₦airaland Forum

drewbar:
All I can is that you are truly blessed. You have a wat with words that keep the leader engrossed. Its like I don't want the story to stop.

You can leave here ooh, ride on bro. We are rooting for you.

It almost feels like I am watching a movie.

Thanks 🙏 boss. I appreciate the words

Continuation of episode 10.



Later that night, I dialed Tiffany’s number. She picked on the second ring.

“Hey stranger,” I said smoothly.

She chuckled. “So you finally remembered me.”

“Remembered?” I teased. “Tiffany, since yesterday, your smile has been running adverts in my head. And unlike DSTV, I can’t even change the channel.”

She laughed softly over the phone. “Hmm. This your mouth sha. You rehearse these things?”

“Nope. They just show up anytime you cross my mind. Which, unfortunately, is almost every five minutes.”

“Ah. So I’m disturbing your peace now?” she asked, playful.

“Disturbing? No. You’re the kind of disturbance that makes a man cancel his alarm. Who needs sleep when Tiffany’s voice is alive in the mind?”

She was quiet for a moment, then chuckled. “You’re unbelievable. So what's up, Mr. Smooth Talker?”

"Nothing too heavy,” I told her. “Just your company this weekend. There’s a party. The host invited me personally. It’s happening right here in Lagos. Champagne, lights, the whole ‘forget Nigeria has problems’ vibe. Clear your schedule cos I want you there with me.”

She paused. “Hmm… sounds tempting. But I don’t do parties alone.”

“That’s easy,” I shot back. “Bring a friend. Two queens. I’ll handle the rest.”

She laughed, soft and warm. “Darous, you’re trouble.”

“Correction,” I said with a grin. “I’m your trouble. And this Saturday, I’ll be the kind of trouble you’ll actually thank me for.”

Her giggle over the phone sealed it. “Alright. We’ll be there.” We talked on for a while before bidding eachother good night.


---

The rest of the week drifted by without a single call from the Circle. It was total silence and in that silence, I almost forgot they existed.

Then Saturday came.

The white G-Wagon I had rented for—almost half a million naira—was spotless, gleaming like new money. Papers ready, money paid with agreement that I return it the following Monday. I pulled up at home to meet the boys, and what I saw nearly made me laugh out loud.

For the first time ever, Baba T and Kenny looked like men who had sense. Sharp suits, clean cuts… Baba T even passed for a gentleman. Jude, of course, didn’t disappoint; he was always the smooth dresser of the squad, and his fitted black tux was proof.

I slipped into my own black suit to match the squad’s look, and half an hour later, we were ready. Four sharp men, one destination.

Sliding behind the wheel, I cranked up DJ Twise’s mixtape, and the car came alive. As we rolled out, my guys couldn’t stop grinning—touching the leather seats, nodding to the bass, enjoying the feel of luxury.

That ride wasn’t just transportation. It was a statement.


Some minutes later, our rented G-Wagon glided into the driveway like it belonged there. The valet bowed slightly, reaching for the keys, and for a brief second, I thought to myself: this is the life.

“Guy!” Baba T whispered loudly as he jumped down, “see as people dey look us. I swear, if dem ask me now, I go just lie say na my motor.”

“Shut up joor,” Jude hissed. “Even the steering go reject you with that your pot belly.”

We all laughed, straightening our blazers, brushing invisible dust from our shoes. We stepped out like four kings who had finally arrived in their kingdom.


The valet hadn’t even closed our doors before another ride slid up behind us — that sleek black GLE Benz. The headlights alone demanded attention, and when the engine cut off, it was like the whole compound leaned forward, waiting.

Then the doors opened.

Out stepped Tiffany, and beside her, her friend in blazing red.

For a full five seconds, the world froze. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the security guards at the gate stood taller, as if they too had suddenly remembered they were men. Tiffany adjusted her emerald gown slightly, the slit catching just enough light to blind common sense. Her friend’s red dress shimmered like she was born from fire.


Beside me, Kenny let out an actual gasp. “Jesus wept. Mo gbe...Angels don land Lagos.”

Baba T slapped his chest dramatically. “Omo! I fit sell my papa’s land for this kind girl!”

Even Jude, who was always calm, whispered, “ Na wah o. These ones fit make man forget his surname o.”

I chuckled inside, keeping my cool, though my own chest was hammering small. What they didn’t know — what nobody knew — was that these very same angels were here for me.

Then it happened.

With all eyes still following their every step, Tiffany locked her eyes on me. A smile spread across her lips, warm and sure, and she started walking. Her friend followed, heads high, gowns flowing, like two queens coming to claim their throne.

And then… she wrapped me in a tight hug. Right there, in front of everybody.

My friends? Their jaws hit the floor.

Baba T’s mouth opened so wide I thought a mosquito might fly in. Kenny blinked twice, muttering, “This life no balance. How? How, Lord?” Jude just folded his arms, staring at me like he’d been betrayed.

Tiffany’s friend leaned in too, giving me a light, casual hug, as if to seal the deal: like subtly telling them: "yes, we came for him."

I cleared my throat dramatically, fighting a grin. “Ehen, guys. Make I officially introduce you.”

I gestured with both hands like an MC. “This is Tiffany—”

“—Angel Gabriel’s sister,” Baba T cut in, with a serious tone.

“And this,” I continued, ignoring him, “is her lovely friend…”

Kenny staggered forward like he wanted to shake hands but forgot how fingers worked. “Please, what’s her name? Even if it's a long one like Oluwaseunmibankemikemiprecious, I go memorize am!”

The girls laughed, their glow doubling. Tiffany rolled her eyes, still smiling. “Your friends are… interesting.”

“Interesting is polite,” Jude muttered under his breath.

I shrugged. “Well, what can I say? Some people pull weight, some pull beauty… and me? I pull both.”

They groaned in unison.

Tiffany gave me another side hug, her perfume wrapping around me. My friends? They were still staring, torn between admiration and sheer disbelief. The crowd around us had already moved on, but my boys… they’d never recover from this one.


“Darous,” Kenny whispered from behind, elbowing me in the process, “if na me, I no go even enter party again. Na to just follow her dey waka upandan for compound.”

“Keep quiet before I rent you out as security guard,” I fired back, but I couldn’t stop grinning.

We linked up right there by the entrance. Tiffany leaned in slightly. “So… G-Wagon, huh? I’m impressed.”

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at her GLE. “And you? Pulling up in Benz of your own? You wan oppress me?”

Her laughter was soft, musical. “No, we just like to keep up.”

Her friend winked at my guys, and instantly Baba T almost fainted again. “Darous, abeg swap me in na. One minute only!”

I ignored him before he completely with focus now shifted towards the event happening inside.


The moment we stepped inside the house, I froze for a second. My chest tightened—not out of fear, but from sheer disbelief. This doesn't look like the same place I had worked on a few days ago. No, this was something else entirely.

The polished marble floors gleamed so brightly they almost mirrored the chandeliers that now hung above. The walls I had renovated stood taller, grander, like they had been reborn under the glow of gold-tinted lights. Every corner smelled of wealth—fresh roses, fine wine, polished wood. Expensive art pieces I’d never seen before lined the hallways, each one probably worth more than the money I had been paid for the job.

The DJ stood behind a sleek black console, her headphones hanging loosely around her neck as her fingers worked the turntables like magic. The speakers throbbed with a perfect blend of Afrobeats and soft house rhythms, the kind of music that made people’s heads nod even if they weren’t on the dance floor. Smooth transitions, heavy bass, and just enough percussion to keep the atmosphere alive—it was clear this was no roadside DJ. This was someone who knew how to make wealth sound like music.


For a moment, it felt like Mrs. Adeoye had bought another house overnight. Everything screamed affluence, power, and untouchable class. And as I stood there in that brief seconds, taking it all in, one thought kept repeating in my head:

“This woman isn’t just rich. She’s something else entirely.”

The place smelt of wealth, I mean of people who didn’t check price tags before buying anything.

We moved through the crowd, but I kept looking around, scanning. I wanted to find her.

“Who you dey find like say dem thief your ATM card?” Jude asked, sipping from his glass of champagne.

“Mrs. Adeoye,” I muttered. “She invited me. I need to greet her before anything.”

We circled for a while, catching glimpses of familiar faces from TV and Tiktok, until suddenly—she appeared.

Mrs. Adeoye, glowing in a shimmering gold lace gown, gele rising like a crown, her presence slicing through the crowd. She spotted me and broke into a smile.

“Darous!” she called, her voice warm, almost motherly, but commanding enough that people turned to look.

I moved quickly, Tiffany and my guys in tow. “Good evening, ma.”

She held my hands with surprising firmness. “So this is the young man who built my wall. I told you you'll fit in perfectly here, didn’t I?”

“Yes ma,” I said, bowing my head slightly. “Though I still think a bricklayer like me doesn’t really fit here—”

She cut me off with laughter. “Nonsense! Your humility is your beauty, Darous. You fit here more than most of these people, trust me.”

I smiled.

She turned to the group behind me, her sharp eyes scanning each face. “And these must be your friends?”

“Yes ma,” I said quickly. “Very responsible people.”

“Responsible?” she repeated, amused.

"I interviewed them myself and they passed" I chipped in quickly.

Jude almost choked on his drink. Baba T grinned like a schoolboy. Kenny looked at the floor while the ladies just stood there scanning the whole space.

Mrs. Adeoye chuckled and gestured toward the hall. “ Alright then, come with me.”

She led us through the crowd with the grace of a queen. People greeted her with respect, nodding, whispering. Then she stopped at a long table reserved near the far side of the hall—right under the spotlight, and directly across from the wall I had renovated.

“Sit here,” she said, smiling proudly. “I wanted you close to what you built.”

I swallowed, overwhelmed for a second. The boys were already sinking into their seats, wide-eyed like they had just entered heaven.

Tiffany leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “Looks like you’re more important than you let on.”

And for the first time that night, I truly started to believe it.


We had just settled at the table when Tiffany leaned in with a sly smile.
“Oh, by the way,” she said, motioning to her friend beside her, “meet Toyosi.”

Toyosi gave a little wave, soft-spoken. “Hi.”

Before I could even respond, Kenny leaned forward, eyes bright. “Ah! So you are Toyosi? Thank God o, that's my mother's name. No wonder your face looked like my state of origin.”

Everyone burst out laughing. Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Please, ignore him. He’s obviously the class clown.”

Baba T slapped the table. “Class clown? Abeg, leave matter. Toyosi, tell me you’re single so I can scatter ground for you right now.”

The table shook with laughter. Even Jude cracked a rare smile.

“See your head,” I said, shaking mine. “Toyosi, don’t mind them. These guys don’t have sense. You’ll get used to it.”

