1997: Somewhere in Surulere...
It was the twilight of the retro era. The morning sky over Lagos was thickened with a deep, suffocating gloom. A heavy rain was preparing to break, casting the tall blocks of flats in long, shadowy shades that felt distinctly noir. Inside one of the wider flats—a well-furnished apartment belonging to a second-class citizen in the building—lived a young Raymond. He was sixteen years old.
KUO! KUO!! KUO!!! KUO!!!!
The sound of his sick mother violently coughing pierced through the flat. She lay on the bed in her room, bundled under heavy blankets beneath the low, amber rays of a solitary bulb. Raymond swiftly moved to the kitchen, brewed a cup of hot coffee, and brought it to her. Her eyes were pale, hovering dangerously close to death, but she vibrated with enough energy to sit up and reach for the cup in Raymond's hands.
MUM: (Chill) Bring my drugs over there...
RAYMOND: Okay, Ma.
He reached for her medication and handed it to her. The moment she swallowed it, she shooed him away like a ghost like person.
MUM: (Commanding) Now go, get out. Go! I don't want you bearing my sickness...
RAYMOND: (Frightened) Yes, Ma.
Raymond quickly walked out of the room, shut the door, rested his back against the wood, and took a deep, heavy breath, went to his room and drops the nail.
(Blue Öyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" begins playing softly in the background.)
Raymond placed the vinyl on the turntable, keeping the volume just loud enough to drown out the silence without disturbing his mother's rest. With the coast clear, he snuck his friends into the flat and straight into his room: Victor, Danladi, Tumbuktu, Anita, Ndidi, and Heyes.
Once they were all safely inside, he shut the door tight and cranked the music slightly louder to muffle their voices from the rest of the house. They were just kids having fun—reading and drawing characters from Daredevil and Batman comics, playing analog games. The girls, Anita and Ndidi, were reading novels, and everyone was passing around a big bottle of Coke that Danladi had smuggled in.
After a while, Anita started pressuring Raymond.
ANITA: Hey, Oya Ray, show us what you've practiced from your drama class...
RAYMOND: (Shy) No, it's nothing. Nothing peak...
HEYES: (Mocking) Raymond, stand up na, and perform your arts and stop being a boyscout!
(Tumbuktu laughs out loud in the background.)
DANLADI: (Mockery) Walali, to be honest bro, no one cares about your acting skills. It's boring...
NDIDI: Well, to you!
(Ndidi reaches over and slaps the back of Danladi's head.)
RAYMOND: (Challenged) Well guess what, I'll prove you wrong this time...
VICTOR: (Encouraging) Don't mind them jare, I think your acting skills are peak...
ANITA: (Encouraging) Yeah, me too...
DANLADI: No, don't mind Victor, it's shit...
NDIDI: (Smiling) Danladi!
ANITA: Yeah, he should shut up!
(Heyes continues laughing in the background, enjoying the chaos.)
NDIDI: I can't recall any special thing about Danladi...
DANLADI: (Smiles, Amused) Heheheyyy.
ANITA: (Mockery) The only thing he is special about is washing the school toilets...
NDIDI: (Mockery) Haha, when he comes late... he has this talent of making the toilet so clean...
DANLADI: So this what we are doing, right? Every lady is Raymond's wife...
HEYES: Jokes on you girls, Danladi is good at singing.
NDIDI: (Mockery) Ohh, really?
DANLADI: Yeah, I'm sure you were moaning for that song when I released it...
NDIDI: That your album spoke all about the obsession of that your love, mind you! Which was disgusting...
HEYES: Bro, what else will you expect of Ndidi?
DANLADI: Yeah, always a killjoy... I'm sure we can all agree with that...
ANITA: Yeah, I'll agree with that...
VICTOR: That's actually true...
HEYES: Of course...
TUMBUKTU: Yeah...
(Ndidi keeps nodding her head in expected disappointment.)
