The scorching morning sun, a glaring eye in the sky, beat down on Royal Academy's vast, green field. Inside the cool, silent classroom, the low, steady hum of Mr. Obaseki's voice, slowly breaking down old English poems, was just a background noise. It was a gentle drone, meant to calm and instruct, but to Tony, it was just part of the careful illusion he maintained. Fifteen years old and in Senior Secondary School 2 (SSS 2), he sat at his polished wooden desk. He rested his head on his hand, his eyes fixed on the gleaming whiteboard, seeing not the elegant script, but a map of Warri, crisscrossed with unseen lines of power. His school uniform – a crisp white shirt, a neat blue-and-gold tie, sharp grey trousers – looked perfect. It was a stark, almost painful contrast to the worn, faded shorts he wore when the street demanded its dues. The Black family's name, known for its wealth and quiet influence in Warri, hung subtly around him, a cloak of respectability.
Tony Black was, by all appearances, a good student. He was smart. His grades were always strong enough to bring happy smiles to his parents, Papa Ejike and Mama Nneka Black, when he brought home his report cards. He didn't easily make friends at school. When other students laughed and talked, Tony often just watched, observing their carefree movements, their easy banter, a silent anthropologist among them. When he did speak in class, his words were clear and proper, carefully chosen, nothing like the raw, clipped Warri Pidgin he used elsewhere. Here, in the quiet, manicured halls of Royal Academy, he was simply Tony Black, the promising scholar from a well-known family, a young man destined for university and a comfortable life.
In his class, there was a boy named Ken. Ken was loud. He often got into noisy trouble in the schoolyard, breaking rules with a public swagger. People knew Ken was a "bad boy," a predictable source of minor chaos. But even Ken, and other students who tried to act tough, seemed to sense something deeper about Tony. They kept their distance. There was an unspoken understanding. Those who truly knew Tony Black knew his other side. They knew his quietness hid a brutal edge, a cold capacity for violence that Ken's bravado lacked. They chose to avoid him, sensing a depth of danger that no schoolyard scuffle could explain. Different student groups, almost like secret societies, held sway over specific spots in the school. There was a quiet understanding about who hung out behind the old sports hall, a zone for the older, wilder boys, or near the distant dorms, where whispers of initiation rites sometimes drifted on the breeze. These groups acted like smaller, weaker versions of the cults that held power outside the school gates. But Tony moved through all these areas, a silent force that no single school clique truly controlled. He was more dangerous, more connected, than any simple school gang.
But Mr. Obaseki's voice flowed on, speaking of ancient lovers and tragic endings. Tony's mind, however, was miles away, working, planning, like a quiet machine that never stopped. He kept replaying a low, urgent rumor he'd heard late last night. It was a whisper, carried on the hot, wet Warri air, an air thick with the faint, persistent smell of crude oil and a constant, unspoken tension that hummed beneath the city's surface. The rumors buzzed: "The Red Scorpions" were on the move. They were a rival group from another school, Government College, Warri, a place known for its own tough student cliques, but also notorious for breeding street-level power. But the Red Scorpions also had power far beyond school gates, their influence spreading like a dark stain. They were pushing hard into Oraka Lane, a narrow, busy street that Tony's own group, the "Eiye Brotherhood," had long held. The Eiye Brotherhood was a street group, fierce and far-reaching. But its influence stretched subtly, quietly, even into schools like Royal Academy, drawing in sons of privilege who craved a different kind of power. It was not a small school gang. It was a sprawling, dangerous network, and Tony was a crucial part of its local operations.
Tony felt the silent thrum of his hidden phone against his thigh. A text message. He didn't react, didn't even twitch. Not now. Not here. Royal Academy felt like a different planet, governed by different laws. Its rules were strict, its facade impenetrable. Here, he was simply Tony Black. But beyond the tall gates, in the dimly lit alleys and noisy markets, he was still Tony Black. That name, when spoken in hushed tones, carried a growing weight. It meant he was swift and unforgiving among his own, and a true threat among his enemies. The raw, tough core of his street self, his hidden ruggedness, was always there, a tight knot deep inside him, no matter how perfect his uniform appeared.
