GOVERNOR'S OFFICE
The heavy fibreglass door swung open just enough for Chief Ami to slip through, his steps hesitant, like a man walking into a lion's den. The air in Governor Buike Robinson's office was different. It smelled of primrose, His wife's favourite flower. Buike sat behind his massive desk, scribbling signatures on a stack of documents, flanked by three aides who hovered like shadows.
"Your Excellency, you wanted to see me?" Ami's voice came out low, respectful, but edged with caution. He stood there, hands clasped in front, eyes darting to the floor.
Buike glanced up briefly, his pen still moving.
"Send this budget to the accounting office. Make the amount readily available before next week," he barked at the aides, his tone authoritative.
"Okay, sir!"
they chorused in unison, gathering the papers and filing out like well-trained soldiers, leaving the room in a sudden, echoing silence.
Buike turned his full attention to Ami, sizing him up with a slow, predatory smile. He rose, clapping the man on the back with a force that made Ami wince slightly.
"Please, have a seat."
Ami lowered himself into the plush chair opposite the desk, his posture ramrod straight, as if relaxing might be seen as disrespect. Buike sauntered over to a gleaming cabinet in the corner, pulling out a bottle of amber whiskey that caught the light from the window. He shook it playfully at Ami.
"Whiskey?"
Before Ami could respond, Buike was already pouring into two crystal glasses, the liquid glugging out smoothly. He dropped in a couple of ice cubes with a soft clink and carried them back, placing one in front of Ami before settling into his own seat. He took a slow sip, savouring it, while Ami sat frozen, not daring to touch his.
Buike chuckled, the sound low and rumbling.
"Go on, man. It's not poisoned."
He gestured with his glass, encouragingly.
Only then did Ami reach for it, his fingers trembling slightly as he lifted it to his lips. He took a tiny sip, eyes flicking everywhere but at the governor— the ornate rug, the framed photos of Buike shaking hands with dignitaries, anything to avoid direct contact. He set the glass down with exaggerated care, as if it might shatter from a wrong move.
Buike leaned back, swirling his drink.
"I asked you here today because I have something to discuss with you."
Ami shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the leather creaking under him. His voice came out quiet, almost a whisper.
"What could Your Excellency possibly have to discuss with me?"
Buike sighed, his smile widening, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Your art gallery is interesting. I especially loved the last pieces you showcased."
Ami's shoulders relaxed a fraction, a glimmer of pride breaking through his tension.
"You certainly have an eye for the arts, Your Excellency."
It was a blatant attempt at flattery, but Buike let it slide, nodding appreciatively.
"Could you tell me about the artist behind those paintings? The story was really intriguing."
Ami beamed now, sitting a bit straighter.
"Your Excellency, sir, they are called THE MASK."
Buike froze, his glass halfway to his lips. His hand shook just enough to make the ice rattle.
"The Mask? They?"
Buike's curiosity sharpened, his eyes narrowing. Ami nodded eagerly.
"To be honest, sir, I don't know their gender. I only speak to them through their agent. The Mask is a mysterious figure. I don't know anything about them personally."
"Is there any way to find out who they are?" Buike pressed, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone.
Ami sighed, shaking his head. "Your Excellency, sir, to be honest, this will be very difficult because I've never met the agent either. The way they operate is strange."
"What do you mean?" Buike asked, his interest piqued, fingers drumming lightly on the desk.
"They shipped the paintings directly to a warehouse I specified before I paid them. It seemed almost like they knew who I was, but then again, everyone knows who I am."
Ami laughed, a nervous bark, and took another sip of his whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass like a warning.
Buike seemed lost in thought, staring into his drink.
"I really love this Mask person's paintings. But how did you know the story?"
"The story came attached with the paintings. It's a real tragic tale, isn't it? Everyone at the party loved it, but they hated the villain just as much. Honestly, he's good for nothing. This is why you shouldn't give servants like him any chances. They just go crazy with power. Those little urchins. They taste power for the first time, and they can't seem to contain themselves."
Ami slapped his thigh for emphasis, his face twisting in genuine annoyance. Buike's grip tightened on his glass, knuckles whitening. He went to set it down, but his hand slipped, slamming it against the table. The glass shattered with a sharp crack, shards scattering across the polished wood and spilling whiskey in a dark puddle on the floor.
Ami jumped to his feet, eyes wide with shock, and dropped to his knees in an instant.
"Your Excellency! Let me—"
Buike reached for a piece, but Ami was already there, insisting,
"No, sir, please, allow me."
He gathered the broken fragments with careful, almost reverent hands, as if handling sacred relics. Buike tried to wave him off at first, but Ami persisted, politely urging the governor to step back. Buike relented, sinking into his chair with a snicker, watching the man bow before him, picking up the mess with such pathetic dedication. The sight stirred something dark in Buike—a mix of amusement and contempt—as the sharp scent of spilt whiskey filled the room.
