The door clicked softly.
David's eyes opened immediately.
It was 4:03 a.m.—he'd slept barely an hour. Light footsteps moved across the living room, followed by the gentle thud of someone dropping a bag on a chair.
"Toya?" David murmured, voice low and groggy.
"Yeah, it's me," Toya replied, sounding exhausted. "Sorry if I woke you, I tried to sneak in."
"You walk like an elephant, how were you planning to sneak in?"
Toya chuckled weakly, dropping onto the sofa like gravity had doubled. He looked drained—button-up rumpled, tie hanging loosely around his neck, the faint smell of cigarettes and alcohol clinging to him from hours behind the bar. His eyes were bloodshot, heavy-lidded.
Bartending in Lagos wasn't glamorous. It was war.
He rubbed his temples. "Omo… this night rough."
David sat up, stretching. "How bad?"
Toya exhaled long and slow. "Bad enough that I questioned why I didn't become a tailor instead. At least tailors see daytime."
David's lips twitched. "What happened?"
Before Toya answered, he looked at David more closely—the tired posture, the band of sweat dried on his forehead, the slight dirt on his trousers.
He frowned.
"Omo… how your patrol go?"
David hesitated.
Toya leaned forward. "Wait… why your face be like person wey outran LASTMA?"
David sighed. "I almost got shot by Amotekun."
Toya froze.
Blinking.
Processing.
Then—
"YOU WHAT!?"
David lifted both palms. "It wasn't my fault—"
"No, no, no. No talk. Just start from beginning, abeg."
David gave a brief rundown: the three thugs, the fight, the loot, the vigilantes, the shotgun blast, the chase.
Toya listened with the expression of someone repeatedly getting slapped by invisible hands.
At the end, he stared at David like he was confused whether to be impressed or furious.
"You almost died."
"Almost," David agreed.
"You outran Amotekun."
"Yeah."
"And you still came home to count money."
David shrugged. "I needed cash."
Toya stared at him.
"…You're mad. You're actually mad."
David gave a small grin. "Maybe."
Toya rubbed his face again. "God save me from this boy."
He sank deeper into the couch, groaning. For a few seconds, silence settled in the room—just the humming fridge and the soft traffic noises drifting from the distance.
Then Toya spoke again, voice calmer.
"Anyway… something happened at the club."
David's posture shifted. "What?"
Toya looked tired, but alert. "Remember the bouncer I told you about? The huge guy that always acts like he swallowed a generator?"
"no i don't remember?"
"well he's gone."
"Gone?"
"Fired. And not small firing—manager told him not to step into the building again. Ever."
David raised a brow. "What did he do?"
Toya leaned back, replaying the memory.
"Two idiots came in—loud, smelling of alcohol and entitlement. They tried entering without paying the gate fee, started threatening the staff. The bouncer tried to stop them. Words turned to pushing. Pushing turned to a fight."
David listened intently.
"The big one pulled a knife," Toya added. "Bad move. Man didn't even let him breathe—one punch, the guy collapsed. Head hit the stairs. Died on the spot."
David exhaled. "Damn."
"Exactly. Whole place scatter. Police came. Manager panicked. Boom—bouncer gone."
David shook his head. "They fired him for self-defense?"
"This is Lagos," Toya replied. "You know how it is. Club owners no dey find stress."
They were quiet for a moment.
Then Toya looked at him again, more seriously this time.
"I spoke to the manager."
David blinked. "About what?"
"About the vacant spot."
A beat of silence.
Then David sat up straight.
"You're kidding."
"Nope. I recommended you."
David blinked again.
"You recommended me… for a bouncer job?"
Toya nodded.
"You think I'm qualified?"
"You beat three armed criminals tonight and outran Amotekun," Toya said flatly. "You're overqualified."
David couldn't argue with that.
"But there's a catch," Toya added.
David raised a brow. "Which is?"
"You need to come in for a trial shift this weekend. Manager wants to see how you handle crowd control. And you must look the part—if you show up in that charity-shop hoodie, they'll chase you away."
David nodded slowly, absorbing the information.
A job meant consistent income.Income meant gear.Gear meant progress.
Toya watched him, eyes half-closed but warm with something like concern.
"I know you're strong," he said. "But Lagos night life is dangerous. Worse than your patrol."
"I can handle it."
"That's what everybody says before they get stabbed with a broken bottle."
David smirked slightly. "You worry too much."
"I don't worry enough," Toya countered. "You're living with me. If anything happens to you, who go pay rent with me?"
David snorted.
"Now I know the real reason."
