The night was restless. The scent of burning rubber and gunpowder mixed with the heavy Nairobi air. Bodies had been left on the streets, a brutal reminder that Ochieng wasn't playing games anymore.
At the heart of the city, in a luxurious penthouse overlooking the chaos, Jafari paced. He had underestimated Ochieng. Gravely.
His men had promised loyalty, yet half of them were dead. His informants had gone silent. His allies? Vanishing one by one.
And now—Ochieng had spoken.
A single message had reached Jafari's ears:
"I'm coming for you."
It wasn't a threat.
It was a promise.
Jafari's fingers twitched over his pistol. He wouldn't go down easily.
"Send everyone," he barked at his right-hand man, Baraka. "Find him. Kill him. No mistakes."
Baraka hesitated. A second too long.
Jafari's eyes darkened. "Or I'll kill you first."
Baraka nodded, swallowed hard, and left.
Jafari turned to the window, staring at the broken city.
If Ochieng wanted war, he'd get one.
---
Ochieng wasn't hiding.
He sat in a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of the city, Veronica beside him. Her arm was bandaged, her face cold.
"We make our move at dawn," he said, tracing the map spread before them.
Elaine leaned forward. "Jafari has holed up in his penthouse. Guards everywhere. Cameras, snipers, tripwires."
Ochieng smirked. "Good. He's scared."
"But getting in is suicide," Veronica warned.
Ochieng tapped the map. "Then we make him come to us."
Veronica frowned. "How?"
Ochieng's eyes gleamed.
"By taking everything he has left."
---
The plan was ruthless.
Jafari's warehouses—burned to the ground.
His bank accounts—frozen.
His closest allies—slaughtered.
By sunrise, Jafari had lost half of his empire.
He knew who was responsible.
And he was furious.
"You think you can take everything from me?!" he roared, smashing a glass against the wall.
His men cowered.
Then—his phone rang.
A private number.
Jafari snatched it up.
Silence.
Then—Ochieng's voice, calm and mocking.
"How does it feel to lose, Jafari?"
Jafari's grip tightened. "You son of—"
"You're next."
Click.
The line went dead.
Jafari's hands shook. His empire was crumbling.
And Ochieng?
He was just getting started.
---
Jafari had no choice. He needed to escape.
He ordered his most trusted men to secure a private jet. By nightfall, he'd be gone, leaving behind the ruins of what once was his empire.
But Ochieng anticipated it.
At Wilson Airport, Jafari's men arrived first, securing the runway. A sleek black jet awaited him.
Jafari entered the car, his hands tight around his gun. His heart pounded.
As they approached the airport gates, a man stepped onto the road.
A single man.
Dressed in all black.
Jafari's breath caught. Ochieng.
Before he could shout, gunfire erupted.
One by one, Jafari's men dropped.
Ochieng moved with terrifying precision. No wasted bullets. No wasted movements.
Jafari's driver hit the gas.
But it was too late.
A bullet smashed through the windshield, hitting him between the eyes.
The car skidded, crashed into a post.
Jafari tumbled out, blood on his face.
He tried to crawl away.
Boots stopped in front of him.
He looked up.
Ochieng.
Gun aimed at his head.
"You should've killed me when you had the chance," Ochieng said softly.
Jafari opened his mouth—
BANG.
A single shot.
Jafari's body went still.
The king of Nairobi had fallen.
Ochieng looked down at him.
Then—without a word—he walked away.
---
By sunrise, the city was whispering.
The reign of terror was over.
And Ochieng?
He vanished into the shadows.
His war was won.
But his story?
Far from over.
---