nna mehn larry abeg people r losin interest o!

Iaz93: Larry how far na??

I'm pissed yet, let me simmer.

Larry-Sun:

I'm pissed yet, let me simmer.

Se na award things dey piss u off? No vex pls.

avicky:
Se na award things dey piss u off? No vex pls.

Which Award? Aw, Avicky...you just turned the knife in the wound!

Larry-Sun:

Which Award? Aw, Avicky...you just turned the knife in the wound!

larry no too vex na...

*waiting*

Iaz93: *waiting*

Soonest buddy, soonest.

Larry-Sun:

Soonest buddy, soonest.

Okay.

Larry-Sun:

Which Award? Aw, Avicky...you just turned the knife in the wound!

Awww... So sorry. I didn't mean to open fresh wounds.
Btw, was it that bad? Smh.

Iaz93:
larry no too vex na...

Abi naw...

We don dey wait o since now,ansa ur now,*clean up and plasters d wound* sebi d wound is taken case of,oya give ur our dose.

They were very close to him now. He could feel the breath of the leading man on his face. The leader of the gang had the most expressive face Mark had ever seen; a full head of tinted red hair, craggy features, piercing eye, and the deepest frown lines ever seen on the face of the earth. It was as if the man had been born scowling. His appearance would intimidate just anybody; except of course, Mark. Mark was not a bit intimidated––just mesmerized by these robbers’ appearance; they were all clad in white singlets over black trousers. His fascination lied mostly on one of the robbers who had crucifixes on the chain he wore around his neck but a filthy pornographic picture was poking out of his trouser’s pocket. The leader of the gang looked at Mark––he was likewise fascinated at the boy who refused to run when others were. He was not sure whether the boy was remarkably brave or extremely silly for standing immobile in the ways of bullets and looking unflinchingly at the faces of dangerous armed robbers. He knew that it was money that was contained in the bag dangling from the boy’s arm but he wasn’t interested in that––their mission was in getting money over ten times the worth of whatever the amount held in the boy’s bag.

A fat robber raised his pistol and placed its muzzle directly on Mark’s temple. The gun could only be described as a positively bloodthirsty firearm. It was a unique handgun due to its ability to fire one shot at a time or numerous automatically, like a machine gun. It was perfect to induce terror into any poor unfortunate who found himself gazing helplessly into its muzzle. But Mark was unfazed, and he did not move or show any sign of fear. He was looking directly at the one pointing the gun at his head, Mark was looking at the robber like he was an ant that had just crawled out from under a rock. This ant was rotund, happy-faced and utterly child-like, as if laughter had found a home in his fleshy body. But Mark knew that the man could kill him without batting an eye, for behind the smile he carried was a very cruel slash. And the kind of gun he placed on Mark's skull was capable of literally taking a man's head off its neck. It could smash a man's shoulder into rags of flesh and broken needles of bones. It could rip open a man's chest, shattering the heart and everything else in its path, one of the dead guards could testify to that. The gun could also blow off a leg if it struck a kneecap. If it hit a face, it could turn it to a bloody slush so horrific that one would go sick on beholding the sight.

Their leader managed to stop the fleshy robber from pulling the trigger and wasting Mark, he didn't want the boy's blood splattered all around the walls and glasses of the bank. The leader sized Mark up with his eyes; he wanted to know him––to see what made the boy un-tick. But they still had the business of robbing the bank, they weren’t looking as though they were in haste, but it would be considered stupid to spend the whole of the day in front of a harmless boy. He signaled to his subordinates and they all went into the bank, leaving Mark standing in front of the bank.

Everywhere had suddenly become quiet; market women had left their goods behind as they ran for their precious lives, but some few market businessmen had managed to shut their shops before fleeing. The road had become deserted too, and in the bank everyone had been ordered to lie face-down, except a very old woman who refused them and dared them to shoot her. Mark thought for a moment that if this old lady had her walking-stick she would flog the robbers out of the bank and receive an award from the bank manager for her heroic act. The robbers ignored the lady and continued to pack money in very large bags. Mark caught one of the robbers give the bottom of a pretty young lady an affectionate little pat. Then Mark took his first step after about a quarter of an hour of standing rigid. He took slow steps down the porch of the bank, half-expecting one of the robbers to shoot him from behind as they had already done two unfortunate people. It appeared as if, except the old woman, everybody was co-operating with them inside the bank as there was not any shooting yet, even the robbers’ initials sharp commands on the victims had ceased. And they seemed too preoccupied with packing to notice Mark moving away. Then, suddenly, Mark heard from afar the wailing of the police sirens. This is bad, Mark thought aloud, there is going to be bloodshed.