Toya grinned tiredly. "Guy, this Lagos no be for the weak."
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.
Then Toya clapped his hands once, weakly. "Alright. I wan go baff and sleep small before morning."
He stood up, dragging his tired feet toward the bathroom.
Before he entered, he glanced back.
"David?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time Amotekun point gun at you… don't try to greet them."
David chuckled. "No promises."
Toya shook his head and closed the door behind him
The bathroom door clicked shut, leaving David alone in the dim apartment. The faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant traffic created a lull in the chaos of the night, a fragile moment of calm before the city awakened fully again. He leaned back against the sofa, thinking through everything Toya had just told him.
A job. A steady place to earn money. A connection to the nightlife, which meant information, resources, and eventually, weapons. This was exactly the opening he needed. David's skin was impenetrable, yes—but he knew that in Lagos, advantage alone wasn't enough. He needed positioning, allies, and a foothold in the network of those who ran the night.
He imagined himself at the club: controlling crowds, redirecting violence, intercepting trouble before it escalated. Each detail, every potential scenario, played out in his mind with precision. Bouncers weren't just muscle—they were intelligence in motion. And he had an edge no one else could touch.
David stood and moved to the window, peering into the empty streets. The faint orange glow of streetlights flickered on puddles, and a lone danfo rattled past, brakes squealing in protest. His mind worked through the numbers: first the trial shift, then the tips, then gradually, access to better tools. Bats, rods, maybe even firearms—but only if necessary. For now, observation and intimidation were enough.
Minutes later, Toya emerged, wrapped in a towel, damp hair sticking to his forehead. He stretched, yawning, and plopped back onto the sofa. "Ah… sleep small… never satisfy me," he muttered.
David gave a small smile. "You're the living proof that Lagos never stops, huh?"
"True talk," Toya replied. "But even warriors need to recharge. Even the strongest soldier needs rest before the next battle."
David nodded, but his thoughts kept spinning forward. The patrols, the thugs, Amotekun—the city had shown him what he was capable of, but also how fragile the line between life and death could be. He needed money. He needed leverage. And now, with the club job, he had both.
Toya's voice pulled him back. "So… about tomorrow. Club opens 8 p.m. I get off at 2 a.m. You show up by 8:30, observe, learn the layout, watch the crowd, interact subtly. No heroics yet. Understand?"
David nodded. "Understood."
Toya smirked faintly. "Good. And listen… Lagos night is a beast. You control it or it controls you. And since your skin no dey bleed…" he gestured vaguely, "…you have an unfair advantage. Use it wisely."
David allowed a small grin. "I will."
Toya yawned again, then leaned his head back. "Try not to cause trouble, and don't bring police to the club. That place no need more attention. Keep it professional. Your first trial shift is about observation, presence, authority. Money and gear come later."
David looked around the apartment. Small, cramped, yet functional. This would be his base. For the first time since arriving in Lagos, he felt a sliver of stability. The city would still be dangerous, the streets still deadly—but he had a plan, a network forming, and now a tangible path forward.
Toya stirred again, stretching his arms over his head. "Alright. I go try sleep properly now. Wake me when the day properly starts."
David nodded silently. He settled back, listening to the quiet buzz of the city, mentally preparing. His first official step into Lagos nightlife, into controlled violence and information, into survival with purpose.
The city outside was sleeping only superficially. In alleys, on streets, in shadows, threats waited—and opportunities too. And now, armed with knowledge, instincts, and his impenetrable skin, David was ready to walk among them.
By the time Toya's soft snores filled the room, David had already mapped out potential gang hangouts near Yaba, routes for rapid escape, and areas where the club's influence intersected with the streets. Every detail mattered. Every choice could be life or death.
And tomorrow, his first real night as a bouncer would test everything he had prepared, everything he had learned from his patrols and Toya's guidance. He wasn't just walking the streets anymore. He was stepping into power. Into Lagos.
...........
The next evening, David stepped out of the apartment building around 8:30 p.m., the Lagos streets already humming with nightlife. Streetlights flickered over puddles, and the distant pulse of music from clubs mingled with the harsh grind of traffic. Vendors called out, hawking roasted corn and sugarcane, motorcyclists honked aggressively, and shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally across alleyways.
David's dark hoodie hung loosely over his frame, concealing the outline of his muscular build. He didn't need it for protection—his skin was impenetrable—but it helped him blend in, less like a looming threat and more like a pedestrian. The city had taught him well; observation before action was key.
