at him knowing he hadn’t such answer, if he did he couldn’t very much answer it. The trees had given up on mercy slowing for a free fall on them. The captain shut his eyes off for this but just before the trees could fall, the whirlwind ran up to them taking them out of danger.

Agnes played the video again. To be sure she hadn’t missed anything. She wanted to be sure of what she had seen, to know it wasn’t some kind of a computer trick of video FX. She wanted to be sure she wasn’t losing her grip on reality. Her thoughts went up to Nana that moment. Was it her turn?
She adjusted her sitting position again as she stared head on at her laptop. It felt like it was the first time she was seeing a laptop. She studied the designed logo on it that said ‘DELL’, the screen, the keys as if her quarrel was with it.
It was a day since she got attacked and saved by a mysterious man with superhuman strength—No she wouldn’t call him a man, he was more than it and yet she got nothing. No news on his whereabouts or what happened the previous night. Did Eulogy and his gang walk it off? Were they back on the streets or were they caught by the police? She asked herself as she looked at the history of her browser. She had searched Vanguard, Sunnewsonline, Punch and all local online blogs and now she was searching for evidence on superhuman activities or the possibility of it. She can’t believe she was doing this, she sighed.
Agnes watched the video again. How did the whirlwind get to them in time without causing the trees to fall on them much sooner? What happened to the old man and the boy? Was the disaster scientifically proven? A tornado battling a hurricane, was it possible? She read the caption on the video. Why was the tornado green or greenish? Sure there must be a scientific prove. Things don’t just happen. ‘Do you believe…?’ Agnes read the text from the blogger along with the site name; www.themetaphysical.com and a list of all that had been posted on the blog. She also read the blogger’s profile whose name he identified as CharlieUFO.
‘This doesn’t change anything. There must be an explanation, an anomaly’ she typed back and instantly she got a ping, ‘Not scientifically proven. Scientists are keeping mum. The government’s denying it ever happened…’ the message read, ‘The video was even taken down from YouTube after a hacker had it leaked from the NSA satellite. Why would they do that?’
‘So that means it’s some kind of a conspiracy?’ Agnes typed back as she looked down at the blogger’s chat moniker, ‘seeing is no longer believing, knowing is…’
‘No…the government doesn’t want the world to know what really is out there and that scares me. And that alone is a conspiracy on itself. Why hide something like this? I had a friend who happened to have seen the metaphysical with the naked eye…a boy who could levitate. Few weeks later no one hears of this boy and the police labeled my friend insane for having seen what he wasn’t supposed to’ ‘Maybe he is really insane. How old was he?’
‘She. My friend has never had any case of mental breakdown and she was more skeptic than I was” Agnes sighed, confused, unsure of what to think or what to believe. She wanted typing what she had seen and had witnessed but couldn’t. She wasn’t sure she could keep up with the blogger on that topic without having a breakdown, ‘And where is she now?’ she typed, ‘An asylum” the blogger replied, ‘With all visitation restricted. Go on; check the name Captain Frederick Jones’ and with that the blogger went offline.
Taking cue from the blogger, she logged off the website and unto Google, typing the name Captain Frederick Jones on the search engine. Instantly the webpage came up showing images, blog-posts and videos on the person.
News results:
Frederick suffered mental issues—wife
The webpage went on to reveal along with the source, ‘Daily post’ and the time of upload stated below. The search engine also listed some other news feeds same way with each news revealing an episode of the story as Agnes continued reading.
There’s something about Hurricane Rita the world doesn’t know—Captain Jones (2 days before death) Vulture- 25th July 2009 Old man who saw the end of the world dies
www.eonline.com – 23rd July 2009 Captain Jones dead at 62 The jubilee – 24th July 2009 It revealed before going into showing whom or what was being talked about. The images each featured an old man, same with the video feed Agnes saw but slightly different with each photo having the man dressed in some kind of uniform; whether military or civilian, Agnes found hard to tell. Who exactly is this person? She asked scrolling further to reveal a wiki upload; Frederick Kopola Jones – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
She read on before giving up as she saw nothing of note except the fact the man was a nobody, an alcoholic and a divorcee. The only thing being of note, the fact he saw something during the hurricane, whatever it was, wasn’t mentioned. Agnes decided scrolling much further giving the story a chance as she kept reading.
(Man who survived hurricane Rita dies two days after—Daily post – 24th July 2009) (George Perez claims he saw man in whirlwind fighting Hurricane—The JFK files– 22nd July 2009) (Conspiracy theorists say Frederick Jones isn’t dead, give reasons—Yahoo – 27th July 2009) (Boy who survived Hurricane Rita with Jones claims he isn’t dead—SunsetHeralds – 25th July 2009) (U. S Govt. has Jones – Top conspiracy theorist, Alexander Nickel--Punch.ng– 26th July 2009)
(Is Frederick Jones really dead?—Pulse.ng –30th July 2009) (Jones spotted with men in black or a lookalike? www.alexnickelonline.net}
Each news page read, with all bearing attractive headlines that begged for clicks. Ignoring all, Agnes sulked to the chair flexing her fingers. She returned back to the laptop to take one last look at the whole thing before going into conclusion. Then she stopped by the alexnickel news feed, ‘Jones spotted with men in black or a lookalike?’ it read.
This is where this whole nonsense came from; she concluded finally clicking on the webpage to see for herself.

The door jammed behind her immediately the page loaded. Instantly, Agnes flew out of her skin closing the laptop before turning to the door, “Lillian!” she shouted like a ghost had crept in, “You are back…”
“Ah…Agy” Lillian sighed walking into the room as she untied her headscarf. She stood for some moments staring in blankness before slumping to the bed like one battered victim. Agnes was left wondering what happened. Lillian’s hair was rough; which first was unlike her and second, the most impossible thing that could ever happen to her. The most conspicuous was her makeup that was gone. “Na only God go punish Father Kelvin” she muttered.
“What happened?” Agnes couldn’t wait for the moment to ask the question as many thoughts ran through her as she looked at Lillian. She had already cooked up many stories in her subconscious to explain Lillian’s mood and appearance with hers not far from what came up. Could it? Lillian sighed once again, closing her eyes “the man can kill someone with preaching and prayers” she settled to say and all Agnes could think of was, Just that? “His vigil was like a judgment field. Nowhere to breathe”
“You said you were coming back last night” Agnes relaxed realizing it was nothing serious, though she remained skeptic with how weak Lillian came and was.
“There was no way I could come back last night. You need to see that place. You can’t go to a place like that and expect to be back. Miracles were happeni…”
“I left the door open thinking you’ll be back” Agnes interrupted pointing at the door to back her claim. That instance, Lillian’s eyes evolved with Darwin’s theory of evolution as she jumped from bed, staring in shock,
“What? Ah-ah why now? You should’ve called now” she said subtly hinting at her anger for Agnes having left the door open, “…this street isn’t safe at night. Can you imagine what could have happened?”
“Nothing happened” Agnes chirped only pausing as she realized the irony in her comment, “I didn’t have credit” she resigned to say seeing Lillian’s mood didn’t change. That didn’t help though as she looked at her in disbelief.
“You didn’t have credit?” she jibbed with a mock accent rolling her eyes before falling back to the bed. Lillian so much took her security as a priority first before anything, that it was obvious it’ll be long before she came around.
A great deal of silence fell into the room afterwards seeing as the wind had intruded to listen to their conversation. It made no effort in hiding its presence as an eavesdropper as it went ahead dragging the curtains to let all know he was there. Taking cue, Agnes and Lillian settled to staring at each other. Maybe waiting for the wind to leave before talking, who knows? They both kept their gazes focused on each other, with both wondering what the other was thinking. Lillian’s mind was the most unsettled as each time her eyes jammed with Agnes’, her breasts rose with her heartbeats. What she feared was best known to her, though Agnes wasn’t ready to let go. “So, what happened at your crusade?” she asked watching Lillian roll with discomfort. A step towards the truth, Agnes mused. “It’s a long story. You won’t believe me even if I told you” Lillian mumbled, picking her phone and fidgeting it. She did all she could to avoid Agnes’ gaze but when it was obvious she couldn’t, she dropped her phone staring at her with bream eyes. “Agnes…things are happening” she said and Agnes was like ‘I know, that’s why am looking at you’ “Bad things. that it only takes the spirituality of God to be saved” Lillian continued, diverting topic only to see herself pausing after realizing she had nothing to say,
“Why do you say that?” asked Agnes knowingly but playing along,
“I don’t know, Just a feeling. Stories and happenings…”
“Happenings in the church…?” Agnes came off direct, startling Lillian with saddled shock as she went off blabbering. Yes, Agnes was good at that; filling people with guilt till they start talking. Sometimes she wondered why she never became a lawyer.
“Yes…n-n No…no. stories of spiritual attacks told by priests and some spiritual people”
“Those things are fabricated lies. Trust me. We are living in hard times. People would say or do anything” Agnes opened her laptop before flapping it again to prove her point.
Lillian watched as Agnes adjusted her sitting position on the chair. Instantly, Lillian realized she had gotten her to a corner and so she too had to strategize to avoid her bouncing back, “Ordained men of God don’t lie”
“Who ordained them? God or men?” Lillian found herself the one pushed to the corner with the question, “It’s not like God comes from the sky to crown them. We are told he did. Like gullible fools. How? He speaks to them. In a world of evil and immorality”
“These are things I see and been seeing” she defended but before she could be through, Agnes had laid one mock look of ‘what’ on her. There was no way wining her unless keeping quiet but then again it would result to another round of stare. Sighing, Lillian looked at her, this was one of the reasons she didn’t want her around but again, she livened the room.
“Philosophy and civilization would never let you see reason” she gave up, “Sometimes I wonder if you are still a Christian or some glorified pagan”
“No, a circumcised pagan” Agnes mocked readjusting her balance once more, “You are talking about reasoning. Now, let’s leave civilization and philosophy for Phillo. I know things are happening in the church. The catholic church, not spiritual but immoral things like sex by priests…” she paused, giving Lillian the ‘no offence’ look before continuing, “They happen everywhere. Pastor sleeping with church member…now you come saying spiritual things are happening, that you have seen. What are they? Not stories you’ve heard”
“Ghosts. Evil spirits” Lillian counted as if that alone would convince Agnes but Agnes being the skeptic knew where she was going. Before she could continue, Agnes interrupted, “These are stories you’ve heard. Am talking about what you’ve experienced” “And so? How does that make it less important?” Lillian’s eyes fluxed only to revert to normal in a millisecond. “Eh heh, because whoever is telling them could be lying, no one wants to seem stale or boring when talking to someone let alone a people” Agnes exaggerated mouthing the ‘people’ like one who got stung in the tongue by a bee, “Trust me, am a blogger. I know these things. No one wants to go to a place and keep hearing same old stories over and over again. So we exaggerate to keep people coming” she continued, coming closer to Lillian who was about feeling relaxed only to end up frightened by Agnes’ expression.
“These people aren’t known for lying” she said solemnly
“Exaggeration. Exaggeration isn’t necessarily lying”
Lillian looked at Agnes for seconds to know how it felt, “Okay, how do you explain the weird things that keep happening in this town? Broken bones, human blood? Slashing of breasts? Rape by unknown figure…? Exaggeration…?” Agnes wanted answering but paused after realizing she wasn’t ready to divulge anything, “No normal human being would go about committing these acts unless possessed. By evil spirits, I may not be there but I have witnessed”
“And the police hasn’t done anything?”
“Do what?” Lillian looked at Agnes, meeting her eyes. For the first time Agnes’ gaze didn’t feel threatening, like she had given up. A slow silence crept in again before Agnes interrupted its presence by tapping the desk with her fingers.
“…You won’t believe what happened to me last night” she began slowly. Lillian picked up the novel that had been sitting next to her since forever, ‘Relationship skills: finding if you’ll get anywhere’ the title said and Lillian wondered where she was for having not seen the book. “What?”
“I got…” Agnes hooked immediately she realized what she was about doing. Should she? It’s just Lillian. By now Lillian was staring at her waiting for that punch-line, “No, I didn’t get raped. I was almost” she divulged, looking slyly at the floor then at Lillian. Her expression was void like she didn’t hear.
“Just that…?”
“Just that?” Agnes repeated Lillian’s response like she hadn’t heard what she had told her. Maybe she hadn’t exaggerated her words well. She imagined it being her misinterpreting what she had said,
“Why leave the house that late at night? I told you how dangerous this street was” Lillian queried, making it obvious she had heard and there was no misinterpretation. Her mind flashed to what would’ve been in the news—Agnes Amanfour raped by notorious street thug… Agnes thought of the best way to reply only to settle on defending her actions. “I was out to get indomie…” she pointed at an empty noodle sachet laying carelessly on the floor like it had been waiting there the whole time to be pointed at, “You never told me there was nothing left in the house…and I took a shortcut. Somewhere I never expected what happened to have happened” “So what happened?” Lillian asked turning the pages of the book without batting an eye. Agnes seeing her lack of interest wanted proving her point, “I was lucky” she shrugged, turning to her laptop then at Lillian. Lillian somehow finding interest in her cock and bull tale finally returned a glance, “Eh heh?” she muttered hinting Agnes to continue. “…to be saved by someone”
“Thank God” Lillian returned back to her book instantly, mouthing the contents in it. Agnes unsatisfied with her response, hated the sound of it as they made her seem so much like a liar, “Lillian. He wasn’t just anyone. He wasn’t someone ordinary” she said,
“Really? What was he?”
“I-i-I can’t explain it…but am very sure he wasn’t human” stuttered Agnes with a strange surge of excitement only overwhelmed by the thought itself.
Lillian moping; gently closed her book, “I hope it isn’t one of your exaggerations. It would make a front page column on your blog” she mocked before returning to her book,
“Lillian. Am not lying. It’s God’s honest truth. I was almost raped. I think you are right about the strange things going on in this town. The guy who saved me could throw one with a finger at the height of a four story building” she paused before continuing, “No, a 12 story building. Am not lying…he wasn’t big or muscular. Lillian, he could punch a brick wall without bleeding. Leap…”
“Oh my God Superman…!”
“You don’t believe me” Agnes resigned, flipping her laptop again. She realized no matter how far she stretched it, Lillian wouldn’t believe. “No continue…” she mocked,
“It doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t believe me” Agnes maintained, “But I have proof”
“What was that your saying about believing what you can see and scientifically prove? Or are you trying to mock me?” Lillian came off straight, dropping the book she was skimming through.
Agnes feeling embarrassed, knew where she was headed. She stood up, went to her luggage, and then brought out a bra, “This was the bra I was wearing last night, new. How could I have ripped it to two?” she asked revealing the torn sky blue butterfly designed bra, “My neck…you see the scratches?” she pulled back her hair to the right corner of her shoulder. A sharp but inconspicuous mark stayed there. Evidence, she thought as Lillian looked at the injury somewhat convinced as she blinked.
“I don’t understand. Was he the one that attacked you?”
“No Eulogy and his gang. He was the one who saved me. I think he is responsible for the blood lying around and the human bones you were talking about. I was sure he broke one or two bones out of my attackers. Lillian, what he did could kill someone. A normal person” Agnes explained with unsettled eyes and mind, “This town really needs to involve the police”
“Why are you complaining? Wasn’t he the one that saved you?”
“I know but I don’t believe things just happen like that. Am scared of going out there” she looked at the window then at Lillian to insure her safety. Outside was somewhat gloomy.
“What does he look like?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see his face. He was wearing a mask. You can’t expect me to know what he looks like and still be alive” Agnes said, first picking her words before rushing them.
Lillian sitting for a while in silence looked at the hexagon shaped wall clock then at Agnes, “Hmm, seems it is not only Chimamanda that is seeing things or weird persons” she said standing up from bed.
“Who is Chimamanda?” Agnes asked once she realized she had stressed her tongue for nothing with Lillian not believing all she had said. “The yellow girl who lives six houses away. Maybe you two should start a fan club or what do you bloggers call it? Niche?” she mocked, undressing in front of Agnes to reveal her breasts as they were; firm, ripped and strong. Its nipples ready to pin a hole on reality. Agnes looked at them.
“You still don’t believe me” she sighed turning her eyes away immediately Lillian wore her bra, “So what happened to this Chimamanda? Is she dead?”
“No…” Lillian chided, “Why would you pray that for someone?”
“Then what happened to her?”
“Who knows? She gave the same story as yours but more detailed. And exaggerated, speak of originality” Lillian wore her blue gown before going for comb. She brushed her hair roughly with it, added a few make up before applying cologne on the dazzling gown. Agnes sniffed unable to bear the strong scent.
“Where are you going?” she couldn’t do without asking,
Lillian wondering if it was part of her job, turned back giving her a brief glance. She thought of the perfect answer to give only to mutter, “Out” shutting the door behind her.
Agnes sighing wiggled her head then returned to her laptop. She scanned through every text on the webpage before settling her eyes on one word ‘alexnickel@gmail.com’, sighing again she shut down the browser then the laptop before disconnecting the modem on the USB port, “Who is this Alex Nickel?” she wondered aloud picking her Huawei P9. Briefly skimming through her contacts, she rested her fingers on the name ‘Chuks”
“Hello!” a soft masculine voice came on the line immediately like he had been expecting the call. “Yes. It’s me” Agnes replied glaring around in search of an eavesdropper,
“How did it go? Did you find out?”
Agnes pausing for seconds on the line wondered what to say or the actual answer to give. “I need your help on something, would you mind?” she instead said cutting off topic.
“Depending on what it is…”
Without hesitating, Agnes laid down her request, “I need you to hack into the email account alexnickel@gmail.com” she said into the mouthpiece while looking at her laptop that had a black screen facing her, “I will see you soon”

THE VENGEANCE LADY
Chief Babangida walked into the living room bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. His bones crying and begging for support as he staggered with counted footsteps. He had just returned from a conference in his air conditioned Volvox x2 yet it felt to him he had journeyed across 3 continents under an African sun, with the only thing not weird being he was African.

Sighing, he removed his cap, allowing the air conditioner to cool his head before dropping it on the 3seater sofa. He then headed for the wine cellar whose width was almost half the living room; he picked up the first tumbler his eyes jammed. Clearing his throat thrice, he settled calmly to choose his choice of wine. He felt he didn’t have to leave everything to chance.

“Chelsea!” he hailed as he grabbed the bottle from the cellar in admiration as he looked at his sky blue caftan. He noticed the tiles had also joined in the admiration as they went cold. He smiled musing to himself while sipping the liquor from the tumbler.
In celebration, he switched on the lights before the television as he rested his back on the sofa. He belched caressing his overgrown belly. He’d made a mistake—he acknowledged stretching his stiffed neck.
“Uh, I should have brought some girls with me” he muttered aloud as his thoughts flashed back to Cynthia, the secretary to the CEO of Achebe Holdings. She would be the solution to his predicament; he sensed sipping his wine.

Changing the channel of the television, he tuned in to a news channel;
Senator Buchi Beluchi has today declared his intentions standing as the presidential flag bearer of the Nigerian Republican People’s Party for the upcoming 2015 Presidential elections. This comes after the mysterious assassination of the NRPP’s presidential candidate Late Chief Daniel West on January 25th 2015
A news report came saying with the television screen reflecting blue rays as a result of the graphical design of the news channel. “Chaai Awusubillahi…that lady has a good accent” Chief Babangida said, admiring the news anchor as he sipped his wine. ‘Senator Beluchi’s declaration comes as a shocking announcement. Though as early this year he was quoted saying he had no intentions continuing on his political career, instead mentioning his desire of going back to being a humanitarian and continuing his long defunct foundation ‘A penny for the little guy’
The anchorwoman announced. The news switched instantly to a middle-aged man with white stubble, standing in a clean suit and a blue tie that matched his outfit. From the way he moved his mouth, it was obvious he didn’t school in Nigeria, and it was evident in his lean weight and whitened hair.
‘I too am shocked by this development. Nevertheless, the unexpected murder of a great friend; a great patriot, lover of the people and a great Nigerian by the cowards in our society, I want to fulfill a promise I made to Dani, 16 years ago never to let Nigeria fall into the hands of evil men and be reduced to ashes. The people of Nigeria have suffered a lot and to watch the legacy of a good man die for nothing would be an eulogy to dust; A dust that will keep its stain on us if we don’t stand up for what we believe to be right. I have a promise to keep’ “The Nigerian conscience died with Abiola, Azikiwe and Ya’ardua” Chief Babangida said switching the news channel to yet another news channel that had a video of Trump granting a handshake to a woman.

