CHAPTER EIGHT — The First Strike
The city had a pulse, and Tunde felt it. Every shadow, every passing car, every whisper carried a message — some of warning, some of opportunity.
Tonight, it was opportunity.
🌑 The Target
Weeks of observation had paid off. Tunde had mapped Sunkanmi's transport routes, security rotations, and weak points in his warehouses. The first shipment — illegal weapons destined for a gang network — would pass through a small pier near the Lagos lagoon.
He had chosen the night carefully. Rain would mask his movements, reduce patrols, and make escape easier.
With a small bag of tools, a hidden phone, and the cowrie shell hanging over his chest, he slipped into the shadows like a whisper.
⚡ The Strike
The pier was quiet. Crates were being loaded onto a small boat. Two guards, tired and complacent, leaned against the dock. Tunde approached silently, his mind rehearsing every step.
One precise throw of a rock distracted them. Another, and a crate's latch loosened. With nimble hands, he opened one, extracted evidence — photos, ledgers, names — then relocked it, leaving the scene untouched.
It was quick. Clean. Perfect.
But as he turned to leave, a flashlight beam caught him.
"Hey! Stop right there!" one guard shouted, raising a rifle.
Tunde ran, heart hammering. Rain slicked wood made each step dangerous. A crate tipped, crashing into the water, and a muffled curse followed him as he dove into the shadows.
The first strike had been executed. He had evidence. He had survived. And now, Sunkanmi's men knew he existed.
🌤 The Cost
Back in his small hideout, Tunde panted, soaked through. Aisha's face flashed in his mind. If anything happened to him, she could be vulnerable.
He thought of her hands, her smile, the way she had tended to his wounds, and realized the truth: love was both strength and vulnerability. He couldn't protect her fully unless he was smarter, faster, and more ruthless.
The first strike was just the beginning.
🌑 The Enemy Reacts
By morning, whispers of the break-in had reached Sunkanmi. His face, calm in public, was stormy in private.
"Find him," Sunkanmi ordered Oba, the scarred enforcer. "And make him regret ever touching my business."
Oba's eyes glinted. "He's clever, boss. He won't be easy."
Sunkanmi leaned back, a slow, dangerous smile forming. "Good. I love a challenge."
The game had begun in earnest.
⚡ Tunde's Resolve
Tunde knew the enemy would come for him, and soon. He fortified his hideout, planned escape routes, and doubled down on observing Sunkanmi's operations.
He also began preparing Aisha — not with details she didn't need, but with subtle warnings. "Be careful in the streets. Don't trust anyone outside the clinic."
She nodded, worried but obedient. "I know, Tunde. But promise me you'll come back."
"I will," he said, hiding the depth of the danger he faced. "I always do."
🌙 The Storm Ahead
The first strike had changed everything. Tunde was no longer just a survivor. He was a fighter, a shadow moving through Lagos, gathering power, knowledge, and courage.
But he also knew the truth: Sunkanmi would retaliate. He would be hunted. Allies would be tested. And sacrifices — painful, bitter sacrifices — would be demanded.
Tunde pressed the cowrie shell to his chest.
"I will survive. I will protect. I will strike. And I will live to see justice."
The boy who refused to die had begun his reckoning.
The storm had begun.