Tiffany leaned back, smirking. “Used to it? As if she plans to see you again?”

“Ehn-ehn!” Kenny pointed dramatically. “Darous, you don hear? This fine babe no send us o!”

I grinned, unbothered. “She’ll change her mind. No woman meets me once and forgets me. It’s scientifically impossible.”

Toyosi laughed, covering her mouth. “You’re not serious.”

“Serious enough,” I said smoothly. “And just for the record, Toyosi, any friend of Tiffany’s is… well, in a dangerous territory. Because Tiffany herself has been pretending she doesn’t like me since the day we met.”

Tiffany smacked my arm. “See lies!”

“Ah!” Baba T shouted, pretending to stand. “Darous, no oppress us na. Allow the rest of us to breathe!”

The whole table erupted again. The mood was easy, full of jokes, full of life. For a moment, it felt like nothing could go wrong.

But then it did.

It started small.

A glass tipping over somewhere behind us. We turned, chuckled, thought it was nothing. But my ears caught it—something sharper hidden beneath. A metallic scrape, followed by a faint, muffled pop.

I froze.

“What is it?” Jude asked under his breath, noticing me go still.

My eyes darted around. Everyone else was still talking, still laughing. But I noticed:
– A waiter stopped mid-step, tray trembling.
– A woman at the far corner clutching her husband’s arm, eyes wide.
– The chandelier above swaying ever so slightly.
– A faint burnt smell, hidden under the perfume.

Then came the scream.

It tore the music apart. High, sharp, and terrifying.

All at once, chairs screeched, glasses smashed, people scrambled backward. A man collapsed near the far wall—adjacent the wall I had renovated. Blood spreading quickly beneath him.

“Jesus Christ!” Toyosi yelled. “Someone is dead!”

The music stopped cold. Panic rolled across the hall like fire on dry grass. Tiffany’s nails dug into my arm, Toyosi’s face had gone pale, Baba T was muttering prayers under his breath.

But I wasn’t panicking. My mind was working. Fast. Patterns. Details. Recording everything.

Mrs. Adeoye’s voice sliced through the chaos, firm but trembling at the edges. “Stay calm! Stay together—don’t let go of each other.” She guided us toward the newly renovated wall, and for a fleeting moment her eyes locked with mine. Behind the mask of courage she wore, I caught the flicker of real fear in those eyes.


Then the sirens came.

The doors flew open. And he walked in.

Tall. Plain clothes. No flashing badges. But the weight he carried made the whole room shift. His eyes were sharp, cold, sweeping across the hall like floodlights. The kind of eyes that didn’t miss anything.

“Clear the area!” his voice thundered. “Nobody leaves this building. Nobody!”

Silence. Heavy. Everyone froze. The laughter from before was gone, replaced by fear thick enough to choke on.

He moved straight to the body, gestured sharply, and officers started locking down the hall.

Inspector Kalu. The kind of man people whispered about. The kind who had been chasing shadows for ten years. And now, fate had handed him a bloody mess.

They began taking witness accounts. One by one. Guests. Staff. No one was spared.

Me? I leaned toward my friends, speaking in low tone.

“You guys didn’t hear it? The sound before the scream? After the flicker, the exit door clicked shut. Whoever left… was limping. Left leg.”


Then I felt a tap on my shoulders.

I turned.

Inspector Kalu was standing right behind me, eyes drilling into mine.

“Say that again,” he said, calm but sharp as a blade.

The table went silent. My friends stared at me like I had just walked into my own grave.

And I realized too late… my mouth had betrayed me.


To be continued

Happy Sunday guys. This Episode 10 will determine if I continue posting here or not. Which is why I'm worked my a$$ off to make sure I drop this today so as to give you guys enough time to react to it.

If the reactions are still not encouraging, I'll move my story to my page on Facebook.

Read and Enjoy.






Episode 10 — The Party And The Prestige.

The next morning, I dropped a bomb in our WhatsApp group, “The Syndicate of Boys”—that’s Baba T, Kenny, Jude, and me.

“Listen carefully, gentlemen. 4 pm sharp. We’re meeting at our usual spot. Dress like you’re going for a visa interview.”

As expected, the group lit up with laughing emojis. To them, it was just another one of my random jokes. But this time, I wasn’t joking.

Mrs. Adeoye had invited me to her party and insisted I bring responsible friends. Before I even think of dragging these clowns along, I need to confirm if they can at least look like human beings for once.

By four we were at our usual spot. I said the treat was on me, so bottles of malt, Heineken, Trophy and a bowl of assorted ponmo sat on the table.

I folded my hands like I was about to run a serious meeting.

“Gentlemen,” I announced in my most presidential tone, “this weekend we have a party.”

“Which one? Your mama born another child?” Kenny shot back, half joking.

“Or SportyBet finally blessed you?” Baba T added, grinning.

“Shut up,” I said, acting annoyed so they’d stop. It worked for about three seconds. Then I leaned in. “Listen. This is not small. This one is crème de la crème — the kind of party they put on magazine covers. The host asked me to bring responsible friends. That means I must interview every one of you to make sure you can atleast behave like you have sense for the few hours we will be there. I know it's not going to be easy for you guys to behave like proper human beings so that's why I want to interview you now... okay?”

Baba T snorted his malt out his nose. “Interview? Are we collecting visas now?”

“Yes.” I kept my face straight. “This one pass embassy. If you disgrace me, I’ll deport you from my life. No appeal. So sit up and behave.”

They all froze — the laughing emojis in their heads paused. For once, they looked like they actually believed me.


They adjusted quickly when they saw my face wasn’t smiling. So when I called Jude forward for his interview, he didn’t argue. He marched forward immediately.

“Jude,” I said, putting on my most serious face. “At this party, an elderly man in agbada approaches you. How will you greet him?”

Jude cleared his throat, straightened his shirt, and bent so low I thought he wanted to sweep the floor with his forehead.
“Good evening sir, you’re looking so magnificent tonight. May I hold your cap for you?”

We all burst into laughter.

“Idiot!” I barked between tears. “You wan hold his cap? Do you know how much one fila costs? If breeze blow it away, na your life dem go sell to buy another one. Sit down before I slap sense into your black head, werey dudu!”

Next was Baba T. He rubbed his round belly proudly as if it was an achievement.

“Okay Baba T,” I folded my arms. “Picture this: a classy woman in lace, dripping in gold, smelling like mint fresh from CBN. She stops you and says, ‘Excuse me, young man, where’s the restroom?’ What will you say?”

Baba T grinned like JAMB student seeing expo.
“Aunty, abeg o. Your gele fine pass indomie super pack. You too set! If you like, no use restroom again, just smile for me and I’ll be okay.”

Kenny rolled on the bench, wheezing. I dragged my palm down my face.
“Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Baba T, if you open your mouth like that, security won’t only escort us out — they will use dog to chase us and send us to life imprisonment based on charges that we are not fit enough to live among humans....” I managed to maintain a straight face while saying that.

Finally, it was Kenny’s turn.

“Kenny,” I said. “They serve you champagne. How do you handle it?”

Kenny straightened his collar like James Bond. “First, I’ll swirl the glass gently… smell it… then I’ll nod and say, ‘Ah yes… vintage.’”

Silence. Then the whole joint exploded.

“Vintage?!” Jude screamed, choking. “You wey small stout na the most expensive thing wey you don take all your life! The last time you drank Baron, you dey ask if na Zobo mixed with sniper! See this mumu forming vintage!”

“Abeg shut up,” Kenny fired back. “Na you dey buy palm wine in pure water sachet!”

“See whyning!” Baba T jumped in, slapping the table like referee. In five seconds, it almost turned into a typical intense football argument among rival fans.

I raised my hand like Moses parting Red Sea. “Enough! Truth is, I don’t have a choice. The woman said ‘responsible friends,’ and unfortunately, you clowns are all I’ve got. So whether I like it or not, we’re all going.”

Baba T sat back and patted his belly. “Now you are talking.”

“But listen,” I said, leaning forward. “We can’t pull up looking like street rats. We must level up. We must look like Merry Men.”

Jude’s eyes sparkled. “Abi! So what’s the plan?”

I cleared my throat dramatically. “We… are renting a G-Wagon.”

“Whaaaaaat?!” they chorused so loud the other customers took turns looking at us.

“You heard me,” I said. “We can’t show up looking like loan defaulters. Like say we dey owe palmpay... No! We must look like we own the bank.”

Baba T’s belly nearly deflated. “Darous, do you know how much they are renting G-Wagon? Even the tyre fit pay rent for two years!”

“I heard it’s 400k per day,” Kenny added, eyes wide.

“That one na if you carry am since morning. If na afternoon pickup, e go come back to 300k,” Jude said like a car rental consultant.

I waved them off. “Even if it’s 400k, I’ll sort it.”

Kenny almost fainted. “FOUR WHAT?! Darous, you don lose your sense? Four hundred thousand for car wey no get wings? For that money, I fit buy okada, do Uber, buy land, send my mama go Mecca, still remain change to start small business for her when she comes back!”

I smirked, leaning back like movie villain. “Relax. When we step out of that G-Wagon, women go faint like candle light wey meet breeze. Trust me. Just make sure your suits are sharp. Because we are not — I repeat — we are NOT entering that event in danfo.”

SmartestPopQUEEN:
The man with the magic pen is back at it again. Sorry I've been away for a little while. Work, stress and family. But I gat you my dear. Continue soaring higher. You are loved. 😍

my own sweet madam. Thanks for dropping by. 🙏

dawno2008:
Though short,but always interesting to read,and don't you think Darous is letting out too much to Jude ,cos no one is clean yet,
As always thanks for the hot tips and sweet pick up lines, it's mature and savvy,just like same Darous I use to know
Thanks TBM,more blood to ya fingers



Baba TBM,you being dey sleep when man u,Chelsea, Liverpool and real Madrid collect wotoporously to day na bad day for many of us fans

Ah no kuku sleep oooo😂😂😂 I just say make I let sleeping dogs lie ni abi how dem dey talk am.

Anyways about Darous.. let's see if the werey don learn one or two from experience na.... 😂😂

Abdulreheem:
Welcome back darusmart son of god of songo
I can still remember how u kept me glued and refreshing literature section of nairaland everyday back then just to read ur interesting write up then
Welcome back once again .
Trust me ur last part “the dog attendant” was such a master piece but life happen .
With the beginning of this one im already hooked up
Am still ur loyal fans .


More ink to ur elbow .

I appreciate your comment my bro... Thanks for staying glued.

drewbar:
Pls stay here. We appreciate you

all depends on you oooo

Dedicated to my own blood sister. Eniola Idowu on the occasion of her birthday. Happy birthday love. Many happy returns of this day. Much love from big bro...