He tuned the channel again to a different channel, this time, a discovery channel that had a programme about Science and technological advancement of the 21st century. That moment, Chief Babangida’s phone rang. He looked at it to see the caller ID of ‘Zahra’. He paused for seconds wondering whether to pick or let it ring.
“Hello” he forced himself to pick it.
“Good evening daddy” the caller greeted,
“Ahem how are you?” chief Babangida replied softening his voice along the way as he reduced the volume of the television, “Fine daddy, how’s work and everything?”
“We thank God. We are just praying for this man to end his tenure so the country would once again be good for everyone. How is school?” “Fine…England is fine” the caller’s voice jammed for a moment before correcting itself. Either due to the network who knows; Chief Babangida was rather eager to be through with the call even though he seemed calm talking to the caller.
“Ehen…? And your mother, I hope you are hearing from her?” Chief Babangida found himself asking; a question he never knew escaped his lips. He glanced at the bulbs as if in irritation only to find them dimming in response. The television also dimmed.
“Yes sir, she’s fine…Daddy, don’t tell me you two haven’t reconciled…” Chief Babangida was far too busy to reply the question as his attention went over to monitoring everything in its entirety. Much worse was his calmness listening to the noise from outside, or a sign of it there of as he kept hearing barks that appeared to be his dogs. “Hello daddy”

Chief Babangida rose up, heading for his front door to check for himself. Pulling his well-furnished curtain to one side to peep, he found the 2 dogs barking at the house with no intruder in sight.
“Yes-yes—am with you” he responded his caller seeing it was nothing serious. That’s how they bark—he thought to himself turning around. “Is everything alright daddy? Are you still at work?” the caller noticed something was going on as it moved for an inquisitive stand. Chief Babangida chiding the caller from worrying, shook his head to signify his answer before voicing out,
“No…nothing” he said looking at the glass Centre table then the tiles to catch a shadow on it. A shadow that was much different from his or more literally different from his figure.
Waving at it to see if the shadow would mimic his movements, he rather found it to be still. Raising his head up, he looked at the air conditioner to see it emitting massive air with its fan freezing unconditionally.
Turning around, he aimed for a move only to catch his sight on a feminine figure before him. It held a stool in hand. Before Chief Babangida could clearly identify the feminine figure, it struck him with the stool; right on the head!
Unsatisfied, the feminine figure came right at him again but before it could strike him again, Chief Babangida rolled on the floor to face it. He found a girl standing in front of him.
The girl struck at him again with the stool, then kicked his chest hard, “Auntie Tinuke?” she asked, “Do you remember her?” the girl drew out her knife,
“Who are you?” Chief Babangida asked; deep down wondering how the hell she got into his house. He had locked the door just as he walked inside and when he left, he did the same. He had security outside, how could she have bypassed security?
“Do you still remember her, ehn?” the girl asked, raging with might as she stood shaking and sweating, “Ehn eh?” “Who are you please?” the Chief asked again, helping neither him nor the girl as she kept moving closer to strike him with the knife. Chief Babangida seeing his death from a mile away, laid wondering why and how as he stared into the girl’s eyes.
The girl moved by rage, took a few steps closer to the man and rushed at him with kicks while screaming. “Tinuke Alabi…do you remember her?” she yelled, “The woman at your mercy? Do you remember her?”
“Who? Who is she?” the Chief struggled to answer as fear and confusion held grip of him while the girl kicked at his head nonstop. When she became tired and was ready to strike, she raised her knife higher, aiming for the Chief’s chest. But before the knife’s impact could land on the man, a screeching sound came from the house. The noise came in so loud to the girl that it stung her ear drums and forced blood out through them.

Dropping the knife, the girl bellowed in pain in front of the Chief who knelt quietly watching yet unable to neither understand nor explain what was going on. All he saw was the girl groaning in pain to a noise he rather saw as harmless. Taking his moment, he grabbed the knife slowly before managing to get up.
It took years to do so, and when he did, he fell to the floor once more after 2 loud shots went off. Bam-Bam, Chief Babangida fell, seemingly struck down by what appeared to be a gunshot.
“Aargh-no-no, you…you shouldn’t have denied me vengeance. You should have let me kill him” the girl screamed as a man rolled in on a wheelchair while holding a strange device.
“No” he said softly, “I thought you were above revenge, Funke?”
“That man killed the only family I had left. He killed my aunty. All for what? A seat at the senate?” she barked “Am sorry, but that won’t bring your aunty back” the man said wondering why the girl was even avenging the so called aunt, “What your aunty would want now is justice not you killing in her name. I know you…and you are not a killer. You don’t have a cold blood in you. You are a kind soul, where has that kindness gone to?”
“There is no reason to be kind in this world” the girl countered. She wondered why the man would kill someone and much less talk to her against killing. What she couldn’t understand was how the man got there to stop her. Was he a…? “What do you want from me? Is that not what you people want? To use me? Take advantage of…?” she queried,
“I don’t want to use you, Funke” the man rolled himself on his wheelchair closer to her as she stood contemplating on whether to strike him and escape, “I need you” the man said, staring at her eye to eye. He stretched to her a file that minute without hesitation. “I need you to steal something from the vault at the Silverbird gallery. Top floor and you are done”
“You need me so you can use me”
“No; I need you so I can help you…To find peace and independence. You’ve been used for so long Funke, so much that you don’t know the difference between yourself and other people. You don’t know your worth or value. Do this for me, and I will give you those…I will give you the treatment you need” the man said not flinching. Just then rapid gunshots came from outside with the security bulbs shot off. At that, the man bound to the wheelchair didn’t move or exercise fear. Instead, he waited for the gunshots to strike fear in Funke’s heart into collecting the file. She did, “Everything you need to know is in that file, the structure, the layout…”
“Why do you want me to steal this thing?” Funke interrupted after looking at the files and coming up with a thought. “To make Nigeria a better place” the man said as some gun men walked into the room from outside with an unarmed one coming to wheel the man away. But before the man could turn back to where Funke was, she was nowhere to be seen except for a shadow that stood in her place, slowly disintegrating. The air conditioner went back to working normal with the television displaying a lion overpowering its prey. The man bound to the wheelchair looked again before being wheeled off.

In a serene place, stood a gloomy room filled with various props and lighting equipment that laid clamoring for freedom in scabrous filth. Dusty they were that spiders felt the need to paint their logo.
In this room with low illumination, did a shadow find its way in, casting itself upon the wall as the winds gushed in having found the solemn opportunity. Dark was the shadow in the dark room that the light bulb struggled to identify whose figure it was it represented. Feminine, slim, bigheaded—Funke materialized almost that instance out of the shadow, jolting everything as the winds shook with surprise to say ‘magic’. But less magically it was though for Funke who immediately fell to the floor sobbing with watery eyes as she looked here and there. She saw posters of ballet dancers and circus performers along with written artworks ‘the Indian circus—Amethyst theatre Italy’ and all she could think was it laying a jibe on her current situation. What had she done? She asked picturing Chief Babangida’s lifeless body before her and his blood on her hands.

She cried so loudly caring less if anyone was around to hear. She had sure wanted revenge but now it didn’t feel that way. Should she run away, as fast as she could from the man? She asked herself. At least he wouldn’t think to come looking for her and she would be saved from further crimes. But then again, she needed the treatment, so bad that she wasn’t sure she could go on that year without it. Sitting on the floor with the thought of him being the only one who could provide it, Funke looked to the sky for comfort only to see a dark ceiling; standing so high above her that she thought it best to give in.
Sighing, she looked at the glowing bulb then the wall; reminding herself of what she used to be. She closed her eyes and vanished that instance, leaving her shadow to leap out in shock before mimicking her action. Same thing couldn’t be said for the room though as everything fell out of order.

KNOWLEDGE AND THE FURY
Beep-beep—A purple Lamborghini found its way into the neighborhood of block 124 Ahmadu Bello way Victoria Island Lagos, flashing its headlights on everything. So focused on being the center of attraction it was as it sauntered into the vicinity of the Achebe Holdings Headquarters with repeated horns that were rather irritating than deafening.
“Hey-hey-hey” a watchman rose immediately to confront the driver caring less who it was. It seemed he too wasn’t moved by the fact it was a purple Lamborghini than it was a tortoise car, “Park well, park here” the man yelled moving in rhythm to the march cry ‘left right’ as he waved his arms rather rudely. “Oga Park here…Here na the new parking space” he tapped on the car bonnet as the driver carefully obeyed, driving into the hallway the watchman had insisted, although not failing in his effort to pour a great deal of smoke on the watchman in response to his rudeness.
The watchman offended, stood in wait for the driver in order to clear things out with him. His moment was ruined that minute at the sight of the pair of legs that stepped out of the car.
“Ehen yowa” he exclaimed; his mood changing as the person appeared in full form. Standing upright to greet the person, the watchman found himself rather admiring the person, capturing the appearance in his mind’s eye while the person walked out.

Tall, slender but not lean, light skinned with wavy shoulder length hair and dressed in a purple gown made of silk, Agnes walked past the watchman.
“Well done ma” the man greeted with Agnes caring less about his greeting or his admiration. She walked straight into the emerald glassed skyscraper of towering heights while looking at the logo design ‘ACHEBE Holdings’ on the top. “Pikin of nowadays, person dey greet una, una go dey do as if say no be person dey talk” the watchman grunted as he watched the entrance door of the company close behind Agnes, “7:30. Person suppose dey close for nightshift” he said looking at his wristwatch.
Inside was another world of its own as a multitude of people moved at once while a strange atmosphere much different from the outside hovered over them.

Agnes not too long started to wonder if she was in the right place. It was the 2nd time she was visiting the company but it felt like the first. The office had changed quite a lot and these many people weren’t around the same hour she last visited. Tops, they were off by 6: 45pm, why have things turned out differently this time?
“Excuse me, is the IT and Engineering department still this way?” Agnes stopped a hurrying employee to ask. “Yes. It’s that way. The science…” she said with the remaining words lost in the noise and the clutter of the air conditioners. Following suit with what the woman said, Agnes walked into the corner only to decide using a lift. If it was the same place, then she had better used a lift, she thought only to discover yet another batch of employees already in the lift, “Oh my God” she muttered forcing her way into them as she entered, “Third floor?” she asked a man who rather hummed as the others watched. The elevator door closed that instance taking them to the desired floor before opening for everyone to come out.
‘Science Division’ Agnes found written on a wall. She smiled to herself before walking off to locate the IT and Engineering department. It wasn’t too far away though as she found her way rather too quickly.
“Ah, miss Amanfour” a voice called the very moment she stepped inside, “You won’t believe me if I told you I was just thinking about you” a midget walked to her saying.

Struggling to hide her shock and admiration of the flatter, Agnes rolled her eyes. “Really…? Seems my death isn’t near” she said in reference to an Igala saying that a visitor isn’t near his death upon his name being mentioned on a surprise visit. If that was true, no one knew or could tell, Agnes was rather concerned with the crowd, “What’s up with this place? It’s so crowdie. Unlike last time I came”
“…you can’t fire me. I quit” one of the employees yelled from outside the room all of a sudden quieting the room as everyone listened in shock. A quarrel had begun between the employee and the manager.
“Uhm…everyone is trying to keep his job and impress the CEO. He’s gone rogue and has been sacking a lot of employees of late. Just for being unproductive. So everyone is trying to be productive” the midget explained, in reference to the quarrel from outside as he scratched his hair. His hair was the one thing that stood out for him; as its height was above normal, more like an afro, dazzling along with his light skin. “This way please” he motioned.

The midget led the way to yet another office that was fortunately lacking of people. Then Agnes started to wonder what to say, “I hope am not disturbing you…?” she started, bringing courtesy into her words, which was unlike her.
“N—no. please…no one can fire me even if they wanted to. I could even skip a week from the desk. Am too valuable to the company” the midget shrugged with a shy response. He moved immediately to the office desk and computer to avoid Agnes’ petrifying gaze, which could have worked though if not for Agnes following him. He ended up scrolling the mouse of the computer in his decision to avoid her gaze, “So, I did the hacking you asked me to. The security on it was tough to break which for an ordinary person would’ve been an impossible task…so I found a lot pertaining to this Alexander Nickel guy”
“What did you find out?” Agnes moved closer to the guy to look at the computer.

The midget somehow having found confidence rolled on the chair to look at Agnes, “That his name is not Alex. He’s fascinated with the tale of Alexander the great because he thinks there’s something off about him” he paused looking away then back at Agnes, “Imagine, a century year old man. He has sources/friends with ties to big enterprises, Israel, Singapore, France, the pentagon—whatever it is, Switzerland. Hmm seems this guy’s rich and connected isn’t he? Am already picturing his Swiss bank account”
“Hmm Igbo man” Agnes joked decidedly using an Igbo accent. The midget though brushed it off as he returned his eyes to the computer. “He’s made various contacts with a Thoman Haufer. Claims in a text the Germans, Russians have tried hacking his email with the Koreans almost succeeding. That was during the Sony hack. He doesn’t like the Russians very much, claims he’s had inside info of the U. S government wanting to capture him” he immediately closed his browser, “Seems this guy is a wacko. His propaganda theories are just weird. So, what about this guy?” he settled to ask.
“You said his name isn’t Alex Nickel?” Agnes asked finding it thrilling. She rested her hand on the chair the guy was sitting. The guy shifted back.
“Yes. I am guessing his name is Haufer or Liebniz. Uhm, should I get you a chair?”
“And his email has had attempted hackings by Germans, Russians and Chinese?” Agnes asked with the midget standing to get another chair. “Yes, seems they too are fascinated with his weird tales. Chair…?”
“No, let me sit here” Agnes said taking over the midget’s former seat while he kept the one he brought her, “Then how come you were able to hack the account when these people couldn’t?”
“Never undermine your country, Miss Amanfor. We have capable people here who can do better than Bill Gates. Here are the prints of the email” he said, smugly handing over some papers he took from a box to Agnes, “You may want to keep it from prying eyes. You never know who could be who”
“Wow, I can’t believe this” Agnes responded amidst hiding both her excitement and surprise. “So, how about your plan…? Did it work?” The midget moved to ask tapping on the desk. “Yes…I met him” Agnes replied, exciting the guy who sheepishly adjusted himself, “But I didn’t identify his face. I couldn’t. He wore a mask in the dark and I couldn’t take a picture” Agnes quelled his excitement.
“Why? Did he hurt you?” he asked, slyly looking at Agnes then resting his back on the chair. “No, things didn’t work according to plan”
“Why? What happened? I hope he didn’t do anything bad?”
“I don’t think this guy’s bad” the midget rolled his chair upon hearing that. “I know. I went back to the report you gave me and considering what happened, I think he is doing what the police and people fail to do or won’t do…”

The guy sighing, rolled the chair to another corner where he picked up a hard cover, “…vandalizing a stall, breaking the bones in the legs of a woman’s husband, causing violent and bloody street fights isn’t bad? Okay, the police failing to do their job is one thing, but this guy destroying all that stands in his way and disturbing order, is another thing which is ten times over-bad” he quoted, opening the book to reveal graphic images according to what he mentioned to Agnes. There was a picture that struck Agnes though, one with a man lying down with neck twisted and blood all over.
“Judging by the crimes, I would say they deserve it” she said, looking away then at the midget who looked at the computer. “From the research, I discovered this guy may have vandalized a stall trying to prevent an armed bully from attacking the store owner. He didn’t harm the owner and the victim is said to have been a gang banger”
“Then why didn’t he say so?”
“He may have broken the bones in the legs of a woman’s husband to protect her from domestic abuse. The man had been said to be violent,” Agnes continued.
“So he’s interfering with people’s private lives? Who gave him the order?”
“So you’d prefer the woman had died in domestic violence?” that was the typical Nigerian way of conversation; question answering question. “…if the woman had agreed to being abused. I failed to mention that all those he saved have all condemned him. Even the domestic woman denied any allegation of her husband abusing her. She even lamented on the possibility of the guy having paralyzed her husband” he answered, credibly forcing Agnes to rethink her stance, “Just because this guy has the strength of twelve thousand men doesn’t give him the right to harm people who don’t”
“What if he’s not intentionally harming them?” Agnes rested on another theory and the midget had to worry who was giving her these theories, “I met the guy. Although things didn’t go as planned but he didn’t seem like a threat”
“So write about him,” the midget solemnly advised. Suddenly, he realized how beautiful Agnes was, “No, I want to gather enough facts. Writing about him would undermine my credibility as a blogger. People don’t know he exists and those who know; are thought to be insane. Some don’t even describe his abilities they just say a masked man”
“You have the facts. You can just let people know about this guy beforehand. Like warn them. This guy has been responsible for many deaths” the guy forgot how rude it was to stare at a lady. He only realized he was when Agnes smiled leaving him to turn away sheepishly. “Why do you hate him so much?” she asked as he went silent immediately. “I think this guy is not the only one,” “Only one? What? How…?” the Midget startled himself asking, closing the book to look around. “I think there are other people with abilities like this guy. I read a story about a girl who somehow teleported with a trapped victim from a burning building. Unexplainable” Agnes rolled her eyes glaring at the computer then at the guy,
“African magic, unlike this guy on steroids or enhancers. God knows where he gets them from” the midget tried to avoid the topic as he looked at Agnes in discomfort wishing somehow he could divert topic.
“I think the world government maybe hiding something” Agnes said softly with the guy realizing that moment where it was she got her theories from and why she had asked him to hack the Alex Nickel guy.