AT THE BAR
The private room at the back of the dimly lit bar felt like a pressure cooker; the air smelled of fine wine, cigarette smoke, and the metallic tang of fear. Six figures sat around a scarred wooden table, drinks untouched in front of them, condensing sweat on the glasses mirroring the beads on their foreheads. They were a mismatched crew—politicos and opportunists, all invited here under threat. Notes had arrived at their doors, promising ruin if they didn't show: evidence of tax evasion, arms smuggling, and worse—videos of their families held captive, bound and gagged in grainy footage. 'Your peaceful days are over,' the messages read, with chilling proof attached.
They'd been waiting nearly an hour, murmuring in low, apprehensive tones, glancing at the door every few seconds. The walls muffled the bass music booming loudly from underneath, vibrating, amplifying the tension. Finally, the door creaked open slowly, the loud music filtering in, as two young men strode in. One wore a crazy, lopsided smile that didn't reach his eyes—Tonna, exuding the kind of confidence that borders on madness. Beside him, Kyle, stone-faced and efficient, like a coiled spring.
"I see you all made it."
Tonna drawled, his voice dripping with mock admiration.
"Should I say I'm impressed with your punctuality, or just disappointed that you showed up in time to cover all your rottenness?"
The group shifted uncomfortably, but it was Mrs. Anthonia who broke the silence first, her voice sharp as a blade.
"Young man, what is the meaning of this?"
Tonna ignored her, sauntering to an empty chair and pulling it out with a screech. He dropped into it casually, snapping his fingers at Kyle, who slapped a thick folder onto the table with a thud. Tonna flipped it open, a smirk curling his lips as he scanned the contents, not bothering to look up.
"Now, we're going to play a fun game"
He said, his tone light but laced with venom.
"Just a warning: it's at your own peril if you don't play along."
He finally lifted his gaze, eyes hooded and piercing, sweeping over them. He could see the fear flickering in their faces—the widened eyes, the clenched jaws—and it made him chuckle softly, a sound that echoed like a threat in the confined space.
"Okay, then. If you hear your name, please answer 'here.' Ooh, like I said, if you want to be exposed, please do as you like."
His confidence was ironclad. He'd sent each of them damning snippets: tax records doctored to hide fortunes, videos of arms deals in shadowy warehouses, and those hostage clips of their families bound in basements with timestamps proving they were recent. More ammunition waited in reserve; he could bury them layer by layer if they resisted. He handed the file back to Kyle with a nod.
"Go ahead."
Kyle's voice was flat, mechanical. "Mrs. Anthonia."
"Yes," she snapped, discourteous and defiant, but Tonna just smiled wider.
"Ms Holly."
Silence stretched, thick and heavy. Tonna and Kyle waited, unmoved, sipping from their own drinks they'd grabbed on the way in. The woman glared, but the memory of her family's pleading eyes in that video broke her. She sighed, slumping. "Here."
She spat it out snarkily, but they ignored the attitude.
"Mr. Arin."
"Here," the man grumbled, his voice like gravel.
"Mrs. Happy?"
"I am here," she whispered, so softly it was almost lost in the hum of the bar's distant chatter.
"Mr. Thomas."
He answered indifferently, a curt nod.
"Mrs. Tyla."
"Young man, just what is the meaning of this rubbish? Who the hell are you in the first place? Do you even know who we are?"
she exploded, her annoyance boiling over, face flushed red.
"That's all of them, boss," Kyle said, ignoring her outburst entirely.
Tonna nodded, crossing his legs with deliberate ease. A creepy smile spread across his face, the kind that makes skin crawl.
"Now, now, you shouldn't be worried about me knowing who you are. What you should be worried about is who I am. You're just ignorant fools who decided to fish in waters you don't own. So now, I'm going to give each of you a chance."
He snapped his fingers again, and Kyle distributed six crisp sheets of paper, one in front of each. They stared at them, unmoving, faces twisted in annoyance and barely contained rage.
"It's okay if you want to go take a piss or a shit."
Tonna quipped, leaning back.
"Seems like you lot need to empty your bowels soon, or you'd burst from the anger."
He burst into laughter at his own joke, a harsh, echoing sound that fell flat in the room. Their expressions soured further, but his face turned grim in an instant, like flipping a switch.
"Sign those files in front of you."
They didn't budge. Tonna shrugged, unbothered, and motioned to Kyle for a cigarette. Kyle lit it for him, the flame flickering briefly in the dim light. Tonna inhaled deeply, exhaling two slow puffs that curled lazily toward the ceiling, filling the room with acrid smoke.
"It's okay if you don't want to sign them. I do not negotiate with criminals and idiots."
Mrs. Tyla slammed her hand on the table, the impact rattling the glasses.
"You'd be sorry, young man, for doing this."
Tonna threw his head back and laughed, a booming, genuine sound that caught them all off guard.
"I don't think your little threat is working…"
He eyed her up and down, his gaze lingering. "Sam!"
The name hit like a slap. Mrs Tyla, previously known as Samuel, slumped back in her chair, colour draining from her face, eyes wide with horror.
"Did you think a gender swap and plastic surgery would fix the ugliness you carry inside you?"