Episode 9 — Nights and new doors.


The next day, I was still on my bed, fingers glued to EA Sports on my phone when Chuka’s name flashed across the screen.

“Send me your crypto wallet address,” he barked. No “hello,” no “how far.” Just raw command, Abacha style. Before I could even respond, he ended the call line.

I shrugged, typed out my Ethereum address, hit the send icon and went back to my game. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with a Binance notification.

Ξ2.46 ETH.

Roughly two million naira.

I froze. My thumb hovered in the air like it wasn’t mine anymore. Then I burst out laughing, rolling on the bed.

“For just spying on a vault?” I muttered, shaking my head. “No wonder Bola dey wear gold chain anyhow.”

The Circle was beginning to make sense. Dangerous, yes. But maybe worth it.

Chuka followed up with a short text:
“Keep this up. You’ll be at the top before you know it.”

Later that evening, I called Jude — the only one among us who knew about the Circle.

“Guy, you won’t believe what just hit my account,” I said, grinning to myself like a fool.

“Talk joor... Ogbeni or gerraaah here,” Jude replied.

I told him everything — the mission, the fight, the vault, and now the money.

He whistled long and hard. “Darous… two million for that small stunt? That’s not a reward o, that’s plain blood money if you want to hear the truth. No one pays that much for doing that simple thing you said you did. You sef think am na...”

I laughed. “Blood money? Dey play ...Guy, you weren’t there. That mission almost killed me. One wrong move, and they’d be peeling my body off the floor.”

Jude went quiet for a bit, then I heard him drop a deep sigh over the phone. “Just be careful, my guy. I don’t like this thing. This life will eat you raw if you don’t shine your eyes wella.”

I leaned back on my pillow, smiling. “Relax. I’ve got a plan. Here's the plan. I’ll use the Circle... I swear, then stack my money, build myself a state of the art construction empire. And omo once I’m set, nobody , and I mean nobody — not even the Circle — can touch me. Na me talk am...”

“Hmm. Just remember what I said. Watch yourself,” he warned.

We ended the call, and later that day I took a Uber down to a resort center across town. Just to be able to watch the Athletico versus Real Madrid match in a very comfortable space. And that was when I saw her. Tiffany.... Ah, that girl eh... I will definitely give you a very nice gist about her later.. I promise... But not now. Maybe as the story unfolds sha. I'll tell you. But right now let me first start with this little gist about how I approached someone that's kind of way above my own league but because of my smartness and use of words, I was able to woo her to my side. Here's how it went down.

She was sitting by the poolside, laughing softly into her phone. A cream sundress floated around her, simple yet flawless. No loud jewelry, no heavy makeup. Just skin that looked like butter and eyes sharp enough to make a man forget his own name.

The kind of eyes that, if a pilot made the mistake of looking down from 30,000 feet, The country would be thrown into three days of compulsory mourning—because the poor man would have lost total control of the plane.
Her laughter? My guy, forget it. She wasn’t trying too hard, and that was the problem. She didn’t even know she was holding the world hostage by just existing.


For a moment, I just stared. My brain whispered only one thing: This polling unit must be mine. In simpler un-voting terms, I must have this one.

I chuckled, downed the last sip of my Mojito cocktail, and stood up. Shoulders back, chin up, casual swagger. The kind of walk that said: I’m not trying too hard, but I know you’ll notice me.

As I closed the gap between us, I rehearsed in my head on how to start a conversation with her without sounding too desperate.

“Excuse me,” I said, my voice calm but firm. She looked up, phone still pressed to her ear.

One brow arched. “Yes?” She said. Her voice came out soft and abrupt.

I smiled. “I don’t mean to disturb your call. But I swear the bartender made a mistake.”

She frowned slightly. “Mistake?”

“Yes,” I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “He was supposed to serve the most beautiful woman here this cocktail, but somehow, he brought it to me instead.”

For a second, she just stared, then chuckled, shaking her head. “You really practiced that line in the mirror, didn’t you?”

I grinned wider. “Honestly? No. If I had practiced, I would’ve added some music and fireworks to it.”

She laughed softly.

And just like that, Tiffany gave me her full attention.


“You know I was actually about to grab a seat, but I saw you sitting here all alone and thought—either you’re waiting for someone, or I just got lucky today.”

Tiffany laughs a little, glancing up at me again.
“Well… maybe you’re lucky. I’m not waiting for anyone.”

I smiled in a relaxed way.
“Perfect. That means I won’t be stealing anyone’s seat. Mind if I sit for a bit?”


“Sure, go ahead.” she replied with a hand gesture towards the chair opposite hers.

I pulled out the chair and sat down, keeping my tone light.


“Thanks. I should introduce myself properly before you think I’m some random guy disturbing your peace. I’m Darous. And you are…?”


“I’m Tiffany.” She replied with a faint smile.

“Nice. You actually look like a Tiffany… but not the type that gets into trouble. More like the type that makes people wonder, ‘How does she stay this calm while there’s war going on all over the world’”


“Wow, that’s a very specific description. You talk like you know me already.” She pretend to be shocked.


“Maybe I do. Or maybe I’m just good at reading people. For example… let me guess—you’re either a coffee addict or an ice cream lover. Which one?”

Tiffany laughs, while shaking her head.
“Definitely ice cream.”

I grin, and pointed at her drink.
“Knew it. You’ve got that ‘sweet tooth but innocent face vibe. That's a dangerous combination.”

“Haha, you’re funny.” she laughed hard.


“Funny is just my cover. I’m actually here trying to figure out why someone like you is sitting all alone. You don’t look like the type that should be left alone in public—you might cause accidents with all the stares.”


“Oh please, stop flattering me.”


“Who said it’s flattery? That was an observation. Trust me, I wouldn’t risk embarrassing myself with a bad pickup line.”

Tiffany narrowed her eyes but in a playful way.
“Hmm, okay oooo.”


““So, Tiffany, tell me—what kind of days do you like best? The noisy, crowded ones where you’re stuck separating two colleagues from throwing punches, or calm, quiet ones like this?”

“Calm and quiet, of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Those noisy days give me headaches. And the last time I tried breaking up a fight, one of them shoved me so hard I ended up on the floor. Since then, I swore never to play referee again.” She gave a fake groan and shook her head.

I laughed. “No wonder you picked this spot—to recharge. Smart move. Most people don’t even know how to enjoy their own company. They’ll smoke weed for hours and then step it down with chinchin like it’s normal. Tell me that’s not madness.”

“That’s true, I guess.”


“You’re definitely interesting. And trust me, I don’t say that to everyone I meet. Now, if I wanted to continue this conversation another time, what’s the best way to reach you? Text, call, or do I have to bribe the eatery staff to reserve your favorite table for you?”


“Text is fine. It's cool...”

I smiled, then pull out my phone immediately.

“Text it is then. Let me save your number before you change your mind.”


“Who said I won’t?” She smiled teasingly.

And just like that, Tiffany and I went from two strangers at a resort to partners-in-laughter, trading inside jokes like we’d known each other since primary school. Her vibe was effortless, her laughter too real—and for the first time in forever, I forgot the world outside even existed.

She glanced at her phone, still smiling. “Okay, Darous… text me later. I need to confirm if you’re really this nice or if it’s just the cocktail talking.”

I grinned. “let me give you a fair warning my lady..." I leaned over the table so our eyes are now closer. " My texts come with the same side effects as hanging out with me: plenty of laughter and small trouble.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “We’ll see about that.”

After almost an hour of pure vibes and gist, we finally said our goodbyes—me walking away with her number saved and a smile that refused to leave my face.


I got home that evening still floating—money sitting heavy in my wallet, Tiffany’s number saved on my phone. Honestly, I couldn’t tell which one excited me more.

To crown the day, I cooked myself a proper victory meal: rice and spaghetti with fried turkey meat on top. It took almost an hour to prepare, but I sat down like a king and started devouring it with pride.

Halfway through, my phone buzzed. Mrs. Adeoye.

“Darous! You’re invited to my party this weekend!” she declared the moment I picked up.

“M…ma?” I choked, blinking at the turkey leg in my hand. I hadn’t even expected her to call again, let alone hear her inviting me to a party. This was a woman who could snap her fingers and have engineers lining up to do her renovation—yet she’d chosen me. And now, she was dragging me into a gathering of society’s crème de la crème?

“Yes,” she repeated, no room for doubt. “Since you were so confident about the wall you renovated, it’s only proper you attend. Bring along responsible friends too, if you have any.”

I gave a nervous laugh. “Madam, me? A bricklayer? At your kind of event? I don’t think…”

She cut me off sharply but with warmth in her tone. “I admire your humility, Darous. But let’s be clear—you will be there. Your presence is as important as everyone else’s.”

I sighed, knowing resistance was useless. “Alright, madam. If you say so.”

Her laughter rang out through the phone. “Good. I like that you listen. See you this weekend.”

“She hung up, and I just sat there staring at my food. Yesterday, I was sweating over wires in a vault, fighting a man twice my size just to escape. Now, less than twenty-four hours later, a rich society woman was inviting me to her party.
Life was starting to feel like a movie. For the first time, I didn’t know if I was really living or just surviving near-death games, like those characters in Alice in Borderland.

To be continued.

Next update? E go drop when I see enough reactions to match the views. 😏 Not flexing o, but reactions are like fuel—na wetin we writers chop to keep going. That’s how I dey unlock the rawest part of myself into COUNTLESS. So abeg, no dull me… keep the vibes coming! 🚀🔥
.

Update dropping this Saturday.

But after this episode 9, if I don't see improvements in the reactions... I might as well move everything to my Facebook page o... And it will only be accessible to those that have been showing reactions since the first episode. To be forewarned is to be forearmed.

dawno2008:
Baba TBM,how far nau,I just checked in and see say every where silent, wetin dey sup nau abi maresca still dey cry from man u defeat? I even hear say the dragon abi na lean Lion wey dey Chelsea logo don lost

And about your observation on Nairaland literature section, truly it has lost that old spark,but you can't blame the writers,cos the site owner who's making so much from other people's intellectual products,seem to care only about himself,no incentive or any form of support,and just like you,many of them write for free audience.

Abeg jor, enough of all this yeye gist,abeg drop story nau,I don miss Darous and him actions,and truly wetin Chuka talk na true,how did Darous miss that evil lady,he allow smile lead am astray
It's all good,I hope you're good anyways,I miss you baba

Honestly, if not for people like you who keep asking me every day when I’ll write again, I wouldn’t have bothered at all. People think it’s easy to sit down and put words together, to make everything flow — especially when you know you won’t even get paid for it. It’s not fair that the owner of this site can’t even come up with a small package to appreciate writers. But it’s fine, nothing spoil. We keep moving. One love, my brother. Thank you for always staying loyal.