The midget moved to tell her it wasn’t true or not to believe the Nickel story only to decide against it, “So did you meet the other victim of this Chappi guy?” he asked having carved a name for the guy out of the blue. Agnes looked at him wondering if it was the best he could come up with.
“No, I learnt there were 3, I mean 2 victims”
“Yes, I told you that. The 1st was the Chappi guy stabbing a guy, you know…in the” he motioned using his eyes and hands to clarify his point. “Penis” Agnes rather completed for him. The guy looked at Agnes somewhat unsettled before agreeing. “Dick. Yes and few days later, the girl dies. Of trauma” he finished
“What…? Who was this girl?” She asked seeking clarity. The midget moved from the chair seeking something; different from clarity. “See why I think this guy should be caught and brought to justice? The girl wouldn’t have died if he was” he theorized, bringing out a picture from one of the books arranged on a shelf opposite where they were.
“You don’t get it, I can’t write anything about this guy that would call for arrest when people think it’s just a gang member and those who encounter him can’t testify he has this kind of powers. The next thing you’d see on the headline is ‘Agnes Amanfor loses her mind or movie hurdles popular Nigerian blogger’s thinking mentality’” Agnes explained.
“Or…help Agnes Amanfor has gone mad again, claims a man with super strength is attacking people in Mushin. That’s Linda Ikeji blog” The midget added smiling but unconvinced.
“Yes exactly. Especially when she’s a rival”
“That doesn’t mean anything. It will attract world attention, publicity. Imagine if the world finally learns of this guy and the steroids he’s taking? Your name would be on every lip, every media outlet”
“That’s why I need to find out if this thing is possible” she clarified with the midget glaring and going into deep thought, “You know what? We need to let this Alex Nickel know we hacked his email”
“What?” the guy stared somewhat confused and same time comprehensive, “That’s the worst idea ever. I spent a lot of hours trying to mask my identity and the fact his email was hacked…”
“I want to book a meeting with him. I will take responsibility for everything. You don’t have to fear” “Uhm not fear, but this is Achebe computer, you taking responsibility would mean nothing if you don’t work here. I fear legal cases more than anything and I don’t want to lose my job” he rushed all at once turning the computer monitor to his side, “I’ll get you an innocent laptop for that” he stood up leaving Agnes to contemplate on her decision. To him that was the sickest idea ever. Agnes alone; began to reflect on her plan, and if like her previous plan, will not work out. Why hadn’t the earlier plan worked? She asked turning to stare at the glass window wondering why outside wasn’t green as par the tint of the glass instead of black. The night, she realized remembering Lillian. Where had she gone after dressing up that morning? Why hadn’t the guys turned up leaving things to chance? She needed to meet them to clear her mind. Things might not work according to plan, she should settle for a backup plan.
What if I blackmailed this Nickel guy? She thought.
Outside was now getting cold although not near the temperature in Achebe Holdings but this was okay for an African country. Only thing that seemed different was the smoke that appeared to rise from everywhere but nowhere. Noise was another thing; buses, cars, vehicles, area boys, traders, hawkers all appeared to have one voice with chorus tones.
Six blocks away from Achebe holdings was the Silver bird galleria; tall, mighty and sophisticated it was as a black SUV van parked in front of it, windows closed.
“Guys, you all should remember the boss’ plan for this job. No witnesses” a voice inside the van said in a British accent to all seated masked men in black. “A ten million dollar plan isn’t worth having another tell your glory” he added with everyone picking up their guns nodding to each other as they cracked the firearms.
“Oga, no be where they dey park be this oh” a security guard came to warn. Instantly the door to the van opened with one shot fired from the trigger as the first person jumped out. The security man didn’t realize he was dead when he hit the floor. The rest marched out in procession making it obvious this was a gang job that needed an ocean’s thirteen. The gang moved to the building shooting anyone they came across or stood in their way. They took the privilege of stealth and them not been seen coming.

Prarara—the shots came as innocents dropped to the floor like logs as the gang moved on with the job; some behind to cross check if the victims were down. They continued in that progression with 5 men outside as watchmen or first line of defense should the black men show. “Everybody get down!” one of the masked gang member yelled as they got into a large hall filled with people. He opened fire into the air to support his already loud voice that was masked with a thick Yoruba accent.
All jumped in fear of it instantly, falling to the ground shouting; including old men who had no business in the world. “Eh, you…come here” the British masked gang member called to a crowd member; a man about falling to the ground. The voice itself scared him into thinking it was because he hadn’t obeyed quickly that he was being singled out for.
“Sir am sorry, am highly sorry” he began to beg,
“You work here right?” the British guy asked pulling the man closer to him while the man fret to discover he had a foreign accent. In response he began to stammer,
“Yes-ye-yes”
“Good, now you are going to choose between 2 options. To live or to die,” the masked gang member said with the man wasting no time to respond; both with his head, mouth and body.
“T-to-to live…” he said.
That moment, the other gang members started opening fire on the crowd that was already strapped to the ground in fear. It now turned into a contest of ‘lie down till you are met with a bullet’ or much worse; a grenade, as one plump gang member launched one beside a woman holding the hand of her daughter.
“Lead me to the vault” the British guy commanded,
“Okay sir, b-but I don’t know the password”
“Who does?” the British guy didn’t wait for the man to finish before yelling and in outmost fear, the man had to reply, “The manager” he murmured, “That way”
“Thank you” the British guy greeted.

The man thinking it was his day, found it surprising when the British guy raised his gun. In response to instinct, he wasted a load of bullets into the man’s body. The man only had to look at his tummy to realize he was dead only his soul was wasting time to pass away.

Responding to the direction the man had pointed, the British guy found his way to the manager’s office which was in a secluded corner that had a tag indicating it was his office. The manager happened to have gotten wind of the situation and was about making his way out before being met by a gunshot to the right leg.
“Am guessing you are the manager right” the British guy grabbed the somewhat short plucky old man by the neck as he bent to bellow in agony, “You are going to lead me to the chairman’s vault and open it for me. Where is he anyway?”
The old man was busy with his own pains to reply, “He’s overseas” he struggled to cough out, for fear of another shot, “Don’t worry. We’d be done and you can get treatment for your leg. As long as you do as I say” the British guy instructed, dragging the man to where his gangs were, “Skipper, Ace, Private, Jack…” he called out only to find them shooting at the already downed victims; to be precise; dead bodies, “Nigerians, what a goddamn country with a stupid race” he scoffed.
The old man in pains picked offence with his utterance somewhat as he squeezed his face. The other gang members who happened to have heard their codenames stepped forward to the British guy, “Come on, we got to hurry up. We got 2 minutes 53 seconds” he said leading the men and the manager.

Amidst the shootings and yelling, Funke’s shadow and figure had somehow managed to silently materialize inside an enclosed room as she stood staring at everything.
She looked at the paper she had in hand to be sure it was the right place then started scuffling into the lockers in search of her desired price. When it became obvious the very lock wasn’t indicated, she paused to rethink on her action.
Glaring around, she sighed rubbing her face with her palms before touching her ears. She slumped to the floor immediately, looked around her once more, then dipped her left hand into her jean pocket, grabbing her phone. She dialed a number on it before placing the phone on her left ear.
“Hello…I know who killed Daniel West and I will like to make a report to the police. Am in a vault at the Silver bird galleria trying to steal for this man, please come quick, am in serious danger” she said, hanging up before the receiver could say anything.
Sighing, she dropped the phone before looking at the door. Funke wondered what else could happen as she contemplated on whether having made the right call. Maybe she should teleport from there and turn everything to an April fool’s joke, she thought.
She listened quietly to her conscience again, only this time to realize she was rather listening to the noise from outside the vault. “Nigeria maybe a goddamn country but we are not a goddamn race” the manager stabbed the British guy in the shoulder after having somehow managed to grab a knife from the British guy’s boot while opening the vault. He felt the need to defend his country, “We are honorable…”
“Bloody hell…” the British guy yelled wasting no effort in putting the old man to the ground with several shots; startling his team mates. They shrived in shock than of fear as they stared at him.

Drawing the knife out of his shoulder, he dropped it to the floor holding his arm in place. “Ace, open the vault” he instructed finding it necessary to complete the mission.
The guy who took the name Ace, marched forward, leaving his machine gun to his partner who humbly collected. He moved over to roll the metal up once he realized the manager had already put the password. His only fear came when he jolted at the sight of someone already in the vault. Who beat him to it?
“Boss, this wasn’t in the plan” he stuttered stepping back while staring fearfully at the girl who knelt staring back—both confused; with Funke wondering why she hadn’t teleported earlier.
“Of course it was” the British guy stepped forward drawing his gun. Bam-bam, he fired, petrifying Funke who sprang in shock to see the bullets come in slow motion. She felt the surge to stand but before she could even think or act, the bullets hit her on her left side. She fell to the wall instantly, screaming and wondering why she wasn’t dead.
The British guy finding it strange too, corked the gun again to put her out of her misery. Nature angered by his act, rose to defense, disrupting the order as rapid gunshots came from outside. The British guy left with no choice but to pause, looked at his watch. “They aren’t supposed to be here by now” he glared at his team mates then at the window, wondering if any could provide an answer. Before any could think of searching for one, the window broke in with a gang member spontaneously flying at them. He landed safely but with bruises all over. Confused, including the British guy, they all walked up to him. Funke was in the opened vault groaning.
“Eeh mate, what the hell are you doing here?” the British guy leaned to ask. His teammate though lied on the floor eyes open but irresponsive, “Are you asking why he came here or how he flew in here?” the supposed Ace guy yelled removing his mask, “Jesus” the British guy felt offended with Ace’s act that he stood up immediately before walking over to the window. The rest followed except the Ace guy who stood with his dark face showing his fear. He looked at his mask only to drop it once the shootings outside continued.
Outside was a great battle as the 2 remaining masked gang members found themselves dealing with another masked man in a much different color scheme and design. Where theirs was black and plain, he’s was white with a smug grin on it. He ran up to one of the two, grabbed him effortlessly then smacked his head hard on the tarred floor. The other guy had to shift back just to see the guy punch him. He found it surprising not to feel the punch at first but got overwhelmed when he found himself flying high only to land hard on the ground. The pain that followed was twice any he had ever felt in his life.
The gangs up were shocked to see their van upside down and their man a flying doll.
“Ha! This one no be human being oh!” exclaimed the Yoruba guy after witnessing all that happened. In forced fear and afterthought, he started pulling the trigger yelling. The grin masked guy was forced to run around, avoiding the bullets in whatever way they came, much to the shock of everyone. The guy made it to the gang’s vehicle seeking a hideout.

The Yoruba guy not wishing to leave it all for the guy, kept running bullets on the van, hoping to drive the guy out or rather kill him with a stray bullet.
The British guy taking it personal with what he was doing, walked up to him. “Eh, that’s our getaway vehicle you fool” “Ogbeni, he’s dead. Getaway vehicle kor getaway ni” the Yoruba guy retorted before walking away from the window—his pride on his chest. The British guy still by the window, found it hard to move his sight off the vehicle as he found something strange with it. He looked closely with scrupulous gaze to find the vehicle levitating from the floor over the grin masked guy’s head. If his sight worked well, he saw it was the guy raising the vehicle with his hands above his head.
“Jesus, what a bloody country!” he exclaimed quietly to himself as he docked for a safe place without warning the rest. Instantly, the van flew upwards heading for where the others stood. It first hit the Yoruba guy then the rest leaving Ace paralyzed on the floor as it made its way to the wall and the rest offices in the building. Everything came crashing down in pieces leaving everyone and everything down safe for the British guy, and Funke who was safely in the vault dying.

The British guy standing from his hideout, walked to where Ace laid while holding his wounded arm in place, “Am sorry about this, it’s nothing personal. It’s just that it was your boss’ plan. No witnesses and you failed to understand that” he said pulling the trigger on him and then the rest, caring less if they were dead or not before he shot them. He left immediately after grabbing a file and a disc from a secured location in the vault. He left Funke to her fate also.
This was what she was after, Funke realized as she sighed, sprawling to the floor when it dawned on her all hopes were gone. The grin masked guy walked into the area in search of anyone left before walking over to the vault to see drops of blood on the floor and a girl down. He picked up the girl over his shoulder then headed off.
At Achebe holdings was another case entirely. Everyone had already gotten on the ground without being told to. Those who didn’t were either walking about in haste making phone calls or hiding under work desks. They prepared for the worse as they found they got the privilege. Agnes though was still in the tech’s office waiting for the midget and the laptop, aware of what was going on but unbothered by it. Her only attempt at a reaction was when her thoughts went up to Lillian and whether to go back to her lodge or hers. She darted her eyes over everything in the room looking for the right decision only to see her phone beep. Picking it from her purse, she glared at it to see a MTN message and a twitter alert. Maybe she was going about this whole thing the wrong way—she thought. Why wait for a laptop when I could use a phone? Instantly she scuffled off the messages then straight to her browser. She typed in the much needed words, scrolled in the pages till she arrived at the create message box of the yahoo site. She relaxed to think, allowing the words flow into her veins naturally before typing.
‘Good day Mr. Thoman Haufer/Alex Nickel/ Liebniz. Gosh many aliases. Secret identity…? Not so secret if you tell me. We had your email hacked. We know who you are and we know the government’s eager to know…’
“The world is crashing down and you are pinging?” The midget waltzed in with a land line telephone without a moment’s warning. Startled, Agnes found herself questioning the obvious, “What’s going on?” she asked more like in mockery, “The Silver-bird galleria is under attack. Everyone in the building is dead. Apparently our employee—a sacked employee is dead too…God, a man we met today?”
“Jesus. Am sorry” Agnes watched him drop the telephone on a drawer desk as he leaned on rubbing his face. She wondered how an attack at the Silver-bird galleria resulted in the death of a sacked employee, “What are you trying to do now?” she asked in response to the telephone. “Call the police” the midget replied, finding the question unnecessary, “I’ve been trying their call centre but don’t know what they’ve been saying” he moved to hitting the telephone multiple times before resigning.

Agnes who found it somewhat ridiculous looked at the guy hysterically, “In Nigeria? Call the police in Nigeria?” “Don’t know, maybe its network” he shunned the jibe, bringing the phone closer to him for one last try. As he rolled the dialer, he felt his fears intensify leaving his fingers to comfort him; even they were shaking. Am only exercising my civic duties—he assured himself trying to calm his nerves. He looked at Agnes to see if she was watching him. She was instead busy on her phone with blank expressions mimicking a tabula rasa. Who the hell is this girl? He wondered,
‘Everybody calm down, everything has been contained. The Silver-bird galleria is no longer under attack. You can go about your businesses. There is no need for further panic—a voice came over the speakers to announce, quelling the midget’s adrenaline and a sudden buildup of a conspiracy theory in him. He looked at Agnes again then sighed, “Huh…thank God” he dropped the phone as he looked at the window. Something in him told him everything was far from being over, “You were saying something about…? Laptop, yes a laptop”
“Don’t worry about that. Already emailed him. Don’t know why the thought of using a phone never crossed my mind,” Agnes said as she clicked the ‘send’ box. She looked at the midget to see his sigh of relief,
“Wow, what did you tell him?” he faked excitement with fear lurking within.
“I didn’t mention your name” Agnes cancelled her browser while the midget shifted from the drawer desk. He felt a tingling sensation of rebirth only to but fall at the face of death prematurely, “Can you do something for me please?” she asked. The midget had no option but to go back to the drawer desk. What good could come out of Nazareth? He folded his arms, “Can you hack a website?” “Already did. Yahoo” he replied somewhat with pride but then with a hint of reluctance. “No, I mean the alexnickel site?”
“Why?” His only option that moment became that of defeat as he resigned to it.
“I’ll tell you later. I promise, this is the last hacking…”

The first of many, the midget sighed unfolding his arms, “Don’t worry, hacking is my hubby” he said, “But I just need you to expose this guy” “Oh sorry…” an intruder interrupted before Agnes could give her reply. He paused after seeing Agnes. He gave her the respect of being a woman with his guy. “Ehm Chuks, Mr. Itodo never die oh” he said
“What?” the midget transferred his attention to his intruder pal as he transfixed his gaze on him, “Na wetin everybody dey talk for down oh” the intruder wasted no time in relaying as he stood, seemingly discomforted with Agnes’ stare. The midget sensing it, looked at his pal then at Agnes, “Jesus…excuse me I will be back” he said to her, immediately heading out with his friend.
Agnes not wanting to be the last man standing, grabbed her purse, “No-no-no, I was just leaving” she moved to say leaving before them. Ladies first—she thought.
The first thing that came to her mind was to leave the building. She looked at her phone to question if it was the right move, ‘9:30pm’ it responded. She nodded acquiescing to the fact it was.
Achebe Holdings was now fewer of people as the lounge rooms and elevators were now scanty, like people had never even been there. Agnes made it out to her car still keeping an eye on the time of the day. Time was against her, she said to herself and she’d better play her part well so she won’t be left out of time.
She started her engine, paused to look around to see the watchman dozing off in a corner. Speak of being productive, Agnes sighed driving off.
The number of headlights, traffic lights and music jam overwhelmed her as she drove, hitting bumps along the way. She decided flashing her’s. Let’s see whose is better, she mused. No one cared though as instead, they were competing for the world’s loudest horn. Agnes didn’t want to join such challenge though as she decided to pull out. She drove out of the highway instantly, parking in a secluded corner. She stepped out of the car to look at the multitudes gathered few paces from her. Oh, so this is where the crowd at Achebe Holdings came to, she thought. She headed there to find out unwilling to miss out in the feeding of the 5000. Who the Jesus was—she had no idea. “What’s going on?” she asked a lanky guy in a sky blue hoodie she stood next to. His hands were tugged into his pockets as he stood staring upwards at the tower with the words ‘Silver Bird galleria’ on top.
“Are you new here?” he turned to glare at Agnes before returning his eyes to the tower. “No” she replied sharply, bringing out her phone to check if she was right.
“The Silver bird galleria was rubbed. People died. People saw mysterious things” the hooded guy sorted to answer for her instead. She had already scrolled through different tabs before pausing to look at the guy; he was light skinned, clean shaven, tall unlike the midget though same skin tone, “The police are here to find out” he added, breathing out hard.

Agnes returned to her phone to see two twitter messages and a text from her contact ‘Damilola’. She returned to the hooded guy in a rush to see some policemen dragging a man to their Black Maria.
“I swear to God. He wasn’t a man. He threw a bus into the house. It’s still inside. You need to believe me, no be lie. They were 2. One wore green, tall, the guy yellow. He carry wind with am” the man retorted in babbles while been pushed; the police concerned more with him moving than talking.
“Move-move” they said.
“The other one tall, he wear mask, he throw person go tower. He carry my head hit ground” the man persisted, wanting his voice to be heard. This made Agnes more interested as she looked on while they dragged him to the Black Maria.
“Him no hit am well well…move” one policeman sarcastically said, throwing the man into the van while the other policeman entered to sit with him.
Agnes sensing a pattern, turned to where the sky blue hooded guy was, “Mysterious things like what?” she asked just to see the guy was gone. She glared around to see where he went only to see no sign he ever stood there or was there.
That was quick, she thought looking at the crowd that was already reducing. She looked ahead right opposite her while tapping her foot on the ground to find a free passage into the building. She took on the route. This may be a clue to what happened, could it be him—she thought, making it to the crime scene that was blocked by a banner. She raised the banner over her head to pass, “Excuse me madam. You can’t go there” a man intercepted immediately. Jolted, Agnes turned around to look at the person. A stout man with a friendly smile was holding her right arm. Embarrassed, she stared;
“Why?” she asked noticing he wasn’t in any police uniform or with any badge. Maybe it was in his pocket. “It’s a crime scene. Under investigation” he said still with a smile,
“Am a blo…am with the press” Agnes thought on introducing herself only to settle on improvising an her identity for herself. The man beating her to it, released his grip from her arm, “Am sorry. The press isn’t allowed inside. The government’s orders” “It’s a violation of the freedom of the press. Am with AIT” she thought to defend her honor and right only to fall up short ridiculing herself. The man admitting to the fact smirked “I know. Sorry” he said walking away from her while crossing the banner. “He’s not going to let you in” a familiar voice came from behind as she kept a busy eye on the man and a white man at the entrance door of the Silverbird galleria. He was making a phone call.
“Chuks…What are you doing here?” Agnes turned back to see the midget surprised to see him standing in front of her. His eyes far from her though.
“Hey! I need to know the status of Itodo Ernest” he yelled at the man who had spoken to Agnes. It was the first time Agnes heard him raise his voice. Small but mighty, never anger them—she said to herself, turning to look at the man who was in deep conversation with a white man. “Sorry man. I can’t help you” he turned to say, returning to the conversation immediately. “Is he still alive?” persistent, he wasn’t willing to let go. Maybe the man should give him what he wanted, Agnes reasoned, “Can I see his body? Hey!” he sighed walking away from Agnes before turning back. None of the options were working, “Sorry, am here to find out if Mr. Itodo is still alive. Why are you here?” he lowered his voice to Agnes.
“Saw the crowd. My god, so much damage, so much…death” Agnes said only to startle immediately she laid eyes on the dead bodies that were being shelved outside. Some with holes in their body parts, others half burnt. The one thing they had in common were flies perching on them for their inheritance. One officer had stopped to drop a dead woman’s body on the floor only for its intestines to gush out through her wounded belly button like shit from an anus, Agnes yelped turning her eyes away. “Who could have the mind to do this?” she asked rhetorically,
“A politician—hungry for power” luckily the midget found an answer, “Chappi?” he theorized looking at the dead woman whom they were now struggling to arrange. Her intestines were obviously too damaged to stay in her body.
“So how about the man that was thought dead?” Agnes moved away from the sight feeling the need to change the topic, “The employee” “Uh, that’s what am here to find out. Someone said they saw him walk out of the wreckage now he’s nowhere to be seen” the midget took over from where Agnes stood, not wishing to leave there, “If he did where is he?” he asked.