He let his gaze drift across the classroom. His classmates, mostly children of Warri's most respected families, seemed utterly unaware of the city's hidden currents. They chattered about upcoming tests, the school's next football match, the weekend parties their parents would host at fancy resorts on the edge of the city. They knew nothing of the unseen currents flowing beneath their city's surface, the invisible lines drawn in the dust of forgotten paths, the brutal, simple language of territory and loyalty that truly governed Warri. They didn't know that sometimes, arguments were settled not with polite words in quiet rooms, but with the cold gleam of cutlasses and the swift, decisive blow of axes, often in quick, secret clashes Tony himself had been a part of. He never left a trace.
He thought of his earbuds, small and discreet, tucked deep in his blazer pocket. Later, when the school day faded into shadows, the raw, honest lyrics of Roddy Ricch or 2Pac would flood his ears. Their songs, full of struggle and ambition, of grinding hustle and brutal victory, felt more real, more alive, than any of Shakespeare's refined verses.
The piercing shriek of the final bell for lunch ripped through the air. It was a chaotic burst of sudden freedom. Textbooks slammed shut with a bang, chairs scraped across the tiled floor with a grating sound, and an explosion of excited chatter filled the room as students surged towards the door, a river of youth flowing towards the canteen. Tony moved with the flow, a quiet eddy in the rushing current. But his mind was already sharp, his body ready to shift. Time to drop his careful guard, if only for a fleeting moment. Time to find out if the whispers were truly turning to screams.
Tony moved with the students, a silent observer in the bustling schoolyard. His eyes, though, were searching, sweeping across the expanse of green. He quickly spotted him near the far end of the football pitch. It wasn't a student, but Chike, one of the school groundsmen. Chike was slowly pushing a heavy, rust-stained wheelbarrow filled with freshly cut hedges. His worn, khaki uniform was a stark contrast to the students' clean white. Chike was a quiet man, usually unseen, ignored by the throng of teenagers. He was exactly the kind of person Tony, the promising student, shouldn't be seen talking to. But they had their own long-established code.
As Tony walked past, making it seem like he was heading for the deserted locker rooms, Chike's eyes flickered up, meeting Tony's for barely a breath. It was a silent, urgent signal. Chike's hand, rough from years of work, subtly brushed his earlobe, a gesture so quick and small, it would be missed by anyone not looking directly. It was the sign. Urgent. Confirmed.
Tony continued his path without breaking stride, his face a still mask. He mumbled something to a passing group of classmates about needing to grab a forgotten textbook from his locker, a common, unquestioned excuse. They barely registered his words, too busy talking about lunch and their weekend plans.
He peeled away from the main school buildings. He walked towards a quieter part of the school compound, near the cracked perimeter wall, where old, unused storage sheds stood. As he walked, his hand went to his pocket, feeling the smooth plastic of his earbuds. He could almost hear the heavy bass of Roddy Ricch already thumping, the raw beat pulling him deeper into his other life.
Chike moved slowly towards the same isolated area. He was still pushing his wheelbarrow with slow, measured movements. He looked like he was just collecting more discarded foliage. He paused near a secluded spot, partly hidden by overgrown bushes and the small, old generator shed, whose soft hum was barely audible. Tony arrived moments later, looking like he was just taking a quick shortcut.
"How far, Tony?" Chike mumbled, his lips barely moving, his voice a low, rough Warri Pidgin. He didn't look directly at Tony, instead focusing on rearranging the leaves in his wheelbarrow, his eyes darting quickly around, always watching the few teachers strolling near the main quad.
Tony's jaw tightened. A cold, sharp rush of adrenaline filled him, a feeling far more real, more alive, than any classroom lesson. "Injured? How bad?" he asked, his own voice a low, almost silent murmur, easily blending into the soft breeze that rustled the leaves. He spoke in Pidgin now. This was the language of his other world.
"In the head. Them hit am with bottle," Chike replied, his eyes grim. He paused, adjusting a sack in his wheelbarrow. "Dem dey try claim say na dem get Oraka Lane now. Dem say we no get power again."
Tony's mind raced, already dissecting the information. This wasn't just a random fight, a minor skirmish. It was a direct challenge to his local chapter of Eiye. Oraka Lane was a crucial territory, a vital artery for their smaller, illicit operations. This was an insult, a clear declaration of war against his immediate team, a calculated move to test their strength, to push into their territory.