RAYMOND: Yeah, me too was wondering what she's on about taking my side...
NDIDI: (Disappointed) Look at this one I'm even siding oooo.
ANITA: (Remembering) Speaking of music, I'm going to be taking one of your vinyls today... hmm... Michael Jackson's.
RAYMOND: I'm not sure I have anything new...
HEYES: Hey, Oga, don't try changing the topic. Come perform for us now.
RAYMOND: Okay...
Raymond stood up, readying himself to perform. He unrolled a crumpled piece of paper to read his play.
NDIDI: Hey, excuse me, are you going to, like, act all the characters of the play?
RAYMOND: (Confused) Yeah...
NDIDI: Omor, that's weird...
Raymond coughed to get everyone's attention. He opened his slip of paper and began reading in a dramatic British accent. The entire room fell into absolute silence.
RAYMOND: Society isn't what you think it is. It is what we choose it to be. We all forged it, manipulated it just like hypocrites in a play, forging counterfeit scenarios to make the audience laugh. And who are the audience? The Z's. The bigger gamers, who play us as pawns and preys. We must break free from the loop and fight for true freedom, no matter the cost...
KNOCK! KNOCK!! KNOCK!!!
The sudden, violent pounding on the front door scared the spines right out of Raymond and his friends. Their eyes went wide with intense terror. They all fell dead silent. The knocks were terribly loud, and Raymond's parents had given him a strict rule: never invite friends into the house again.
Raymond swiftly sprang to the radio and turned it on, and the music off, Whispering frantically, he told all his friends to hide behind his bookshelves and inside his wardrobes. Six teenagers squished themselves into the dark, burying themselves in tons of Raymond's clothes.
He switched off the bedroom light. Because of the terribly gloomy weather outside, the room was plunged into pitch blackness. Taking a deep, shaking breath, he reached the door and cracked it open.
A massive, hulking silhouette of a man stood out mighty in front of Raymond. His sheer presence commanded Raymond's immediate respect and fear.
RAYMOND: (Fearful) Good evening, Sir.
DAD: (Deep and heavy) Where were those voices in your room coming from?
RAYMOND: (Shivering with fear) Maybe the radio...
DAD: (Intense suspicion) Hmmmmmm...
RAYMOND: I was sleeping, that's why I switched the lights off...
Raymond's dad stared deeply into Raymond's eyes, sending cold spikes of fear down the boy's spine. The air grew thick and dreadful between them.
DAD: Okay...
RAYMOND: (Relief) Okay, Sir.
DAD: I hope you took care of your mum?
RAYMOND: Yes, Sir... she's probably resting now...
DAD: Good. I bought you something...
From the inner pocket of his long suit jacket, his father drew out an object. It was a crimson red theatrical mask. His hands—barely visible in the dark—were stained with blood. The slick red coated the mask, sending a strange, terrifying chill into Raymond's mind. Trembling, he received it.
RAYMOND: (Forced smile) Dad, what is this?
DAD: Well... think of it as a trophy for your acting skills...
Raymond was not appreciating it, especially with the bloody hands of his father screaming, "What is going on?" in the back of his mind. But he swallowed his fear.
RAYMOND: Thank you, Sir...
His dad turned and began to walk away down the hall. Raymond couldn't stop himself from asking.
RAYMOND: (Suspiciously) What's with the blood on your hands?
His father stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, still facing away from Raymond, he answered.
DAD: Oh... looks like I got my hands dirty…
Raymond's father walked away, leaving the boy standing eerily still, like a frozen statue in the gloom of the hallway. From the narrow gaps between the clothes in the wardrobe and the shadows of the bookshelves, his friends watched the entire traumatizing scene. They remained paralyzed as the bedroom door, caught in a slight draft, slowly creaked shut by itself.
The room was plunged into total darkness. They waited for Raymond to move, to speak, to give them a sign that it was safe—but nothing came. The silence stretched until it became suffocating. Finally, Victor couldn't take it anymore.