As if the reply was in his phone, he looked at it only to put it close to his ear.
“Chuks where you dey?” a voice spoke from the other end of the line. Giving an excuse, he walked away from Agnes. Agnes looked on to see him go and the police Black Maria ready to drive away. She looked at her phone to see she was running late then a message appeared on her mail box. She clicked it.
Who are you? She read the reply from Alex Nickel.
Someone interested in you—she typed only to quickly erase it; poor choice of words. Someone, she settled to type. Instantly, she got a reply. C. I. A?
However you want to put the abbreviation—she typed again before closing her phone. She walked straight to her car, ignited the engine then followed the Black Maria.
The Black Maria led her to a police station once it had halted. The police men jumped out of it dragging the suspect along without failing to flex their arm and leg muscles on him. The suspect almost fell but managed to hold his dignity, afraid someone like Agnes would laugh at him while somewhere watching. Agnes waited in her purple Lamborghini to let the police drag the man inside before alighting. She straightened her Brazilian hair before walking into the police station; ready for whatever came.
She at first halted, nervous—having heard what the police could do or were capable of. “Ah…aunty nibonlo…?” Just then a voice greeted behind her but in an informal tone; like it knew her or vice versa. She turned back to look at who it was. A lanky policeman whose skin was a replica of the night stood smiling, with eyes on her chest. Agnes found it rude though but struggled to hide her feelings as she stood hoping he was going to say something, “This one wey you dress up like this, this night ehn? You fine oh?” he said at first in his own polite way only to end up falling out of courtesy. He raised his left hand bringing it forth to her bottom. Shocked, Agnes stared at the man allowing the first wave of anger pass her by before gripping the policeman’s hand. Without a moment’s touch, she twisted it leaving it to give a ‘crack’ sound. “Aargh!” the man knelt, paying obeisance to the sound immediately. “Next time, mind how you address someone” Agnes said in raised pitch. Annoyed she walked away from the man reminiscing on what she had just done and what the policeman took her for. How the hell? Men ought to be taught some manners, she thought. She walked straight into the station, right at the counter with grudges in mind. “Eh, good evening” she greeted the officer at the table who coincidentally had seen what happened.
Bewildered and confused on what had happened, what to do or what to say, the officer forced himself to muster; “Evening” calm and collected.
“Is the D. P. O in? Can I speak with the D. P. O?” Agnes wasted no time in asking, knowing Time had no time left. “Ehm…yes No” the officer found himself babbling not knowing when he rose his eyes to Agnes’ chest. Agnes too noticed but left the officer to whatever he was looking for there, “He’s left the office. Can I help you?” the officer added, unaware when he added the ‘Can I help you’ sentence. He knew he had landed himself in trouble.
“Uh…I don’t know if this is allowed” Agnes began as the officer looked on, aware he had landed himself in trouble or much worse the devil was introducing him to trouble. What isn’t allowed? “Am with the press and I would like to speak with the apprehended suspect on what happened, would you guys allow it?”
“Ehm…” the officer found himself struggling to understand the words, ‘press, suspect, guys and allow’ as he stood staring at the lady in blue and the thing on her chest. Her hair alone forced him to shift position, “No, not at this hour” he struggled to fight the temptation. “Please” Agnes beckoned, instantly dipping her fingers into her purse while making the thing on her chest visible. She took out 10 pieces of a N1000 note and squeezed it into the man’s hand. He stood staring, confused and elevated. He thought of playing Captain America. “I will see what I can do” he said giving up the thought. His dreams of joining Hollywood were far in the deep space. The officer walked out of the counter immediately as Agnes watched his movements. Men—she sighed.

She turned back to look at the other police guy to see he had left the position she left him. Good for him. She turned to look at the officer who had left the counter to see him talking to three other policemen. He showed them his silver hand and in respect they led him to another room. Agnes glared at the 4 cornered walls to look at the shining bulb, the top speed rolling fan, the police flag and the Nigerian flag. A picture of the current president stood framed to a corner smiling in mockery at the current state of things. Agnes sighed.

“You can come with me” the officer returned to say. He led Agnes to a very different room secluded in its entirety that it was hard to believe it was in the same building as other rooms. The officer opened the metal door to the room that was been guarded by another officer, “You have 5 minutes” he said in a strict voice; his tone, mood and facial expressions having magically changed. Agnes didn’t mind though, she walked straight into the room while the officer jammed the door. The suspect was seated on a chair bruised and handcuffed. One eye closed and an eye facing Agnes, his beards the only real evidence he was a bad guy.

Agnes lowered herself gently on the chair in front of her while staring at the suspect. She breathed in and out as he stared back, making her his centre of attention. Agnes was not used to such type of admiration, darting her eyes back and forth to tell him to stop. “Hi” she mumbled to say.
“Are you here to release me?”

Agnes got startled to hear the question the moment she settled to clear her mind and usher in confidence. She looked at the suspect again, wondering what to say, “No” she thought it best to say reasoning it wasn’t the best time to exaggerate, “I-uh I -uh i…” she looked at the guy’s chest to see it beating abnormally. She was crazy to think she’ll find the right thing to say there, “You said you saw something, someone at the attack of the galleria…” she ended up improvising.
“Wait…is this, a test?” the suspect hit the table striking fear into Agnes who jolted backwards. It was the cufflinks on his hands that prevented the bang from being loud or heard.
Adjusting to her normal position, Agnes moved to retort, “Excuse me…?” she said rather too soft incurring on the suspect to calm his temper. “…to be sure I haven’t said anything to someone?” he questioned, taking on a more empathetic look, “I haven’t. The police don’t even know my name”
Agnes still couldn’t make sense of what the guy was saying or where he was headed. All she knew was that the suspect was too sure and too convinced of what he was saying. She looked at him again, he didn’t bat an eye. He was angry but calm or pretending to, “I don’t understand…wh-”
The suspect took that as the last straw. He moved towards Agnes who somehow forced herself to maintain position, “Look, am not supposed to be here. You know that. I have family, that guy is still out there. They are not safe. He threatened them. I pulled this job so I could feed them, now he’s after them. You need to get me out of here. I don’t belong here. I killed no one” he squirmed lowering his head to his palm. Agnes moved, found the situation rather confusing. She stared on at him, unable to act or say anything that the suspect wouldn’t be angry about. “Am sorry. I don’t understand what you mean. I don’t know who you were, Ex…am a journalist” she ended up saying, babbling the truth along the way, although tweaked, “I came here because I needed your help” she explained. “Jesus. Am dead” the suspect spontaneously rose from the chair panicking, “I-I-I can’t say anything” he mumbled, shifting from Agnes at the sudden rise of his adrenaline. This time, it was pushing maximum.

Confused, startled and with the sudden realization of why she was there, Agnes moved to calm the man, “Please…calm down” she walked to him only for him to shrive.
“Police officer!” he shouted, incurring Agnes she was done and had landed herself into the worst possible scenario. “Please, I need your help…” she begged, stepping back to where she sat, hoping the suspect would come through. Instead, he was all panicky while the metal door flung open.
“Wetin?” the police officer asked, rather out of command.
The suspect wasting no time to explain stated his fact, “Abeg carry me go cell” he said. “Time up” the officer Agnes met at the counter said coming out of nowhere.
“Look. Please…I can help you” Agnes began to plead more to the officers than the suspect himself but with eyes on him, “I need to know what you saw”
“Madam. It’s time” the officer clarified as 2 different policemen came in to drag the suspect away. Agnes realizing she had wasted her only opportunity, looked at the officer just to sigh, “Oh God” she muttered. The officer though looked at her with the expression, ‘You know what to do if you needed more time’, but instead she walked out of him and the police station. How easy without being simple?

She rested her back on the driver’s seat sighing as she looked at the rear window and the night. She picked up her phone to check the time—10:45pm, it read with 3 email messages on her mail box being displayed. She clicked on to read;
Damilola—3 minutes ago; About the 2015 elections
Damilola—15 minutes ago; where are you? Genevieve’s latest endorsement deal Agnes deleted the two Damilola messages leaving the third and last. It was from Alex Nickel, and with much readied eagerness, she calmed to read.
I know you are not CIA. What exactly do you want? Money…? Fame…? Publicity…? The text asked. With a flash of anger lurking her eyes as they widened, Agnes threatened to drop the phone. She reconsidered, looking at it one more time.

If I wanted any of those, I would have leaked your email messages. Led your government to you…and your sources, she ended up typing back. She sighed, igniting her engine immediately. Agnes looked at the phone again to see a reply or two, as it came. That’s impossible the first one read with Agnes smiling, what do you want? The second text asked. Agnes flirted with the idea of texting 50 million dollars back to the man but decided against it, ‘You may call me delusional but am starting to believe in your crazy theories. Am beginning to see a hole in the world’ she replied, gearing her engine to reverse as she switched her car headlights. Two officers were at the balcony of the station watching with hands in their pockets. “Yeye people” she muttered, driving out of the station’s premises. She looked at her phone again. The Alex Nickel had replied.

Really…? You are crazy it said leaving an irritated expression on Agnes’ face as she instantly dropped the phone before hissing. She imagined the Alex Nickel guy to be one old fat fool with potbellied stomach. Gosh—she hated those people; but not her father though.

It took Agnes few hours to get to Maryland and once she got there, she was already weary to tell the difference between home and road. She had to close her eyes with forced efforts to drive into her duplex. By then she was already staggering with drowsiness. It would’ve been tough if she had headed to Mushin. The hold up traffic alone would have settled her mind into a faux reality where she was already on bed before she ever did; in this case it would be sleeping while driving. A comfort in the real world was miles better than that of fantasy—she thought as she walked straight into her bedroom seeking the solace of her mattress.
“Aaah—” Agnes breathed immediately she got into her room. She fell on her mattress closing her eyes while the breeze settled in before rolling on her. “Hello…” she yawned placing her phone on her ear.
“Hello Agy. How’s it been going? Haven’t heard from you, what happened? Did it work out?” a ditzy voice came on the line instantly with the words rushing like MTN had included bees into its line of subscribers.
“I’ve been trying your line. Switched off…or network” Agnes rolled her eyes before turning to the other side of the bed. She had to say something.
The receiver couldn’t wait for her to be through before interrupting, “But I have been receiving calls all day” it said. Agnes had to sink her head into her mattress.
“I don’t know” she quipped,
“So is it true?”
“Is what true?” she settled to position herself, flashing her eyes for a minute before turning one more time. What’s this girl saying? “What the short guy told you?”
“Still trying to figure it out…any latest?” Agnes yawned remembering their last meeting and what they talked about. The voice paused for minutes leaving a buzz to fill in, “Hello?”
“Uh, the usual…Celebrity gossip, broken marriages, Jason Statham, new Hollywood films, fast and furious, Senator Beluchi…Chimamanda’s new novel” the receiver came in once again, “Did I just say Chimamanda?” she said just to pose a question, like it was a modeling gig. “What happened?” Agnes stressed, wondering if the receiver had any better thing to say. She was always like that, Agnes thought; calling for no just reason.
“I discovered one of the girls the shorty claimed was raped was called Chimamanda”

And so? Agnes had to ask herself before replying “Yeah” not to offend the girl. She was slowly becoming irritated. She had to halt her irritation along the way though.
“I traced her to her house in Mushin to get an exclusive on her and if what was said to have happened really happened. But no one was there. Is like no one lives there”
“Are you sure?” Agnes rose from bed gradually finding interest one way or the other. And in a way forgetting sleep paid her a visit. She scratched her head.
“Yeah” the receiver quipped,
“When?”
“Yesterday”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Agnes found a way to get the receiver guilty.
“Network” the receiver replied back not giving Agnes the chance, “So, how did your plan go?” “Good night. I will call you tomorrow” Agnes cut the call instantly, seeing no reason in continuing the conversation. The girl was playing smart and she hated people who played smart. “Aww!” she yawned looking at her phone one more time. She reached for the side buttons to switch it off but instantly saw a message pop up right at her screen; from Damilola.
Oh God, she sighed forcibly plugging off her battery from the phone.

QUICK TO ENTER TROUBLE
Officer Mundi stepped out of the eatery with eyes all serious and furious as he looked at the burger he held. Looking at the black skies, he spat the one he had chewed, “This eatery doesn’t know how to cook” he mumbled walking out of the Shoprite plaza.

What drove him into throwing the little naira notes he had on him? He asked looking at the bag pack in his left hand. Walking few paces from the luxurious bay, he took a bite from the burger again. Maybe it was the first bite that was bad, he reasoned. Grumbling, he nodded. It was the first bite, he thought halting himself to a corner before glaring around. He sensed something. Someone was following him; he widened his eyes in hopes of catching an assailant.

It was the job description; you are always followed and never know when you might be ambushed—Officer Mundi thought. Pulling his belt, he pretended not to have noticed anything before unzipping his trouser. He folded his left hand into a fist while holding the bag pack in the other hand, also using it to pull out the thing in his trouser, “Aaah!” he moaned releasing a great dose of urine into the gutter before whistling. There was no time to do such at work, he convinced himself before pulling up his trouser again. If there was, he wouldn’t allow himself to be caught doing that; not in a place filled with filth anyway.

Hitting the road once again, he stopped at a pole to look at the campaign poster glued to it. Daniel West for President, it read with an image of an old man standing with raised arm. Whether it was to say ‘goodbye’ or ‘sorry’ no one knew. Officer Mundi seemed to have the answer though as he tore the paper off leaving it to the floor to decide.
“Who are they deceiving?” he hissed, walking away. He had lost hope, trust and belief. The only thing he had on him was pity and a naira note. The campaign poster picking offense with his action shook itself off the ground behind the walking Officer Mundi to blame him for his own problem. How can he belief and trust a man when he was untrustworthy and an unbeliever? The poster raged, rising itself above the ground with dusts while coaxing others like it to rise. In a zig zag format, they rose in line with a great deal of dust to teach the man a lesson. Staring before attacking, they waited for the perfect time before launching themselves in full force at the man, aiming for a surprise attack. Officer Mundi who had been expecting that for ages, turned back immediately in defense. Aiming for a perfect strike at his expected assailant, Officer Mundi flung the bag pack at the wind. The first thing his adrenaline registered to his eyes right down his spine after the posed attack was—a great deal of green dust and loitered papers flying at him. Confused, they rushed in revenge pulling him hundred yards from where he stood.

Satisfied, they headed straight for the traffic. Good riddance, the papers mocked.
In the incessant rush came an approaching figure from a distance who had ran into the mad scuffle dressed in skin tight suit that had its color reflecting green. It was hard to tell if it was the traffic lights or the street lights that made the suit look green as the figure ran but what was obvious was the dust and dirt that followed behind. He had dark blue glasses on that helped him see the dust and papers that rolled with him. He didn’t seem bothered or disturbed by them though as he was rather more concerned with running through the traffic notwithstanding.

Everything came to him or moved like crawling centipedes in his eyes. Even the Daniel West for President Poster that wasn’t too far behind appeared too slow for a chaser. The only thing that seemed normal to him was the sound of thunder. Boom—it came as he struggled to outrun its voice. It was as if it was in his ears as he sped around trying to force it out.
He wasn’t the only one who heard it or was he the only one in the same situation; a little girl as funny as it was encountered the same problem few miles from him.
Struggling to outrun her assailants same time the solemn noise that rose within her mind and out through her ears, the girl forced her way into the road.
Where it was the thunder for the green figure, for her it was an eerie sound. A sound that appeared to be multitudes talking in unison but rather in sharp voices, they came in screeches.
If it was just that, it wouldn’t have been a problem. She would’ve blocked her ears from the sound. But the real problem came when a man followed behind, chasing her. Though the man appeared with the features of a man, his face was far from being human. He was a black man whom ultimately should have had a black face but the aura around him was different. It was somewhat grey-ish but even at that, undefined. It was as if his skin was a combination of two colors; one struggling to top the other.
Like that wasn’t inhuman enough, the man started bleeding out of his left eye; the one that had long been closed. If it was the blood that was left oozing out, it wouldn’t have been a problem but then, it had maggots popping out. They roamed freely round his eyes as he opened his lips to voice his complaints,
“I need an eye…!” he growled with widened lips that later proved difficult to close. To the girl, those 4 words were agony in and out of itself. Each word standing for a knight who stabbed her ears with a sword. She couldn’t do anything as she stood at the very centre of the road watching him; afraid to panic but brave in panting.

As the man approached further and nearer, his words tripled, while his face and structure blurred, “…your eye…I need it. Give it to me. Give me your life. Let me finish it. I want it…” he kept yelling in screeching growls, hurting the girl more and more.
As if that wasn’t enough, the other voices she heard had its owners materializing out of the night. They were the same with the man who had been chasing her; they all were missing one thing or the other. And their faces were the epitome of sorrow and anger. Anguish itself was somewhere between though.

While the girl struggled to understand what was in front of her, she knew it was coming. The end was coming and it was near. Highway vehicles ran past her in acknowledgement of this fact.
As she stood waiting for the worse, having tire herself from running, she stared deep faced at her assailants. She struggled for courage and confidence while her hearts popped and eyes lingered on. Fear knew where and how to hide.
“Hail Mary…full of grace” she started, hoping for a faux savior that would take her out of this. She remembered the stories she was told by Uncle Chigozie. Could it be true? She looked at her chest then her neck for the chaplet. It could be the way out. It could be the li—she reasoned only to freeze her thoughts when she saw the very thing she was looking for; the light. Like magic being conjured out of nothing, 2 bright lights peered directly at her in full force with a humming noise behind it. This was it. That moment everything halted for her to examine all that was going on. The winds flourished, the lights blinked then brightened as all sped towards her. She waited then hoped all would come around as she closed her eyes timidly. “…blessed are you amongst sinners” she heard her assailants growl in unified mockery, misplacing the lyric as a result of the jibe. “…blessed is the fruit of your womb. Jesus” she whispered thinking it best to correct the poem before; the winds gushed at her again. She felt herself move. Then everything went for a slow start.
Slowly, she decided to open her eyes again.
“What do you think you are doing ehn? Do you want to get yourself killed?” she found a strange person with dark specs over his eyes shouting at her, “What are you doing on the street at this hour?” he continued, spitting out on her as she stood searching for her adrenaline and heartbeat. She realized everything around her was different except the night. There were no cars in sight, no light, no… “Where is your mother…? Where is daddy?”

What if the rosary hadn’t worked? What if they had succeeded? Was he one of them? Where was she? Had they finally caught up with her? The questions ran up to her seeking solace as she was faced with finding and keeping her breath.
She darted her eyes all over while stepping backwards, “what?” she had muttered only to go against such reactions. “Leave me…” she thought that instance to scream, “Leave me!!!” she laid more emphasis on screaming more, hoping fear would come to her aid and drive the person away. She blocked her ears to indicate where she was in case it came.
Pulling away, the green suited figure wondered what actually was going on and why the girl was behaving all freakish. Wasn’t she 3 seconds ago trying to kill herself? Why is she there acting all hysterical? Is she okay? What is she thinking?

Staring at her, he slowly found a genuine fear rising somewhere within the girl. What the hell is really going on? He advertised himself to the question. Did he—? “Hey—hey—where are your parents?” the figure calmed his voice, slowly approaching the girl to console her. The girl instead backed away, withdrawing herself from his intended grip.

