Chapter 1
"Thank you for your time. We shall get back to you."
Alan sighed, his hands releasing the edge of the seat he'd been gripping hard throughout the interview. It was just as he had expected. The polite but firm words of rejection. No different from the others.
God, even the wording had been exact.
He kept on staring at the lady before him, with her fake lenses, a smart looking white blouse with diamond studs as buttons and a long black skirt that accentuated her shape perfectly.
She avoided his gaze, and Alan knew exactly why. It was for some reason surely not work-related.
If not for how tensed he'd been when he first entered, he would have drooled at the sight of her.
Yeah…Alan was that kind of person...a diehard perv and gooner.
"Mister Alan?" the lady's hand darted to the small black button on her desk that was used to call in the security.
"Sorry," Alan rose to his feet, and turned around, subconsciously berating himself. he turned away without even a another glance at the lady or the desk.
"I think you're forgetting something, Mr. Alan" the lady gestured to the file he was leaving behind.
"Thanks, but I don't think I have any use for it again, you can keep it" he waved his hand dismissively, exiting the room.
The lady looked stunned for a while, before she shrugged, chucking the file into the trash can next to her desk. Just then, her office door opened again.
Alan chucked his head inside, a bright smile plastered on his face, a real one besides the mechanical ones he'd been wearing all day.
"Just wanted to say, he smiled brightly, "You're really pretty, and in case you want to reach me, my number is in my file-"
He halted, seeing where his file had been relegated to already. All his hopes died abruptly.
'She didn't even waste a moment in trashing it!'
Rhe lady looked up startled.
"Oops, my bad. Sorry."
Flashing a last smile, he chucked his head out, closing the door behind him gently, but not before seeing a red tinge creep up her cheek.
"Guess she doesn't get compliments from applicants that much…"
Alan headed to the elevator, got past the security desk, even stopping to have a short joke with the guy on duty before finally heading out.
As soon as he stepped out of the glass skyscraper, he loosed his tie, tossed its clip into his breast pocket and pulled out his tucked in shirt, abandoning all resemblances of a gentleman.
One would expect him to be downcast or worse, depressed, but Alan literally went through this every week since he returned a year ago.
Also, he wasn't exactly an optimist, so it was safe to say he expected this outcome all the time.
'We'll go again, on a different day!'
Whipping the tie around like a kid, he strolled away, humming carefreely, into the busy furnace- ehm, sorry… streets of Lagos, the economic hub of Nigeria, a country dubbed the giant of Africa.
The ever busy Lagos roared on, inconsiderate of whatever he felt. Yellow danfo(small transport buses that could hold seven passengers) buses screeched at corners, their conductors hanging half-out the doors-or whatever scraps remained of them, shouting for passengers with hoarse, impatient voices.
Hawkers weaved between the traffic, balancing trays of sausages(informally called gala) sachet water, and even soft drugs on their heads, slipping through gaps with the skill of dancers.
The horns coming from cars stuck in the perpetual traffic jam were relentless, a chorus of frustration and urgency.
Around him, men in faded suits rushed with determined strides, women in bright Ankara skirts negotiated fares, and commercial bike riders zipped through impossible spaces. Everyone seemed to have somewhere urgent to be.
He even felt one or two hands claw at his pocket, but he wasn't with his smartphone or anything worthwhile, so he didn't mind.
***
Alan was a young man, prize of his parent and envy of his neighbourhood. Looks, brains and even strength, he had them all.
His thick black hair, curly like a foreigner's, brown angelic eyes that twinkled with mischievousness, a slightly hairy jawline with the perfect undertone, lean muscular stature and toned skin all combined to create a figure that made all ages of people stare a bit longer than necessary.
Just 21 and already done with the university, Alan had hoped to start helping his single mother and siblings as much as possible. He had lost his father to a brutal street fight when he was six.
He'd pulled through all forms of his educations with different scholarships, the last of which was a scholarship which had enabled him to study cybersecurity and Coding at the City University of New York.
He came back immediately after his graduations, ignoring employment opportunities from different notable firms, on the grounds of wanting to be close to his family.
That was, and would ever remain the stupidest mistake he had made and will ever make in his lifetime because in current day Nigeria, your level of education or your academic prowess could never help, but the amount of valuable connections your family had.
'What a fucked up country! Giant of Africa, my ass!
So now, he was just an elite programmer, stuck in the rotting corruptive system of a useless nation, depreciating with every passing day.
Alan suddenly realized that he didn't have any dime on him for his transfort fare home. He'd been wandering around since, and now it was well past sunset.
But he had to scrummage something for his siblings dinner. He already knew his mom had starved throughout yesterday just to ensure that he and his siblings ate.