Mark quickly hid himself in the security guards’ cabin. The owners wouldn’t be needing it for now. There was going to be an avalanche of gunshots, he knew, and sticking around at the bank’s entrance to find out was not among Mark’s intentions. One thing was to be unfazed about violence, another was to be ridiculously daring. Although Mark's juvenile theory was that man was always in danger; from traffic, from germs, from a hundred and one things, we'd be killed one way or another. The moment we began being careful of ourselves, adopting as our motto 'safety first', we might as well be dead. But Mark's latest action was contrary to this belief. He was now in the cabin. His current position did not guarantee total safety,but it was still preferable to standing around and trying to catch a bullet in the eye. Mark did not understand the importance of the police sirens. Why would policemen turn on their sirens when robbery was going on? Was it to scare the robbers off or prepare them for series of gunfights? Was it to assure robbery victims that help was on the way? The thought about the third possibility did not occur to Mark at the time––that the police turn on their sirens to warn against slumbering vehicles that might cause traffic congestions, hence disallowing the police from performing their civic duties.

The police finally arrived––two vans.

About a dozen policemen quickly jumped out and ducked behind their vans, they were all aiming their gun at the entrance of the bank. Like in the movies he had watched, Mark expected the chief-of-police to come out from his hiding with a megaphone in hand and command the robbers to come out gently with their hands behind their heads. But nobody emerged from among the policemen to take that mantle; they were all concealed behind the vehicles. Everywhere was silent again.

At exactly ten minutes later, the robbers came out of the bank, and with them was a teenager of about Mark’s age.

Bloody scene,but i hope dt part is not d Nigerian version of 44 minutes.

Iaz93: Mehn...e go bloody oh. Larry weldone

Thanks buddy.

Damex333: Bloody scene,but i hope dt part is not d Nigerian version of 44 minutes.

LOL! No, it isn't. The part plays an important role in the subsequent tales. Stay tuned.
Bless you.

I guess d robbers would use d teenage boy as cover while daring d police to shoot.As long as it's d nigerian police,they could open fire on both d boy n d robbers.Afterall,they waste innocent nigerians at any given opportunity.Larry,where are u?

Haaaa larrysun u jst dey make me wait 4 ur next post....oga mi e don dey tey ooHaaaa larrysun u jst dey make me wait 4 ur next post....oga mi e don dey tey ooHaaaa larrysun u jst dey make me wait 4 ur next post....oga mi e don dey tey oo

Holy Cow! Larry!! U no try oo...how come i didn't know you've started this already? I dey vex.

uj_sizzle: Holy Cow! Larry!! U no try oo...how come i didn't know you've started this already? I dey vex.

Lmao!

Beretta92: I guess d robbers would use d teenage boy as cover while daring d police to shoot.As long as it's d nigerian police,they could open fire on both d boy n d robbers.Afterall,they waste innocent nigerians at any given opportunity.Larry,where are u?

Beretta, that was the intention of the robbers. Stay tuned.

Emperortj93: Haaaa larrysun u jst dey make me wait 4 ur next post....oga mi e don dey tey oo

Forgive me, sir.[b]

uj_sizzle: Holy Cow! Larry!! U no try oo...how come i didn't know you've started this already? I dey vex.

LOL! Forgive me, Sizzle. I was unaware that you were unaware. [i]

Redmosquito: Okay! I have never followed any story on NL except mine. I have never liked any story on NL except mine. But I don follow your story now and you dey dull . I never knew it is this annoying when a story you like is not being updated. Now I know how my African nerd guys feel, lemme better go work on an update.
Guy I never read brand of cain, it didnt look like my thing but now I dey like this wan. No dull me oooo

It's such an honour to have you here, my friend. Forgive me for being so slow in my updates. Our funny networks and my constant state of ire contributed to the fault. I shall try to do better. By the way, I'm enjoying your 'Nerd', still far behind though. You know that this is a sequel, you may not fully grasp the twists and turns without having read its prequel (The Brand Of Cain).

Unlike Mark, this young hostage was visibly terrified, and he was shaking no less than a leaf on the stream. The robber with the filthy picture was behind the boy, and he was having his free hand around the lad’s chest, thereby pinning the hostage to himself. His other hand was clutching the deadly pistol so much vigour that veins stood like worms over the back of his hand. Their leader was wielding two guns; he was poised bravely and ready to open fire at any adversary. The other three robbers were carrying big guns, and big bags of which were evidently filled with money.

Mark looked closely at the robbers, then his gaze shifted to the policemen ducked behind their vans––and he concluded that the robbers were more armed.

The first stone was cast by the police.

The gunfire sounded like the cracking of a whip, and its shot caught one of the robbers in the front of the neck. The shooter had not missed a class in the police shooting lesson; the shot was a perfect one. The robber grabbed his own neck with eyes wide open in surprise. Blood seeped out from between his fingers, and when he took his hand away the blood gushed out like a leaking water hose; it sprayed on his co-robbers and across the walls of the bank. The shot throat gaped like a giant mouth, toothed with dangling veins, arteries, ganglia, muscles and some other stuffs that made up the neck. He maintained his standing position for about ten seconds before he fell down lifeless, his body rolled down the porch onto the pavement. Mark was not ready to die by such horrible means; so, he prayed: he prayed to Jesus, he prayed to Allah, he even prayed to President OBJ. Although his prayers were not those that resembled divine utterances; all that he was muttering were mostly incomprehensible balderdash that seemed as if he alone placed a monopoly over their meaningness.