“Leave me alone! Help! Somebody help me!” the girl once again screamed, now effortlessly searching for where to run and how to. Irritated, the man forced his calm out of the way. He hated something standing in his way when he was eager about something. No one could blame him since everything seemed static to him, “Calm down. Calm down” he pulled the girl shouting in whispers, “What are you doing? What’s wrong with you?” he stressed the questions while softening his tone to avoid sounding raspy. The girl calming with instinct gazed at the floor then at him. He appeared normal, no grey aura, no missing parts nor did he appear wanting something back. He was like her, in everything except for the height and skin color. His voice was natural and despite his scolds, it never rang inside of her. But still she wouldn’t trust him, they were dubious—Uncle Chigozie always said. Swallowing her saliva, she muttered “Ar-are you one of them?”

“What?” the young man settled to listen though giving into the theory he earlier crafted. “The-the…” the girl stuttered beginning to have that same strange feeling again. The weather was becoming cold again and she felt an invisible smoke clouding the air, “Ar-ar-are you one of them?” she struggled to ask. She could tell she heard something that was not her voice. “One of whom?” the young man lowered himself sensing she was starting to become all moody again. Why hadn’t he run after dropping the girl in safety? He reasoned. Lotanna would very much be pissed, “Why did you try to kill yourself? Where is mummy?” he began asking the goodbye questions hoping the girl would say something that would have him take his exit. But then,
“Ghosts…Ghosts” the reply didn’t actually give him the privilege. Something was holding him from leaving. Something was dragging him to the girl. The girl though, felt a different thing.
“Where is your house?” he continued to ask, fighting the obscure energy that was keeping him from leaving. Whereas, the girl fought what she felt was in her subconscious and what it was she was hearing in her conscious mind.

The voices had returned, more gruesome than ever, groveling from the innermost pit of hell as the night got darker. The dim bulb, the only source of illumination, busted off after spontaneously brightening itself up.
“No-no; save me. Save me” she began to cry, feeling them getting closer. She moved to the young man and hugged him. Confused, he looked at her, “I don’t want to go back. They will take me” she said pulling his already skin tight suit harder and harder hoping he’ll get the message. Shadows were starting to creep out of a corner.
The young man standing, thinking of what to say, tried to force himself out of the girl’s grip but instead found she wasn’t ready to pull away, “Don’t let them to take me. Let me go with you. Please…” she said.
Glaring here and there, he wondered what the girl was scared of and running from. He realized the girl wasn’t insane; she was genuinely scared of something. He too was starting to feel it; but what…?
Holding the girl tight, the man in green suit breathed in the fresh air that was lingering around before censoring the wind. Boom! The winds came, rushing massive dirt and dust around as they cleared a pathway for him. A path that was surprisingly free of anyone including him who created it and the little girl.

Oluchi cleared the étagère before settling the figurines on it. She looked on to see how the lined in segments were then grimaced. No matter how pretty she was, it didn’t hide the fact that she was above 50 as her face wrinkled out when stressed.
“What’s on your mind, auntie?”
Oluchi knocked over one of the figurines immediately the voice spoke. She thought she was alone, she reminisced only to picture the figurine breaking to pieces.
Forcing a smile on her face no matter the mischief, she turned around to look at the owner of the voice. Lotanna! She gasped. She was standing few paces in front of her; in a long sleeved sweater.
“Lotanna…” Oluchi replied almost gasping, she moved out of where she stood only to but halt. “I thought you were asleep?” “Your heartbeats wouldn’t let me sleep” the lady joked moving to where Oluchi currently stood. “Ever since, I found you’ve been feeling somehow. What happened? What’s wrong?” Lotanna held on to the woman, caressing her hand while same time holding her in firm grip, “Are you leaving?”

Oluchi mumbling within her, turned to look at the broken figurine then back at Lotanna. She grinned, “Oh, how can you say such things? You know I have nowhere to go except here” she frowned.
“Then what is it? What happened? Is it money? You know anything that is the matter we can have it solved. Just name it. Are you sick?” Lotanna pressured, touching the woman’s wrists to fathom her pain. But then it produced a non-rhythmic movement that was similar to one in a hot chase. Like Yusuf.
“No. No. No” Oluchi argued, “It is just that. That. I-I” she began to stammer looking here and there. Just then the ‘Daniel West for President’ poster crept into the scene, flying around the living room.
Taking a step backwards, she struggled to imagine how the paper got there and what it was doing there. In that still pose, 2 framed photographs on the wall opposite where she stood dropped to the floor sending a gush of wind through her hair. Shriving for defensive poses, Oluchi and Lotanna stepped back.
“What is that?” Oluchi asked
“I think it’s the rain” Lotanna said looking at the opposite corner that stood in darkness. She knew what it was but needed to play dumb. Her eyes briefly glanced at the framed photographs that fell to the floor as she wondered why whatever it was couldn’t take it slow. Lotanna listened to hear the wind again but sadly, found it made no efforts to sound again. To her, it was comforting that way. “I must have left my window open. The green…” she said, finding an excuse to leave.

Doubtful of whatever it was, Oluchi moved towards her, “Don’t worry. I will close it for you. Let me lead you to bed” she offered looking at the bulb then Lotanna. Lotanna tried to come up with a way to turn the woman’s offer down but found out it was best playing along. She allowed Oluchi lead the way into the corridor while she admired the state of the art artistry as she walked. They were one of the things her dad had left behind for her.

Oluchi’s eyes went round the whole place like it was her first time there. She couldn’t imagine anyone in their right sense of mind looking at what she saw and giving them brief glares like they were nothing—the paintings, the portraits, the French pendulum and the burning chandeliers of green bulbs that were life itself. She imagined herself being one of those; glamour to all and a clamor for wealth. Hmmn, she imagined how much they were worth that she had to look at the floor for an answer. The answer, being a parallel reflection of her on the glass tiles, crafted so hard that it was difficult to tell if the owner of the house intended it to be a mirror. Nature had its way but man made his way. They got into another large hall but this one with much moderate size that could be called a room. Since it had a bed there one would rather for the sake of argument call it a bed room. Still, a lay man from Ajegunle would call it a party hall. Unlike the corridor, this room ushered a different aura and color. It was blue without anything being blue.

Questioning the reason for that, Oluchi flashed her eyes for that which seemed odd. Nothing, she sighed in disappointment, “The windows are locked. The storm has stopped,” she said, turning to look at the second door within the room. It appeared to be an exit but was made of glass; strong glass.

The glass room had a different view from the main room though. Instead of taking on the cheerfulness the room had, the glass room rather maintained a calm atmosphere with green plants and various kinds of flowers left to decorate it.
Oluchi sensed that was what was off about the room. How could that door be open? She lowered Lotanna to the large bed before settling her mind on the glass room. Lotanna sensing that was what was on her mind, held grip of Oluchi to stop. The touch so firm that if there were a third party around, he would mistake it for a threat or query, “Thank you, Oluchi” she instead forced out, leaving the woman once she realized she couldn’t hold her for long.

The woman following what she felt was in her mind, moved to the glass door. Lotanna flung her lips in awe but maintained position. Oluchi closed the doors and moved to where Lotanna was, her mind having calmed with a silent sigh.
“Good night my dear…Sleep well” she said emphatically.
“Stop thinking” Lotanna replied lowering her back to the bed. The woman switched off the lights before closing the bedroom door. She left hurriedly. “Ah!” Lotanna forced the remaining sighs of relief lurking within her throat ever since. She yawned turning to the green house. What really was on Oluchi’s mind? She wondered as she yawned again. “You can come out now” she muttered while looking at the green house. A noise crept out of the dark pushing over the flowers who yelled. Lotanna seemed to have inspired it and that was what transpired when things got trampled upon. The winds rattled to chill everyone down, “Yusuf…?”
A hand crawled over her pushing the weight of the bed down, “Sshh…she’s still at the door” a voice followed commanding a strong presence that sent everything still. For many minutes all maintained that inherent order before a single footstep outside rose to disrupt everything. It came abruptly and sharply but descended into the distance slowly. “I need your help” the voice came again.

Lotanna forcing herself from the bed despite its weight being pulled down stared at the person who owned the voice beside her, “What happened? Where have you been? Where did you go? Oluchi could have caught you” she found herself blurting out as her whispers sailed into the night drowning silence.
“Something happened” the person replied
“What was it?” her whispers settled for a soft tone as the ominous voice the person had, found a way to tame her mood. “A girl” the person said rubbing her hand. She had to snatch her hand off, “On the road. In the night” he continued, picking his words before pausing. It wasn’t that its pitch was bad or was too loud that he had to stop but because Lotanna’s eyes were darting all over. He could see them through his blue spectacles, “She wanted to kill herself”
“Why?”
“She was about committing suicide” the stranger pulled the specs from his eyes then switched on the light bulb. Lotanna found the light threatening as she shut her eyes before opening them. She stared waiting for the ending of the person’s story, “I think there is something wrong with her. She is a girl no more than eleven years. She’s dead scared. I don’t know if I can keep her calm for long” “Wait, is the girl in the house?” she waited patiently to ask but interrupted before he could finish. Slowly nodding his head, the stranger recounted his moments before all these—his moment at the Silverbird galleria and being questioned by a girl; a nice girl. He looked at Lotanna,
“Yes, she claims someone is following her but am not sure she is normal”
“Did you reveal yourself to her?”

The stranger paused as he was about pacing off—I might have; he sensed, that instance realizing what may or may not have happened. This was a replay right? History repeating itself…? “No” he muttered. He turned to Lotanna, she was indifferent only sighing to indicate she knew, “Yes…” he sighed glaring around
“You know they could be watching”
“I had no choice. She was just a child alone in the street running from something in the night. I tried to ask her of her parents, she…” he explained, cutting himself short when a slow whimper started coming from the glass room. He looked at the direction while Lotanna listened more to the whimpers. She found something interesting with it.
“…they are coming. They are coming. Help-help…Jesus” the words sang from the whimpers. So timid as Lotanna listened. Yusuf looked at her seeking a reaction or an answer. It was more of the former though.
Lotanna stared puzzled for long at the air as she heard something within the depths of the whimpers that wasn’t her or Yusuf or the wind. It was like a buzzing hive but its sound distorted. It appeared to be rebounding from a source yet its distance closing up.

Yusuf paying less attention to what Lotanna was listening to, glared at her then walked to the glass room. He headed for the hidden corners of the room which happened to be surprisingly larger than it had seemed. It was even larger than Lotanna’s room only nature had its architectural designs all over it. It had warm chilling plant lives welcoming anyone and everyone even a stranger to it. Or maybe it was because Yusuf was on green that the green plants got elated. The other flowers of different shades and colors got themselves frowning though; especially the blue ones who appeared rather jealous to have their colors lost to the night. The whimpers still sounded.

Placing himself to a corner, Yusuf pulled over an abandoned root of a Christmas tree hedged to the ground, “Sssh, it’s okay. No one can come for you here. See, we are far from them now. No one can come here” he consoled staring at the girl who sat frigidly looking at him, “This is her house. They can’t come here”

The girl finding that hard to believe, didn’t take much time to start shedding tears and going into a frenzy of shivers. Focusing on the best manner of improvisation, the green suited stranger looked around then back at the girl. He knelt down to her hoping that would calm her and not have her cry loud. That was the last thing he wanted, “Sshh, it’s okay. It’s okay” he tried to comfort, patting her over and over again. Lotanna who had been dealing with her own puzzle, walked meticulously towards the glass room. Each footstep predestined and determined, with the floor standing for an aisle. She had to climb majestically before getting to the podium. She managed to get to the glass room. What is going on? She imagined, still listening to the distorted sound that came closer and closer again but of no direct movements or destination. She waved at the air like one struggling to get to the spotlight. Then, a ledge in front of her brought her to her knees. Bam! She hit it and the next thing, she found herself stumbling to land on a safe side; so much for the spotlight. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry, take it easy” the green suited stranger appeared in front of her immediately. A fair amount of air brushed over her hair. “There is something wrong” Lotanna said instantly. At first it appeared she was trying to cover her shame for having fallen or being rescued but when her face went all white, it was obvious this was more than pride, “Something isn’t right”
“Why?”
“Are you not hearing that?” she slowly whispered. Her face a replica of fear, “That…” she repeated. Confused, Yusuf started looking around. His eyes were mainly focused on the whimpering girl as he struggled to notice any aberration. There was nothing; he concluded.

Lotanna irritated by his obliviousness, stretched her hand dragging him out of her way. She listened to the sound again. This time it was raging and this time, she felt the wind rise. The buzz was screeching and nearing. In it appeared to be roars of cackling thunder. Was it the storm again?
The little girl now gravely shimmering in her hideout noticed the wind bursting in. She could tell it was pushing everything around as she felt the flowers fizzle. She covered her ears to block the damning sound but instead discovered she had given away her hideout. Strange shadows started creeping out of every corner revealing silhouettes of different figures. She wanted screaming but something held on to her throat. Her heartbeats slowed gradually as her eyes burned out. They became red with her skin taking on the sensation of the night—cold and stiff; the only thing moving on her being her fingers. Her eyes and ears functioned though, but were blank. Blank to the fact that what they saw and heard were beyond what she should.

From the dark, out of the creeping shadows came the silhouettes in full form. Outing itself to the girl, came the one eyed man and his cohorts.
“…eye. Give it to me!” he yelled along with the others. They all stretched arms clobbering their way towards her.

Struggling to voice something out, the girl gnashed at her teeth staring at her assailants, “…Ugh-ugh the-th-ey are here…” she mumbled. Her assailants vexed by her act, rushed to her at once, screaming and clawing their hands at her in unison. Fighting them off with her soul, the girl went into straight epileptic surge, shaking her body while her eyes stared on irresponsive. Lotanna heard them but couldn’t see them. Yusuf neither heard nor saw them; all he saw was the little girl slumping to the floor instantly and a great deal of breeze flowing out of the room. He looked at the girl then at Lotanna. A vase fell off a shelf.

Lotanna mumbling some few words within herself, took some steps forward, “What happened?” she asked. That alone startled Yusuf as he looked on, confused and perplexed.
“She-she just faint—ed” he struggled to understand the question and the situation. Rather running to the girl, he paced to her. Yusuf knelt in front of her afterwards caressing her skin. Lifeless, cold—were what he could draw out. He turned to Lotanna then the girl; “She’s…she’s” he searched for the right word to use. She must have flat lined—he guessed. What happened? Blood found an exit from her left eye.

Oya ohhhhh. It has begun

#Xavier

“Chimamanda…! Chimamanda…!” she slowly called. She hoped that would stop the person but instead she continued walking. “We shouldn’t be seen talking. They are watching. You should leave. This neighbourhood is not safe. They are looking for you” the person rather said still walking ahead without stopping.

Frustrated, Agnes paused to vent her anger. She was confused yet clear on the whole thing but she needed to hear the lady’s version of the story. She looked ahead of her to see the lady paces away from her, “Who are those looking for me? What happened that I should leave? Why are you so scared?” she rattled.
Surprisingly the lady stopped. She turned back, leaving Agnes to wonder how the lady got to know her. “Didn’t you hear what happened? People died because they were looking for you. Now they know where you live so I suggest you run. Adekunle and his gang would be there. You better find somewhere else” the lady explained. But Agnes was still left startled.
“Why would they be looking for me? What did I do?”
“Are you not Lillian’s friend?” the lady flung the question at her. Agnes stepped back in shock. And here she was, thinking no one knew her. How? “They said you set them up and brought someone to beat them. Eulog—Adekunle said he left 2 of his boys handicapped and he has promised to do the same to you”
“God. I didn’t. I didn’t set anybody up. I didn’t” Agnes started arguing then stopped once she saw the lady was rather uninterested, “Jesus…how? How did they know me? How are they sure I was the one?” she didn’t know when she mentioned the word.
“These streets have ears. And Adekunle tortured some people including Lilly” the lady revealed, “He did this to me” she stretched up her sleeves to an arm size to reveal a red scar. Her skin tone made its color a disfigurement on her body.

Shocked, Agnes started grasping the picture. A lot had gone down last night. The most shocking was the fact that Lillian was among those who suffered the wrath, “My God” she found religion, “Where is Lillian now?”
“I don’t know. She escaped. Someone came to her rescue. No one has seen her” the lady said. She was now looking at everywhere. Her legs were now itching to move, “Take my advice as the first person to have seen that guy that wears mask and can do things people wouldn’t believe. I know him more than anyone else. Stay away from this neighbourhood and from that guy. He is dangerous. I have to go. Please don’t follow me” the lady, Chimamanda said rushing her words. She had already started walking off before she ended her ‘don’t follow me’ monologue.

Confused and worried, Agnes glared around. “Please wait. Who is this guy? Is he part of this gang squad?” she found herself hopelessly asking. “I can’t tell you anything. If you want to know more meet me at No 17 Olubade crescent Iyana Ipaja at 7:00pm” the lady resolved, putting Agnes out of her misery and more into suspense. She then ran off before Agnes thought of asking another question.
The way everyone ran out of this neighbourhood without a single thought of the police, it signified something worse—Agnes thought as her mind settled on running like the rest. Join the circus, she thought. But what could Lillian be doing at a parish house?

A hand reached for the doorbell pressing it thrice before pulling away. Ding-dong, is anybody home? Agnes waited for the reply as she pulled herself to the side of the wall in a chaste manner. Before she could think of rubbing her back against the wall, the door flung open. “Yes who is it?” a short guy answered the door
“It’s Agy. Is Lillian here?” she replied.
The short guy nodded before closing the door back again. What was the point? Agnes wondered. Few seconds the boy came back again, “You can come inside” he said, inviting her in. Catholics with protocols, Agnes shook her head as she looked around her seeing photographed paintings, the sculptures and the design of the house. Somewhere within, an air conditioner was, blowing chilled air as she followed the guy’s lead inside. They arrived in a small room before the living room, a passage to be more precise and from there she started hearing echoes of Lillian’s voice. Hot, fast and loud it sounded that she wondered whom it was she was quarrelling. The short guy stopped mid steps then showed her the direction. It seemed that was as far as he could go or maybe he sensed what was coming.
Agnes not paying attention to the guy, walked in gently. Her first sight was Lillian sitting beside a man in white robe. Her face was stern. Before she could go further in or picture the appearance of the man and his face, Lillian moved from her position then towards Agnes. Agnes pulled up her hands ready for a hug. But instead of Lillian pulling her arms too, she paused in front of Agnes then slapped her. If it wasn’t for the ceiling fan that had still been rolling, one would’ve mistaken it for a spark of electricity. But the fan for sure, succeeded in masking the sound. It was the kind a fellow girl like Agnes would term, ‘slapping one hot on the cheek’. The only thing left for the victim to cling on to was the scar that would later appear.

But Lillian didn’t stop there. She released another one; aimed at Agnes’ right cheek, leaving her confused on her stance on things. Lillian was only following the law of Jesus and that appeared to be why the man in robe didn’t make efforts to say anything. His only moment of action was when Lillian drew her hand for another hit to defy Jesus’ law that the man got up. “What eh…? What were you thinking?” Lillian vented.
“Calm down. Calm down. Sister calm down, give her a chance to explain herself” the man moved to hold up Lillian’s hand. In his grip he felt her adrenaline and rage.
“What were you thinking going about chasing boys? Eh, ruffians. Did you think anything good could come of it?” Lillian yelled further, “Did you know I almost lost my life because of you?”
“Calm down and give her a chance to explain” the man begged. He looked at Lillian then Agnes. She was silent only with her hand to her cheek.

Agnes found it hard to believe or know where she was. She knew she was standing but it felt like she was floating. Taking a turn around, she thought best to retrace her footsteps back to where or how she came. It led her outside then to the garden then the gate, then finally to her car. She opened it, sat inside, and sighed. Tears started rolling down her eyes. The rear view mirror mocked at her imitating her actions while she watched.

