Click Here to read the previous episode The Nivenger (A Political Action Thriller) – Episode 1, The Nivenger (A Political Action Thriller) – Episode 2, The Nivenger (A Political Action Thriller) – Episode 3, The Nivenger (A Political Action Thriller) – Episode 4, The Nivenger (A Political Action Thriller) – Episode 5, The Nivenger (A Political Action Thriller) – Episode 6, The Nivenger (A Political Action Thriller) – Episode 7 and The Nivenger (A Political Action Thriller) – Episode 8
My name is Alex Rolland. When I was a toddler, I watched my parents get murdered by a man in a hood. I was then kidnapped and smuggled to the USSR, where I was made into someone else … into something else. Now I am back to Nigeria to avenge all those who have suffered, like me, at the hands of cruel, corrupt politicians. I am … The Nivenger!
Breaking News: Reports reaching our desk say that there is now a deafening silence in The Colonel’s house. Security personnel from the Nigerian Police Force are en route and a dispatch from the nearby army barrack has been sent to solidify the security presence at the house. The fate of the Nivenger at this time is uncertain, but from unconfirmed reports reaching us the Nivenger has either been killed or apprehended. More new after the break…
The last the Nivenger saw of the man who had shot him was blood spooling like a ribbon out of his throat, where the blade the Nivenger had thrown had dug into him. The man fell to his knees with a sharp gasp and began to choke on his blood. Spurts of cherry red blood from his mouth stained his military shirt. Even as the Nivenger’s consciousness waned and the sting of the bullet flooded his senses with peppery pain, the Nivenger smiled with satisfaction, watching the soldier who had shot him drown in his own blood. The man fell limp on a pool of his blood, and the last sound he uttered was a gurgle.
The Nivenger’s mind swarm in and out of consciousness. Each time, he was unsure of where he was or what was happening to him. With each cycle of awake and unconscious, he was steadily becoming weaker. He was losing blood and his muscles were becoming sluggish and more painful to move. His right shoulder, where the bullet had torn through his vest, muscles, and tissues, was aching badly and had become as heavy as a log of wood.
At one time, he felt police swarm the compound. The Nivenger lay among the many soldiers he had felled, lying as one who was dead. This is why it took time for the police operatives to locate his body. When they did they brutalized him terribly and placed his dying body on the stepping stones of the house. Then the army came in and secured the house. This time the media were swarming the perimeter. The soldiers wanted to do terrible things to him for killing their comrades—the Nivenger could see it in their eyes—but they were restrained by the cameras, reporters, and on lookers who had managed to filter into the grounds.
The Nivenger remained on the porch of the house, bleeding out and almost forgotten in the flurry of activities. The bodies were being heaped into huge vans, while some personnel from Eko Electric were fixing the small transformer that the Nivenger had blown. Some moments later, the Nivenger felt a shadow fall upon him. An imposing figure was standing behind him, and the Nivenger could feel the scorn of the figure’s gaze scorch his body. There was a soldier standing around, who had been charged with ensuring he doesn’t miraculously disappear. This soldier turned and saw the figure and immediately snapped to attention, dread fleeting across his eyes.
“Who’s in charge of this operation?” said the imposing figure.
The soldier shivered at the booming voice of the man, who was beyond the view of the Nivenger. He stuttered for a second before turning around and running to a knot of officers by the gate. He spoke to one of them, who looked up to the house to see the man. Then he nodded to the soldier, who remained by the gate, and he started towards the house.
“Colonel Majidun reporting for duty, sir,” the man said, coming to attention.
“Get everyone out of my house,” the man said. “The press, the police, the soldiers, everyone. The Nivenger has been killed. Spread the news. He was killed in action.”
The man wavered a little, sneaking a peak at the Nivenger. “Sir, I don’t think he’s dead.”
“He will be, by the time I’m through with him,” replied the man in a scorning voice. “That is how you will report this issue. Do you understand, Colonel?”
The man saluted. “Sir, yes sir!”
“Now go and do as I say.”
The man left. And the other soldier who had been keeping an eye on the Nivenger returned.
“Take him to my inner room,” said the voice. This was the last thing the Nivenger heard before he fell into a deep swoon. The next time he woke up he was hanging from the ceiling by a chain. His hands were stretched tight, sending sharp jolts of pain down his spinal column, especially where the bullet had passed through his shoulder. His legs barely grazed the floor—it was a bare floor.
The Nivenger opened his eyes. There was a sharp pain in them, which made him reflexively shut them back. His eyes were swollen and prickled. He opened his eyes again, this time slowly. He was in some sort of subterranean room. The walls were rough and dusty, while the ground was paved. In the center was a hollowed out oil barrel which guarded a bonfire. A man stood by the fire. He wore only a pair of military trousers. His bare body dripped of sweat, rippling with muscles.
To the right was a rack. On this rack were all sort of torture devices. The moment he realized this, the Nivenger felt a cold terror descend his throat. The Nivenger tried to speak, and all that came out of his mouth was a croak. He coughed severely, each hacking cough causing a sharp pain to shoot across his heart. Then he sputtered deep red blood.
The man in the chamber cocked his head a little in the direction of the Nivenger—this was the only sign the man gave that showed that he recognized the presence of the vigilante. The next thing he did was to go over to the rack of torture instruments and pull out a long, thin iron rod. This rod had a sharp edge at its end that bent a little as in a sickle. He returned back to the fire and dipped the iron rod’s sickle end into the heart of the flame.
“You are going to die,” said this man, even as he stoked the fire with the rod. “I just want to make sure you suffer before you do…” His voice was solemn. There was no hesitation. There was only determination. And cruelty. And the hate of a thousand damned souls. The Nivenger believed this man. And he believed that the man believed that he was going to die today.
“Who … are … you…?” the Nivenger managed to say. Although after he uttered the final word he descended into another bloody bout of coughs.
The man waited for him to be done before he responded. He pulled the iron rod from the flame and turned to face the Nivenger. “Well… I have gone by many names in the past. The one you know me as is The Colonel. The one your parents knew me as was The Hood…”
Shock. This was the first reaction the Nivenger had, even as painful memories of the night his parents were murdered by the hooded figure flooded his mind. Disbelief. This was the next reaction, even as he muttered: “You… You were there that night… You killed them…”
The Colonel only smiled and approached the Nivenger, his hand hefting the iron rod whose sickle end burned white hot.
The Nivenger will return in the next update.
Beware, O ye corrupt leaders, for the Nivenger is coming for you!