Then all hell broke loose immediately thereafter; everything was going from bad to badder in leaps and bounds. Bullets and pellets began growing wings, and both robbers and police were shooting sporadically but occasionally ducking the flying bullets. The remaining surviving menagerie of robbers were now bravely shooting at the police, with little or no care for their own survival. The policemen, too, were not any less cowardly; they left their hidings and faced the robbers squarely and it was as if they all had totally forgotten the rules of safety they were taught in the police academy, their guns and the robbers’ like mirror images to each other. In the course of the fracas, the happy-faced robber caught sight of Mark hiding in the cabin––he smiled warmly and raised his gun to shoot at the boy, but before he could pull his trigger a shot caught him in the arm––his smile faded and he screamed out as the gun fell off his damaged arm, a scream not unlike the derailment of a speeding train. He still managed to bend down and pick the weapon with his other good hand, but a bullet smashed his left ear as soon as he rose up. The sight was quite ugly for a seventeen-year-old to behold. The whole of the ear was shattered, presenting therefore a topiary image of flesh, skin, blood and bones, and leaving thereon a hole large enough to accommodate a mobile phone. The fat, happy-faced robber became a corpse on the instant, and Mark rejoiced at this––he had never liked the robber in the first place. If given the chance, he would kick his corpse in anger or borrow a gun and kill the killed. The boy was not one to panic over the prospect of killing another human, especially the kind of human which he hated; books he had read had greatly affected his thoughts. He had read that Hitler had killed twenty million people, Stalin fifty million, Mao Tse-tung as many as a hundred million. Earlier, two million had been murdered in Sudan, another two million in Rwanda. The list of holocaust that had plagued humanity went on and on; there were the political assassins, men who killed their pregnant wives, mothers who bathed their children in very hot spas, sons who shot their erring fathers for old sins, and including university students who shot their lecturers and classmates out of sheer hatred. So, Mark felt no qualm, if opportuned, about sending just a single enemy to the other side.

The gunfire continued; nobody, except Mark, took a sneak-peek at the dead fat robber. Three policemen kissed the dust in less than fifteen seconds after the dead fatso. The robber with the hostage had released the boy. He had thought wisely that holding someone hostage at the moment was a useless effort. This was a fight with the police, and the three surviving robbers were particularly ready to fight to the finish.

The released boy was a fool, Mark decided. After being freed, he ran himself into the teeth of danger, instead of out of it. Perhaps, his panic had robbed him of his reasoning faculty. He was running towards the police at the time when bullets had taken possession of the air. Amidst the fusillades of gunshots was a policeman screaming at the running boy to lie down flat on the ground, but the boy was not listening to him. He continued running towards the police until two bullets took off a portion of his skull.

Seeing this scared most of the formerly brave policemen and they ran back to the safer side of their vans; their taste for survival had won over their civic duties. And this gave the robbers enough time to reach their car and drive off. Mark saw it all. Something unknotted in his brain and he began to think about how he was going to use this misfortune that had befallen this bank for his own good.

He quickly ran out of the cabin and jumped over the corpse of the fat robber––he did not kick the body. He dropped his own bag of money and carried the heavier one which belonged to the robber. He cared less if anybody was watching him or not. He dragged this heavy bag to the car that brought him, opened its already ajar door wider and placed the bag beside the driver’s seat. He was about climbing into the driver’s seat when another thought occurred to him.

He made his way to where the dead boy was lying; busy ants had established a new course and they were approaching the feast of the cratered skull. He quickly searched the corpse––he could only find a small scrap of paper with a mobile phone number, and an identification card. He put all these in his pocket and brought out his own card. His image on the ID card was very different from the corpse. The dead boy was light-skinned while he was otherwise. It would take anybody to see that the picture on the card was not the boy’s. He immediately scratched the surface of the card, where the picture was, on the hard ground, thereby, in the process, distorting the image on the card. Having done that, he gently placed the card faced-down on the ground by the corpse––all these he did in less than one minute. And by the time the cowardly policemen were coming out from their hidings Mark was already behind the wheel of the car. The driver had.been teaching him how to drive since about six months earlier. Now that the driver was dead, he'd have to put the skill he had learnt into practice. He turned on the ignition and drove away from the crime scene, dried blood from the massacre had caked his cheek and his attempt to wipe it away was not successful at the moment.

As he drove on, Mark's mind was very busy doing some plottings. He knew why he had done what he did. He was not going back home, he was now a very rich boy. The first thing he needed to do now was change his own name. He thought and thought about a name for himself but he was not able to come up with a suitable one. It was very important that he changed his name now; very important indeed. He remembered the card he had extracted from the dead boy’s pocket and brought it out. He looked at the picture on it now. The boy was a very handsome fairly-complexioned boy. A pity such a promising lad had to die in such a ghastly way. Mark’s eyes drifted to the name printed under the picture and he smiled––he had found his new name.

The next morning, the affairs of the robbery made the front-page of numerous tabloids of the nation:

ROBBERS INVADE DREAMBANK, KILL THREE POLICEMEN
AND A SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD BOY

The CHAPTER TWO shall come soon. Thanks.
Bless you all

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