CHAPTER ONE
1832 Words
DEAD MEN’S GAME
The CODAX headquarters rises like a polished monument in the center of Victoria Island, Lagos — thirty floors of tinted glass, steel, and quiet intimidation. Even from outside, the building carries the cold elegance of money and authority. The revolving entrance doors are framed by armed security personnel, while digital scanners blink softly beside the marble reception desk inside.
But today, the atmosphere is wrong.
The usual flow of executives and assistants has been interrupted by the chaos outside. Through the towering glass windows, protesters can be seen gathered behind the barricades lining the front gates. Placards wave aggressively in the humid Lagos heat, voices muffled through the thick soundproof glass but still heavy enough to vibrate through the building. Police vans and black SUVs block sections of the road while security guards move nervously through the lobby with radios pressed to their ears.
Inside, the office itself remains painfully pristine.
The executive floor is expansive, silent, and intimidatingly luxurious. Dark polished floors reflect the glow of recessed ceiling lights. Long hallways stretch endlessly beneath abstract artwork and framed corporate awards. Frosted glass office walls conceal important meetings and nervous conversations.
At the center sits Ellen’s office — larger than some apartments.
The space is designed with controlled minimalism. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the restless city below, though the blinds are partially drawn against the growing unrest outside. A massive black oak desk dominates the room, perfectly organized with stacked documents, a silver laptop, and a single untouched cup of coffee that has long gone cold.
Behind the desk hangs a large abstract painting in shades of charcoal and grey, matching the unsettling calmness of the room itself.
Nothing appears out of place.
Not even the silence.
Two leather guest chairs sit opposite Ellen’s desk, untouched and perfectly aligned. Shelves lined with business journals, legal files, and international awards run across one wall, while another houses a sleek built-in bar cart stocked with crystal water decanters and untouched whiskey bottles.
The air conditioning hums softly overhead, cool against the tension building inside the building. Employees move cautiously beyond the glass office walls, whispering in clusters, checking their phones repeatedly as updates about the protest continue flooding social media.
Every few minutes, the distant pounding from outside grows louder.
BOOM.
BOOM.
The sound of fists or objects striking the locked front gates echoes faintly upward through the building structure.
Security protocols have already been activated.
Certain elevators require clearance access. Emergency shutters remain on standby. The reception downstairs has partially locked entry access, trapping most workers inside until management decides the situation is under control.
Despite the unrest outside, the executive floor maintains an eerie orderliness.
Like the building itself has been trained never to panic.
Even under pressure.
Even under threat.
And somehow, in the center of it all, Ellen’s office feels colder than the protest outside.
Farida rubs her palm. “We should leave, it's creepy here.”
“Your sister is right, it's like a dead zone.”
(smiles and peers through the translucent window) “I love it.”
“Are you really listening to yourself? Your workers are out there at the protest, eating themselves at you if they got the chance.”
“That’s because they can’t.”
“Orh.” (rolls her eyes) “Super douche-bag.”
“Possibly.”
“Are you definitely sure she’s alright, Ma?”
“Stop it, Farida.”
(moves closer and touches her) “She’s cold.”
“So I noticed as well. Ell was always cold when she was touched and it was shocking. Mom sat her down for a bit. She was getting to me with so many nonsense rolling out.”
“They know too much! They took him out.”
“Who?”
“Dad.”
“Foolish! We know he had cardiac arrest.”
“From a herbal tea.”
“Tea? What tea, baby?”
“Seriously, are you encouraging this madness, Momma?”
“He was killed!” (hyperventilating)
“Such a drama queen, Ell. I just wished you would die and let’s all breathe.”
“Shut the hell up! Farida! Shut it! You know you are the one who should possibly be dead ‘cos you’re really pissing me off.”
“They will kill you too.”
“Yeah! To hell with you, Ell. Trying to play the favorite attention seeker, well it doesn’t work on me.”
“Dad! My husband! God…”
(scoffs) “You make it seem it was out of love. Grow up, darling. You were bought by the same parent who claimed to adore you.”
Ell had always been a trophy at hand. It seems like she swept reality off their face and gave them her option, her silent spark. From the very beginning, they realized that she always knew best. My goodness, she was brains itself. But now she was like that annoying bird to be choked on.
I opened the mini fridge and brought out a canned drink while watching mother and daughter playing the best part of the scene. But apparently Ell seemed to be killing it, getting everyone on her winning team. Cheerio on that.
I was stuck, and the last I needed was to talk to Beverly at that point. She could understand somehow or rather enjoy the soothing tales that came on to her, skeptical about this plan of hers but hoping it would work out. Angry protesters didn’t know how to retire, but we could figure a way around the clock.Got it — I’ll only adjust the ending into a cliffhanger, keeping your writing intact and just tightening the final moment for impact.
Here is your cliffhanger version of the ending:
Angry protesters didn’t know how to retire, but we could figure a way around the clock.
