CLAWS AND LAWS

The air was heavy with the stench of smoke and blood as the first light of dawn crept over Obantoko. Officers emerged cautiously from their hiding places, their faces pale, their uniforms torn. Some stood frozen, others moved silently, their hands trembling as they began the grim task of covering the bodies strewn across the battlefield.

Among them lay Agbaje, lifeless on the ground. His body bore deep, brutal wounds, but his face was oddly calm, as though the chaos had finally given him peace. For those who knew him, it was a bitter sight—a man who had lived for justice now reduced to silence by the violence he fought against.

Ajoke and Akintola arrived at the scene, dread etched into their features. Whispers rippled through the gathered officers, their hushed tones laced with disbelief and grief. The confrontation from the night had claimed someone significant.

Ajoke's steps faltered as her gaze swept over the bodies. When her eyes finally found Agbaje, her heart sank, and her breath hitched. His stillness was undeniable. She didn't need anyone to tell her—he was gone.

"No…" she whispered, her voice breaking.

Beside her, Akintola froze. The color drained from his face as his eyes locked onto Agbaje's form. He stumbled forward, his breathing uneven, his chest heaving as if he were fighting to stay upright.

"Agbaje…" His voice cracked, barely audible. Then, as though the weight of the moment was too much, his knees buckled. He collapsed to the ground, his body limp and unresponsive.

"Akintola!" Ajoke screamed, her voice raw with panic.

Officers rushed to his side, calling for the medics. Ajoke followed, her hands trembling as they worked to stabilize him. Within moments, he was lifted onto a stretcher and carried toward the waiting ambulance. Ajoke climbed in beside him, refusing to leave him.

"Akintola, wake up!" she pleaded, her voice trembling.

For a moment, nothing. Then his eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused but alive. Relief flooded through her as she gripped his hand tightly, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"You're going to be fine," she whispered, more to convince herself than him.

But Akintola's strength was fleeting. His head fell back against the stretcher, and his breathing remained shallow. The ambulance roared through the streets, its sirens piercing the quiet morning as they raced toward St. Michael Memorial Hospital.

Back at the scene, the true scale of the loss began to unfold. Fifteen bodies were counted, each one carrying a chilling significance. They weren't ordinary casualties—they were prominent figures: police officials, military leaders, community icons.

Ajoke couldn't shake the weight of it. These weren't random deaths. This was calculated, intentional. And at the center of it all was Agbaje—a man who had fought for something greater than himself.

She turned back to his body one last time before the ambulance doors closed. A cold resolve settled over her. This isn't over,

not long in the vehicle she fell asleep and next in her dream

At the hospital, the fluorescent lights of the ICU flickered faintly as Akintola was wheeled into emergency care. Ajoke stayed close, her hands clenched into fists as she watched the medical team work tirelessly to stabilize him.

Her mind raced, the events of the night replaying in vivid, agonizing detail. Agbaje's face lingered in her thoughts—his determination, his sacrifice.

When Akintola stirred hours later, she was there, seated beside his bed. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, they locked onto hers.

"You're safe," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

He tried to speak, but his voice was barely a whisper. "Agbaje…"

Ajoke's throat tightened. She placed a hand gently on his arm. "He's gone, Akintola. But we're not. We have to keep fighting. For him. For what he believed in."

Tears glistened in Akintola's eyes as he nodded weakly. The grief they shared was palpable, but so was the determination.

Outside, the rain began to fall, soft at first, then heavier. It streaked the hospital windows, a reflection of the storm brewing inside Ajoke's heart. She thought of Agbaje—their investigation progress conversations, his relentless drive for justice, the quiet way he carried the burdens of the world.

And now he was gone, leaving behind a void she wasn't sure she could fill.

But as she stood by Akintola's bedside, watching him slowly regain strength, she realized they couldn't afford to give in to despair. Agbaje's fight wasn't just his—it was theirs now.

Ajoke reached for Akintola's hand, her grip firm. "We'll finish what he started," she said, her voice steady despite the storm in her heart.

Akintola turned to her, his gaze filled with quiet determination. "Together."

