The penthouse living room was a teenage rap video fantasy come to life. A massive TV and bone-rattling sound system dominated the space, bathed in leather and chrome. Two young men lounged on an obscenely expensive couch, playstation 5 controllers in one hand, blunts in the other. They were kings of their own tiny, trap-beat kingdom.

Surrounded by manufactured cool, they looked both powerful and pathetic - living proof that unlimited wealth can leave you with everything and nothing simultaneously.

Empty bottles of top-shelf liquor were scattered everywhere. Price tags clung to some, screaming their worth to an audience too inebriated to care. Rare Japanese whiskeys, limited edition vodkas, champagne that cost more than most people's rent. Each one a hollow trophy of nights barely remembered.

The air was thick with a haze that reeked of something far stronger than burnt food. Whatever those two were smoking, it was probably worth more per gram than certain jewelry and twice as likely to fry your brain. The smoke curled around the room, giving everything a dreamlike quality - or maybe that was just the contact high talking.

"Bet you 50k he doesn't last 3 minutes in there," one of them drawled as his gaze fell on a locked bedroom door.

His companion scoffed around his blunt, "You don't know Anthony. Easiest 50k I'll ever make. You're on!"

In the bedroom, a different kind of intoxication was taking hold. Anthony perched on his desk, physically present but mentally miles away. His eyes skimmed over the young woman on the bed without really seeing her. His mind was trapped in a loop, replaying the events of the past week over and over.

Funi. The name echoed in his head, bringing with it a fresh wave of pain and confusion. Anthony had thought what they had was special, even if it had started as just a physical thing. He'd let his guard down, allowed himself to feel something real. And now? Now he felt like a fool.

Rejection and anger warred within him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. How could she dismiss him so easily? Treat him like he was disposable? He was Anthony also known as 'Agaba', for crying out loud. People didn't just walk over him.

But she had. And it left him reeling, questioning everything. Was he really as irresistible as he'd always believed? As untouchable? He was adrift in uncharted waters, his usual compass of self-assurance spinning wildly.

The young woman on the bed shifted slightly, but Anthony barely noticed. He was too lost in his own head, trying to make sense of a world that suddenly didn't play by his rules anymore.

The young woman rose, moving with a grace that defied gravity. She approached Anthony like a lioness stalking her prey, her eyes never leaving his. With a deftness that spoke of practice, she plucked the blunt from his lips, her fingers ghosting across his mouth.

She took a long, deliberate drag, the ember glowing like a tiny sun between them. Her eyes, locked on his, held a challenge and a promise. As she exhaled, the smoke danced between them.

She unfastened his trousers as Anthony threw open his drawer, found the strip of condoms he'd packed, ripped one open, managed to roll it on with gritted teeth. Maybe she would've done it for him, and maybe that would've been hot as hell, but since he wanted to actually get inside her before he went off like a gunshot, he needed to keep touching to a minimum.

He spun her around and made her grab the edges of his desk as he hurriedly yanked her tight skirt up and entered her with the urgency of a starved predator.

He fizzled out in under 2 minutes.

As he finished, and on cue, his phone rang, its shrill tone piercing the silence of Anthony's dimly lit bedroom. It was a hidden number. He answered, his voice a careful balance of steadiness and caution.

Anthony: "Hello?"

A deep, gravelly voice responded, instantly putting Anthony on edge.

Mysterious Man: "Agaba, we need to talk."

Anthony's breath got stuck in his throat and he gestured wildly to the young woman, his eyes screaming 'privacy, please!' She, obliging, tugged her skirt down with a flourish and made a hasty exit, leaving Anthony to his own devices (and, presumably, his own mortification).

Anthony: "Chief, I wasn't expecting your call. What can I do for you?"

Chief: "What's this nonsense I'm hearing about a girl named Afefe? She's sending out notes and USBs to people who knew Kelechi Ezeh. Explain yourself, now."

Anthony's brain became a chaotic mess of thoughts, like a browser with too many tabs open, as he frantically searched for a response that wouldn't make the chief's expression turn any grimmer.

Anthony: "It's just a small complication, Chief. Nothing to worry about. I'm taking care of it."

Chief: (voice dripping with sarcasm) "A small complication? Do you take me for a fool, Agaba? Our entire operation could be compromised!"

Anthony: (trying to sound confident) "I assure you, everything is under control. We've identified the girl and-"

Chief: (interrupting) "Under control? Like how Kelechi's situation was 'under control'? We both know how that ended."

A tense silence filled the line. Anthony's palms began to sweat.

Anthony: "This is different, Chief. Afefe is just a scared kid who doesn't know what she's gotten herself into. We can handle this quietly."

Chief: (voice lowering dangerously) "For your sake, I hope you're right. Because if this 'scared kid' exposes us, it won't just be her who disappears. Do I make myself clear?"

Anthony: (swallowing hard) "Crystal clear, Chief. I'll have this wrapped up within the week."

Chief: "See that you do. And Anthony... don't disappoint me again. You're running out of chances."

The line went dead, leaving Anthony in a suffocating silence. The Chief's threat hung in the air like a guillotine blade, ready to drop. Anthony set the phone down, feeling the weight of "small complication" morph into a mountain of trouble.

He collapsed onto his bed, face buried in his hands as if he could hide from reality. The Chief's words echoed in his mind, a broken record of menace and expectation.

His thoughts raced like a hamster on a wheel - lots of motion, no progress. If only Afefe had the Black Spiders' backing, he thought bitterly. At least then he'd know the players and the game. But this? This was chaos theory in action - a lone girl scattering dangerous information like a dandelion in the wind.

It was unpredictable, uncontrollable.

As Anthony racked his brain for solutions, he felt a familiar presence trying to seep into his consciousness. Funi. Always there, always pushing, always threatening to derail his focus at the most critical moments.

He gritted his teeth, forcing the intrusive thoughts of Funi back. "Not now," he muttered under his breath. "I can't deal with you right now."

Anthony stood up abruptly, pacing the room. He needed a clear head. He needed to think like the strategic mastermind that had gotten him this far. But with the Chief breathing down his neck and Funi haunting his mind, clarity seemed like a distant luxury.

He paused by the window, staring out at the city lights. Somewhere out there, Afefe was making her moves. And he was running out of time to make his.

Anthony took a deep breath, steeling himself. He couldn't afford to fail. Not with what was at stake. Not with the Chief's thinly veiled threat hanging over him like a guillotine.

"Focus," he whispered to himself. "Focus, damn it. There's got to be a way out of this mess."

As the night deepened, Anthony resumed his pacing, his mind racing through scenarios and possibilities. The game had changed, and he knew that his next move could very well determine not just the fate of their operation, but his own survival.

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