Tonna snapped his fingers, and Kyle tossed a stack of photos onto the table: clear shots of a man in women's attire, drag shows, then surgical transformations step by step. The others gasped, leaning in involuntarily, shock rippling through the group like a wave.
Tonna chuckled darkly.
"Well, seems like your colleagues didn't even know about you."
She scrambled to gather the photos, stuffing them under her arms, cheeks burning with embarrassment and raw fear. The room fell silent, the power shifting palpably.
"Any other idiots want to mouth off at me?" Tonna asked, his voice a low growl.
Their faces changed, defiance crumbling into wary submission. None dared speak.
"Now, that's more like it,"
He said, inhaling another drag and exhaling a long, deliberate puff that hung in the air like a noose.
"Ooh, if you think that Lizard Buike will save you, I'd advise you to think again."
He gestured lazily, and Kyle dropped six thick folders onto the table with a heavy thud. Each contained photos: secret meetings in dimly lit alleys, crates of arms being unloaded under the cover of night, the photos showed compromising positions with shady figures. Then, Kyle placed a small recorder in the centre, its black casing gleaming ominously.
They eyed it warily. Tonna nodded.
"Go on, play it."
Mr. Arin snatched it up, pressing play. Buike's voice filled the room, unmistakable and smug:
'Don't mind those fools. They are my dogs, and they do everything I ask. So far, nothing will be traced back to us. I have been having them sign the deals only in their names, so it wouldn't involve me. I'd hand the names over to the police the day after the presidential elections. That would be one of the good things to restore people's faith in the Government.'
Another voice chimed in:
'Can you bear to do that? I mean, these people are your confidants. Wouldn't it be a waste to let them go just like that?'
'What do you mean by waste? They would give up their lives for a greater purpose—for me. They should be grateful to serve me.'
'How about the illegal dumping of those medical materials?'
'Why do you think I have kept these idiots close? They are my fall guys in case anything hap—'
Before it could finish, Mrs. Happy banged her fists on the table, startling everyone. Glasses wobbled, and a drink spilled, pooling on the wood.
"That sneaky bastard!"
She yelled, veins bulging in her neck, fists clenched in fury.
"Relax. We don't even know how authentic this is. It could have been fabricated to cause trouble between us. There's no way His Excellency would treat us like this"
Ms. Holly cautioned, her voice trembling despite her words.
Tonna laughed again, louder this time, the sound bouncing off the walls.
"No wonder he took you all as fools to use."
Kyle pulled out a laptop, flipping it open with a click. A video played, the same audio, but now with visuals:
Buike is in a lavish office, gesturing animatedly, his face clear as day. The conversation continued beyond the recorder's snippet, delving into more damning details, but Kyle paused it abruptly, snapping the laptop shut.
"How do we trust that what you have shown us isn't doctored?" Mrs Anthonia demanded, her scepticism a last-ditch grasp at denial.
"You don't,"
Tonna replied simply, shrugging. The answer hung there, blunt and unyielding, throwing them off balance.
"You can continue to be idiots and let that man use you and your families to hide his wrongdoings. I know you're all aware of what happened to Mr Hanye, who remains in prison till now. How do you think that happened?"
Kyle clicked the laptop again, pulling up another video: the infamous clip that had doomed Hanye, unedited and raw, voices matching perfectly to known figures.
"I know you are all members of the Klarity Foundation,"
Tonna continued, leaning in, his breath hot with cigarette smoke.
''I know you can tell from the voice in the recording that it is Mr. Achebe, the previous founder of the foundation."
He leaned closer, elbows on the table.
"Do you people even know what was happening there? You were being used by them all these years, and you all were like lambs to the slaughter. But then, I know you don't believe me. If you want more proof, then…"
His gaze locked on Mr Thomas.
"I know you have an insider keeping an eye on Buike. Why don't you ask Ernest to bring all he's gathered? Just so you know, he is holding on to more information than he's giving out because the fool wants to use it as leverage to get the governor's wife to leave him. He has no idea the kind of animal he's dealing with."
Thomas's face drained of colour, sheer horror etching his features.
"How—?"
"Don't be surprised"
Tonna cut in, his expression mean and unyielding.
"I know everything."
He swept his gaze over them all, eyes like daggers.
"I always love to keep up to date with my Friends.''
He made sure to draw the last words to stress the implication.
''From what I know, that little monkey's been holding out on you."
"What do you want from us?"
Mrs. Tyla asked, her voice smaller now, the fight gone.
"Go confirm everything I have said today. Once you do, I'll tell you then what I want."
"And what would you do if we go to His Excellency with this info?" another pressed.
Tonna stood up slowly, stretching like a cat after a kill, and headed for the door. Just before stepping through, he turned, his smile back, cold and final.
"You wouldn't. You may be idiots, but after today's revelations, you wouldn't be so stupid as to sell yourselves to a man who would likely destroy your lives. Did you think I hadn't done my homework before coming here?"
With that, he vanished into the hallway, leaving them in stunned silence, the door clicking shut like a coffin lid. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air colder, as the everything they had just witnessed wrapped around them like a shroud.