Club Zanzi's neon sign glowed like a heartbeat in the distance. The street outside was already bustling: people waited for rides, couples argued quietly, and small groups of youths loitered with an air of idle danger. David approached with caution, noticing everything—the angles of escape, the potential choke points, the way the lighting created blind spots.
Toya was at the bar, already pouring drinks with the same efficiency and ease he always displayed. When he saw David, he gave a subtle nod and a quick thumbs-up. No words were needed. David understood the signal: the trial had begun.
Pascal, the nervous manager, watched from the office doorway, chewing on his lip. David caught his eye and gave a small, respectful nod. The job wasn't about intimidation yet—it was about presence, calm authority, and reading the crowd.
Inside, the club was alive with sound and movement. Music thumped in waves, dancers shifted like a synchronized organism, and the smell of alcohol, perfume, and sweat filled the air. David scanned methodically, noting which patrons were aggressive, which tables were likely to cause trouble, and where the staff were most vulnerable.
It didn't take long. Two men, clearly drunk and entitled, began harassing a waitress, knocking over a tray of drinks. David didn't move immediately—he simply observed, noting the distance, angles, and crowd reactions. When the taller one shoved her against the wall, David stepped forward with quiet authority.
"Hey," he said, calm but firm. "Enough."
The men turned, sneering, expecting someone smaller, weaker. David's skin gleamed faintly under the strobe lights, his stance confident, unyielding. The taller man laughed, swinging a fist. David sidestepped with minimal motion, letting the momentum carry the punch harmlessly past. The shorter one tried to grab a bottle from the table, intending to swing it wildly. David's hand caught the bottle mid-air, twisting it gently until it fell harmlessly to the floor.
A small crowd had begun to notice. Whispers and gasps circled. The manager peeked out from the office again, lips pressed together.
David's approach wasn't aggressive—it was precise, measured. The two men realized quickly that brute force wasn't going to work. David's presence alone, a calm but unmistakable dominance, was enough to disrupt them. They stumbled back, muttering insults and confusion, before finally retreating toward the exit.
Toya watched from the bar, impressed. He leaned slightly toward a colleague. "See? Told you he fit do am."
Pascal, exhaling slowly, muttered under his breath. "Better than Boma… better than anyone I've had."
David didn't linger. He returned to a quiet observation post near the bar, eyes sweeping over every table, every entrance. Night after night, the streets had taught him lessons in patience, in timing, in reading intent. The club, with its own ecosystem of aggression, mirrored those lessons—but amplified.
Throughout the night, small incidents continued: drunken arguments, spilled drinks, a few near scuffles. Each time, David intervened—not with violence, but with authority, timing, and physical assurance that left no doubt he could act if necessary. Patrons learned quickly: respect him, or leave.
The tips began accumulating. Patrons grateful for his discreet intervention slipped small envelopes to the staff—or directly to David when they noticed him handling trouble with minimal fuss. Each note, each naira, felt like more than money. It was access: leverage, resources, and a foothold into the undercurrent of Lagos nightlife.
By 2 a.m., the club was winding down. Most of the crowd had thinned, leaving only a few stragglers and the exhausted staff. David wiped down the area he'd monitored, noting every incident, every weak point, and every patron who might become a problem in the future.
Toya approached him quietly, exhaustion etched on his face. "Not bad for your first night," he said softly. "Better than I imagined."
David shrugged. "Observation first. Action second. The more I understand the space, the safer I am—and the more I can make. This is just the beginning."
Toya grinned faintly, despite fatigue. "I like the sound of that… and you know what? This club gig… it's temporary. But it opens doors. People talk, people notice. And if you keep your skin, your head, and your patience… things will get interesting."
David nodded. "true, I'll get the necessary network and intelligence."
The night ended quietly. As they walked back to their apartment, the city felt alive in a different way than it had during his patrol. The hum of engines, the distant arguments, the occasional shout—all now part of a map, a rhythm David was slowly decoding.
For the first time, he wasn't just surviving. He was integrating. Collecting resources. Observing, learning, and establishing a presence. And with every step, the foundation for the next phase—better gear, stronger allies, controlled violence—was being built.
By the time they reached the apartment, 3:45 a.m., the first hint of dawn had begun to paint the sky. David counted the naira in his pocket, noting that even small victories counted. The city was still dangerous. Amotekun and other vigilantes still roamed. But he had survived another night, learned another lesson, and claimed another foothold.
Toya collapsed onto the sofa. "Welcome back to Lagos, soldier," he muttered.
David smiled faintly, feeling the weight of the night but also the clarity of purpose. He'd walked the streets, faced the chaos, and survived. And this was only the beginning.