"Who be their leader for there?" Tony asked, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, his mind already spinning through possible counter-moves, mapping out scenarios.
Chike hesitated, giving a quick, almost unseen shake of his head. "Word dey go say na one new senior man dem get. Dem dey call am Scorpion Prince. Nobody even sabi him face well, well. But him dey ruthless." He then straightened, pushing his wheelbarrow a few inches further, as if to adjust its position.
Tony thought about the new name. A new face. That complicated things, made the target less predictable, harder to anticipate. But it didn't change the objective. "Tell the boys," Tony said, his voice cold, decisive, a quiet command. "Say make dem dey ready. We no go allow dem take our territory. No be for our time this kind thing go happen. Make them know say Eiye still dey fly for Warri." The ancient group slogan, a chilling promise of swift retribution, hung in the air between them, a silent testament to their unyielding code. This was his promise, a message he intended to send up the chain to the higher leaders in the Eiye Brotherhood as well. This attack was a perfect opportunity to show his sharp thinking and decisive action, to reinforce his rising importance, even if he often operated outside their direct leash, preferring his own plans.
"Chike," Tony continued, his voice flat, his eyes distant as he processed the information, already visualizing the necessary steps. "You go spread word. Quietly. No gbege, no loud talk. I need two of my boys. The ones inside here. Tell them to meet me for the lab. After school."
Chike nodded, his understanding clear. "Wey lab? The physics one?" he mumbled, still facing away, sweeping some stray leaves with his foot.
"No," Tony corrected, "The old biology lab. The one dem no dey use again. Make dem come one by one. No too much noise." The old biology lab was perfect: out of the way, rarely used, and it had a discreet back exit that led close to the perimeter wall, ideal for secret entries and exits.
"And for the Red Scorpions," Tony added, his voice a low growl, "Tell our boys for outside say make dem no dey do anything stupid yet. No direct fighting. I need full intel on this 'Scorpion Prince.' Where him dey operate? How many boys him get? Which kind weapon dem dey carry? Everything. And tell them to step up security for Oraka Lane. Two man, one post. Always." He stressed the details, the precise commands of a leader who left nothing to chance.
Chike's face remained grim, but he gave another almost imperceptible nod of understanding. "Consider it done, boss. We go bring you every detail." He then pushed his wheelbarrow away, resuming his work as if their brief, hushed exchange had never happened.
"Good," Tony replied, his gaze already shifting, planning his next moves. He waited a beat, then turned and walked back towards the main school building, smoothing down his uniform. He ran a hand through his hair, adjusting his appearance. He was no longer Tony Black, leader of his small Royal Academy crew. He was Tony Black, the Royal Academy student heading back to class, a picture of innocent scholastic preoccupation. The clean smell of freshly cut grass, usually so out of place with his thoughts, now felt like a part of the careful deception.
The rest of the school day passed in a strange blur, a distant echo of normal life. Tony sat through Chemistry, watching Professor Akintola explain atomic structures and chemical bonds, but his focus was elsewhere. He was mentally mapping Oraka Lane, picturing its narrow alleys, the clusters of market stalls, the uncompleted buildings where rival groups often hid. His mind was already calculating the best approach, the quickest escape routes, the most vulnerable points of attack.
In English class, Mrs. Adeyemi was discussing literary themes, but Tony was thinking about the "themes" of the streets: dominance, survival, and retribution. He looked at his classmates. Their faces were calm and carefree, talking about parties and university applications, their futures stretching out bright and predictable. They knew nothing. Royal Academy was a place of high walls, green lawns, and quiet classrooms. Students here talked about inter-house sports competitions, debate clubs, and upcoming charity fairs. Tony attended them all, a ghost in plain sight, participating just enough to remain unnoticed. It was like living in two separate movies at the same time. One movie was about him being the good student, a carefully crafted performance. The other was about him being Tony Black, a shadow moving through the city's hidden pulse, a player in a dangerous game where the stakes were often life and death.
He answered questions when called upon, his responses clear and intelligent, never giving away the storm brewing inside him. He even managed a few polite jokes with his schoolmates, his smile just a little too fixed, a little too practiced. He had mastered this skill long ago—the art of being present while being completely elsewhere. It was a crucial part of his survival, this ability to change not just his language, but his entire persona, switching identities as easily as he changed channels.