VICTOR: (Whispering in fear) Raymond...
There was no response. Victor tried again, his voice trembling.
VICTOR: (Whispering in fear) Raymo—
Suddenly, the lights flicked on.
The sudden glare revealed Raymond standing in the center of the room, already wearing the crimson theatrical mask. The sight was so jarring, so predatory, that it sent his friends jolting back in terror. Ndidi couldn't help herself; a sharp, piercing scream escaped her.
NDIDI: HAAAAAAHH!
The others scrambled to cover her mouth, their frantic whispers hissing through the air, but the sound had already traveled. Down the hall, BENJAMIN—Raymond's father—stopped in his tracks. He tilted his head toward the sound, a sinister, knowing smile spreading across his face.
BENJAMIN: (To himself) Raymond's radio...
He turned back and continued his steady, heavy pace toward his wife's bedroom.
Back in Raymond's room, the chaos subsided into a tense, breathless relief as the friends realized they weren't being raided by the father.
NDIDI: (Gasps, recovering from shock) Are you okay? Which kin' mask be this one?
VICTOR: Yeah, that mask is creepy. Why would your dad even buy you something like that?
RAYMOND: (Voice muffled beneath the mask) I don't know o. I was asking myself the same thing. Is it really that scary? It's just... theatrical.
DANLADI: (Eyes wide) Ayo, is no one gonna talk about how creepy Raymond's dad was?
TUMBUKTU: Real guy...
RAYMOND: You met him when he was less creepy.
ANITA: Omor, my dad is still nice o. Your dad didn't even say anything bad, but his presence... it just felt heavy.
HEYES: That's why he and my dad are friends.
NDIDI: Birds of the same feather...
The banter died down as Danladi's eyes drifted toward Raymond's lap. His expression shifted from fear to intense, narrowed suspicion.
DANLADI: Hey, Raymond... Why are your hands full of blood?
The room went dead silent. Everyone's gaze dropped to Raymond's hands. The fresh, wet crimson from his father's palms had transferred onto him, staining his skin a deep, visceral red.
Raymond looked down at his palms, then slowly looked back up at his friends through the hollow eyes of the mask.
RAYMOND: Oops. Looks like I got my hands dirty.
(The pulsing, nostalgic bassline of Twenty One Pilots' "Stressed Out" slowly builds, setting the rhythm for the scene.)
Raymond slipped into his adjoining bathroom, quickly scrubbing the dark, visceral blood from his hands. When he emerged, the crimson mask was fixed firmly back on his face. Without warning, he sprinted terrifyingly toward Ndidi. She let out a piercing shriek and scrambled away. Reaching the wall, Raymond slapped the dimmer switch, plunging the room into a moody, low-light atmosphere. The initial shock quickly dissolved into a chaotic, adrenaline-fueled playground as he chased them through the shadows.
The scene shifts into ultra slow-motion, capturing the action as if through an 85mm lens, the dim amber light carving deep silhouettes across the room.
The bedroom exploded into innocent rebellion. They hurled pillows at one another, tackling and bed-wrestling in pure, unfiltered joy. The boys jumped from the furniture to scare the girls; the girls retaliated, chasing the boys into the corners of the room. Plump white feathers burst from torn cushions, floating weightlessly through the heavy air like snow. Dark, sugary streams of Coke spilled from overturned cups, the liquid suspended in graceful, mid-air arcs.
Then, suddenly...
KKRRTTSSCCHH!
Time snapped violently back to normal speed. In the blur of the roughhousing, Danladi's swinging arm had mistakenly slammed hard into Raymond's face. The impact dislodged the red mask. It hit the hard floor and shattered instantly—the heavy, painted ceramic bursting into jagged, irreparable shards across the floorboards.
The music cut. The laughter died in their throats.
Staring down at the broken trophy from Raymond's terrifying father, a sudden, paralyzing fear jolted through the teenagers, freezing them all in place.
