Nigeria had a way of aging young men before their time.
At twenty, David Adebayo already carried the posture and silence of someone ten years older — not because he wanted to, but because the country forced him into it. Lagos was loud, chaotic, unstoppable; a machine that chewed dreams and spat out men who learned to survive on instinct alone.
He woke every morning to the same chorus: danfo horns blaring, generators screaming, hawkers arguing, the distant wail of police sirens that never seemed to arrive when they were actually needed. Not that David expected anything different. Surviving in Nigeria meant expecting disappointment and preparing for disaster — both financially and mentally.
His phone alarm buzzed.5:02 AM.
"Another day," he muttered.
He lived alone in a small self-contained apartment in Yaba. It wasn't much — a mattress, a table, a fan that only worked when NEPA felt merciful — but it was his. His parents were gone, his extended family scattered, and friends? He had only one who mattered.
Toya.
The cold-hearted one. The smiling manipulator. The loyal brother he didn't share blood with.
David dressed quickly and stepped outside. The early morning air carried the scent of heat, dust, and fried akara. Lagos moved fast — even before sunrise.
A group of area boys occupied their usual corner, arguing about football. A woman dragged a bucket toward the shared tap. Someone shouted about fuel scarcity. Someone else cursed the government.
In Nigeria, hope was a fragile thing.
David headed toward the small gym he and Toya frequented. It was more of a renovated warehouse with iron bars welded into makeshift racks, but it worked. People there respected strength more than words. David liked that.
Toya was already inside, as usual, leaning against a barbell rack with that permanent crooked smile of his.
"You're late," Toya said without looking up.
"It's 5:20," David replied.
"Exactly. Late."
David snorted. "Oga, abeg."
Toya finally looked at him — dark eyes sharp, calculating, but weirdly warm beneath the surface. He was built like someone who enjoyed preparing for war. Same age as David, but heavier, meaner-looking, with a smile that always made people unsure if he cared or if he was planning something.
"Your mind looks heavy," Toya said, handing him a towel.
"It's Nigeria," David answered. "Whose mind isn't heavy?"
"This one?" Toya pointed at himself with a grin. "My mind is ice."
David shook his head. "That's because you don't think."
"That's because thinking too much in this country is a sickness."
David laughed softly. "Fair."
They began their session: bench press, squats, deadlifts. Grunting, sweating, competing without speaking. Working out was their therapy — or maybe their distraction from reality.
During a break, Toya tossed him water. "How's job hunting?"
David scoffed. "Dead."
"No replies?"
"None." He wiped sweat from his jaw. "Applications swallowed by the void."
Toya chuckled. "You know the drill. No connection, no job."
David leaned back, staring at the ceiling fan that spun lazily, mocking them. "What kind of country expects graduates to beg before they can survive?"
"A failed one," Toya said simply.
Silence settled — heavy and bitter.
David's thoughts drifted to the news from the night before: another kidnapping on the expressway, police bribery scandal, hospital workers striking again, food prices skyrocketing to madness.
He felt it again — the anger. The exhaustion. The helplessness that tasted like kerosene on his tongue.
"I'm tired, Toya." His voice was low.
"Tired of?"
"Everything. This place is killing people slowly."
Toya studied him with an unreadable expression. "You're starting to sound dangerous."
"Maybe being dangerous is the only way to survive here."
Toya smirked. "Now you sound like me."
David exhaled and reached for the barbell again, but something inside him had shifted. A thought flickered at the back of his mind — not fully formed, not yet a decision, but a whisper:
Do something.Stop watching.Fight back.
He didn't tell Toya. Not yet.
But the seed had been planted.
And Nigeria, with all its chaos and corruption, had just given him a reason to grow it.
When David left the gym, the sun was already climbing, staining the sky with a harsh orange glow that Lagos embraced with its usual impatience. Vendors set up their stalls. Danfo drivers honked aggressively at nothing. Street preachers screamed about repentance while clutching megaphones like weapons.
David blended into the chaos, heading home with slow steps. His mind wasn't in Yaba anymore. It wasn't even in Lagos. It was somewhere darker, somewhere dangerous, somewhere that whispered:
If the system is broken, break the criminals who thrive in it.