He ate his lunch quickly, picking at his food. He told his schoolmates he wasn't feeling well, a common excuse to avoid prolonged conversation. He stayed away from the main gathering spots, keeping to himself, making mental notes of anyone who might be watching him too closely. He needed to be invisible, like a ghost in his own school, merging into the background until it was time to step out.
Every minute that ticked by felt like an hour. The knowledge that The Red Scorpions had spilled blood on Oraka Lane, on his turf, was a fire burning steadily inside him. The insult to his local Eiye Brotherhood chapter was a direct challenge to their presence, to their authority. It was a challenge to everything he had worked for, everything he had built. He might be wearing a clean uniform now, but the spirit of the street, the ruthless code of his other life, was already consuming him, pulling him back.
As the final bell got closer, Tony felt a surge of cold anticipation, a thrill of power and control. Soon, the school gates would open. Soon, he would shed this disguise. And then, the real work would begin. He had a meeting to arrange, orders to give, and a message to send. A clear, bloody message.
The final bell shrieked. It was a wild, joyful sound of absolute freedom. Textbooks closed loudly with finality. Chairs scraped across floors with a triumphant rasp. A flood of excited chatter filled the hallways, a tidal wave of students eager to escape Royal Academy. Tony moved with the crowd, his movements calm, but his mind was sharp, already planning his path, navigating the human currents.
His journey from his home, the Black family's large, quiet house, to school each morning was always the same. Mr. Idowu, his parents' driver, would pick him up. The ride was comfortable, the car's air conditioning a silent hum against the growing heat outside, a smooth start to his "school life." His family was large and bustling, a stark contrast to his solitary nature. He had two older brothers, Femi (23) and Seun (21), who were both studying in universities in different cities, their lives unfolding along a conventional path. His two older sisters, Ada (20) and Chioma (18), were also either in university or had just finished, often visiting home, adding their own lively presence to the large family. His younger brother, David (13), was in JSS 2 at Royal Academy, often caught up in video games and boisterous play, and his youngest sister, Bola (10), was in JSS 1, all innocence and chatter.
He saw Bola far off in the crowd of younger students, laughing with her friends near the main gate. She wore the same neat Royal Academy uniform. He gave her a slight nod. She waved back quickly, then went back to her friends, oblivious to the other life her older brother led. He also saw David, walking with his own group of friends, talking loudly about a video game. Tony did not go near them at school. He kept his distance from his siblings there. It was safer for them. His two lives never touched in a direct way. He was a solo operator, even in his own family's presence, keeping them separate from the darkness he inhabited.
Tony sidestepped his usual group of schoolmates. They were already planning a football game. He quickly told them, "Later, guys, I get one small thing I need to do," using his smooth, proper English, a subtle way to brush them off without seeming rude. He knew Mr. Idowu would be waiting by the main gate, his usual pick-up spot. But Tony had already texted him earlier, saying he had a special study group that would run late. Another small lie, adding to his many deceptions.
Tony was not the very top leader of the entire Eiye Brotherhood. He was a rising power, a strong lieutenant, a force to be reckoned with. People in his part of the group respected him. His name, Tony Black, meant he had built a secret network even inside this fancy school. The group's reach was quiet, insidious. It extended into the sons of Warri's rich families, giving them a feeling of belonging, a taste of forbidden power that their easy lives sometimes lacked. This made him very useful to the higher echelons of the cult. But he was also a growing force that the older leaders could not fully control. His sharp mind and independent actions made him both respected for how well he worked and watched because he might challenge how things were. His unruly nature, his liking for his own precise plans, was a quiet danger to their established ways.
He scanned the faces in the busy hallway, his eyes missing nothing. He made eye contact with two specific people. Each was a loyal, but secret, member of his Royal Academy crew, boys who led double lives just like him.
First, Emeka. He was tall and thin, a star basketball player, often quiet and unassuming in class. Tony gave him a small, almost unseen nod towards the back part of the school. Emeka's eyes, usually tired from late-night practices, suddenly became sharp, alert. He nodded back, a small, quick dip of his head.
Next, Jide. He was shorter and strong, with a restless energy that often got him into minor trouble. But he was fiercely loyal to Tony. Tony caught his eye near the main stairs. He tapped his wrist twice. Jide, already halfway down the stairs, stopped. Then he quietly changed direction, his movements fluid, heading towards the school library.