RAYMOND: (Regret) Ohhh, no, no, no, no, no. What will I do now?
DANLADI: (Confused) Bro, chill. It's just a mask...
HEYES: Abi o, what's the worst that can happen?
Raymond turned to Heyes, hot tears already spilling from his eyes. The sheer, naked terror on his face shocked his friends into silence.
RAYMOND: (Tears in regret) The worst that can happen is I'm dead.
ANITA: (Confused) Why are you crying?
NDIDI: Well, "dead" just means you'll be punished or you'll get beaten. That's the worst that can happen, not actual death.
VICTOR: (Deadpan) No one wants to be beaten by their dads, especially by someone like Raymond's dad...
DANLADI: (Disappointed) But it's just a mask, why the hell is he crying?
TUMBUKTU: (Disgust) Like a baby...
HEYES: (Disappointed) Abi o.
ANITA: (Suspicious) I think it's something more serious...
DANLADI: (Dismissive) Anyway, it doesn't matter, it's just a mask. I'll get you a new one when we meet in school.
Danladi playfully swatted the back of Raymond's head and slung an arm around his shoulder.
HEYES: (Bored) Anyway, Oya Danladi, make we row...
DANLADI: (Agreeing) Yeah, me too.
Tumbuktu stood up, brushing off his trousers.
TUMBUKTU: Oya na...
ANITA: Okay...
Anita sprinted toward Raymond's vinyl racks and hastily pulled out a disc.
RAYMOND: That isn't Michael Jackson's...
ANITA: (Hasty) Anyhow sha...
In the background, Danladi and Heyes gossiped in hushed mockery.
HEYES: (Loudly) Oya oo, crybaby! (Whispering) I can't believe he was crying...
DANLADI: (Whispering) The theatrical fanatic himself. (Chuckles)
Raymond rolled his wet eyes at them, wiping his face.
NDIDI: Let's go.
VICTOR: Okay Raymond, you know the drill...
RAYMOND: Ohh, okay...
Raymond slowly cracked open the bedroom door. He and his friends tiptoed through the dark hallway toward the apartment exit, holding their breath, careful not to make a single sound. When they finally reached the front door, Raymond looked at them.
RAYMOND: (Inaudibly mouthing) Bye...
They all mouthed "Bye bye" back to him, slipping out into the rainy afternoon. Raymond gently, soundlessly shut the door.
CLICK.
Alone in the vastly enormous and dark apartment, he swiftly walked back to his room. He opened the door, and his breath hitched in his throat.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at the shattered ceramic mask on the floor, was his father, BENJAMIN.
A shimmering, jolting fear etched itself deep into Raymond's heart. His eyes went wide in pure shock as the heavy air in the room seemed to hum with a venomous, sinister orchestral tension. Slowly, agonizingly, his father raised his head to look at him.
DAD: (Deep and resonant) You know, I came to your room and saw it disordered. I wondered if your radio could have done that too...
Raymond stood frozen, shivering uncontrollably. His father stood up to his full, towering height and slowly walked over, looming right in front of him. Raymond's panicked mind scrambled, finding another lie lingering in his thoughts.
RAYMOND: I... I was looking for something, that's why...
He tried to swiftly walk past, but his father's thick arm shot out, blocking Raymond's chest like an iron bar. Raymond stood trapped, terrified.
DAD: (Cold) Were you crying?
Raymond took a trembling step back, putting himself fully in front of his father again.
DAD: How did the mask get broken? No more lies.
RAYMOND: (Stuttering in fear) I… I… I didn't break it. Danladi mistakenly broke it...
Raymond instantly bit his tongue. The moment the words left his mouth, he realized he had sold himself out. His dad looked down, staring piercingly into Raymond's eyes, his face twisting into intense, terrifying rage.
RAYMOND: (Stuttering in fear) I… I… mean I..