THE REST AFTER THE STORM
At first when the sounds came, they felt faint but when it repeated itself, it became obvious it was the bell of dawn. Funke’s eyes sprang open immediately the tender touch came to her left side. So calm it was she wondered what it meant or who it was. The images around were faint and blurry, the sounds timid yet she felt something familiar. The pain on her side—she moaned. She thought it was all a dream. Or was it? She pulled her hand towards her stomach to be sure, only to be met by a restraint. It was a hand—a firm hand, so hard a blind man would mistake for stone.

In it was a warm wet cloth rubbing itself over her hand and stomach; “Careful. You are bleeding” a voice warned, “The bullet penetrated your abdomen. It fractured some bones. It took some time to get it out. So, don’t make any move” the voice continued, advising Funke who lied somber with fingers trembling and eyes darting to be free.
It took some time for her to know what exactly was happening till the masked person came in sight; then she knew she was done for. “I…I don’t have it” she confessed. Looking at the person, she knew full well not to expect mercy. Was this Patrick’s way of making sure everything fell in line? Or was it a way to keep her in check by having her monitored?

Still, he saved her life which was something to be thankful of except she wasn’t. She shouldn’t be thankful yet knowing what was ahead. She looked here and there for an alternative then at the masked person. The mock grin on his mask made it difficult to know what he was going to do. He stared at her again, this time for long before backing away removing the hand gloves on his hands. Maybe this would be the clue, Funke thought looking on.
That was all she could do; look, twist her head and pant. The rest of her body was stiff like they didn’t belong to her or that someone had placed a password that would require a code for her to move.
“Rest…you still need to heal” the masked man said.
He moved to the curtain that was opposite Funke, drew it gently then hid behind it. From where he stood, he had a great view of the neighbourhood; the thin hot smoke that floated around, the chirping of birds and the meek sounds of women that came from a hidden source.

He sighed, looking at his hands then the window again. He turned to Funke. Their eyes jammed but she turned her’s away immediately. He refused to do likewise though. Instead he preferred to stare at every inch and aspect of her body allowing himself to go lost in thought. Something brought him back though. It wasn’t the girl but it was something; a noise. He looked at the window again. Everything went silent once more. He decided looking at the wall opposite him, the wall papers on them and the spoilt clock hovering on it before something caught his attention again. It was a spider. It fell off from a reasonable height to the floor, rubbed itself against the rug then continued. He sighed. The noise came once more but this time, they were disembodied voices talking at each turn. One was calm and in sibilant whispers, the other loud and raspy. The raspy one spoke first. “Guy wetin dey happen na? Why guys dey run from area na?” it said. Its pitch commanding all that stood around it. “Street don rugged oh. Kunle don finally craze, the guy don go kill 2 Alcata guys and one Olopa for junction yesterday” the calmed voice replied, “You know as e dey be, them go soon begin find us” it continued with fear obviously backing him up one way or the other. “Wetin happen?” the raspy one was quite persistent and relaxed.

The calmed one didn’t like it though, “Boss logic. I no get time. I no want make those guys find me” it said, its tone almost fading to oblivion. “Ah-ah…Ogbeni, wait now. Wetin happen?” the raspy was in time to hold it.
The masked man sighed by his window, turned to where Funke was then back at the window. “They say na one girl oh. Say she set Kunle up make one guy come mend am and him boys for corner. They say na Zekeri. Some say na Dotun. Nai Kunle go kill him boys. They never find Zekeri but them still dey look for the girl” the calmed one had suddenly found the courage to go on as it stood on explaining itself. The voice itself wondered how that was even possible till it reasoned the confidence of the raspy one could be the reason behind it.
“Who be the girl self? You know am?”
A bright light from the sun peered through the window towards where the masked man stood. “…no oh them say she tall. Yellow…she no lepa like…” the calmed voice replied before halting.

In the masked guy’s attempt to block the rays of the sun, he tripped his right foot against the table beside him that was filled of books, journals and newspapers. In response, it flew right above him over the air towards the ceiling that was almost 20 feet high. It knocked off the bulb that had been standing alone minding its business. Everything that was once on the table came right down at him. He caught the table with a hand but failed to catch the books. In a consecutive order, the books fell first then the newspapers. He sighed. “I no know oh. Bros, later. I go advice you make you run. Na army on 2 fronts” the calmed voice resolved to complete his speech, rather out of fear. It appeared it had heard the noise that had come from the masked man’s room.

The masked man was rather worried at the mess he had created as he looked at everything on the floor. For one, the Alcata gangs were deadly and Eulogy killing one of them with a cop meant the streets would be bloody. Worse, Eulogy was after the lady. Something must be done—the masked man thought knowing full well what was on. He kicked at a newspaper that was on the floor nursing its own pain. It flung up before landing itself on the masked man in rage.
Funke too scared to emote any expression while watching the person, lied firmly on the bed. The masked man moved out from his position in annoyance.
At first, Funke thought he was coming for her only for him to walk out of the door. This was her chance, she thought. Suddenly she felt the weight of everything upon her body and her back rooted to the mattress. At first, it appeared as a joke but when every timid attempt to shift a torso or muscle became futile, she knew something was in her.
The agony was there for sure but Funke was less concerned of it and more on her failing breath. It soon became the perfect moment for her eyes to start laying tricks on her as every inanimate object in the room came to life.
The little strength in her was starting to drain. Or was it, sanity?

The neighbourhood was serene, the air calm and the atmosphere welcoming but with one thing wrong; Agnes’ mind. It wasn’t as cheering as it used to be. Or maybe it was because it was 7:15pm. So many things were coming in and out of her mind. Her thoughts weren’t straight, her feelings weren’t clear. The only thing that was sure with her was her search for No 17 Olubade Crescent. Sure she was in Iyana Ipaja but there doesn’t seem to be an Olubade Crescent let alone a No 17. The only thing that came similar to Olubade was Ayoade and it wasn’t a Crescent. It was a street. And worst of all, the houses weren’t numbered but structured in blocks. Agnes had spent minutes around this neighborhood that it would be okay if one stopped her to ask for directions not minding if she was a stranger. She had crossed every nook and cranny that the term ‘resident of the street’ would be an understatement for her. There were people but she didn’t want to say ‘hello’ let alone ask for directions. That might have been easier. She soon got to a stop, the very place she had started her trek; not for any other thing but to clear her mind. Maybe she was taking this whole thing too far. She brought out her phone and logged on to her email account; as if that would be of any help. She clicked on to the Alex Nickel email, read the message once again then started typing him a reply.

Do you believe people with superhuman abilities exist? She sent. Agnes shook her head due to the ridiculousness of the message and the person she sent it to. It might seem so but that was the fact.
You mean—Powers? She looked at her phone to see Alex Nickel’s response.
Yes. I know it’s silly but…She typed back.
The world is silly. Are you just finding out? Nickel’s replies were much faster than her’s that she sat looking for the right response to give and to make meaning of what he typed.
She looked around to remind herself of why she was there and what the time was. She couldn’t afford to be late today again. She rose up and started walking again. This time she made up her mind to ask for directions and thus settled for the first friendly face she saw. Luckily there were 2 guys opposite her standing in front of a barber shop. They looked calm, she reasoned. Without hesitation, she went straight to them. “Good evening. Please am looking for an Olubade crescent. I don’t know if it’s around here. I have…” she began, pausing when she saw a large shadow casted in front of her on the floor. She felt a presence behind her. She stared at it for minutes while the 2 boys watched without a word. She resolved to turn back to see who it was. Her lungs almost flew right out of her mouth. It was a large man with bandaged head, an injured eye that was half closed.

“Waka!” one of the 2 boys standing in front of her said.
She turned to look at him when she felt something poking at her. It was a pistol and the guy was holding it at her. Then, she realized the second guy too had a gun. He revealed it to her to ensure compliance while the first did to advise her against any smarty act. Agnes found herself lost in thoughts trying to identify who the large guy was till she realized it was Eulogy himself. By then she couldn’t even reason any longer.
“You hear wetin him tell you abi you no hear?” he asked.

Agnes had to play along. She followed them to where they led her knowing full well the consequences and what she was in for. Her adrenaline started misbehaving as she found it hard to think.
They led her like a robot to a secluded corner devoid of any one and strong with the night. It was like history found no other use but to repeat itself.
“Look…” she started, stepping backwards with each footstep while raising hands up hoping to calm the situation. Her imaginations that instance settled on everything being a misunderstanding that could no matter what, be settled out; if it was so. A second look at Eulogy’s face jogged her back to reality, “Am sorry” she thought it best to say.
Instead of reacting or responding, they halted staring at her for seconds in silence. Agnes looked at the 3rd guy who was the shortest then Eulogy. That moment she became overwhelmed by guilt. “I-I-didn’t…” she started but before she could finish, Eulogy had flung his large arm hefty of years of experience on the street at her. It didn’t sound to her but literally, it was loud. Agnes shrived, bellowing once she realized she felt pain on her cheek. She was unsure of what actually happened but she knew what happened. Eulogy and his gang looked on to see if their action had registered. Agnes got up, shook her hair then looked on. Their action had indeed registered.

Moved by her response, Eulogy bolded up once more “Na me you carry your boyfriend come mend bah? Ehn?” he pulled Agnes by the neck forcing her towards him.
She couldn’t bear the odor that came out of him that she sniffed out the one she had inhaled, “He is not my boyfriend!” she corrected. She flashed her eyes at him while she struggled to talk and hide her emotions. That angered Eulogy the more. He looked at her while tightening his grip on her neck, then slammed her head against the wall.
“Shut up!” he barked.
Pausing, he felt embarrassed hearing the echo of his voice as it reminded him of a dog forcing his way out from a leech. Vexed by the notion, he banged Agnes’ head against the wall again. This time harder, “You want set me up ehn?” he barked again, honking his shoulders, “For yah mind you reason say you smart. You bring your John cripple Tekene. Break Sobowale nose, injure Sambisa…” he continued then paused when he saw her bleeding from the nose.

That didn’t stop him though; instead he found that as reassurance. Both to his ego and the injury on his head, “…bury Oneh on top hospital bed. Make who pay?” he continued; unwilling to stop as he stared head on at Agnes. She stared back but this time her eyes had lost their spark taking on a new hue. Still, she was determined, hoping that would prompt them into leaving her once they felt she couldn’t be intimidated. It would’ve worked though. That is if it was in the goddamn 90s. “Who want do the burial?” Eulogy sparked, spitting saliva on her. A small trace of red liquid trailed down Agnes’ nose. She stood still hoping to overcome it as she panted. Her eyes darted once more on everything and everyone as she looked at nothing in particular.

Seeing the red liquid from Agnes’ nose once again, Eulogy pulled her head closer to him to be sure it was what he thought. He raised his left leg up once he found his answer then stroked it against Agnes’.
At first it appeared he had lost it but when Agnes lost balance, it became obvious Eulogy had intended using her as the street ball. In this case instead of a street ball, Agnes fell to the floor like a tree rooted to the ground. To her it felt quick but to them, it was like forever before she hit the floor.
The shortest guy didn’t wait though he rushed to her before Eulogy could continue; then at the last minute like a white knight raised his leg against her tummy, “Who want hire Fada make him pray for the corpse?” he yelled.

Agnes groaned realizing she had actually brought all these upon herself. She started to rethink her stance and actions on things; so many things. Nothing agony couldn’t do. The red liquid from her nose finally dropped to the floor. The moon made it evident. She looked at it then found tears had somehow rolled from her eyes. How many at once? She asked.
The short guy kicked her once again.
“Am-am-am sorry…I didn’t mean it to…” she struggled to say while grabbing at the floor. It was then she knew what it meant to live in the 21st century. The General tried to warn her.
“You see wound wey I carry for head?” Eulogy came at her again questioning. He removed the bandage holding his head to reveal a serious cut that had shaped or rather reshaped his head. The flesh that was first attached to it appeared to have been peeled off to reveal yet another skin. But this one was oozing out blood. For one, any who saw it would be tempted to call it the second layer of skin. That is if the person hadn’t closed his eyes. Agnes did and that instance, an outburst of emotion set in as she began trembling. Her fingers were uncontrollably fretting as they lost their sense of touch and balance. They shivered rapidly and irritably that Eulogy had to step on them. He pulled Agnes once more, up against himself then took out his famed knife.
“You don die…” he pointed the knife at her in close range, poising for an attack.

He stared for seconds to calculate the best spot to strike; her eyes, the top of her skull, her neck, her firm breasts that were beating and rising with high level of adrenaline or her belly. It was flat and it would stick well. But that would be quick, too quick; Eulogy reasoned. He pulled Agnes once again as she stared, with eyes now blinking. The red substance was all over her; her lips, her clothes, her nose were all soaked in it. Perspiration served as detergent.
Her feeble sobs sailed into the night as Eulogy looked on. Agnes stopped once she saw he was about letting her go. Eulogy released his grip slowly and gently while his two boys watched. Others joined that moment from out of nowhere thus increasing their number. Distracted, Eulogy released Agnes against the wall again but hardly. Like the millionth time, she struck her head against the hard surface. The wall itself vexed with her as it complained to her hearing. Agnes was unable to hear it though. In this situation, she was unable to hear anything or respond to anything. She felt like paper being tossed around with no effect. Eulogy standing like one who had come to his senses, stretched his knife forward.

He looked at Agnes one more time, somewhat with pity, but before he could fully give his life to morality, he forced the knife at Agnes. Slash—it sounded and Tuff, Eulogy withdrew it. Agnes stared on. At first everything was alright but then,
“Aargh!” she yelled to the glory of her voice.
Agnes fell to the floor; rose up to the wall again with her back rested on it then forced herself towards Eulogy. She raised her right foot with spontaneity against his groins. She didn’t know how but it felt she had kicked a hard ball, hard. She relaxed to the wall again to console herself for such feats.
Eulogy fell to the floor in shamed defeat in front of Agnes. Rather than rejoice for such feats, Agnes drew her bag then flung it against the 2 other boys who rushed up to her. She held her belly in support while the 2 boys ducked. This was her chance, she reasoned seeing there were now 2 obstacles in front of her; the 2 that had recently joined the gang. She did the same thing but unfortunately they had predicted her move. One grabbed hold of her bag while the second at her.
“Come here. You no dey go…” he pulled her towards him hugging her tight. He brought out his tongue and started licking her neck ferociously. Reciprocating to the sentiment, Agnes brought forth her teeth to his neck also. Instead of licking it, Agnes bit it off. “Chisos…!” the guy ran backwards.

Agnes saw her chance that moment. She still held on to her belly though.
“Una allow am run?” Eulogy finally got up from the back end barking as usual. He had finished mourning the loss of his dick. And the night itself consolidated him as it darkened itself around him. “Teju your father!” he assailed the guy who Agnes had stroke with her teeth, “Catch am” he commanded.
Taking Eulogy’s command as lord and law, the boy regained his balance though out of malice than compulsion and took after Agnes. The rest followed in full chase. The bitten guy was the one with the most advantage though and utilizing such opportunities, he launched himself at Agnes.

Like a lion bouncing on its prey, he dragged Agnes to the ground along with himself. She fell to the ground on her back.“You think say you go comot here alive?” he said defending himself against her clawed attacks.
When he became tired of what he saw as pre-intimacy, he restrained her with full force and tore the shirt she had on. The buttons sprang out of its strap flying at him. He did the same to her leggings but in this case, pulled them down to her knee level. He smiled before rubbing his hand over her breasts while watching Agnes fight on.
“You dey craze…? You dey try me?” Eulogy pulled the bitten guy off Agnes. He slapped him then pushed him to the ground. He paused to see if the boy would react but he rather bellowed. “Where she dey…?” Eulogy came at Agnes again when she thought he had come to her rescue. “Who be that?” that moment everything fell dead as the question came. It was neither from Eulogy, his gang nor Agnes. “Ehn…?” the voice repeated sharp and thick with an Edo accent.

The voice was disembodied but its volume high and closing in, “Who them no born well wey stand for my backyard? You dey mad?” the voice revealed itself showing a short man standing in for it in white singlet. The glowing bulb in the distance made the color look brownish though. His face was hidden but his figure wasn’t.
Finally, Agnes sighed. Somebody to my rescue, she thanked her stars.
“Na me…!” Eulogy replied hitting his chest.
Vexed by the response, the man increased his pace towards them, “Who you be?” he questioned, making it look more of a command. Provoked, the shortest guy amongst the first batch that had joined Eulogy pulled out his pistol before the man could wait for an answer. He wasted a whole load of bullets into him. “Shege!” he said.

Shriving at the bloody sight, Agnes found it necessary to call on her lord, “Christ!” though meekly. Realizing that was the intended plan for her all along, she forced herself up while the gang busied themselves with the identity of the recently crafted corpse of the once alive man. She thought in order to make her run quiet and unnoticed; she had to pull of her shoes. She did. Though her intentions were smart, that didn’t stop the gang from finding out and taking after her. “Catch am!” Eulogy yelled.

The shortest corking his pistol once again, fired several shots at Agnes. Although not intended to meet her, Agnes managed to duck every shot meant to incapacitate her. The bullets bounced of several surfaces in consolation.
The chase still went on and Agnes luckily, was able to cover several paces before running into a dead end in a different block. Arranging herself and her clothes, she prepared herself for whatever came next.
The gang’s footsteps still sounded in her ears. It was the only thing she felt or paid attention to. She stood against the walled up corner and panted, she cursed when she found it was really a close end with little to no chance. Turning back, she resolved not to go back as she looked on.

Their footsteps were still racing and this time, came along with gunshots. She closed her eyes, shut her arms to the air then opened her eyes again. She felt the ground should open and swallow her.
Having used up much of her adrenaline, Agnes found her blood kicking through her chest, ready to burst itself out and away from danger. Gasping, she bellowed to calm everything down but then realized for one reason or the other, things had slowed down for a meek start. She felt smoke in her eyes. It was the atmosphere. Like that, everything remained till minutes later. A loud excruciating scream flew into nights minutes later followed by another, this time twice.
Gunshots triggered once again, followed by loud bangs that were difficult to distinguish from gunshots. They weren’t gunshots though. Were they tricking her? Agnes thought as she stood for minutes. Then everything went static.

Glaring at where she was, a pillar of fear surrounded her. She resolved to rather make a move than wait and die from a stray bullet or worse, curiousity. Staggering, she walked back to where she ran from. She felt her feet itching and piercing as she walked barefooted on the rocky ground.
“Aargh…!” a much more agonizing scream rose again, almost before she could take another step. It came in a crescendo that forced her into stepping on a piece of broken bottle. Quack—she heard in front of her. It wasn’t her leg, she reasoned. It was few paces from where she stood.
Breathing in, she forced herself to make another step but then her right foot caught on to something. Or rather, it kicked something. Bending to see what it was, she found her handbag. Next to it were her fallen items, her phone and a body.
She picked up the phone, tapped the screen for a flash light to see whose body it was. It was Eulogy’s with his skull bashed open. Pity engulfed her. Shriving in fright at how lifeless and gory it was, she pointed her phone in front of her. Someone was standing before her. It was someone masculine but not quite muscular and in a mask. In short, it was Chappi; Agnes recalled the codename Chuks had given him. She pointed her flashlight phone at him again. A body stood hovering above him. And on it was blood flowing all over as Chappi held to it with one hand.

Stepping backwards, she covered her mouth immediately with both hands. She did that so to prevent herself from unknowingly screaming. Something she eventually did, though much coded.
Her voice that instance took on the tone of a whisper. She tightened the grip on her mouth once more. Tears ushered itself from her eyes as she looked on. The masked figure stared back.
“What…what are you?” she stammered, “Why did you do this? Are you even human at all?” she stressed, bellowing while holding her side. “Don’t. Don’t you have a heart?”