They understood the silent signs. The old biology lab. Come one by one. Don't draw attention. It was a language of necessity, of survival.
Tony himself moved calmly, deliberately. He walked towards the less-used back of the school, away from the main thoroughfares. He did not rush. He did not draw attention. He was just another student, perhaps going to the library, or to get something from a forgotten classroom. The fading sounds of hundreds of teenagers leaving filled the air, a perfect cloak of noise that gave him cover. The far-off honk of a taxi, the excited shouts from the football field – all were just background noise to his secret mission.
He reached the back part of the school. The noise grew softer, replaced by the chirping of crickets beginning their evening song. The air here was cooler, smelling a bit of old dust and antiseptic cleaning fluid, a strange mix. He pushed open the heavy wooden door of the old biology lab. It groaned softly, a protest against being disturbed. He slipped inside. The room was dark, filled with the shadowy shapes of covered dissection tables, dusty skeletons, and jars holding specimens that seemed to float ominously in the dim light. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket, a thin white stick. He lit it with a quick, practiced flick of a cheap lighter. He took a deep breath. The harsh smoke filled his lungs, burning, a brief, forbidden moment of peace before the coming storm. He leaned against a cold table, waiting, listening to the soft sounds of the school becoming quiet outside, the last echoes of laughter fading into the distance.
Moments later, a quiet sound at the door. Emeka slipped in first, his tall body almost vanishing in the shadows, a silent giant. Then Jide. His short, strong body moved silently, like a trained shadow.
They stood before him in the dim light. They were not just classmates now. They were sworn brothers, bound by a different kind of loyalty. Their neat school uniforms felt like a second skin now, a carefully constructed disguise for the darker purpose that held them together. The air in the lab felt thick with unspoken tension, the smell of formaldehyde mixing with stale smoke.
"The Red Scorpions," Tony began. His voice was low, no longer carrying any hint of a schoolboy's tone. "Dem don cross line. Injure one of our small boys for Oraka Lane. Dem dey try claim our territory."
The boys' faces hardened in the dim light. The easy smiles of school life disappeared, replaced by grim lines of anger and resolve.
Just then, the door opened quietly again. Kunle slipped in, a little out of breath. His bright eyes, usually full of youthful mischief, looked around the room. Then they settled on Tony, a silent acknowledgement of his authority. He was the youngest of the three, barely thirteen, but a computer expert whose mind worked faster than anyone else's, a digital ghost.
"Sorry, boss," Kunle whispered, holding his backpack close, "Teacher hold me for network lab. But I get am." He pulled out his phone. Its screen glowed softly in the dim light, a beacon in the darkness.
"What is the intel, Kunle?" Tony asked, taking another slow breath from his cigarette. The smoke curled around his words, obscuring them slightly.
Kunle quickly scrolled on his phone, his fingers flying. "Scorpion Prince... his real name na Kelvin. Him just dey newly transfer from Lagos. Him get small gang for there before. Him dey use social media to dey brag, even though him profile dey private. But I manage enter am." Kunle spoke fast, a mix of proper English and hurried Pidgin, his excitement about the fresh news making him rush his words.
"He post pictures for one particular hideout for Agbassa area, near the old market. Them dey gather there for evening. And he get one small brother wey dey sell provision for one shop near Oraka Lane, close to the scene where dem hit our boy. Him brother dey always use one particular phone. I don track the number."
Tony's eyes narrowed, a cold glint appearing in them. Agbassa, a known Red Scorpion stronghold. A small shop. A brother. This was good information. These were weaknesses. "So, he get family for Warri?" Tony mumbled, putting the pieces together, building a mental picture. "And him dey use social media to dey boast?" That's a mistake. A big one.
"Yes, boss. Him dey boast like say him be biggest shot," Jide cut in, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "We go just enter dem. Show dem say Eiye no dey play."
Tony raised a hand, a calm gesture that stopped Jide mid-sentence. The anger was good, but it was too raw. He needed precision, not reckless action. "No. No dey do anything stupid yet. This Scorpion Prince... he's new, and him dey make noise. That means he want to make a statement. If we rush, we go fall into him trap."