But vigilantes were fantasies from movies, not options for someone with nothing but a degree and a stubborn moral compass. Still… the idea refused to leave.
As he walked, he noticed three policemen stopping a keke rider for no reason. One officer moved casually, like he had all day to extort someone. David slowed his pace, jaw tightening.
"Officer, wetin I do?" the keke man pleaded."Your papers no complete," the officer said with a toothpick between his lips."But— I show you nau—""You dey argue with police?! Bring 5k make we settle."
David's fists clenched. Every part of him wanted to intervene.
But what would he do? Fight the police? Get arrested? Shot?
So he kept walking. Like everyone else.
Survival first. Justice later.
When he reached home, the room greeted him with silence. He collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, mentally replaying every frustration of the day.
Inflation was insane.Bread price had doubled. Transport fares kept rising. Minimum wage was a joke. Graduates scrambled for scraps of jobs while politicians bought new cars every month.
Insecurity was madness.People went missing. Robbers raided streets. Cultists terrorized neighborhoods. The government shrugged.
Nigeria was bleeding, and young men like him were expected to bleed with it.
His phone buzzed.
Toya.
"Guy, come outside tonight."
David frowned.
"For what?"
"Patrol."
David froze.
His breath caught.
Did Toya know?
Did that boy's smile see through him again? Because when Toya wanted to, he could read people like a textbook.
He replied:
"Patrol ke? Which kind patrol?"
Toya sent a voice note. His calm, playful voice came through:
"The kind you already want to do. I see am on your face."
David's heart thumped once, heavy and loud.
He typed slowly:
"Toya, no start—"
Another message:
"We do small rounds. Just look around. Nothing crazy.""Midnight. Lagos Island bridge.""You dey come."
It wasn't a question.
David lay there, staring at his cracked ceiling, heartbeat steady but intense.
Toya wasn't always right — but when he was, the accuracy was disturbing. If his friend saw the shift in him, then the shift was real.
He sighed.
Midnight.Let the city talk.
MIDNIGHT
The air tasted different at night — colder, sharper, more honest. Lagos at midnight wasn't pretending anymore. It showed its true colors: the fear, the hunger, the crime, the shadows moving like predators.
David and Toya walked side by side across the quiet bridge. Streetlights flickered weakly. Water sloshed against the pillars below.
"You sure about this?" David asked.
"No," Toya answered cheerfully. "But since when does that stop us?"
David shook his head. "You're insane."
"And you? You're tired of being normal."
They stopped at the center of the bridge. The city skyline twinkled in the distance like lies pretending to be beauty.
Toya leaned on the railing. "So, oga vigilante… why now?"
David hesitated. His voice was quiet when he finally answered.
"I'm tired of watching people suffer. Every day something gets worse. Prices go up. Security goes down. Jobs vanish. People die like chickens. Nobody cares."
Toya listened silently, no jokes this time.
David continued. "I can't keep pretending this is normal. Someone has to do something. If I die, I die. But at least I won't sit and watch anymore."
Toya nodded. "Good."
"Good?"
"Because I'll be with you. No matter how mad your plan is."
David's chest tightened—not with fear, but something like gratitude.
Before he could respond, footsteps echoed.
Both men turned at the same time.
Three rough-looking men approached, dragging a boy no older than sixteen. One held a knife. Another carried a rusty pistol.
"Robbers," Toya whispered. "See their face."
The boy being dragged screamed, "Abeg leave me! I no get anything!"
David moved without thinking, his instincts sharper than reason.
"Leave the boy alone!" he shouted.
Three heads snapped toward him. The man with the gun grinned.
"Who be this one?"
Toya muttered, "Ah. Here we go."
And before David could take another step—
BANG!
The bullet hit him in the ribs, the force launching him backward toward the railing.
Toya screamed his name—
But the world spun.Water rose.Darkness swallowed him whole.
David fell off Lagos Island bridge and into the unforgiving sea.
The ocean didn't welcome him gently.