Chappi ignoring her dropped the body to the floor.
“So this is what this is all about?” Agnes reasoned from what she got as she took cue from what Chuks had told her. She put it in theory. “…to see who could create the most terror? Who would be a force to be reckoned with? The one with the greatest kill and damage?” she blurted out.
At first, she was angered by the sight but then she became much angrier with the fact he ignored her. All these had happened because of him and all he could do was to kill?
He looked at Agnes then all that was around him then back at her, “Don’t judge me. I just saved your life” he said, caring more to stress the fact. What? Agnes’ eyes sparked.
“You saved me?” she questioned, staring at him to be sure they were on the same page “By killing these…these thugs, do you know what you just did? You just placed me in the cross fire. The fire you started” she felt it best to explain in plain terms and stress out what he saw as a favor.

Paying less attention to the fact or rather happy to be in oblivion, he shook his head “Would you have preferred if I had let them kill you?” he dropped. Nonchalant as he shrugged his shoulders.
“I was already dead before you came. You didn’t save me. If you thought you saved me, you didn’t. You just used that as a pretext to show off” she corrected. Agnes always felt the need to correct people especially when they were wrong. Even to the extent of forgetting herself. No one judges himself. “What happened to leaving them for the police? What happened to justice?” she questioned. Prompted to step into the spotlight, Chappi scoffed inside his mask as he took few steps forward though away from the spotlight. That moment Agnes’ hand touched the screen of her phone, starting an application. It flashed few bright lights then stopped.
“I tried that. It didn’t work. That’s why you are here talking now” he said.
“Do you know how many lives you have risked…by killing them?”
“20 more thugs who wish to intimidate defenseless people and rape young women” For one thing, Agnes wanted him to keep talking but as he did, it made her belly hurt more, vexing her. Chappi stared back; “You think am doing this for glory, status, power or something?” he turned to question, raising his voice while letting his eyes tell his mood. Not that anyone would see it though. “I get nothing from it. What I get is what the society would if the police and the justice system took their job seriously” he clarified, making Agnes green all the more. “Do you know how many lives were lost because of these fools? How many that could have? That happened because I tried to do the right thing” Chappi continued before pausing. If Agnes was going green, he was already red. “That body I just dropped now maimed 6 girls below the age of 15. With his tiny dick, he raped many girls as far as you can imagine. Now you can go about condemning me or questioning if am human or my morality, remember who saved you from sleeping in a coffin” he uttered, plain and sharp before turning to walk away. He had his own story and neither does she know of it. Why judge him?
“For god sake you have destroyed things, people in your so called quest” Agnes stressed, reminding she too had a story, “At first I thought you were doing good. I argued that you were good but this isn’t good” she finalized, pointing at Eulogy’s already rotting corpse with her flashlight. It beamed again.
“Sometimes in a jungle, jungle justice is necessary. Like they say, Lagos is a jungle. If you can’t stand the jungle, leave” he looked at the bodies with a careless glare then turned back on them and at Agnes. He was already making his leave.
“Whether you know it or not lives have been lost in your name. Properties, people have been crippled. If I were you, it will give me sleepless nights. If I was human” Agnes called at his back; shouting if it’ll help ring the bell.

No matter what, Agnes knew right from wrong and hated when people tried to cloak it. Maybe she was wrong, she thought. “Call 9’ eleven next time” Chappi responded without turning back.
As dark as the night was, it was clear he didn’t care for anything Agnes had said. He only replied while walking because he felt the urge to stress the fact.
Few paces from Agnes who found herself rather overwhelmed, he ran atop a fence in front of him. He stood for seconds before running atop the hurdled roofs that lay hinged and devoid of people inside. Agnes’ phone flashed at him from behind its screen.
While holding her belly and hunching, Agnes stared at her phone’s screen. The picture of the guy stood bolded on it; revealing in every way. “Ah…” she sighed slumping to the ground. Checking her heart rate, Agnes found her heart was kicking with few pumps; pumps that were about sending hiccups through her throat. She coughed out to halt it but then discovered something else holding her back. What? She tried again. Then again till it became the fourth time, still nothing happened. It was at the 5th time she had tried to cough out that she sensed a reaction. Something weird forced its way from her mouth making her yelp in reaction. She stared at it to know what it was only to see blood. The sight sent chills down her spine to her belly as she watched. Forcing herself up, she made the decision to leave that premises. It wasn’t as easy as it seemed though and when she finally did, she found herself at the gate post of a clinic. Trinity’s was the name and once she saw it, she fell to the floor. “Help!” she struggled to call out before blacking out. The only thing with her was her subconscious and in it, she heard the faint screeches of fantasy. She was sure it was death.

LIVE TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY
Agnes’ eyes stretched open to the sight of a wall clock staring at her and a table with a tray on it nearest to her leg. She stared at it for seconds till she noticed something strange with the atmosphere around her. The odor was bad and the colors were bleak. She turned her eyes around to be certain only for a sting on her belly to give things away. She looked up to see a woman in a white lab coat in front of her. The sting on her belly increased, spreading to her waist.
“Good morning” the woman greeted
“What time is it?” Agnes replied turning her eyes to the opposite direction to be sure she wasn’t in the afterlife. She saw a drip bag hovering above her and medical instruments spread over the room with a desk closest to her. Maybe she gave the wrong reply, she thought. “7:46” the doctor replied, “How are you feeling now? You almost lost a lot of blood last night” “Where am I?” Agnes struggled to get up but found herself restrained. She looked closely to find the drip stitched to her hand. She tried to mumble but the woman held on to her shoulder.
“You are in Trinity’s Clinic and Medical centre. You came last night” the woman said, smiling. Could it have gotten that bad; Agnes soliloquized as she stared at the woman.
“What am I doing here?” for a moment, Agnes felt she knew but then, relaxed when she discovered her mind was blank. Maybe it needed a warm up, she reasoned as she noticed bleak images flying right into her mind. They were meaningless yet felt so important. “You are here…” the doctor paused, allowing Agnes’ mind to settle before continuing, “You came here for treatment” she corrected. Agnes felt something didn’t add up or wasn’t adding up.
Then suddenly she realized what it was.
“…My phone” she forced herself up, “Where is my phone?”
“You shouldn’t get up. The injury on your side hasn’t healed” the doctor forced her back to the bed. There was one thing the woman didn’t quite get, Agnes thought as she struggled. She couldn’t afford losing the phone no matter what. “You don’t understand. I need that phone” she stressed, holding the doctor’s hands in firm grip. She stared at the woman with a massive surge of energy running through her eye balls. “My life depends on the phone” she said.

Sighing, the doctor stared at her for minutes, shook her head then stepped away from Agnes. Oh God, she reasoned. My phone is gone, the thought invaded her mind. What am I going to do? Where is it? Who would be in possession of it now? Did that guy find it? Oh he found it—the thoughts rushed as she stared at the woman. She started imagining all weeks, months of thorough research and planning being futile.
“We found this bag with you” the doctor cut in, pulling Agnes back to reality. She held a familiar bag in her hand giving Agnes some sort of relief. But where is the phone? “We also found you holding this in your hand while unconscious. The boys who brought you in guessed they may be yours” the woman held up a phone to Agnes which she had grabbed from the desk beside her. Agnes wasted no time in snatching it, first to see if it was her’s and secondly…she tapped the screen twice to see an image on it. She scrolled twice to see other images. She sighed. “Thank God”
“So what happened to you last night? Were you in a fight?” the doctor asked. Images flashed at Agnes again. “No…no” she adjusted herself on the bed. She was scared of the drip somehow forcing its way out of her. It wasn’t as if she was worried of the syringe though, but the Doctor injecting it to her skin again should it fall off. “I—I can’t remember” she mumbled through her nose. The doctor looked at her for minutes, knowing how awful the comment sounded yet hard to believe. Agnes sighed once more realizing the woman wouldn’t digest that. She glared around; she wanted to maintain that act no matter how bad she was in it. Who cared about an Oscar? “What happened?” she played dumb.
“We found you just outside the gate in your own pool of blood with injuries all over. At first we thought it was a hit and run but the stab wound on your stomach, your head wound proved otherwise” the doctor answered, playing coy, hoping Agnes one way or the other would come clean. Agnes touched the back of her head, “Your injuries itself proves this was more than a fight. Were you raped?” Agnes stared on, rubbed her breasts. She allowed minutes to pass without talking only listening to the beeping of her heart rate as they came from the monitor. She opened her mouth to talk but closed them. She did it again but found same thing still happened, she felt it best to close her mouth afterwards.
“I don’t know” she finally let out. That seemed to be the perfect answer. For if she had said ‘Yes’ it would’ve led to an interview session and if she had said ‘No’ it would’ve led to more questions and worse, the woman demanding what happened to her shirt and why it was like that. The shirt surprisingly was hanging behind her on another string with blood stains on it.

Agnes raised her head upwards to look at the shirt’s silhouette, sighed then closed her eyes. The doctor breathed in and out to mimic Agnes’ mood and to voice what actually she thought was going on in the young woman’s mind. “You shouldn’t be shy to talk about it” she said. Agnes said nothing. She stared on. Sighing, the doctor turned her eyes and backed away, “…so much violence has been laid against women that the justice system needs to be aware of” she said.
The doctor made it seem it wasn’t Agnes she was referring to but Agnes knew better.
“See, there was this patient who came to us back then. This woman was in an abusive relationship. Time and time again she would come with all manner of wounds, injuries and whenever we asked her, she said nothing. Continuously she kept coming, still in silence then soon she stopped. Months later we heard she died” the doctor turned to Agnes then started pouring syrup into a tea spoon, “If she had said something then, who knows, she may still be alive”
“Who said the justice system isn’t aware of what’s going on?” Agnes questioned, interrupting. Ironically she found herself becoming the interviewer. The doctor looked at Agnes and sighed. She wanted speaking but paused, “It’s because they don’t want to do anything” Agnes clarified showing sparks of fury. Surprisingly, she found herself sounding like Chappi. She toned down at the realization. She had almost started seeing things in a different light before shaking it off.

Still, that was unjust, she said to herself thinking about something else. She found herself caught in the middle of the concepts; Law and Justice. And she wondered in one way if the two were right or one more than the other. She found it perplexing realizing no matter how those two seemed to match, never really got together. They were 2 separate notions that conflicted.

“That’s because women hardly do anything to change that. Isn’t it surprising that no matter the era we live in, Nigeria is that part of the world where violence against women is seen as a normal thing and nothing is done about it? Sometimes we women are our own enemy” the doctor finally replied holding the tea spoon of syrup to Agnes mouth. Agnes stared for some minutes picturing what the woman had said. Maybe she was right. She opened her mouth to receive the syrup. “Whenever you feel free to talk about…”
That moment everything fell silent and mute to Agnes as her eyes immediately sailed into the blank. It listened to screeches that came from within her ears. She looked at the doctor to see her mime and mumble without any idea what she was saying. She closed her eyes again for the last time.

The lights came on immediately a loud tap hit the wall. Though it was dawn, it felt like the sun was setting and the night, taking over. Chappi walked into the room removing his hand gloves. He sighed with his mask on as he gazed at the mess that was the room.

His mind that moment went to the lady at the alley and what she had said to him. She had the guts to judge him, he hissed kicking straight the newspaper in front of him. It was in his way. How dare she? Twice now he had rescued her and all she could do was taunt him. He even killed so he could protect her and the streets from further bloodshed and all she could do, was judge him. Not even a thank you; not that he needed it anyway.
He looked at the papers again, having calmed. They were all over the room. Squatting, he started picking them one by one, looking at the pictures, the texts and the graphics. All had one story—bad things happening to good people and good things happening to bad people. So much for karma, he sighed.

One particular headline on the papers piqued his interest though. Even if it had a similar story with the others, this was to him different. Unlike the others which he skimmed through quite swiftly, this was quite different as he turned the pages carefully, saliently and very much planned. The image on one of the pages that piqued his interest bore a picture of a damaged car stuck in a valley.

Governor Bankole’s Secretary Dies in car crash’ was the headline in a banner. Beneath it was another headline after all the stories the first had.
Was Governor Bankole’s Secretary’s death staged? Driver’s whereabouts unaccounted for’ that one read. Staring deep into the contents of the headline, Chappi mumbled a line from it, “…the late secretary early this week claimed to have had incriminating evidences concerning the governor and his schemes…what a country?” he sighed, breathing heavily that it appeared he was panting.
Could it have been…? another headline read. Underneath it was a paraphrase of a statement, Bankole was a thug; he raped me and killed my Uncle— Doyin the sub headline went.
Breathing in loud, Chappi raised his shoulders to exhale only to behold a man standing in front of him. Out of nowhere he seemed to have appeared from but Chappi relaxed once he knew how he got in. Not again, he hit his head.
“I was there when he gave him the money to kill him. 50 thousand dollars he counted and asked him to kill your father” the man said; his face stern and wrinkled of being a snitch, “The accident was no mistake. He also ordered your mother’s death and staged like a robbery. The thug that led the mission now stands for local government chairman”
“Why are you telling me all these?” Chappi saw himself asking, but rather it be with his voice, he found it was another that had dropped the question. It was his younger self-standing in front of him without a mask but face blurred.
“…because I want you to be free from all these, so you know your enemies and you stay away from them. Don’t do anything rash so they don’t know there’s still a member of the family left. The order was kill everyone. They will kill you if they find out” the man replied to Chappi’s younger self, advising it along the way. He stretched his right hand towards his shoulder to comfort him. Somehow, Chappi felt the man was talking to him presently in a mask, “….without a moment’s warning” the man ended in a much lower tone. “So I should just let the man who murdered everyone in my family go free?” Chappi questioned but still, it wasn’t in his voice. “What do you want to do? You think they will jail him?” the man’s eyes shortly flashed at him, “I lost my job because of this. You don’t think I too am offended?”
“That’s how the world we live in works son” another voice came in; much deeper than the 1st man’s and much louder. Chappi turned to look at the owner to see a tall man, light skinned and in native attire, get up from a well-furnished 3 sitter chair. How he came in, when he came in was beyond Chappi, “Politicians are criminals and criminals rule the world,” the man said.

And with his voice, it was obvious he was a media personality who ran a media outlet and had schooled abroad. For him to have said that meant he somehow knew about politics or was somehow involved in it. A thief can only know a thief; commonsense would tell that. Chappi bowed his head then raised it to see no one in the room. A moment of silence engulfed the room. Neither the snitch nor the media man or the three-sitter chair was there. Then Chappi realized he had far too long been staring at the newspaper. The last headline he saw on it being; Late Secretary to Governor Bankole properties seized for alleged fraud—Governor claim properties are state owned assets Chappi looked at the date of the paper ‘July 4th 2005’, he sighed. He dropped the paper again then picked another—Bankole’s Secretary arrested for fraud’ the headline caught his eyes. As if doubting its authenticity, he turned over the pages only to be struck by another; ‘Wife of Bankole’s Secretary takes to court over husband’s fraud scandal’ the headline read with the sub headline revealing in context a statement by the subject; ‘My husband is not a thief. He is a God-fearing man. Bankole is the thief. All will be revealed—Mrs. Oshiomagie’ Dropping the paper on top the previous one without reading, Chappi picked another. This time, he looked at the date before reading any headline. He was avoiding been imploded by the bombshell first, so he sought to take the bullet.

He took the bullet then went on for the bomb;
‘Armed robbers raid home of Governor’s ex Secretary accused of fraud; kill wife and entire family’ Mrs. Oshiomagie robbed and murdered in Abuja home by Armed robbers’
Death at a funeral; a sad end to the Oshiomagie’s’
Chappi read in sporadic order. He panted before turning the pages over once more;
‘Lawyer drops lawsuit as Appeal court closes case of the Oshiomagie’s’ he looked at the last headline then closed the paper. He flung it away immediately before rubbing his hands over his head. Looking at the window, he took a few steps towards it, folds his hand into a fist then holds it straight at the window. He paused when he realized there was no need for the act. He looked at his fist before dropping it.

Falling to the ground rather timidly, Chappi hoped for it to swallow him. But instead, the floor stood still staring at him. Vexed, he pulled the rug to himself forcing it to swallow him. Still it refused. It was as if the floor held its own grudge against him.
Resolving to leave the floor alone, Chappi stretched his right hand over his head aiming to pull of the mask. But before he could do it, something asked him to look opposite where he sat. There was a body lying upon the floor barring how cold it was. Maybe the person itself was cold.
Without a moment’s warning, Chappi pulls himself up once again walking towards the body. It was Funke’s but was it still Funke’s? Struggling to figure out the puzzle, he knelt in front of it before rubbing his hand against the body’s neck; hoping to feel its temperature. Sighing, he pulled the body back to the bed before running to the wardrobe. He brought out some first aid kits and other medical equipments before dropping them in front of the bed to administer the girl. He touched her skin again. This one was his fault, he admitted.

Mr. Patrick rolled his chair backwards as he dropped the book he had been reading, halfway on the desk. Biafra Testament by Kalu Okpi was the book’s title, and as he sighed to the ceiling, he reflected on a quote from the novel.
‘I have a good idea as to how their recce patrols operate and I am pretty certain they will give up the search for after six or seven…’ the quote ran down his mind.
Stretching his back against the wheel chair, Mr. Patrick relaxed his nerves before picking up the remote control on his desk. He looked at it briefly before pressing the + button, increasing the volume of the French opera that had been playing on his home theatre. He raised his eyes to look at the plasma screen against the wall facing him. It annoyed him. Even as it stood hinged in the midst of the four cornered shelves of books, Mr. Patrick felt like pulling it down. Not the television itself, but the motion picture on it; it irritated him. As harmless as the picture seemed, Patrick felt mocked by it. It was a picture of a white man, blonde hair standing to a door of a mansion in a garden.

Did he actually have an idea of how they operated? He asked himself in reference to the novel’s quote. He looked at the screen again. The white man pressed his thumb against the doorbell once more but this time picking a quarrel with it. It was an interesting shot, Mr. Patrick mused.
Would they give up the search for him after…? Mr. Patrick adjusted himself on his seat, “Open the door for him” he said softly to a landline telephone next to the books on his desk, “…get ready to bring out the double” he added before resting his back once more.

Looking at his drawer desk, he dragged out the first edge, gazed at it then stretched his hand inside. It struck up an object and with relief, he sighed. Good, he said to himself.
What if this didn’t go as planned? He settled to ask himself weighing on the outcome. His eyes went through the novel and the object in the drawer to scale. It was a tough call, he concluded but it needed to be done; he decided and with that decision, resolved to pick up the object from the drawer. It was a .44 magnum semi-automatic 1969 pistol. He stared at it for minutes like his life depended on it then corked it before placing it on the underside of his wheelchair. The underside was another drawer itself. The door immediately kicked open before he could properly hide it.
“Sir, the man is inside…” the intruder said.
Instead of getting angry or upset and toning his voice up, the man remained calm bearing a soft voice, “Good. Let him wait there” he replied. Turning around, he held his arm up signaling the intruder to halt. He stared at the air for a wild moment before returning to the intruder, “…take him to the glass chamber and let him wait there” he suggested after having a thought spring into him.