Episode 8 - The mission

There’s this old saying: “Be careful what you wish for.” Normally, I’d just laugh and scroll my mind past it faster than new memes go viral on twitter. But now? Omo, that proverb is dragging my life by the collar.

Because once upon a time, my existence was so boring, I started to suspect maybe I was a side character in somebody else’s story ganself.

My day to day activities was basically: phone glued to hand, scrolling like I was the Minister of Other People’s Enjoyment.

If I have construction work to do, I go to site, come back in the evening to meet up with my friends and go home. And on days when there's no site work, I'd be in my apartment all day. If SportyBet decided to pity me, I’d honor the win with garri and groundnut like it was five-star delicacy. But if it went the other way? I'd always find a way to blame president Tinubu for my sporty bet loss.

But fast-forward to now — my life has turned into a full-blown action series. The kind you can compare with Efe’s wahala in Kemi Adetiba’s To Kill a Monkey.

Sometimes I just pause and ask myself: “Darous, na you be this? How you take land Nollywood lead role without audition?”

The next day after we freed Jude and I completed my so-called initiation into the Circle, I tried to pretend everything was back to normal. You know — brush teeth, wash face, acting like I'm cool with Dembele winning the Balon Dor ahead of my own Lamine Yamal, but well, nothing spoil.

That morning, my phone rang. And the name that flashed on the screen? Mrs. Adeoye.

At that point, my spirit just sighed. She is probably calling to tell me my quotation is declined or otherwise. But people don't call you to tell you they can't give you the job here in Nigeria. They just use your quotation to compare with other people's quotation and that's the end of it. If you are lucky to walk past the place in the future, that's when you'll see that the work had been done. So in pure and cheer uncertainty of what to hear from her, I picked the call.

““Darous, I’ve seen the quotation you sent.”

“Yes ma, I sent it to you like two days ago on WhatsApp.”

“The money is much,” she sighed, “but I don’t think I have a choice. The event is this weekend. So can you come and start today? I don’t want my guests seeing that kind of thing in my house. They’ll think I’m going broke….”

At that moment, joy nearly lifted me to heaven. The amount I wrote inside that quotation? Ehn, it’s enough to complete the foundation of a two-bedroom apartment with all rooms ensuite. But here’s this madam, casually agreeing to drop the same money just for a wall — a wall that is barely thirty-six square meters. Chineke!

“No problem, madam,” I replied quickly. “By the time I finish, that wall will be smoother than a red carpet at the Balon Dor gala night.”

She chuckled small. “Sha don’t bring lazy boys to my house. If anything embarrasses me, your name will trend on the internet — and it won't be in your favor.”

I grinned. “Madam, don’t worry. After I finish, even the governor will want to come and take selfie with this wall.”

This time she laughed properly. “Better. Send me your account details for advance payment… I’ll be watching you.” Click. Call ended.

Omo, I no waste time. I sent my details sharp-sharp. Then I gathered a few of my most trusted boys — the ones that won’t disappear once money enters their hand. We hired one danfo that could manage to carry all our tools, and after a few hours of Lagos traffic, we finally landed at her house.

I put my whole sweat into that work. After all, she paid me like I was building Third Mainland Bridge. She wanted quality, and I was determined to give her wall the kind of finishing that Michelangelo would clap for.

Three days later, the wall was ready — straight, clean, shining like it had a skincare routine. Mrs. Adeoye walked back and forth, inspecting it like an exam invigilator. Finally, she released a satisfactory nod.

For a brief moment, life felt normal again. I even felt proud. Proud in a stupid, small way — but proud all the same.

I went to meet the guys at our usual joint. I hadn’t seen any of them since the warehouse thing — we’d only been chatting on the phone.

Walking into that place felt like unlocking a missing part of me. We started ordering drink after drink, meat and fish plates kept landing on the table like it was a buffet for kings. Before I knew it, fifty K had left my account.

You know how it is — you start saying beautiful nonsense to justify reckless spending. I told myself, “We only live once. What if I die tomorrow? Who will enjoy the money I work my bone to get? Somebody go use am to buy festival jollof and carry OS.”

The mood was high. We were gisting nonsense — Kenny insisted Nigeria would only get better if Broda Shaggi became president, and Baba T argued vehemently that his father and Dangote are distant cousin. Jude told him they will remain distant unless his father can make crazy money that will bridge the gap.

As the alcohol piled up in me, Jude pulled me aside. He had that worried look on his face.

“Listen,” he said quietly, “you know your mouth no dey behave when alcohol enter brain. This is not the time to get drunk and start talking about the Circle o. Not Kenny, not Baba T, nobody. If you run your mouth, people we love fit suffer shey you get?.”

I nodded.

Kenny, of course, was suspicious. “Guy, you’re hiding something. This quiet thing no pure. What's going on?” He inquired.

“na work stress jare. Three days of tireless working with that woman is not an easy thing.” They all nodded in response, but Kenny's eyes stayed sharp on me.

That night I messaged Chuka on his private line because Bola's name kept coming back into my head.

“Boss, any news about Bola? I can’t reach her. I checked her place, the gateman told me she traveled.”

"Who is Bola?” Chuka answered.

I told him who I meant. "The same Bola na, you met me in her place that day na"

He replied blunt: “That house belongs to the Circle. She used it only for a mission. Forget the name. Don’t ask again.”

I got the warning. No long cap.
That night, just as I was about to sleep, my phone buzzed. A new message.

It was a one-time link. Under it, a warning: “No screenshot. No screen record. Read and memorise only.”

I tapped the link, and a private page opened. My first mission as a Circle member.

The instructions were sharp and cold. I had to blend in with a repair crew heading into a government building to do electrical and plumbing repairs the next day.

Inside that building was a vault — the place where confidential files are kept. They only open the vault once a week around two pm.
My job wasn’t to steal or touch anything. I just had to be standing close when the official wants to unlock the vault, to watch his hands, to memorize the rhythm of the lock.

They had already prepared everything needed for me. A backpack. Work clothes. A fake ID that shows my name as Xavier Casmir. Electrician.
Also, they had secured me a spot with the boss of the crew. All I needed was to show him the fake ID given to me by the Circle. They also told me not to use my phone to record anything inside the building. The reason for that still remains unknown to me till date.

As I read the last line, my heart nearly skipped a beat. My chest grew heavy. This wasn’t a small building — this was a government organisation, a place where one mistake could get me into deeper trouble. My mind started racing: What if I slip? What if they catch me staring at the vault? Lots of doubts on what could go wrong.

Sleep left my eyes that night. Fear wrapped around me like a second skin. For the first time, I realized: initiation was just the welcome party. The real terror lies ahead for me.

***


I retrieved the package the following day. I put on the clothes. They felt strange on me — like someone else’s skin.

I got to the location as early as possible. I showed my fake issued ID to the boss of the repair crew and he nudged me to walk inside with his boys.

We walked into the building with shovels , hammers, spanners and other tools.

The building was alive with movement. Cameras blinked from every corner. Guards stood stiff, like they were carved from stone. And there, in a quiet wing, sat the vault — thick steel, plain walls. The kind of door you see in those Netflix heist movies.

Our work area wasn’t far, but to actually see the vault being opened, I had to get closer. The only chance was to act like I was fixing something at the restroom entrance right beside it.

The mission brief had been vague. They told me the wing and the time, but not who would unlock it. That was the tricky part.

Almost every man in that building carried himself like a boss. Picking the one in charge felt like trying to choose a Ballon d’Or winner from thirty world-class players.

But I didn’t need to ask questions. I’ve always had this gift — call it instinct, call it street-sense. Stay around men long enough and you’ll know who truly holds the power. It’s never the loud one barking orders, never the one pretending to lead. Real authority hides in silence. And here, I saw it — one man they all paused for. They joked, they argued, but their eyes waited for his. He barely spoke, but I knew he will be the one to open it.

And the moment I realised it, the air around me changed. Every sound in that building — started to feel sharper, heavier, like the world itself was warning me that one wrong blink could scatter my whole life.


The repair crew gave me just one job: cut the wire with pliers, measure it, join it with another of the same color, then wrap it with black tape. That’s all. Simple. But I kept doing it again and again, the same steps, no change, for more than five hours.



About thirty minutes before the vault was set to open, everything nearly scattered. One huge worker — the one that had been watching me since I entered — finally moved.

“Are you really an electrician?” he asked, eyes sharp.

I pulled out the fake ID to shut him up, but he grabbed it, held it high, and read it loud like he wanted everyone to hear.

“Electrician?!” He smirked. “Good. Let’s test you. Come and fix this thing.”

He pointed at a junction box by the wall, wires twisted like angry snakes. Any real electrician would know the drill. Me? I only know blocks, cement, and walls. This was way out of my contractor skills.

I bent over, pretending like I knew what I was doing. My hand brushed the wrong cable and a spark hissed. Behind me, I could feel his eyes drilling into my back. I didn’t understand this man’s wahala. He’s just a fellow worker like me — not the boss. The crew leader already checked and accepted my fake ID. So why is this one behaving like he owns the whole company.

Then, without warning, he grabbed me and dragged me into a side corridor near the toilets.

“You're a liar!” he hissed, his fingers digging at my throat. “Who gave you that ID? Tell me now or I’ll finish you here.”

He pushed closer, voice low and furious. “I’ve spent my whole life working for this company, and you want to ruin our name by pretending to be what you’re not?”

He squeezed harder. Air left my lungs in a rush. “Tell me — or......”



I didn't let him finish before I reacted.

He shoved me against the wall but I quickly pushed back with an elbow straight at his ribs. He grunted but didn’t stop. He swung for my face — I ducked. He swung again — I shoved him into the wall.

We crashed into the boxes that were packed in one corner of the corridor . His breath came hot and heavy. He swung once more. I caught his arm, twisted it, and shoved him down into a stack of pallets. He fell rough on the tiled floor.

Then I remembered that move from an action series — 24. Jack Bauer style. Quick and brutal. I grabbed his wrist, twisted it hard, stepped behind him and used his own momentum against him. My shoulder rammed into his ribs, I hooked my forearm under his chin and pushed up. His head snapped back, eyes rolled, and he crumpled like someone switched off his lights. In seconds, he was out cold. I reset his head gently on the floor and got up.

I straightened my shirt, grabbed my tools, and walked out like nothing happened.
Outside, people were moving. The boss of the repair crew glanced my way and continued doing his thing. I kept walking towards where the vault is situated with the hope that I hadn't missed my chance to fulfil my mission.

