Obinna woke up in a dimly lit room, his head throbbing. He tried to move, but his hands and feet were bound tightly. Panic surged through him as he struggled to remember how he had ended up here. The last thing he recalled was walking home from school, a sudden blow to his head, and then darkness.
The room smelled musty, with the faint scent of mildew. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out the shapes of old, broken furniture scattered around. He heard distant voices, muffled and indistinct, coming from somewhere outside the room.
"Where am I?" he thought desperately. "Who took me?"
Obinna huddled in the corner of the dimly lit room, his arms wrapped around his knees. He had lost track of time—days blended into nights with no sense of when one ended and the other began. A single flickering bulb cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the room feel even more claustrophobic.
He looked around the room. There were four more children. 3 girls, and one boy. All out cold. Instinctively, he tried rushing to them to wake one up. Then, he was rudely reminded of his binding by his head meeting the floor with a thud.
He pulls himself back together. "Ok. I was leaving Chinwe's. Then, I got smacked in the back of the head. And now..." he looks around for a bit, the hope leaving his eyes. "I'm here."
As he sat in silence, the door creaked open, and his heart leapt into his throat. A shadowy figure entered, and Obinna instinctively shrank back, his body tensing. The figure stepped into the light, revealing a man with a stern face and cold eyes. He was holding a tray with a small plate of food and a bottle of water.
"Eat," the man commanded, placing the tray on the floor and stepping back. His voice was devoid of any kindness, a stark reminder of the power dynamics in the room.
Obinna hesitated, his hunger battling with his fear. He reached out cautiously, taking the plate and nibbling on the bread, trying to gather his strength. He knew he had to eat to keep his energy up, even though the mere act of eating felt like surrendering to his captors.
"Why are you doing this?" Obinna dared to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.
The man looked at him with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "You ask too many questions, boy," he replied curtly. "Just eat and keep quiet."
Obinna swallowed his fear along with the bread, trying to muster the courage to ask more. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"
The man's expression hardened. "I said, keep quiet," he repeated, more forcefully this time. "When you see the person who needs you, ask him."
With that, he shut the door rather silently.
MEANWHILE...
Eze slumped against the rough brick wall of a narrow alleyway, his body racked with pain from the brutal fight. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, each inhale sending sharp jolts of agony through his bruised ribs. Blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, mingling with the sweat that drenched his face. His muscles were sore, his skin was scraped, and the dull throb in his head was relentless. He could feel the bruises forming and the sting of cuts and scrapes on his skin.
"Well done, Eze," Anansi's voice echoed in his mind. "You have shown resilience. Your determination to continue despite the pain is commendable."
Eze let out a snort, immediately regretting it as a fresh wave of pain coursed through his chest. "Out of character of you to praise me," he said, grimacing.
"However," Anansi continued, undeterred by Eze's snark, "your technique was abysmal. You relied too heavily on luck and brute force rather than strategy. Your body is not yet attuned to the full extent of your powers, and it shows."
"You lacked finesse, strategy, and basic combat skills," Anansi kept going. "You relied too heavily on instinct, and your hesitations nearly got you killed."
Eze clenched his teeth, forcing himself to sit up straighter despite the protests of his battered muscles. He felt like crying, but more at Anansi's words. "I'm doing the best I can," he muttered. "It's not like I asked to be thrown into a life-or-death situation without any training."
The spider's presence seemed to hover, a mixture of authority and subtle amusement. "Adaptation is key, Eze. You must learn quickly if you wish to survive. The pain you feel is a reminder of your limits, but also of your potential. Embrace it, and you will grow stronger."
Eze wiped the blood from his face with a shaking hand, wincing as his fingers brushed the tender cut. "Easy for you to say," he grumbled. "You're not the one getting beat up."
Ignoring his complaints, Anansi shifted the conversation. "Now, we must move. The information you gathered points us toward Grace International. We need to get there before it's too late."
With a groan, Eze forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall for support. Every movement sent stabs of pain through his body, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward. "Fine," he said, his voice tight with determination. "Let's go."
As he stepped out of the alley and back onto the streets, the city's lights seemed harsher, the sounds more jarring. Each step was a struggle, but Eze kept moving, driven by the urgency of their mission. He could feel Anansi's silent approval, a strange comfort amidst the chaos of his thoughts.
"Remember, Eze," Anansi's voice was softer now, almost encouraging. "Pain is temporary. Your strength and resolve will carry you through. Focus on the goal, and let nothing stand in your way."
He shot a thread to the nearest building and swung forward, his movements less fluid but driven by sheer willpower.
"I wonder why they never paid their teachers in this school," Eze said.
"Not my concern, Eze. Though if I had to guess, the owner of the school probably had their position hijacked by a family member, who proceeded to run the school into the ground despite it going strong for 12 years."
"Oddly specific guess you got there," Eze said, sarcastically.
As he swung through the night, the lights of Ikeja GRA fading behind him, Eze couldn't help but think about what lay ahead at Grace International. He didn't know what he would find there, but he knew one thing for certain: he wouldn't give up. Not now. Not ever.