It grabbed him like an angry beast, yanking him beneath the surface with violent hands made of water and darkness. Cold shock stabbed into his chest. His lungs seized. His heartbeat pounded in his ears like war drums.
David didn't know which way was up.
The world blurred into swirling blackness, cold currents spinning him as though eager to swallow his existence whole. He tried to kick, but the pain in his ribs exploded in sharp waves — the bullet wound burning like fire underwater.
He opened his mouth involuntarily.
Saltwater rushed in.
He choked.
He sank deeper.
Images flashed in fragments — Toya shouting his name, the boy screaming, the robber's smirk, the city lights fading above him like dying stars.
So this is it?After everything, this is how I die?
Twenty years.A graduate.No job.No family.A life full of potential crushed under the weight of a country that didn't care if he breathed or drowned.
His eyes drifted shut.
The sea became quieter.
And then—
Something touched him.
Not fish.Not debris.
Hands.
Strong, calloused hands, gripping his shoulders, pulling him upward with surprising force. David's eyes fluttered open, but all he saw was a blur — dark skin painted with white tribal markings, long braided hair flowing in the water like drifting ink.
He felt movement — fast, powerful.
He was being rescued.
But by who?
His consciousness flickered like a dying candle.
Then everything went black.
THE VOICES
When David awoke, he didn't feel water.
He felt warmth.
He gasped, sitting up abruptly — and immediately winced as pain lanced through his side. His wound was wrapped in strange cloth soaked with a thick herbal paste that smelled sharp, earthy, and oddly comforting.
He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the dim firelight.
He was lying on the ground inside a large hut woven from tall reeds and dark wood. Strange symbols painted the walls. The air was filled with the sound of crackling fire and distant drums.
He wasn't alone.
A group of tall men stood around him, their skin adorned with pale markings. Their eyes were sharp, intelligent, studying him like he was a puzzle piece they weren't sure belonged in the picture.
One stepped forward — older, broad-shouldered, and radiating authority. He spoke in a deep, rhythmic voice.
"Umongo see you, stranger. You did not die."
David stared, confused. "Umongo…?"
The man tapped his chest. "We. The Umongo tribe. The tide brought you. We saved you."
David tried to process the words, but nothing made sense. "How… how long have I been here?"
The man tilted his head. "A night. You breathe strong now. But your spirit wandered."
David glanced around.
He wasn't in Lagos.He wasn't anywhere he recognized.And these people — their markings, their clothing, their language — they weren't like any tribe he'd ever heard of.
"Why did you save me?" he asked softly.
The leader's expression didn't change. "The sea chose you. The ancestors whispered. You fell, yet you fought. Only those meant for more survive the depth."
David frowned. "I… I don't understand."
The man placed a heavy hand on David's shoulder. "You will. In time. Rest. Heal. Learn."
Learn?
David's heartbeat quickened.
"What do you mean learn?"
But the man only offered a cryptic smile. "You came to us broken. We will make you whole. Stronger. Faster. Sharper. Harder."
David stared.
This sounded like madness.Yet his body — despite the pain — felt strangely alive, tingling with energy he couldn't explain. Something had changed inside him.
Before he could ask more questions, the hut flap opened and a young woman entered, carrying a wooden bowl. She was tall, graceful, with markings that shimmered in the firelight.
She kneeled beside him. "Drink."
David hesitated. "What's in it?"
Her eyes were calm. "Strength."
He swallowed.
Then drank.
The liquid was bitter, metallic, almost electric. Heat rushed through his veins. His skin prickled. His muscles tightened.
He gasped, gripping the ground.
The woman nodded in approval. "You will endure."
The leader spoke again, voice solemn.
"Welcome, young one. You have been chosen by water and fate. Tonight you begin the path of the Umongo."
David's breath trembled.
"Why me?"
The leader smiled for the first time.
"Because you want to save a broken land — and only the broken become warriors."
The drums outside grew louder, echoing like the heartbeat of a new destiny.
And as David lay back, fighting the overwhelming heat rushing through him, only one thought stayed clear in his mind:
Nigeria pushed him into the sea.The Umongo would pull him into power.
His transformation had begun.