Things grew and a lot died down. Times passed and a lot blew up in the city for a while; months were the yardstick. It took time but things still went back undercover. 

A lot of people tasted the edge of the knife as the strive for power ate deep into the city like a cancer. Leaders lost lives, families paid for one man's crime. 

Who are you to stand for the fight? Liver or no liver, you would lose a body part. 

An eye for an eye,  revenge rolled like an edgeless die. 

And after a while, power changed hands. It's a lot of time for a change in the sector but nothing really began to change until Afolabi was pronounced dead one morning. Then the gates to the empire he had built opened up to the public. The gold he had saved for the generation to come got stolen after those he had left to pick up his legacy left the town in one night. 


A little step away from a shady tree, the young man in chains moved closer to a dark drum. 

The smell broke though his nostrils but he had been used to it that in minutes, it felt like nothing. 

His clothes, torn and his shoes, worn out. 

His had blisters around his elbow and it was glaring even as he turned his back against the rest of the world.

He reached the drum, fetched a handful of the water in it, and put it straight to his mouth. 

He dripped water off the side of lips. He looked very thirsty as he gulped. 

He looked up and his brown eyes reflected the rays. 

He whisked, his eyebrow arching as he adjusted the cloak of his shirt.   

No worries! He bounced away like nothing was wrong and in minutes, he was among a thick crowd, getting himself in the line for bread. 

Noah; big and dark, one of the new guys working in the farm spotted him and seemed troubled. 

Noah had noticed him to be quiet and he wanted to get his rank up with him. 

Noah moved towards him and hit his hands on his shoulder. 

He looked back and frowned.

"Get your hands off me," he said. His voice was cold and it failed to pull the right attention. 

Noah ignored and instead tightened his fist together for a hit. 

He launched his fist forward in a swing, aiming for a blind spot but his fist was caught quicker than he expected and with it, he was brought to the ground. His bones cracked and shifted out of proportion. 

The news spread like wildfire. People gathered at the scene trying to bring up Noah from the floor and struggling to get his pain away. The other guy walked away, letting go of his space on the queue. 


A short guy with a gun raced off a bushy path. His shorts rocked with the waves, going from side to side as it struggled to stand on his waist.  

He was grabbed off by the wrist and he crashed into the ground. Right there, before he could gain his ground, the very person he was going to reach was standing over his head; huge and hefty. His wide chest was exposed, and a dark brown trouser penned down his waist.  

He had his shirt on his shoulder and his hands were quick to cross his chest. 

"What happened?" The huge guy asked. 

"Luta... Luta..." The short guy stammered. 

"He is at it again."