As I walked toward the restroom — the only place close enough to see the vault — a guard blocked me. “This area is restricted,” he said, staring hard at me.

I forced a calm voice. “Our boss said I should check the light switch inside, so we don’t get blamed later.”

The guard didn’t move at first. His eyes scanned me from head to toe, like he was trying to read my mind. For a moment I thought he would call someone. Then slowly, he stepped aside.

“Be fast,” he said, his tone still sharp, like he didn’t fully trust me.

I nodded, walked in, but my heart was still beating fast.


From the corner near the restroom, I kept my head low, pretending to fix a light switch. My eyes never left the vault. The boss of the building I had marked earlier held some files in his hands, then walked toward the vault with those calm, steady steps. He placed his hand on the vault’s lock, turning it slowly, pausing like he was listening for a secret only he knew. Then came the final push.

The vault gave a sharp metallic click. My eyes fixed as he slid the files in and shut it again, like nothing ever happened.


I locked the rhythm in my head like a short tune. I didn't write it down. I just kept repeating it silently in my mind.


I entered the restroom and quickly sent the details of the vault opening to Chuka — the patterns, the timing, everything I had memorized. A moment later, his reply came: “Received.” He asked if there were any problems.

I typed back quickly: “No.”

Then he asked if I was sure of what I saw. I didn’t answer directly. Instead, I wrote: “The vault sings only once, and I heard it clear.”

His reply came fast: “Good. Once confirmed, you’ll be paid. Now leave the building.”

I slipped my phone back under my shirt and turned for the exit. For the first time all day, I felt my chest loosen. The task was done. The weight I had carried since morning finally shifted off me.

It hadn’t been easy — every second inside that building had clawed at my nerves — but I made it through. That thought alone sent a shiver across my skin.

I had survived the impossible. At least for now.

To be continued.

dawno2008:

TBM himself you'll never change, imagine rule 4
"Never watch Manchester United match before a mission"

Thanks for the mention,no capping 💯

you absolutely welcome my bro.. 😂😂😂

xaviercasmir:
Nice one boss.
you are not far from the truth concerning Manchester United but haba na saying that we cannot to watch them to avoid questioning our existence is going far
Up United

you know Man United is the meme of all clubs right now... That club is not serious 😂😂😂😂

PrinceOFprince:
This man is crazy make we no lie.... How he blend reality with his fiction is beyond imagination... Ride on boss. You got a fan back today...😀😀😀😀 I'm super excited

the prince himself... When I saw Smartestpopqueen comment, I knew you won't be far behind... Thank you for joining again... Let's do this together bro... I'm counting on you. Update dropping soon.

TemiGURL:
Team countless is here man. You never lost your touch this man... You only upgrade...😀😀😀😀 Why dragging my United into this nau...😀😀😀😀

welcome madam... Even your signature still carries our name... I really appreciate... You are awesome... Gracias

TemiGURL:
the guy is unserious jare... Using my United to catch cruise...m😀😀😀

tell your united to stop making their fans cry week in week out na... The torment no dey tire you?😂😂😂😂

xaviercasmir:
don't mind him na Chelsea fan him be

Chelsea fan bawo.... I no belong to Chelsea o my bro

ghettochild:
The return of the blessed man…
Gen gen

longtime my boss... Seems you've been steady on this space all these while... I'm afraid nairaland literature section isn't what it used to be ....the engagement have died down. I think...

pFolar:
Welcome back my love. I've really missed nairaland. You don't know how happy I am to see your new story. Ride on love. Gat your back❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

ehhhhh... Seeing your monicker here again gave me sweet feelings.... Thanks for showing trust by entering this bus again... And I promise you this time, the driver will not abscond....😂😂😂😂

This episode is dedicated to my loyal fans from Countless and The Dog Attendant. Special shout out to Tiffanyfan Dawno2008, and Xaviercasmir. You guys are the greatest fans any writer could ever wish for. Thanks for scratching my back when my hands couldn't reach..



Episode 7 -- Rules of the Circle.

The road back was quiet and thought-provoking at the same time. Jude rubbed his wrists occasionally like the ropes were still there. I told him, “Guy, crash for my side till morning. You no fit go home by this time.”

But he shook his head. “My bro, I need to go home. If Cynthia no see me till morning, she fit run mad. You sabi that girl wahala. Even right now ah no know where I go tell her say I go.”

"Forget wetin Cynthia wan talk this guy..."

"Darous, you know say this thing no suppose leak out.. you know how this people they operate..."

"What are you saying?"

"Make we keep this thing between us.. that's the only way to keep everyone safe.."


"How does keeping this from...."

"Calm...." He cuts in. " What they don't know can not kill them.. better to bury this secret between us than to bury our friends with our own hands... Don't you think?" He stressed emphatically.

I wanted to argue, but I saw the truth in what he said.

He asked me what I've decided about the Circle. I told him I have no choice than to join them,

Just like Dawno, a guy I knew back then use to say, "join them but finish them from within..."

Jude agreed with me on that decision.

So we bid eachother farewell when I put him on a bike heading in his house direction. I watched him disappear into the dark. But me? I carried the Circle on my head like load. All what had happened within the last twenty four hours seemed like a dream to me. I promised them I'll give my response by dawn. I got home thirty minutes after Jude and I departed and fell straight on the bed like a log of wood.

By dawn, I was still working my brains around every possible way to go about this situation without getting myself or anyone I care about in harms way but none was forthcoming.

I picked my phone from the bedside. It's time to give Chuka a call. A call that will eventually determine the course of my life from that moment.
I dialed the number Chuka gave me to call.

He picked on the first ring. This people no dey ever sleep? I thought to myself.
His voice was calm, the kind of calm that comes from a man who already owns the outcome.

"Hello" I said into the phone with a weak and barely audible voice.

"So what have you decide?" He asked. Just straight to business.

"I don't think I have any other choice"

"You don't think?" He released a light chuckle. "Seems you are still having second thoughts "

"Second thoughts? I'm having five hundred billion thoughts right now... don't you underestimate the gravity of what you dropped on me... "

“okay.. let me tell you a quick one. Listen. In this life, there are some things you don't know. And you know the weird part?

"What?"

"There are also some things you don't even know you don't know... So for your sake, I'll send you a WhatsApp link soon. Let me show you what's at stake....,” Chuka said. “Check your WhatsApp in the next five minutes.” He hung up.

Suddenly five minutes seemed like it will never come. I started feeling anxious as soon as he said I had to wait for five minutes - my mind was racing with worst case scenarios.

At exactly five minutes, he sent a link to me through his own private WhatsApp
I clicked on it .
The link opened a secret WhatsApp group. No display picture, no group description. Just a black circle as the icon. Members muted. Only admins could post.

The first message was an automated one. It reads as follows:

“Welcome. This is the Circle. All your rules live here. No arguments. No debates. Just read, obey, delete from memory. If you disobey, the group will kick you out permanently — and we don’t mean WhatsApp kick.”

The messages rolled in one after the other like commandments:

RULE ONE: No police or media is allowed in our business. Not even gist. Even if you are drunk, don't mention their name and don't ever take our business to the media. We have long ears.

RULE TWO: Faces are not your business. You see who you see. The ones you don't see, forget them. Curiosity kills the cat. But here we kill people that ask too much.

RULE THREE: Do the work, take your cut, act normal. Blend in. Smile with neighbors. Price tomato in market. Complain about the economy, Watch football with your guys. But remember — the Circle is your shadow. We are everywhere.

RULE FOUR: The greatest rule of all. Do not under any circumstances watch a Manchester United match before going on any mission. We need you focused and not questioning every life choices.

I read the messages twice again before Chuka dropped another message.

"Before you think of testing boundaries… watch carefully the videos below."

A video format dropped on the screen. I clicked on it.

The clip opens with an old rooftop CCTV footage. A young man in a blue jacket arguing with two men in suits. He refuses something they slide toward him and walks away. The video then cuts to news footage from Arise Tv showing the young man's body on the ground two days later after he “fell” from the 10th floor.
I remember catching the news on a Facebook reel sometimes back and everyone was pointing fingers to the dead guy's close friend. Nobody knew the truth till today. So it was the Circle’s punishment to him for refusing to join them and running to the police.

The first video closed immediately after I finished watching it. Then the second one dropped. I managed to click on it, despite my hands shaking with anticipation.
The clip starts with a screen-record of a viral social media post where a young woman openly called out the Circle. The next cut is CCTV outside her apartment: two shadowy figures leave something at her door. Seconds later, she opens it and the screen jumps to hospital footage — she’s on a stretcher, barely conscious, phone still in her hand with the same viral post on screen. The video ends with black background text: “She spoke. We silenced.”

Then Chuka dropped another message that reads as this :

"These are not stories. These are facts. This is what happens when anyone breaks our rules or tries to expose us. Darous, learn from them."

My hands were trembling so hard I almost dropped my phone. My chest felt tight, like something heavy was sitting on it. The first video alone had left me cold — the sight of that man in the blue jacket, once alive and angry, later lying lifeless on the ground. It told me one thing: saying “no” was the same as signing my own death paper.

Then came the second video. The woman’s post, her bravery, and how quickly it ended with her broken on a stretcher. My stomach turned. I felt a deep wave of fear I had never known before. My palms were sweaty, my throat dry, my heart hammering in my ears.

It wasn’t just fear of dying — it was the terror of knowing the Circle could twist reality, control what the whole country believed, and erase anyone who stood against them. The country thought those were accidents, random tragedies. But I now knew the truth — the Circle was behind it all.

"Darous, have you made your choice?.” Chuka's message cut across my thoughts. "Just hit the like emoji on this message if you are in or hit the anger emoji if you are out"

In their own (north Korean president) Kim-Jong-Un twisted way of thinking, these people really think they are still giving me a choice when everything they've shown me so far has been the direct opposite?

I swallowed hard as I pressed hard on the screen. I hit the like emoji that means
“Chuka… I accept the initiation. I’m in. I'm not your slave. Do as you wish. My Spartacus has been captured and whether I like it or not, I must fight for the glory of Rome."

There was silence for some moments before he typed again.

“Your mission briefing will be sent via a one-time link. Make sure to review it thoroughly before closing it, as you won't be able to get back to it later.”

Then another one popped up.

“just know that slow death is sweeter than a quick one. And we know how to cook it slow, even Hilda Baci dey learn from us... ” The message ended with a smiling emoji.

I sat there staring at my screen, reading the rules again and again until the words started burning themselves into my head.


An hour later, My phone buzzed. New chat. Not from the Circle this time. Mrs. Adeoye.