DAD: (Shouting in rage) RAYMOND!
Benjamin violently struck his own head with the heel of his hand like a total psychopath. And then, suddenly...
WHAKTCHD!
Without warning, impact frames flickered in reality as Benjamin smacked Raymond. The blow was so brutal, so devastatingly fast, that it launched the teenager completely out of the bedroom. Raymond flew backward, slamming hard into the hallway wall.
RAYMOND: (Yelps in pain) YAAAAHHHH!
From down the hall, Raymond's sick mother heard the sickening thud.
MUM: (Shouting weakly) BENJAMIN! Má pa ọmọ mi fún mi o! (Don't kill my child for me o!)
Raymond collapsed to his knees, violently coughing up blood from the sheer impact of the smack. His father stepped out of the bedroom, walking slowly up to where his son was trembling on the floor, and leaned down.
DAD: (Sinisterly) No more lies... promise me that.
RAYMOND: (Gasping in fear) I... promise...
His father roughly wrapped his massive palm around Raymond's scalp, gave it a firm, degrading squeeze, and then released him. Without another word, Benjamin walked down the hall and out of the house.
As evening bled into night, the city of Lagos was still recovering from the weight of the grim rainfall. The sky cast a cold, grayish filter over the streets of Surulere, lengthening the shadows that stretched between the buildings.
On a street corner, Danladi was chilling with a few other friends. They were all dripped in 1990s "Yankee" fashion—baggy clothes and oversized caps—shouting out to girls passing by. Some girls ignored them with a hiss; others took their shots back. As the hour grew late, Danladi felt the fatigue set in and turned to the boys.
DANLADI: Yo, I'll catch up with you guys tomorrow...
"Cool, bro," the boys called back as they dispersed.
Danladi began the trek home, walking down a silent, dusty lane. It was a deserted stretch of road where the only sound was the rhythm of his own footsteps and the rhythmic snap of the gum he was chewing. He turned into a narrow alley lined with shipping containers used as shops—all of them padlocked and shuttered tight because of the weather.
He reached the far turning of the containers, and then, his heart nearly stopped.
Standing a few yards away was Raymond's father, BENJAMIN. He was a towering, eerie figure in the gloom, draped in a long brown trench coat and black leather gloves. Atop his head sat a brown plaid flat cap, but beneath it was a brand-new, crimson red theatrical mask.
Benjamin stood perfectly, unnervingly still. His hands were raised high in the air, palm-out, as if he were being held at gunpoint by invisible police. The sight was so bizarre that Danladi slowed to a halt, his confusion masking his fear.
DANLADI: (Tentative) Hello?
Benjamin didn't move an inch. He remained as rigid as a statue.
DANLADI: (Intensely strange) Good evening, Daddy Raymond...
Still, there was no response. The posture was so unnatural that Danladi instinctively turned his head to look behind him, wondering if the police actually had guns leveled at the man's back.
The moment Danladi's gaze shifted, Benjamin snapped into motion.
He lunged forward with predatory speed, his gloved hand catching Danladi by the throat. He squeezed with such immense force that Danladi's attempt to scream died in a strangled gasp. Benjamin hoisted the boy off the ground by his neck, the teenager's feet dangling as he clawed at the iron grip, his lungs burning for air.
VUUTHUD!
Benjamin slammed him down onto the concrete with bone-shattering force. Before Danladi could recover, Benjamin was over him. He gripped the boy's head and began smashing it against the hard, wet ground.
VUUGDCH! VUUGDCH!! VUUGDCH!!!
The sickening sound of impact echoed off the steel containers. He didn't stop until the resistance left Danladi's body, until the boy's skull gave way and blood gushed out onto the pavement.
Benjamin finally stopped. Breathing steadily, he calmly peeled off his blood-stained gloves. He grabbed Danladi's limp ankles and dragged the body toward a nearby gutter, where the rainwater was rushing in a dark, violent torrent. With a cold, mechanical shove, he launched the body into the depths of the drain.