'I guess I'll just have to do this the hard way',
A grim smile curled his lips, though it still seemed like he really didn't like what he was about to do.
Not that he had a choice anyways.
He headed into the next alley he came across, marching confidently in spite of the risk he knew he was taking, being here at such late hours.
At some point, he could see some glowing stubs from up ahead.
A bunch of guys were smoking-he'd already caught the familiar stench of marijuana that was very common around places like here at times like this. He could even hear a bit of drunken laughter.
They were drunk too. Being 'high' plus being drunk equaled outstanding insanity.
Jackpot!
Alan pulled off his tie and pushed it into his pockets. He let a few buttons lose, to gain a bit of gangster vibes.
Not that he was acting or anything like that. Alan was the son of a diehard gangster, so he'd inherited some prominent traits from his dad.
"Hey!!"
His voice came out louder, hoarser than he expected. After all, he hadn't spoken for a while now.
He kept on approaching, noting that the drunken laughter subsided gradually, as though the guys suddenly became alert.
He didn't stop. He had nothing to fear from a bunch of drunks.
Or so he thought.
As he came within thirty feet of them, the streetlight next to them flared to life without warning. Alan snapped his head away as his eyes were flooded by light for a while.
Why was there a streetlight here? Alleys didn't always have streetlights.
'Guess today wasn't my lucky day after all.'
In all his previous 'operations', Alan always had the upper hand because he had perfect coordination in pitch darkness and could strike anyone, knowing that he'd hit one of the guys since he always operated alone.
Since the sudden glare of the street light had literally blinded everyone, he could safely assume that he had some sort of head start since he recovered far early than all of them.
He ran towards the nearest, rapping his straight wrist on the guys neck, before he caught him, gently lowering him to the ground. He sharply rummaged through his pockets, but found only a small note changes.
With a disgusted sigh for his wasted time, he sharply moved to the next, repeating the same process. By the time he was rising, he saw that his head start time was up.
The remaining four men-not guys, men- surrounded him, fists balled and held up, wavering drunkenly but still maintaining their stance.
Hoping that none of them was the mythical drunken master, Alan balled his fist too and took his stance. He could do this all day. Hand to hand fist fighting was his forte after all.
He smiled grimly, beckoning them on.
Suddenly, one of the men froze, as though he'd just remembered something very important. Then a maniacal grin formed on his face.
Alan didn't like that creepy smile. However, his disappeared completely when he saw it.
He was staring at somewhere behind Alan. No...Someone.
Alan whirled around immediately, only to find himself at gunpoint.
A chill crawled up his spine instantly. His palms felt slick as though he was sweating from them.
It wasn't just any gun though. It was a Desert Eagle. A freaking Desert Eagle. What was a gun like that doing with some random guy on a starry night under the Nigerian sky?
Alan was beginning to freak out, something he never did. His eyes widened, sweat trickling down his forehead as though his hair was a gushing spring.
He'd just noticed the mans dressing; clean shaven head and neat expensive cloths unlike any of them there.
He immediately raised his hands above his head, taking cautious steps backwards.
"Boss…why would you bring a gun to a fist fight?" he asked, using the informal slangs for a man of respect. But his voice betrayed his emotions. His eyes darted around, searching for an escape route.
The man holding the gun smirked, but didn't speak. His hand curled around the trigger slowly.
Alan couldn't bear it any longer. In that split moment, adrenaline pumped through his body, much greater than he'd ever felt it in his life. He turned, tearing through the alley, blitzing through the others.
So superhuman reflexes can actually come to life' he mused, every fiber of him praying for the man to forgive and ignore him-
BOOM!!!
Alan's body crumbled to the ground, alongside the mashed remains of his brain and skull.
He was dead.
He didn't even get a split moment for his life to flash through his eyes.
"Idiot…should have researched more about who he was up against," the man who had shot him mumbled in perfect English.
He'd just suspected Alan as a spy. No hard feelings, but there was no one to explain that to.
He beckoned on the others, turning away.
"Let's go"
As he walked away, he flung the gun away, without a backward glance. All of his mens' eyes followed it and to their greatest surprise, it dissipated into silver dust that got swept away by the wind.
Two of the men turned back to observe the mutilated corpse.
"Poor guy...he was just a kid."
"That's what you get for attacking a Cardholder. In his next life, he should steer clear of them."
***
Alan heard that.
He opened his eyes. The first thing he felt was mind wrenching pain in his chest region. It didn't feel right. He'd been shot in the head.
In fact, nothing felt right. He was supposed to be dead to start with. He cracked his eyes a bit open.
A flake of snow fell onto his nose.
Wait…snow?