Fixing the position of the pistol discreetly while the intruder’s eyes were away, Mr. Patrick adjusted himself. He let him go before sighing in relief or trepidation; that was left obvious to him.
Waiting for the door to close behind the intruder before wheeling off, Mr. Patrick took some time to look at his Study. He was about going to his glass chamber.
The glass chamber unlike Hitler’s was a wide room saliently made of glass in a Shakespearean way reminiscent of the Louvre of Paris. Although it did have some few types of furniture such as chairs, desks and computers made of wood and metal, its entire design was a translucent glass so clean that a tip toe would echo and leave the image of a would-be intruder sketched on its patches. The glasses were louvered in the form of library shelves and like a library shelf, had books stored in them. “Mr. Patrick!” a noise echoed from within almost as soon as Mr. Patrick made his entrance and his wheelchair came in sight. “You are a hard man to reach” the owner of the voice stepped out from behind the louvered shelves revealing a man in dark blue suit, blue eyes and golden hair. His skin was white that it was obvious he had gotten cancer from the louvers, and his accent, like one who had hot hair thrown into his throat and forced to confess a sin he didn’t commit.
“Agent Trump” Mr. Patrick called, faking a smile “…you finally trumped your mission” he added, wheeling closer to the blue suited man. “The file wasn’t there” the man proclaimed with his eyes flashing red as he got closer to Mr. Patrick; closing the gap that was once between them. Patrick wondered what he was going to, “…the C. I. A. files that were hacked weren’t in the galleria like you said. It was something else” the man glared around before finishing.
“Really…?”
“They tricked us” he finalized; with his British accent becoming thick. Thicker than pap and coming off strong, “We broke into the building all for nothing. Just some piece of shit containing facts on corrupt politicians and what not…” he struck a glass shelf closer to him hard and loud, forcing the glassed floor to shimmer. Mr. Patrick looked at it agape before forcing a smirk on his face. An expressionless face followed. The British man saw it and backed away, “Shit, they knew we were coming” he hit the ground softening his voice. He dropped a flash drive in the process. Mr. Patrick stared at him for seconds allowing the man act however he liked while thoughts raced his mind; “Look you’ve got to track the file back to where it could have been. Any potential buyer, seller…this is your country, man. You got to know how things work…” “Relax. The operation went as planned” Mr. Patrick finally spoke; looking at the British man in the eye. Intimidated, the man stepped back before returning to his previous position, “What?” he questioned, “How many of what I said did you not hear?”
“You stole the wrong file. Yes but that was the mission. That was the plan. What I didn’t tell you was a part of the plan was that, I had the file stolen…the day you landed in Nigeria” Mr. Patrick explained, tacitly counting his words while the Brit watched wondering when he would finish. Mr. Patrick adjusted himself on the wheelchair to let him know he already had.
“What? By the teleporter…?” agent Trump blinked after discovering a pepper had flown into his eyes. “No” Mr. Patrick rolled his wheels backwards, “Not only the C. I. A knows how to scheme…” he theorized. Surprised and somewhat confused, the Brit glared at the entire room again. A glass library? He exclaimed within his thoughts. The last place you’d think they’d have one, “Certainly not only the C. I. A know how to craft a glass library,” he said aloud.
“I knew you were being followed. I only needed to be sure” Mr. Patrick revealed, rolling to a computer screen much to the chagrin of the Brit. He pulled out images on the screen, revealing tough Caucasian men with brutish faces like men starved during the final world war; World war 10. “You’re C. I. A remember? You make enemies everywhere and have enemies everywhere. I couldn’t take the risk” Mr. Patrick reminded. The background on the image was that of an airport lounge filled with white people that became more of an interest for the Brit who stared on.
“You have the files then?” he turned, hoping.
“Yes indeed” Mr. Patrick said. He stared at the Brit then pulled his hand to the underside of his wheel chair. He touched the gun, stared back at the Brit then skipped it. He pulled out a flash drive that was next to it then handed it to the Agent.
Surprised, the British agent stared at the flash then at the man before receiving it. He turned to the computer screen then connected the flash to it.

Some encoded background encryptions dropped before him followed by some folders, which the Brit skimmed through before clicking on one that, read ‘Homo Veniens’.
The folder contained varieties of videos, which out of them, he played one. It revealed a woman getting captured by men dressed as extremists; hundreds of them then fire engulfing everywhere right down to the camera that had been recording the ordeal. It was authentic, the Brit said to himself.
“Then why have us stage the robbery and let dozens of your men die?” he asked in subtle skepticism. “Like I said; my plan” Mr. Patrick picked up the flash drive the Brit had earlier dropped to the floor in fury. “I needed to let you see things for yourself” he said.
He moved to the computer screen then inserted the flash drive to it.
“What?”
“The meta-man…I take it you saw him?” he asked
“And woman” the Brit corrected, “…meta-woman. Jesus, these freaks are everywhere. First it was knowledge then science, now…this needs to be contained. Remain secret, your government shouldn’t find out about them. And this hacker, you know him…they?” he continued, theorizing but not before dropping a question. By then Mr. Patrick was prepared; for everything and anything.
“He’s not a threat” he answered
“What do you mean he’s not a threat? However our files are secured from him or his organization, they still have knowledge on the classified data if not a copy. And as long as they do, my agency isn’t safe” the Brit clarified, “The world isn’t safe”
“The hacker isn’t your problem. The organization that made him do it is. Am sure he doesn’t even know what he hacked” the wheel chair man stressed.
“What organization is that?”

A deafening silence fell down as both men stared at each other; Mr. Patrick’s was much deeper, “One worse than ISIS, al-Qaeda combined that will make them look like a bunch of kids shitting in their pants. They rule the world, America, the oval office even without it knowing” Mr. Patrick explained, “Even the C. I. A itself” he adjusted himself to his chair.
Scoffing, the Brit turned to look at Patrick, “What do you mean?”
“Why so much interest in saving the world Mr. Trump? You’ve killed enough to earn a lunch invite from the devil while still alive. You don’t even see the value of life itself” Mr. Patrick mocked.
“…because I have a 2 room apartment in it. And even if I hate my land lord, I wouldn’t give anything for my 3D television and weekly CW shows” the Brit said with a straight face. He didn’t take the joke lightly.
“As much as I would love this organization destroyed and would want to be of help. I must admit, I know nothing about them” Mr. Patrick reverted to his sober mode, “Except…trust no one”
“And what about the other thing? The blood?” the Brit agent switched the subject, “Had every chance to take it at the scene. Shot the girl but the meta showed up”
“Your mission went awful. Against the rule” Patrick finalized.
“No witnesses remember?” the agent reminded
“The bystanders? The employees…? That was a total waste of body bags and land. There’ve been too many deaths and we don’t need too much corpses growing to claim land and space with the living. That would be bad. Fighting ourselves in wars then the dead? That would be World War Z”
“That was your men. They’re Africans. They think with their muscles move with their mouth” the Brit replied. Mr. Patrick swallowed his anger for his pride’s sake, “And you were the supposed leader of the mission. What does that make of you?” “A hunter trying to deal with wild dogs” the agent replied, “So, let’s cut the chit chat. Where’s the blood?” he went back to his statement. Calming, Mr. Patrick rested his back to his chair, rubbed his hand on the chair’s underside. “Like I said, I did promise you your files” he began; opening the underside carefully, slowly, quietly and unnoticeably, “…to an extent, the blood” he paused pulling out the gun, “What I didn’t say, was you leaving here with them” he finalized to the confused agent who rather stood waiting in expectation. Mr. Patrick readjusting himself, pulled out the pistol then fired three shots blindly.

The Brit holding his tummy, felt life run out of him in the form of blood. He fell to the floor immediately. Fear struck silence into remaining quiet once the Brit man’s blood stained the glass floor. The intruder came in immediately, “Chief” he said. “Replace his body with the decoy” Mr. Patrick commanded.
The man turned to his computer screen once the intruder was gone then inserted the CIA flash drive to the USB port. He tapped on some keyboard keys before settling to relax as he saw the URL load on his browser. Once it was finished, he opened a mailbox titled ‘alexnickel@gmail.com’. He sighed before transferring the files from the drive to the email. The only thing he had to do was watch it send.

“Something’s wrong…” the technician turned his head away from the computer screen to a large crowd of meekly seated men in front of computer screens. He looked at them to see their hands visibly shaking on keyboard keys that he wondered what it was they were frightened of. They should be less frightened and more concerned—he thought.

A thin man with obviously wrinkled face and grey hair stepped forward to confront him and tell him the reason for their fear, “What went wrong?” he rather muffled squeezing the muscles on his face as his chest stood out with authority passing through his breath. The technician wondered if that was the reason.
“Trump’s coms are down sir…” the technician began,
“What?” the man went all out before the technician could continue.
“The tracker, coms everything…down” the technician finally had his moment but before he could relax in his speech, the wrinkled man walked closer to him and pulled him out of his chair.
“What do you mean down?” the wrinkled man asked staring at the technician’s computer screen. He drew his lips to a mouthpiece while looking at the technician. The room went silent listening to and waiting for the moment, “Agent Trump, come in. Are you still in position? Agent Trump, come in. Agent Trum—I repeat are you in position?” the man’s voice then took the form of an echo, making it seem like he had just shouted into a microphone.

The other technicians had to cover their ears to block the screeching sound that came afterwards. “What happened?” the wrinkled man turned to the technician; his eyes flaring while the technician looked at them knowing its colors were being directed at him.
“His coms went off as soon as he stepped into a section of the mansion” he replied pointing at the wide computer screen. The wrinkled man looked at it to see a red tag blinking consistently at a cross section that appeared to be a map. “Must be a glitch” the man theorized after looking at the monitor.
“I don’t think so sir. I think Trump’s down or gone rogue” optimism wasn’t in the technician’s play book and as he stood looking at the man, he maintained his sense of pessimism.
The wrinkled man looked at him, annoyed and irritated that age seemingly restricted him from acting. He rubbed his head to see if his hair was still in the usual spot then turned to the rest of the crowd.
Beneath him if not seen before was a bold insignia drawn to the floor, ‘C. I. A—Central Intelligence Agency’ it read with an eagle inscribed upon.

“Zoom in on the satellite. Surround the entire mansion. This mission is of top priority” the man commanded. He moved from his position towards the others talking as he walked, “Scan on any suspicious movement, images, video anything” he paused. He turned to his left axis to where a blonde lady was seated, “Set up a phone call with Patrick Zamani” he stressed.
Responding to command with no questions, the lady picked a land line telephone, clicked some buttons before turning over to her computer screen; “Alright sir” she said before the call started ringing.
“Sir…” another technician called to his notice. He was different from the previous technician. This one had a suit on and seemed to take his job seriously; the wrinkled man hence took him serious. “There’s something…” he said raising the man’s aged hope high. “Satellites can’t get full coverage of the mansion”

The wrinkled man froze for seconds within his mind as he looked at the technician wondering what to make of his comment or more importantly, what to do to him. He reached for his gun but decided against it, “Are you shitting me?” he spat out, hands reclined, “…that’s a 12 million dollar piece of hardware and you can’t tell me the price is well higher over its quality. Now zoom again” “Got a movement sir” the wrinkled man was about turning to the call-girl lady before another man called on his attention. It was a geek, seated with eye glasses over his eyes and hair scattered in a wavy form. “It’s Trump” he summarized, “…coming out of the mansion” he turned his eyes over to the wrinkled man as if looking for some kind of praise or acknowledgement.
“Keep the cameras on him” the wrinkled man rather said, reigning on the geek’s parade. “Trump, come in…Agent Trump?” he then moved to the speaker in front of the geek, pushing him out of his way as he settled his attention on the video image on the monitor screen. The entire room grew quiet once more as all attention transferred to the wrinkled man. The geek looked down, disappointed. “He’s not answering” he muffled out.
“Something’s wrong” the man raised his head to look at the geek; finally acknowledging him. But before the geek could fully shine in his moment, the wrinkled man turned his gaze off him, “Do we have a team stationed nearby?” he asked the entire room to which only one person replied.
“Negative” he said, making it seem like a rhetorical question to the wrinkled man.
“Jeez…” the wrinkled man admitted the shame.
“Mr. Patrick on the line sir” the call-girl woman called the wrinkled man off his moment of regret. Her eyes darted at him as she watched him bow his head and raise it slowly.
“Keep eyes on Trump’s movement” the man turned to the geek before walking away from him to the lady. The geek held a short grudge with the woman who was rather much concerned with the situation on ground. She had no time for glory instead she felt glory should prove itself worth her time. “…this is Brad Palmer, Director of the C. I. A. calling from Langley. Am I speaking with Patrick Zamani?” the wrinkled man went straight to the point.

There was no time and neither was there a reason to waste one. The receiver on the other end of the line knew this and as he picked the call, his voice went to the point, “Your agent just left my building with the package. Good doing business with you…” it said in Mr. Patrick’s voice with the line going dead.
The C. I. A. director sighed, more like a pant before looking at the technicians and analysts seated. “Trump’s headed to the streets” the geek came in to relieve the moment. The director turned to look at him as his heart flared. He was indeed a life saver, the director acknowledged. The man moved from his current position to his former position which was where the geek was. “Hold on there’s a movement behind him” the call lady chirped in immediately; a killjoy, the geek noted. “Someone’s following him” she said pointing at the screen catching on everyone’s attention. The geek was jealous but had to look.
“Zoom in on the assailant” the director ordered walking closer to the screen.

Gradually, the image on the screen became the high definition of suspense as none was willing to take their eyes off it. Following the director’s eyes, the image on the screen was that of a black man, bearded and dressed in baggie jeans with a navy blue top. His face was covered with a face cap leaving the lower part of his face to be seen accounting for his race and his bearded status. “Yes…yes. Yes. Hold it. Hold it” the director controlled the direction the analyst zoomed the video on. “Who is that? Run a facial recognition” the man asked before instructing, once the analyst had settled on the facial fixtures of the still blurry video.

For a time like this, this was the best they could get? The man reasoned, sensing there was something wrong or that wasn’t adding up. He stared at the image of the white man; the one he had identified as Trump and the black man that was few paces behind him. Trump was smarter than this and this doesn’t feel like Trump.
“We got nothing on the facial recognition sir…” one of the C.I.A analysts called out.
The entire atmosphere in the hall was now somber and based on the dark colors surrounding the room, things were getting tenser. “…there is a man in a vehicle straight at Trump” the call lady noticed once more, “And another van with a man in it on Trump’s 8’O clock” “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why isn’t Trump doing anything? Why hasn’t he taken them out?” the director questioned turning to the call lady for an answer. She shrugged literally telling him he was asking rhetorical questions.
“This is Trump sir” the geek came forward reminding, “He can handle it”

The room paused once more in silence for the director to look at the geek one more time. That wasn’t an assurance, the man concluded turning his eyes away then at the screen.
“Trump, come in. You’re being followed. I repeat you’re being followed. Halt…there is a man in front of you…in a van. I repeat…there is…” the director started off on the microphone only to be cut off by an intrusion.

The man slowly but gently rose his head up to be sure what the intrusion was or if he actually saw what happened. He saw it; the computer screen, but did he really see what happened before the intrusion? The scrambled video on all the screens in the room left that question unanswered; if not rhetorical.
“What the hell?” the geek muttered turning to steal a glance at the director to gauge his expression. The man stood still for seconds allowing the images recap through his memory. Yes, Trump got closer to the van. The man in the van twitched, the van lifted itself off the ground then—blast; fire everywhere. Another van drove by disrupting the signals. The scrambled video on became the resultant effect. What? How? What?
“Shit!” the wrinkled man yelled out pushing the computer off his sight in a reflexive surge, “Damn it” he struck the empty desk. The room went silent for minutes not because it wanted to but because Silence deserved respect. So they paid him their last respects.

Love what you're doing bro. Keep It Up

#Xavier

WHAT’S REAL AND WHAT ISN’T…?

19 February 2015, Agnes scrolled her phone to see the date. It’s been 3 days since she left the medical centre following the attack by Eulogy and his friends yet the pain was still there, she reminisced focusing her eyes on her phone’s screen. She touched her tummy and rubbed the back of her head to be sure it wasn’t part of the hallucinations only to be met by 2 gory images staring at her on her email box; sent by Nickel. Calming her head to make sense of the whole thing, Agnes glared to find her medications staring at her. “You should report to the police” the words came to her in her mind’s ears as she blinked her eyes. It was the woman, the doctor woman, Agnes realized.

Vexed, she struck her hand against the medicine lying saliently on her bedpost kicking it out of her sight. Enough for the day, she thought returning to the 2 images which were now 3.
The first featured a burning woman strapped to a table in what appears to be a military facility; the other image was a blonde woman whose skin appeared to be melting surrounded by soldiers looking pissed. The last image was a significant blur of a man or most specifically a figure on green in what appeared to be a whirlwind posing against an incoming hurricane. It was as if the figure was in a running stride. I don’t understand—Agnes struggled to type into her email message box. She relaxed hitting her head against the wall bellowing silently and feebly like she was preventing anyone from hearing.

‘Which part? The who or the what?’ the question stared back at Agnes as she looked on her screen to find a reply, ‘they are people with abilities; Extra ordinary abilities. The kind you termed ‘silly’ and the world could only see as fiction’ Nickel added in his own part of the conversation.

Agnes sighed. Nickel always had his ways with words but this time, Agnes couldn’t have being more interested. She even went through the trouble of sitting upright awaiting his next text. ‘The group you’ve spent some time on the web searching for and trying hard to debunk…Miss Agnes Amanfour’ the next text read the very moment Agnes didn’t think anything could get more interesting. This time, it only turned out to be cryptic.

‘How did you know that name’…am guessing that was what you were about typing?’Agnes thought she was the one that had started the first part of the text only to look twice on her phone screen to see Nickel had already typed and sent what she had in mind; with a jibe. Confused and having perspiration run through her lungs and veins rather than the outer layers of her skin, Agnes found speed in her fingers to type, ‘Who are you?’ before Nickel could. She stuttered, breathing hard.

‘Relax. Just a fan of hystericaltrends.com’ Nickel replied, knowing that moment the mood his email friend would be in, ‘you thought I wouldn’t go through a background check after you hacked my email? Am impressed by your resume….Don’t panic’ he added, placing Agnes back in her panic mode.
If he had succeeded in calming her the first time, this time he only sent her through history as Agnes rolled her eyes around. How did he know her site? More specifically, how did he find out her name? She hadn’t used her real email to start the conversation and neither did she have any previous conversation with anyone using that email address. And most importantly, the email didn’t link her to anyone or even her blog for that matter.
Or was it Chuks? Did they finally catch Chuks? How? Agnes sighed. She wanted to get out of the bed but relaxed. Then again how could he have known she had been going through the internet for the possibility of super humans? Not even Chuks knew of it. ‘Look am sorry’ she typed, ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I only needed your help’ she added.

‘The 1st image I sent is Gemma Cassillas; Mexican. Has the ability to set herself on fire. Burn things… They say she has a heated temperature that could send things ablaze and result to flames if not calmed…captured by a secret ‘division’ of the U.S army which ironically the army isn’t aware of. Now serves as a secret weapon’ Nickel sent switching the subject as he gave a brief profile of the lady on fire in the first image he had sent.
Agnes went back scrolling to see the photo before returning to the current chat. A call came on the screen of her phone that moment with the caller being ‘Lillian’. Agnes hissed dropping the phone to ring on the bed. It did for long much to her annoyance before stopping. Returning to the chat, she found a video waiting for her. She played it with affixed eyes as the play card was titled ‘Top Secret: Subject 256’. Although the video was mute, the picture had a clear recording in line with its year of record ‘2005’ that was stamped on bottom of the playlist.
In the recording, it featured a Hispanic lady being dragged by ruffians in army regalia and turbans round their head and neck. From their lips, Agnes sensed they were speaking Arabic. She needed no one to tell her they were terrorists as their eyes were demonically sharp and their hidden beards cementing the fact.

The Hispanic lady appeared tortured as she was dragged and bruised all over. The lady turned around to see it wasn’t the 5 that had dragged her to the desert plane that were the only ones dressed that way. They were many, they had guns and worse, armored tanks, cannons and not only that; there were others in mini vans situated around.
And as they saw her, they jumped and hopped from where ever they were to come see the lady. The 5 that had brought her said something then laughed, one grabbed at her hair and was somewhat reasoning sex.
A large man amongst the others in one of the vans came up to the girl, grabbed at her jaw then yelled snorting his nose like he was asking a question. The lady didn’t respond. Vexed, he pulled a pistol on her skull. He yelled again snorting his nose like he was giving her an option. But before the lady couldn’t think of what the option was or the man could pull the trigger, a distraction caught up with him. Or he caught up with the distraction. In a mild moment a massive shockwave of fire flew out of the lady taking on the entire radius including the large man whom was first. The vans, the tanks, the men went off in what the recording couldn’t produce; boom!