MRS. ADEOYE:
“Good morning, Darous I haven't heard from you, have you vanished?. That work I gave you, how far? You know Lagos people forget things fast. Send me the quotations please.”

Forget......Vanish.....Her words joined Bola’s warning and the Circle’s threat like a haunting choir. The fear that gripped me made me cringe.

I managed to type back something polite, my hands were still kind of unsteady. I sent her the details of the work, materials needed and the cost estimate including workmanship fee. She acknowledged it and typed an OK as a response.

Now it's official: one day I'm the hustler with contracts and deadlines; another day I'm the Circle’s pawn, waiting for my first mission to drop into that cursed WhatsApp group.

I managed a small laugh at myself.
People will still see me buying akara, complaining about NEPA, making jokes about traffic. But inside, they won't know that a part of me was no longer mine.

Truly what Chuka said is profound.
There are some things we don't know and there are some things we don't even know we don't know.

To be continued

dawno2008:
Make Darous make the deal with them,then weaken them from within, sense no go kill me

Talking about "sense" if that stupid Sanchez been getting small,he for not collect red card early into the game, anyways we wey get am not dey to loud am
Weldon TBM,keep the anointing flowing

😀😀😀😀 wetin Sanchez do no make sense 😀 in china, that's grounds for cast*ration😀😀😀😀😀

Episode 6 — The Trial of Memory.



I picked my phone and dialed Jude's number several times but it wasn't reachable. I put a call through to Kenny - his phone had switched off. I was totally at a crossroad - confused on what next to do. Going to the police isn't an option atleast if what the Circle man said is true. This isn't the time to call his bluff, Jude's life is hanging on every decision I make right from that minute.

The phone buzzed in my hand like somebody was dropping coal inside my chest. Same number. Same cold feeling.

I picked. From his tone this time around, I know it's Chuka.

“Darous. Listen carefully”

Chuka’s voice. Low. Flat. Like a rain that comes slow and wrecks your roof. I could hear someone murmuring behind him.

“now accept the video call,” he said.

I accept the video call with hands that would not stop shaking.

On the screen of the phone was Jude. Tied to a chair. Rope digging into his wrists. His face one mess — swollen, bleeding, eyes raw. The gag in his mouth was already dark. He tried to move his lips around it; sound came out like a wet animal noise.

My legs went weak. For a heartbeat I forgot how to breathe.

Chuka’s voice came again. “You know why we've been calling you. You have a special talent that is crucial to the operation of this network. You see what others miss. That’s why you were chosen. Now if you don't want your friend's body parts to be sent to you in a sack and still get framed for killing him, Tonight you have to prove yourself. Tonight we test you. Twelve midnight. Third Mainland underpass. Warehouse nine. Come alone. No police. No tricks. If we smell anything off? Your friend dies and you still go to prison.”

He hung up.

The flat felt smaller. The sweat trickling down my face felt heavier than a brick.

For a while I sat on the floor, unable to move. Breathing heavily like someone about to die. At that moment, the memory of the incident that made Jude become a crucial part of my life roar through me.

The night I will never forget. I had walked myself to the edge of the Third Mainland Bridge. I had my shoes off, my mind empty, the water looking like a black end. I had typed a message on my phone for whom it may concern and left it at home — the kind of words a man uses when he has decided the world can go on without him. I had climbed the side railing of the bridge. Only thing separating me from the endless pit of water below was just my hands that were still hanging on to the railings. I had made my decision. This life isn't worth living anymore. Debts everywhere. No food to eat. The future looked bleak. No sign of hope from anywhere. No I can't continue like this - I had thought to myself.

I muster up the little courage needed for this final task of my life but then I felt a hand grab me from behind. It was Jude's.

He grabbed me hard enough that my neck burned. “Are you mad?” he shouted in my ear before he dragged me gently back to the roadside. He slapped me. He slapped until my brain came back from the dark. He didn’t beg. He didn’t cry. He shouted. He carried me home like I was a suitcase. He fed me. For nearly eight months, he fed me. Never complained for even one moment. He paid some of my debts. He made sure the landlord didn’t throw all my work tools into the gutter. When I had nothing, he showed up every day with a plate. His hands were rough from work; he still split the last of his food with me. He slept on the floor while I took the bed. He kept me alive when I had already decided to die. He gave me hope. He was the Chelsea my Amorim needed to beat to keep my life.

That is why Jude’s face on that tiny screen punched me so hard — he had once built my life out of nothing. Now his own life depends on me.



I made my decision. I can't let my friend die because of me. No, they might as well kill me too. I won't be able to forgive myself if anything happens to Jude.



An hour to midnight, I was ready. I threw on my jacket, ran to the bus stop, jumped a danfo, then an okada, then walked the final stretch. My feet phased through the city noise. Horns. Music. Football lovers arguing, debating on why Sanchez foul wasn't suppose to earn him a red card- that the referee ought to have pleaded with him not to come out of the box again. The noises were closed but still far away. The only sound my mind concentrated on was the one in my mind repeating Jude’s name.

Warehouse nine sat under the bridge like a rusted tooth. The air smelled of diesel, salt, and something metallic. The door was open when I reached it. They were waiting — of course they were.

Inside the place was darker than the street. A single bulb hung and swung above a chair. Jude slumped there. He lifted his face when he heard me and his one good eye found mine. That look on his eyes said a thousand words, one of which is "I'm counting on you."

Two men quickly stood behind me

They frisked me from head to toe incase I had a weapon on me. They signaled to Chuka who appeared to be their boss. Then Chuka approached me with a revolver in his left hand. He held one live round up and slotted it into a chamber. He spun the cylinder slow. The sound cut the air like a little knife. Cold shivers ran down my spine. Here I am, in this godforsaken place with no hope of getting out alive.

“You are here,” Chuka said, his voice cutting into my thoughts. “Good. We must know what you are this night. Maybe the lady is right about you, it's time to prove it or your friend..... ...” He mouthed the POW sound and mimic a trigger pull with his other hand.

They brought a laptop to my face. The screen flashed a long chain of words. Twenty four words seed phrase thrown up for a blink. Then the screen closed.

Chuka pushed the gun so the barrel rested against Jude’s temple. His voice came soft like a lesson.

“As you can see, there's just one bullet inside this gun. You'll have to complete four memory recall test ” he said. “Two of them about the night Bola came into your room and the other two from what you saw today... Here's where the danger lies for your friend. I'll pull the trigger every ten second till you complete each test and pray the bullet doesn't find it's way into your friend's brain before the final test. You will feel the time. So now, you see, your friend's life depends on you. You are the MC of the occasion.” He ended with a smirk.

I gulped down the lump of saliva piling up inside my mouth.

They did not shout the timer. They let it hang like a noose. They wanted the rules to live inside my mind.

“Question one,” Chuka said. “When Bola came to your house, what were her exact words moments before she left?”

There was no way for that memory to be hard. Truly her voice had been low, a little bored and at the same time a little hungry.

I heard it in my head like it was standing right there. “Don’t disappoint me. When I’m disappointed… men disappear.” I said it quicker than it reads.

Chuka gave a satisfactory nod and shifted his focus to Jude. Jude gave a small choked sound. "Seems your friend here just bought you another ten seconds...ahahahahahahah". He laughed then suddenly paused. “Question two,” he said. “Describe the mark she left behind.”

My fingers went into my pocket, touched the cream cloth, felt the thin cotton, the way the edge curved like a crescent. I said it fast: “Cream, thin cotton, the edge cut in a crescent.”

My whole body was wet with sweat now. Fear was a cold thing, but another thing crawled under it — anger. The thing people break you with is the piece you are proud of.

“Now,” the Chuka said. “We give you the screen test. You had one flash on the laptop before. The seed phrase of a bitcoin wallet was displayed on the screen. Type exactly what you saw. Fail and Jude pays.”

One guy held the opened laptop to my face again. The cursor glowed.

“Start.” Chuka said.

My fingers hovered. I could feel the keys like small bones under my fingertips.

My head clicked through the words — lime, wildebeest, lukaku, sanchez, onana, pendu, balon , dor, robbery, pessi, penaldo, goat, money , ritual, tinubu, pain, mango — the rhythm came back. I started typing.



"Nine" Chuka counted.

My fingers hit keys like a drum. — I hit enter.

The screen flashed green: passphrase accepted — wallet unlocked.

A small sound leaked from Jude. Relief? Pain? I couldn’t tell.

Their eyes watched me like numbers. Nobody smiled except Chuka, the one whose voice had just made the countdown. “You do well,” he said after a puff from the hemp in his hand. “You see and remember. That is useful.”

“ now the Final test.” the leader said. His voice got closer. He pushed the gun a little harder to Jude’s temple. “In the video call I made with you this afternoon where I show Jude to you. There was writing on the wall behind his head. Say what was written on the wall. I don't need to remind you of what's at stake if you fail.”

The video call had been ugly. I had watched it at home and almost choked. Also I had seen the torn poster behind Jude. The letters were smeared, half rubbed away. In the blur, one line stood out enough to prick my memory.

Ten seconds is a long time when your friend is a human metronome for your life.

They counted soft: eight……nine......

I spoke quick, not waiting on them to complete the full stretch. “Safety First — the ‘First’ is smeared at the end, the ink run across the ‘i’,” I said.

A pause. Chuka stared at me. He cocked his head back with utter bewilderment, then hand the gun to one of his guys.

Jude’s head flopped forward a little. A wet sound came from his throat.

They eased. Chuka stepped back, like he’d finished a meal. “We told you what we wanted to know. You answered. You are fast. You are careful.” His voice had the taste of danger.

Chuka’s voice spoke through the silence again, lower, closer, like someone in my ear. “We chose you because you see, you notice patterns, you have a sharp mind but how come you miss Bola?......”

Those words were like a cold wind. They knew. Bola had been careful. She came some months back. Soft at first — fun, drinks at the joint, a call now and then, small favors. She made space in my life.

Chuka the leader sat back and spoke like a man offering advice.

“Bow to us,” he said. “Join the Circle. Use your head. We will give you shelter, money, power. You will not starve anymore. You will not be weak.”

I couldn't speak. Just staring at the large scar that ran across his face.

“But if you refuse,” Chuka said smoothly, “Well, we have our ways to make you feel unimaginable pains. You slapped our hand once and you see how we reacted. You will watch people you love drown. You will watch them bleed until you beg.”

I looked at Jude. He was breathing. His eye found mine and in that look I saw the whole of our past. The bond we shared - deeper than what words could describe.