He took another slow breath from his cigarette. The tip glowed orange in the dim light, a tiny ember in the shadows. "Emeka, Jide. Your work for now na surveillance. You go dey monitor that provision shop. See who dey come, who dey go. See him brother. But no make him see you. No go near Oraka Lane too much for now, just observe from far. I want to know all their movements, all their faces. Kunle, you go continue to dey monitor him social media. See wetin him dey post, see who him dey talk to. Every small detail."
He breathed out slowly, the smoke a thin cloud around his face, obscuring his thoughts for a moment. "This na intelligence mission first. We no go rush this thing. We go hit them when dem least expect am. And we go hit them hard, for where it go pain them most." His voice was calm, almost conversational, but the cold promise in his eyes was absolute, undeniable. "Eiye Brotherhood no dey back down."
Tony looked at his three school associates. They were his hands and eyes inside the carefully guarded walls of Royal Academy. He did not need a big group. He liked to work alone, or with a very small, effective team he could fully trust. This way of working, his precise, almost surgical approach, sometimes bothered the higher leaders in the Eiye Brotherhood. They liked more traditional structures, more visible displays of force. But Tony's methods got results. With the plan set for his school crew, his next move was clear. He was not going home to his parents yet. The street was calling him. He had to answer it himself.
He slipped out of the old biology lab first, back into the now almost empty school. The sounds of distant football practice had faded completely. The last few cars of teachers were pulling out of the parking lot. His phone vibrated softly in his pocket. Not a text this time. A call. He saw the unknown number on the screen. He knew it wasn't his parents. He answered.
"Hello?" Tony's voice was low, careful, already shifting.
The voice on the other end was rough, familiar. It was Godwin, one of the older Eiye foot soldiers, a man who kept his ear to the ground. "Tony, na Godwin. Just to tell you, Kene don come out."
Tony's breath hitched, just for a second, an almost imperceptible pause. Kene. His cousin. The name brought with it a flood of complicated feelings. Kene was the one who had brought him into this world years ago, when Tony was younger, hungrier for something beyond his privileged upbringing. Kene, older and a petty gang leader in his own right, had introduced Tony to the brutal, seductive power of the Eiye Brotherhood. Tony was loyal to Kene, a loyalty forged in shared risks and early days. But Kene was a wild card, a hothead who caused trouble for anyone in his path, driven by raw emotion rather than strategy. He had been locked up for a short time, just a few months, for something impulsive, typical of his old ways. His return meant new, unpredictable problems for the streets. And for Tony.
Tony had grown, had evolved. He was now colder, more calculated, more strategic, a rising force within the Eiye Brotherhood. He had painstakingly built his own influence, especially among the younger generation, even while carefully maintaining the facade of the dutiful student. He still honored the unspoken chain of command, even to Kene. He would willingly leave the decision-making and the immediate "boss" position for Kene, a sign of his deep-seated loyalty and respect for the elder cousin who had shown him the ropes. But Tony also knew Kene's true nature, his volatile unpredictability. Kene's return felt like a messy complication, a difficult entanglement from a past Tony had meticulously streamlined. Tony could almost feel Kene's unspoken resentment already, the way Kene would look at him now, seeing not the loyal junior, but a rival, a testament to what Kene might perceive as his own stagnation. Kene expected to still meet him struggling, perhaps still relying on Kene's brute force, not commanding a silent network from within an elite school.
"When?" Tony asked, his voice even, though a fresh layer of cold calculation settled over him, adding to the weight on his shoulders. This wasn't just another street problem; it was deeply personal.
"This morning. Word dey go round fast. Him dey vex," Godwin said, his voice grim.
Tony didn't need to ask why. Kene always vexed. This was another complication, another factor to weigh in his already busy plans. The Red Scorpions were one immediate, external threat. Kene was another, a smaller, more personal one, volatile and rooted in his own history, but no less dangerous in his own way. Tony ended the call. He put the phone back in his pocket, the smooth plastic cold against his skin. His path was now even less clear, fraught with more layers of danger and complicated loyalty. The streets of Warri, already buzzing with the immediate threat of the Red Scorpions, had just added a new, unwelcome player, one with a complicated history that tangled directly with his own. The city waited, restless and unpredictable, and Tony Black, the good student, knew he had to meet it head-on.