In that moment, the weight of their grief transformed into resolve. Whatever darkness awaited them, they would face it. For Agbaje. For the justice he gave his life for.

And for each other. 

A CRACK

Ajoke's mind was restless, tangled in a web of thoughts as she sat in the dimly lit room. Agbaje was a werewolf. Not just any werewolf, but a white one—a rarity she had never imagined. This wasn't her first encounter with such creatures; she had witnessed the transformation of her sister Sade and her friends into savage beasts who mercilessly tore their father, Chief Ajumobi, to pieces. The memory was seared into her soul, yet none of it prepared her for this—the elegance, the controlled ferocity of the white wolf. Agbaje was unlike the others, not consumed by savagery but seemingly driven by purpose.

She couldn't shake the mystery of his existence. If there was a white wolf, were there others like him? Were they all different from Sade and her pack of killers? Her thoughts spiraled deeper, searching for answers in the chaos of her memories. The attack earlier that night had taken its toll, leaving her drained and uncertain, but one thing was clear: if the Akintola had not faited, she would have by now demanding 

answers—answers about the missing file and tape. Those documents held damning evidence of her sister's crimes, and she knew Sade wouldn't rest until they were retrieved.

Agbaje, in defending the police station from the night wolves' attack, had fallen. His lifeless form haunted her. He was the last thread of hope she had in uncovering the truth and securing justice. She prayed silently for strength, wishing he had hidden the evidence somewhere far from his home, a place the wolves would never think to search.

As exhaustion overtook her, she leaned back, eyes fluttering closed and as she must have been sleeping, if yes then here is the reality. 

The hum of the moving vehicle was almost lulling when a violent crash jolted her awake. The van swerved, its tires screeching in protest as a hail of bullets shattered the night. Panic erupted inside the vehicle. Men with heavy firearms stormed the scene, their faces obscured by masks, their movements calculated and ruthless.

Ajoke's heart pounded as she tried to make sense of the chaos. Someone screamed. A flash of light illuminated the terror-stricken faces of her companions. Before she could react, a hand clamped over her mouth, dragging her out of the vehicle. The world spun as a blindfold was tied around her eyes, plunging her into darkness. She could hear the others struggling, cursing, and pleading, but it was futile.

They were transported to a place she could only describe as a void—untraceable, cold, and suffocating. The blindfold was ripped away, and she squinted against the dim light of a cell. Her wrists ached from the tight restraints as she glanced around, taking in her new surroundings.

It was then she saw her. Sade.

The woman who walked into the room was unrecognizable—not the wild, feral thing she had last seen, but a vision of unsettling elegance. Her sister's face was flawless, her hair sleek and shining under the dim overhead light. She wore a tailored suit that clung to her like armor, exuding power and dominance. But it was her eyes—cold and calculating—that sent a shiver down Ajoke's spine.

In Sade's hand was the file and tape, the very evidence that could have brought her down. Ajoke's chest tightened. How had she managed to retrieve it?

"Hello, sister," Sade purred, her voice dripping with mockery. She stood just outside the cell, her presence commanding, her smile sharp. "What a mess you've found yourself in."

Ajoke didn't respond, her throat tightening with suppressed rage.

Moments later, she and Akintola, another survivor of the attack, were dragged into a larger room. The space was stark, with a single imposing chair at its center. Sade sat on it like a queen surveying her subjects. Police officers flanked her, their faces impassive as they clamped handcuffs on Ajoke and Akintola's wrists.

"You're under arrest for multiple murders," one of the officers declared, his tone devoid of sympathy.

Ajoke's eyes burned with fury as she struggled against her restraints. "You won't get away with this, Sade!" she spat.

Sade leaned forward, her smile widening, exposing teeth that gleamed like a predator's. "Oh, sweet sister," she said, her voice soft but deadly. "Let's see who really escapes in the end."

Ajoke was dragged away, her heart heavy with despair. Yet, as she was shoved into another cell, a flicker of determination ignited within her. Sade may have the upper hand now, but this wasn't over—not by a long shot.