Blood In The Rain

It started with a scream.

Not a scream of pain. A warning. From deep within Mushin's backstreets, chaos had spilled like hot oil across the blocks. Turf wars, sudden disappearances, midnight raids. The city was cracking under pressure, and everyone could feel it.

At the center of it all?

Dre.

He stood by a burned-out car under a leaking zinc roof, the evening rain soaking his hoodie. The gas from the underground vault had faded, but the message Zino left haunted him.

"We already predicted your next five moves."

That wasn't arrogance — it was strategy. Elric was playing chess with real lives, and Dre had just realized how wide the board stretched.

Behind him, a small group of Dre's loyalists gathered.

Ayo — the ex-boxer who Dre saved from a syndicate beatdown.

Simi — tech nerd turned street camera manipulator.

Mopho — the loud one with scars and a pipe always in his mouth.

"Word on the street is Zino's been seen in Agege," Simi said, phone in hand, hoodie up. "And someone burned down Dada's bakery last night. Three dead. No fingerprints."

Dre didn't blink. "Syndicate's cleaning their leaks."

Ayo tightened his fists. "They're starting to feel your return. That vault raid you pulled? Legendary. People saying Elric might finally bleed."

Dre wasn't convinced. Not yet.

"No. That was a warning shot. But this?" He turned to face them fully. "This is the counterattack."

---

They moved.

Through alleys that smelled of pepper soup and engine oil, past black-market bike riders and elders shouting over broken radios. The underworld of Lagos wasn't some distant shadow — it lived beside everyday life, wore the face of your neighbor, and smiled at you in the market.

Tonight's mission was direct.

Intercept a shipment.

One of Elric's trucks was moving "clean" medicine to hospitals — but everyone in the streets knew what it really carried.

Guns. Cash. Fear.

---

By midnight, Dre crouched behind an abandoned Danfo bus, staring down an empty street lit by flickering poles. In the distance, the truck approached. Slow. Confident. No escort. That was strange.

"Simi?" Dre whispered into his comm.

"No signal jammer. No backup. This feels... too easy."

"Yeah," Dre muttered, standing. "That's because it is."

The truck stopped. The door opened.

A single boy, maybe fourteen, stepped out. Shaking. Holding a paper.

He looked directly at Dre's hiding spot, even though Dre hadn't moved.

Then he shouted.

"Run!"

Dre's eyes widened.

Too late.

BOOM!

The truck exploded in a fireball that swallowed the Danfo and tossed Dre like a ragdoll into the wall.

His ears rang. Vision blurred. The rain hissed against flames.

Smoke choked the street.

Footsteps approached.

Fast. Boots. Syndicate.

Dre, blood dripping from his temple, rolled behind a dumpster. His ribs screamed in pain, but his grip tightened on his blade.

Two Syndicate men checked the rubble.

"He's dead. No way he lived through that."

"Good. Elric wanted a message sent. Dre isn't untouchable."

They turned to leave.

But the second one paused. Something in the debris moved.

Dre.

He surged out like a shadow from hell, blade flashing.

One clean slice across the throat.

The second man shouted, raised his gun—Dre fired first. One bullet. Right between the eyes.

The silence after was worse than the explosion.

He leaned against the wall, panting, blood mixing with rain.

This wasn't just war.

It was personal now.

---

Later that night, in a hidden shack deep in Ajegunle, Dre sat with Ayo and Simi, bandaged and silent.

"They wanted to blow you to pieces," Ayo said.

"No," Dre replied darkly. "They wanted to test how far I'd go."

He placed a bloodstained note on the table. The paper the boy handed him before running.

Written in red ink:

"Next move is yours. But be careful. We're watching your queen."

Simi swallowed. "Queen? Who...?"

Dre's heart sank.

Chioma.

His sister.

His only blood left.

---

Across Lagos, on a rooftop balcony, Zino watched the city burn beneath him. Elric stood beside him, lighting a cigar.

"Elric," Zino said, "he's not like the others. Dre plays with pain like it's his language."

Elric smiled coldly. "Then let's make him speak it fluently."