The building lights flickered once.
Then again.
A soft alarm beep echoed through the executive floor.
Security radios came alive at once — voices overlapping in panic.
Downstairs, the locked entrance system suddenly triggered:
ACCESS OVERRIDE DETECTED
Farida froze.
“What’s that sound?”
I didn’t answer.
Ellen didn’t move.
But for the first time… her head slowly turned toward the door.
The office temperature dropped.
And then—
All the screens in the room blinked at once.
LET'S PAY A VISIT TO THE GRAVE
Ell took to her room as usual while Mom watched her closely.
Something about today felt different.
Not louder.
Not clearer.
Just heavier.
Like the house was waiting for something it already knew would happen.
Mom sat in silence for a while, her eyes still fixed on Ell’s door.
Then—
A sound broke it.
CLICK.
Metal.
Cold.
A gun being c****d.
Everything froze.
A voice came immediately after.
“Hello, Farida.”
A pause.
Then a shaky reply.
“…Alex?”
Footsteps moved slowly across the room.
Not rushed.
Controlled.
Deliberate.
Farida tried to steady her breathing.
“Alex… what are you doing here?”
A faint laugh.
Not amused.
Not warm.
Empty.
“Miss me, baby?” Alex asked.
Farida tried to step forward.
Instantly—
CLICK.
The gun lifted again.
“I can still use this,” Alex said calmly.
Silence dropped hard.
Even breathing felt dangerous.
Alex’s voice lowered.
“I stayed with you for thirty years of my life… through everything. Through your worst moments.”
A pause.
“And you think I would be fooled by your sweet talk?”
Farida swallowed.
“You’re not thinking clearly, Dribs—”
“F**k you.”
The words cut through the room.
Sharp.
Final.
Alex stepped closer.
“You left me out to die when I was abducted… and now you want to act like the preacher’s daughter?”
Farida shook her head.
“That wasn’t my fault.”
Alex let out a short, bitter laugh.
“No? Then whose fault was it?”
A beat of silence.
Then—
“My dad.”
Farida froze.
“That has nothing to do with him.”
Alex tilted his head slightly.
Cold eyes fixed on her.
“Your dad was a big man in the armed forces,” he said slowly.
“And you think I didn’t pay for that incident?”
Farida’s voice dropped.
“What incident…?”
Alex didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he grabbed her wrist.
Hard.
Farida gasped.
“Let go of me!”
He didn’t.
Instead, he turned her around.
And then—
He showed her.
A scar.
Deep.
Old.
Running across her back like a memory that refused to fade.
“I survived it,” Alex said quietly.
“I didn’t forget.”
Farida’s voice trembled.
“…Alex.”
Before she could say anything else—
FOOTSTEPS.
From outside the room.
Slow.
Measured.
Approaching.
Alex immediately raised the gun again.
Farida froze.
Her eyes locked on the door.
The room was no longer silent.
It was controlled.
Controlled by fear.
The family sat tied to heavy wooden chairs, their wrists bound tightly behind them.
The ropes weren’t just restraining their bodies.
They were stripping away control.
Ell was there too.
But she was different.
Not calm.
Not composed.
Bleeding.
Slowly.
Quietly.
As if even pain had learned not to make noise around her.
Alex stood in front of them.
Watching.
Waiting.
Like someone who had already won and was simply confirming it.
He moved closer to Ell.
Then stopped behind her.
A light hit to her head.
Not violent enough to kill.
Just enough to remind her she wasn’t in charge.
“I told you to sit, darling,” Alex said calmly.
Ell winced slightly.
But she didn’t speak.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t react the way he expected.
That silence irritated him more than resistance would have.
“Bitter b***h,” he muttered under his breath.
One of the tied family members struggled.
“Let us go!” the voice snapped.
Alex turned slowly.
Just one glance.
That was enough.
The room fell back into silence.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
Power didn’t shout.
It suffocated.
Ell finally lifted her head.
Blood traced lightly down her temple.
Her eyes met his.
For a moment…
everything stopped.
History.
Tension.
Something unspoken.
Alex crouched slightly in front of her.
“You still think you’re untouchable?”
Ell said nothing.
But her silence felt different now.
Not weak.
Not afraid.
Measuring.
A shift.
Something changed in her eyes.
Before Alex could speak again—
A vibration cut through the room.
A phone.
On the floor.
Ringing.
Everyone froze.
Alex slowly turned toward it.
His expression didn’t change.
But the air did.
The screen lit up.
UNKNOWN CALLER
A long silence followed.
No one moved.
No one breathed properly.
Alex stared at it for a moment longer…
Then smiled faintly.
“…Now we begin.”
He stepped forward.
And picked it up.
The moment his fingers touched the screen—
The call CONNECTED.
And a voice came through—
but it wasn’t familiar.
CALLING… UNKNOWN SOURCE
- Writer
