”Mama, Ill call you later… ”
He fumbled his way out of the painted taxi in frenetic manner and started for the immense glass tower that stretched into the heavens.
He was half dressed, barely prepared for his crucial meeting with a rumpled old shirt that seemed to scare away the gasping bystanders.
A wrinkled suit jacket was crumpled in his armpits,
A loose belt was scribbled round his waist in a futile attempt to hold up a pair of sagging trousers.
He seemed a bit too quay, indeed.
”Shut your traps, ”
he muttered to himself while shoving through the clustered sidewalk of murmuring people.
An apple phone was nestled between his shoulder and ear while the other hand clenched a silver briefcase, stiffened by the clutching of his hardworking armpit.
He was gaunt, haggard and raddled.
”Mama…please I said Ill call you later na… ” the young man blurted out, in a plea of frustration that revealed a ridiculous Nigerian accent.
A squeaky voice bellowed from the phones speaker;
”Nwam (My son), Hope you will visit me today. ”
The young man hopped on one foot all the way to the elevator, forcing the other foot into a dusty old shoe with ungainly hands.
”Surely, Mama. Immediately… after work, Ill drop in, ” he stammered.
His new job had him nervous yet the consciousness of Mothers love kept him strong and hopeful.
”Chei iya ohh (It is a pity).
Bring home some bread oh.
Ahh, my boy, Im making okazi soup with ground egusi and ice fish and…Chei! Just the way you like it. ”
”Mama, Im so sorry, I have to go…wait…did you say okazi soup? ” a stupid grin brightened up the mans face.
”Hey hey hey! Your sister is already in the market. Would you believe they sell okazi in London? ”
”What? You don mean it, Ma. At last we can have a little Nigerian feeling around here. ”
”Yes ooh. ”
The doors of the elevator shut.
”Mama, please ehn, I have to go. See you later, I love you. ”
The doors of the elevator sluggardly slid open at the topmost floor.
A charming young man full of grace and elegance stepped out with unique gentleness.
It wasn the same man who had gone in…couldn be. His dark eyes glossed like onyx, his low cut hair was neatly brushed, revealing a symmetry of silky waves.
His clear light brown skin glowed like a chocolate bar under the halogen light, laying emphasis on his big pointed nose.
That old rumpled shirt had somehow transformed into an expensive looking customized fit, as though a dry cleaner had hidden somewhere behind the shadows of the elevator.
A grey tie had appeared around his neck, knotted up to perfection.
The grey double breasted suit no longer hid behind the confines of his arm pit but posed confidently on the young man, neatly, dashingly.
A body fit, his defiant biceps bulged out, in some way sensual, they could not be hid.
the suit couldn take all the glory, anyway.
The sagging pair of trousers clung to their masters waist, neatly pressed, the gators so sharp, they could slice ones fingers.
And the dust on the shoes had cleared, unveiling the eye catching symbol of the prestigious Dolce and Gabanna products.
Chetanna was a mystery man, its no wonder he espoused the path of justice by becoming a detective. He did things in many mysterious ways…even a makeover.
The 28 year old took bold steps and halted before the gargantuan door that bore a gold cresting of the word, ”Knightsbane ”.
Its sigil, a chess knight.
He sighed in a failed attempt to eradicate all symptoms of nervousness. Truly his heart skipped but he would not admit it.
Eventually, the Nigerian born Englishman lifted both hands at heart, surrendering to the nasty claws of anxiety and heralded its omnipotence.
With one last deep breath, he wiped the imaginary dust off his shoulder and walked into the room.
The vast room led to a dismal cavernous hall and finally to a great wall of bricks.
Chetannas new comrades were gathered behind the mystical wall, talking politics while awaiting an utterly complete attendance.
The Nigerian born Englishman seemed to be delaying this crucial meeting.
He tapped on the wall of brick ritually, chanting strange words.
The brick wall buzzed with robotic rhythm.
For it was designed with a unique scanning device system, a software that utilized biometric authentication.
”Palm print recognition, ”
A robotic voice echoed, its speech interspersed with an irregular pitch; its syllables incorrectly pronounced.
A smoldering palm print sensor was highlighted on the wall in a trice through the omniscient power of science.
The dark skinned man placed his right palm, fitting it into the print and the brick wall was animated.
It whirred as it slid open, revealing a secret doorway.
But this was no shocker to Chetanna, for hed seen it all before.
Hastily, he walked in.
Oh behold the glaring eyes, of blue, of green, of turquoise, of grey and brown. They wore stern glints, intimidation beaming around them…
Chetannas heart melted down his bowel.
An unfair chill of timidity swept through him from within, yet he kept his cool with equanimity.
There, at the heart of the room was mounted a vast round table.
A group of specialist crime fighters, seated around it.
Five men all intriguingly gifted with individual brilliance in the art of proficiency.
In the company of the gentlemen, a dainty lady dressed in Gothic attires.
How ferociously their racial colorations defied Chetannas.
For a moment, the dark skinned fellow felt an uneven ray of degradation but the words ringing in his head ”black is beautiful ” wavered not his feet.
e late, ” one of the men mulled arrogantly.
He was an obnoxious middle aged man with a shabbily clustered crop of ginger hair and brown eyes.
Nye Rhys, his name; a man who believed he knew everything.
”Ill be the one to decide that, as Banneret, ” averred a bald headed man whose words won the hearts of the room…
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