My hands shook. The cream cloth in my pocket had become a hot thing I could keep touching. I thought of the bridge again — the silence before Jude grabbed me; his hands like an anchor; the slap that was a lifeline. That memory was thicker than fear. It was the aggregate of your past

I swallowed. “If I agree to join you,” I said quiet, “what will I be doing for you?”

The leader’s smile was spare. “Small thing first. Retrieve a package from somewhere. Do it and you earn small trust. Then more. We put you where your mind can help us..”

I thought about telling them to go to hell. I thought about hitting Chuka with the boot on my feet, grabbing Jude and running into the dark. But I also thought about what happens when men like them are pushed to the limits — they are not stupid.

“Give me until dawn,” I said. Not yes, not no. It was a well calculated risk because - time to think is a dangerous thing to ask from people who ply their trade with power and sheer force.

Chuka shrugged. “Dawn,” he said. “We'll wait.” He motioned and a man loosened the ropes around Jude. He released an agonising sound when the gag was removed from his mouth.

I held Jude’s arm a little as they led us out. His skin was warm. He muttered something that came out more like taste than words: “Thank you...”

Outside, it was three am. The city had not stopped. Dawn gave me a little time, and time is a weapon if you know how to use it.

They showed me what they could do tonight. May be tomorrow, I will show them what I can do back.

To be continued

xaviercasmir:
This one is deep ooo

Indeed my bro... This guy and trouble na 5 and 6 😂😂😂😂😂

Episode 5 – The Call

I laid the cloth back on my chair like an omen. I stood there, chest rising and falling like I’d sprinted a marathon inside a room when I hadn’t moved one bit.

Close to six months. That’s how long Bola had been in my life. I remembered the first day I met her clearly now, as if my mind had been storing it for this exact moment.

It was at a birthday party—Tayo’s cousin’s bash. She walked in wearing yellow, a scarf tied loose, her laughter loud enough to silence others. She sat beside me, and just like that, we were friends. Not too close, not too far—just enough. She’d call sometimes, show up at the beer parlour and will often offer to buy us drinks. I remember when she even sent a client my way. I thought she was one of those generous spirits Lagos sometimes spat out by accident.

Now, staring at that cloth, I knew she hadn’t stumbled into my life by chance - No, she had planted herself like a seed. Waiting, watching and stalking me like a predator studying every of it's prey movement.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number. My gut clenched. I stared at the phone for some moments thinking of who the caller might be but as a building contractor whose only connection to the world is through his phone, I decided to pick it because you never can tell when a potential client would need your service.

I answered the call with a shrug.

“Darous,” the voice said, calm, rich. Male this time. “Good day to you.”

“Who’s this?” I inquired.

“well, well, for starters, I welcome you into our midst.” He paused probably waiting to get a response from me but when he got none other than my heavy breathing , he continued "now straight to business, you see, when we place a mark on someone, it's always because we saw a potential worth investing on"

My grip tightened on the phone. My jaw locked. “what kind of investment?” I shouted but in a soft tone.

"Calm down and let me talk"

"No, let you talk? You just said you want to invest in me and I don't think I ever made any announcement that I need one... If you don't know what to do with your ill-gotten money, you can go and buy Police station or Manchester United...trust me, that will yield you more profits than I'll ever..... So if you don't have anything else to..."

"Guy, you need to calm down while I'm still asking politely " he cuts in. "Because whether you like it or not, you have already subscribed into this network"

"What network?" I said into the phone as I walked outside to catch some fresh air because of the heat that was boiling inside of me at that moment.

“The Circle,” he said, almost casually, like he was inviting me to join a mobile network. I sat under the Moringa tree situated inside our compound.
“It's a network of visionaries, smart brains like you, including men and women who run this city while the rest of the population think it runs itself. You have potential, Darous. Attention to detail. Impeccable focused brain. Calm under pressure and that's what earned you the invitation.”

I almost laughed. “So that’s what this is? A recruitment drive? You people need a new staff?”

“Don’t mock what you don’t understand,” the voice said, tone tightening. “Most men beg to be noticed. You were chosen. Don’t waste it.”

Before I could answer, Kenny’s voice barked from behind me. “Who you dey follow talk wey make your face hard like Jude yansh?”

I spun. Kenny was standing at my back, Jude right behind him. My phone was still to my ear.

“Who’s that?” Jude demanded.

The voice on the line chuckled. “Ah, your friends. Good. Let them listen. This concerns them too.”

I put it on speaker while I face my friends.

The voice oozed confidence. “all you people need to know is that your friend has been marked. Nothing he can do to make us change our mind. There’s absolutely no harm in joining us. The Circle protects its own. Wealth, power, security. Everything this rotten country denies, we shall provide in multiple folds.”

Kenny spat on the floor. “? This one na whyning, abeg cut the call jare before I call police. Who be small pikin for here?.”

The voice laughed. “The police? Obviously you don't know how rotten this country is. Those men in blue and black uniforms eat from our hand. And the courts? We write their judgments. If you doubt it, try them. See where it gets you, but I must warn you, there will be serious consequences for such actions against the Circle. Any way, I give you till tonight to give me a call back once you've made your decision. If I don't get a response from you by midnight, I'll take it as a no and that, "he paused. "My guy, will make you feel very sorry...”

Jude shook his head, face tight with anger. “We’re not doing this. Darous, don’t even think about it. Forget this Circle rubbish. We go show them who dey run this street.....” He ranted on and on and on.

My chest throbbed. Their voices clashed in my ears—Kenny spitting curses, Jude insisting we could resist, the Circle’s man painting power like paradise.

I cut the line.

For a long moment, silence filled the atmosphere. The tree groaned above us through it's cool breeze.

Finally, Kenny said, voice sharp: “Guy, no even reason am. Don’t bend. If you bow now, you go bow forever...no turn yourself to their mumu boy.”

Jude nodded. “We stand together. No matter what.”

I wanted to believe them. I really did. But my mind slid back to that cream strip I left on the floor of my apartment. Bola’s trap. Bola’s seed. Six months of her smiling, touching my life like she belonged. She’d been patient. Purposeful. And now, this.

Despite the assurances from my friends, i didn’t sleep that night. Midnight came and gone, I didn't call the number but I had a plan in mind. And it starts with seeing Bola the following morning.

At dawn, I went to Bola's place.

Not a big house but it's in a relatively quiet street. Too quiet. Her gate man, an old Yoruba man with tired eyes, shook his head before I even asked. “Madam no dey. She travel since yesterday.”

My stomach sank. “Travel where?” I said faintly.

He shrugged, smiling that half-smile of men who know more than they’ll admit. “ I don't know oga... She no tell me where she dey go.”

I left with nothing but the echo of his word making waves in my head.

Back in my room, I sat with the cloth. Staring. Thinking. Six months of her weaving her way into my life, six months of planting roots so deep I hadn’t noticed. I nearly cried. All my plans to get to the bottom of this situation starts with getting Bola to talk but now she's nowhere to be found.

I was in my room for close to three hours, trying to think of what next to do to get myself out of this situation before my phone buzzed again.

This time, no warmth. No diplomacy. Just a cold blade of a voice.

“Darous.” Same Circle man that called me yesterday.

“What now?” My voice was tired, raw. " I told you I'm not joining any silly organisation. We got law in this country and it says every citizen has a right to freedom of...."

"Will you just shut the Fk up?" He roared into my ear and that was enough to silence my voice.

“You’ve made a mistake. We offered you a hand. You slapped it away.”

“Good,” I said. “Then leave me the hell alone.” I managed to say. "I'm not the only guy with a sharp mind in this country...if your net is as wide as you claimed, you'll easily get yourself another man to make his life miserable....."

The caller interrupted again, his voice sharpened, every word like broken glass. “Well, here's to inform you that your friend Jude is with us now. We always have contingency for situations like yours. I knew you wouldn't make that call. So we got Jude"

"What are you saying? What do you mean you got Jude?"

"Well, he's alive—for the moment. If you care about him, you’ll come by Midnight. To the warehouse by the lagoon. Alone. If you don’t, his blood will be on your hands.”

My chest hollowed out. “You bastard—”

The call ended.

This time, I didn’t shout. I didn’t panic. I just sat there, phone in my hand, heart pounding like a war drum.

Jude. My brother. Almost like a blood to me. They had crossed a line, they had gone too far.

And I knew, deep in my bones in that moment, that my life may never remain the same again.

To be continued.

Episode 4 – The Night Visitor

The knocking came again. Three slow thuds, patient, like she was drumming my fear.

“Darous… open the door. It’s me, I know you can hear me.”

Her voice. Calm, sweet, sharp.

I should have ignored it. I should have stayed quiet. But curiosity is a bastard. Pride is worse. Together, they dragged me to the door like a cow heading towards the slaughter house.

I opened it.

Bola slipped inside, wrapped in cream-colored cloth, smelling of something too soft for the kind of danger she carried. She didn’t wait for permission. Just glided in, sat on my bed like she owned the place.

“You’re shaking,” she teased after settling her gaze on me for some secs.

“I’m not.” I lied so confidently I almost believed myself.

She tilted her head, that wicked smile stretching her lips. “You think I came here to make you feel terrible?”

I folded my arms. “and why else will you be here at this hour after I emphatically told you and that your guy that I don't want anything to do with you or whoever the hell you work for.. I just don't care!.” I roared at her like a frustrated Amorim at his players.

She laughed, low and musical, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “Darous, men like you always think you’re free until the net tightens. You’ve already stepped inside. just stop making this more difficult for yourself bobo yi.”

My chest tightened as those words came out of her mouth.

She leaned close, her wrapper brushing my arm, her voice almost a whisper. “Don’t disappoint me. When I’m disappointed… men disappear.”

Then she stood, smoothed her wrapper, and walked out. Not a bang, not a slam—just the soft click of the door that sounded louder than thunder.

I sat there, staring at the empty room, wondering if she’d just cursed me or seduced me. This definitely isn't what I planned when I stepped foot into this area few years ago.


By morning, I tried to distract myself with work thoughts and scrolling through my phone to check the scores of the football matches that was played the previous day. Then my phone rang. Unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Darous?” The voice was smooth, confident. A woman’s.

“Yes, speaking.”

“This is Mrs. Adeoye. I was given your number. I have a renovation project. Just a wall extension of my quarters. Can we meet this afternoon?”

I frowned. “Sorry ma, who gave you my contact?”

She chuckled lightly, like the question didn’t matter. “You came recommended. That’s all you need to know.”

I didn’t push further. Money doesn’t like too many questions. “ooookay ma, I’m available.” sounds spelled more than pronounced.

Her house later that day was another world. Big gate, fresh paint, flowers trimmed like they had a monthly salary. Mr Adeoye was a tall, light-skinned woman in a fitted dress, sunglasses balanced on her head. Moderately pretty for a woman of her age. Everything about her said class.