As Benjamin turned to leave, his long coat swung toward the camera, the heavy fabric filling the frame until everything faded to black.
Back in the apartment, Raymond sat on the floor beside the first aid kit. He moved with a practiced, aching slowness as he tended to the bruises and cuts his father had left behind. The flat was silent, save for the distant sound of the rain outside.
Suddenly, he felt a presence. He spun around, his heart leaping into his throat.
His father was standing directly behind him. Benjamin was wearing the new crimson mask, standing so still and cold that he looked like a part of the shadows. Raymond jolted to his feet, his breath hitching.
RAYMOND: (Fearful) Good evening, Sir.
Benjamin simply nodded, the mask's frozen smile reflecting the dim light. Raymond stared at the red ceramic, unable to look away.
RAYMOND: Is that... a new mask?
BENJAMIN: (Nodding) Thought you'd never ask...
Slowly, Benjamin reached up and peeled the mask from his face. He held it out to Raymond. His hands were still stained with Danladi's fresh blood, the red liquid smearing onto the clean surface of the new mask as he handed it over.
BENJAMIN: No fall my hand next time.
RAYMOND: I won't... I promise.
Benjamin leaned back slightly, a look of grim acceptance crossing his face.
BENJAMIN: That's my man...
Without another word, Benjamin turned and left the room. Raymond stood there for a long moment, gripping the bloody mask. He walked to the kitchen and held it under the tap, watching the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain until the ceramic was clean.
He stepped back out into the dark parlor, intending to return to his room, but he stopped dead. In the center of the pitch-black room stood his mother.
She looked like a ghost. She was standing in a three-quarter profile, perfectly still, holding a kerosene lantern. The flame flickered, casting a sharp, golden light on her pale face while the rest of her body remained lost in the darkness. She was staring at nothing.
RAYMOND: (Whispering in fear) Mummy? What are you staring at?
He slowly moved his gaze to the corner of the room she was focused on. There was nothing there—only empty, devouring darkness.
Suddenly...
THUDD!
His mother's body went limp, slumping heavily to the floor. The lantern shattered beside her, the flame dying instantly. Raymond sprinted to her side, grabbing her cold, pale shoulders. Tears began to glisten in his eyes.
RAYMOND: (Sobbing) Mummy! Mummy? Wake up, please... Mum... DADDY!
From the shadows behind him came a voice—deep, cold, and utterly devoid of emotion.
BENJAMIN: She's dead.
Raymond whipped his head around, his face wet with tears.
RAYMOND: No, no, no... she's not dead. She can't die!
BENJAMIN: (Grim) Step away from her body.
Trembling, Raymond stood up and backed away. His father stepped forward, hoisted his wife's limp body into his arms, and walked straight out of the front door into the night.
SEVERAL DAYS LATER...
The weather was biting and cold for the burial. Raymond's extended family and his friends stood in a somber circle as the coffin was lowered into the earth. Raymond stood apart from them, clad in black. His fingers were white from how hard he was gripping the red theatrical mask in his hands.
Benjamin approached him. He was dressed in a suit blacker than the rest, his presence looming over his son. He rested a heavy palm on Raymond's shoulder as they both stared down at the grave.
BENJAMIN: They say power is a blessing in the right hands... and a curse in the wrong hands.
RAYMOND: That's my line.
BENJAMIN: Well, the world had that power, but none of them could cure your mother's sickness. Sounds like a curse to me. What do you think?
Raymond's face hardened. All the fear, the grief, and the innocence vanished from his expression. He looked deep into the hollow eyes of the mask, his voice dropping into a cold, steady tone.
RAYMOND: (Hardened) Well... I think I'm going to go get that power, even if it gets my hands dirty.
His eyes locked onto the mask, and for the first time, he didn't look like a boy. He looked like a king claiming a crown.
CUT TO BLACK.