She showed me the area she wanted to renovate, asked questions, listened to answers, and sealed it with a simple, “Send me your estimate asap and please I hate disappointments. So don’t disappoint me.”

No smiles, no riddles. Just business. Even if she knew me deeper than the work, she didn’t show it. I thought of asking her again who recommended me to her so I can atleast say a thank you to the person but I later decide against it. If she wants me to know, she would tell me herself - I thought.

For a brief moment, I felt relief. At least I got something else to focus my brain on aside Bola and her world of madness. I now had money to chase, cement to mix, and a reason to focus.


Later that evening at the joint,

Jude and Kenny were already there, beers in hand Baba T had an appointment with one of his clients so he wasn't on ground.

“You dey shine today,” Kenny said, grinning. “Na Bola touch give you this glow?”

I laughed, too loud. “Forget that one. I even get new job. One fine woman like that. Fine house, fine money.”

Jude raised a brow. “Good for you. But you sure you’re alright? You look… shaken.”

I was about to answer when Kenny chipped in with his phone and begin to show us a comment he made on a Facebook post of one beautiful lady in her early twenties that got him nothing but humiliation.
He had commented that, if the lady was a lawyer, he wouldn't mind committing crime every day of his life just for the chance of hiring her as an attorney.

And the lady had replied with this : "and I would work the case against you and you'll get a life sentence so I don't see your baboon face ever again."

We all burst into laughter after reading the post. But my own laughter was short-lived when I remember it was my involvement with a woman looking so innocent that's currently giving me sleepless nights. Jude noticed this and he asked me again,
"Guy, you sure say you dey okay"

I gulped down the remaining beer in my cup and took a deep breath.

Maybe it was the alcohol courage, maybe the noise, but I told them everything. How Bola came to my room last night. The way she spoke, the way she left.

Kenny froze mid-drink. Jude’s expression turned tight.

“What?” I asked. “Why una dey look me like that?”

Jude leaned in. “ I heard that whenever Bola pays a man a midnight visit… she leaves something behind o.”

“Something like what?” I queried.

Jude lowered his voice. “A mark. Small cloth. Tooth. Even hair. No be mistake. If you see am for your house, it means you’ve been claimed.”

My stomach dropped. “Claimed? Like goat? When I'm not a property..”

Jude didn’t laugh. “Like property. You better check, Darous.”

I forced a laugh. “Abeg, una dey yarn nonsense.” But my heart was already racing.

I didn’t wait till our usual departure time. I ran home.

The moment I opened my door, I knew I'm in a big world of trouble if there's anything true in what Jude just said. On the old chair by the wall, lying too neat to be accident, was a strip of cream cloth.

The same sample of cloth Bola had worn when she entered my house last night.

I picked it up with trembling fingers. Light, ordinary… yet heavy. It smelled faintly of her scent.

I stood there in silence, the city buzzing outside, the cloth burning in my palm.

No more guessing. No more pretending.

I had been marked, and unlike a script, I didn't know my score.

To be continued...

Episode 3 – The Stranger in the Dark

My heart was thumping hard as Bola whispered those words in my ear. I froze, listening. At first, there was silence, then a faint shuffle, like someone adjusting their step carefully.

I pushed her gently away and stood firm. “Bola, who else dey this house?”

She just smiled, adjusting her wrapper like nothing was wrong. “Relax, Darous. You’re too jumpy, abi wetin dey worry you sef? You too dey do abegi.”

“Too jumpy? Make I no worry for my life?” I said, scanning the room like the machines in Terminator series. “Bola, I hear sound. This no be rat o, this one na person.”

Then the door to her bedroom creaked. My chest tightened. Out stepped a man.

He was tall, maybe in his early forties, with broad shoulders and a scar that cut across his cheek. His skin was dark, shiny with sweat, and his eyes were cold like stone. He wore black trousers and a plain white vest, and on his wrist was a gold chain that flashed under the lamp light.

He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look confused. He just stood there, staring at me like I was a meat on his plate awaiting his teeths.

“Bola,” he said, voice deep, rough, and steady. “So this is him.” sizing me up with another deadly stare.

My blood ran cold.

I turned to Bola sharply. “Who is this?!”

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even pretend. “Darous, meet Chuka.”

The man stepped forward slowly, each step heavy. “So you’re the contractor.” that came out more of a statement than a question.

I swallowed hard. “Contractor, yes. But wetin exactly dey happen here?”

Bola sat back on the couch, legs crossed, smiling like a cat that caught a bird. “Relax. Nothing dey do you tonight.”

I didn’t like that word — tonight.

Chuka stopped right in front of me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. “You don’t look like much,” he said coldly. “But Bola says you’re different.”

I tried to hold my ground. “Look, I don’t know what kind of setup this is, but if you two have history, abeg count me out. I no dey do triangle relationship. No carry any blue film fantasy near me abeg!” I declared.

Bola chuckled. “Oh, it’s not about love, Darous. Chill na. Just calm. No be man you be?"

Chuka leaned closer, so close I could smell tobacco on his breath. “Do you know what you’ve stepped into?”

I clenched my fists, ready for anything. “I don’t care what it is. If this is trouble, I’m walking away right now.”

But Bola’s laugh stopped me. It was low, dark, almost mocking. “Darous, you can’t just walk away. Not after last night.”

Her words hit like thunder.

Chuka smirked. “She’s right. You’re in already. And once you’re in… there’s no easy way out.”

The silence stretched, heavy like cement on my chest. What does he mean by saying there's no way out like it's some kind of a wrestling theme. But if you look at it very well, the situation kind of relate with a wrestling match in a Hell in a Cell . Chuka (the undertaker) Vs Darous (rey Mysterio).

I finally snapped. “Enough of these riddles! Bola, talk straight. Who is this man? What do you mean I can’t walk away?”

She stood, walked slowly to me, placed her hand on my chest. Her touch was soft, but her eyes were sharp. “Darous, you’ve just been chosen. And you should even count yourself lucky. You see Chuka here… he’s the one that decides if you’re strong enough to enter the game.”

I pushed her hand off, stepping back. “Chosen for what? I resemble a chosen generation member for your eyes? Abeg free me...abi who dey follow you play nonsense games!”

Chuka smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “We’ll see soon.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

I turned back to Bola, anger boiling. “What nonsense is this? You bring me here, then your man appear like ghost? You think I’m a fool?”

But Bola didn’t look shaken. She just tilted her head and said softly, “Darous… if you leave now, you’ll regret it. If you stay, you’ll understand. I just hope you don't make this worst than it needs to be.”

I shook my head, grabbed my shirt from the couch. “You dey craze. I’m leaving.”

She called after me, her voice calm but loaded. “Remember what I said. You can’t walk away.”



The night air outside felt heavy as I stepped out. My mind was racing. Chuka’s scarred face haunted me. Bola’s calm smile scared me even more. What the hell had I stepped into?

By the time I got home, it was past 1 a.m. I locked my door twice, dropped on my bed, and stared at the ceiling. Sleep must be also scared of Chuka because it didn’t come that night. I was wide awake till the next day.


Morning came again the following day. My phone buzzed. It was Jude.

“Guy, abeg, meet us for joint by noon. We need to talk.”

I dragged myself to the beer parlour by noon. The guys were already drinking. Kenny’s laughter filled the place, but when he saw me, his face turned serious.

“Darous,” he said, “you look like person wey see ghost.”

I dropped into a chair. “Not ghost. Worse.”

Jude leaned forward, eyes sharp as usual. “Talk.”

I told them everything — about what happened at Bola's apartment, Chuka stepping out of the bedroom, his words, her talk about being chosen. I didn’t hold back.

When I finished, the table was silent.

Baba T was the first to speak. “Chuka? Did you say his name is Chuka?”

“Yes. Scar on his face. Dark eyes like person wey don smoke his last card. You know him?”

Baba T nodded slowly, face pale. “Everybody knows Chuka. That man is dangerous. He’s not an ordinary street guy. He used to work for one of the big boys in Surulere back then — the kind that run dirty deals, you know, with politicians. People say he vanished after one deal went bad. If he’s back… then Bola is not a small matter be that o.”

My stomach knotted. “So Bola is part of that life?”

Jude slammed the table. “I warned you! I told you Bola no be ordinary woman. Now you see?”

I rubbed my face, stressed. “So what do I do? Walk away?”

Kenny laughed bitterly. “Walk away? well, sha no loose guard bro. No loose guard o. And we gat your back always bro....”

The words chilled me.


That night, I stayed in my room, door locked, lights off. I tried to focus on site work, on invoices, on bills piling up. But my mind wouldn’t rest.

By 10 p.m., my phone buzzed again. Bola.

I stared at the screen, heart pounding.
Like Barcelona knocking on Newcastle door, based on past experience - should I pick or just let this hag wore herself out?

Three rings. Four. Then it stopped.

Relief washed over me — until after like five mins I heard a knock at my door.

Three slow knocks.

I froze.

My phone buzzed again. This time a text message.

“Darous, open the door. It’s me.”

Bola. At my house.

I stood there, phone in hand, staring at the door, sweat rolling down my face.

What if Chuka was with her? What if this was a trap?

The knocking came again, louder this time.

“Darous,” her voice floated through the door, calm, sweet. “I know you’re there. Don’t make me angry.”

My chest tightened.

And then my phone buzzed once more — another message.

“You can't run forever. Man up and open the damn door!.”

I dropped the phone, my hands shaking.

This was no longer a game...no, this Barca wants to turn my Newcastle to Oldcastle by all means necessary.

To be continued....

Typicool8:
Welcome back Gawd of thunder pikin, e don tay..

yes my bro... It's been long. But we still stand. Let's ride this storm together boss.

xaviercasmir:
I nearly forgot how you infuse current reality to your work bro.
Good job

nice to know you still got my back boss. 🙏

dawno2008:
No be you again @TheBlessedMAN,wey go start better thing come stop half way,I beeg,this na tinubu era ooo,head dey hot now,if you know say you nor fit finish wetin you wan start,just no start am,I no get that kind patient wey I get 7 years ago ooo cos tinubu don show my brains sheke

Any ways welcome back,

😂 Bro. I understand. But this time around., I'm back... Back for good...we finishing this with your support...

SmartestPopQUEEN:
Following bumper to bumper. Ride on TBM. It's been long. I miss your pen so much. Glad to have you back. ❤️❤️❤️

Yes my sister. How have you been? It's been long. Thanks for staying loyal to the station

I'm back with a new banger famz. Click the link below to join the new train. Don't be left out.

https://www.nairaland.com/8521601/friends-frenemies-foes-darous-chronicles