6 minutes earlier, before the chaos in the police headquarters...
The headquarters' exterior was under guard by 4 armed policemen stationed in a green Land Cruiser strategically parked near the front entrance. At the gate, 2 additional policemen, fully geared with masks, diligently manned their station, keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings.
Captain Larry, leading the squad of soldiers who came from the Anglican church, raised a clenched fist, signaling a stop. The Soldiers neared the main entrance but halted at a safe distance to avoid detection. The team obeyed, crouching low in the cover of nearby shrubbery. A moment later, one Soldier retrieved a set of 4 severed chicken heads from his backpack and passed them to captain Larry. The sight of the grisly trophies caused no reaction; the squad was well-accustomed to unorthodox tactics.
"On my signal," captain Larry said in a low, firm voice, "Divide and conquer. No bullets, and keep casualties minimal. Right now, we're ghosts, not butchers." He stood and began his approach toward the parked cruiser, the severed heads dangling ominously from his hand.
Once in range, he hurled the chicken heads at the vehicle, each one hitting with a wet, unsettling thud. The effect was immediate: the men inside the cruiser erupted in confusion and panic, snapping and shouting incoherently as they scrambled out of the vehicle, their behavior bizarrely frantic.
The commotion drew the attention of the gate guards. Seizing the moment, captain Larry signaled his men to advance. Larry darted toward the gate with the agility of a panther, so stealthily that the guards noticed him only when he was upon them. Before they could react, his enchanted bone bracelet glowed faintly, augmenting his strength as he delivered swift, calculated punches that incapacitated them instantly. The guards hit the ground, paralyzed, their bodies rendered useless by the mystic energy coursing through their attacker.
"The bracelets work like a charm," captain Larry muttered, glancing at his handiwork. Without missing a beat, he turned to his team. "Prepare the bodies."
Lieutenant Obi, the squad's resident tactician and the one who had provided the severed heads, stepped forward. With practiced efficiency, he unsheathed a knife concealed in his boot and slit the throats of the immobilized guards. Next, he retrieved a bundle of dry leaves and a vial of black powder from his bag. Applying these to the wounds, he doused the bodies with gasoline and struck a match. Flames roared to life, and as the corpses burned, a dense, unnatural fog began to rise, spreading quickly and enveloping the area. The Soldiers disappeared into the shroud, advancing toward the building's entrance under the cover of smoke.
Four Soldiers moved ahead, each retrieving chicken heads from their pockets. They tossed them through the entrance just as they breached it. Moments later, a man within the building emerged in a manic frenzy, screaming and stumbling aimlessly, his mind clearly unhinged by the sight or aura of the chicken heads. The Soldiers slipped in behind him, unnoticed midst the chaos.
Inside, the officers who remained unaffected by the chicken heads attempted to rally, but the Soldiers struck with precision. Each blow was calculated, enhanced by the bone bracelets to ensure swift and effective incapacitation. Bodies fell like domino's, paralyzed and powerless to resist. The Soldiers left no room for retaliation, systematically clearing the area.
Meanwhile, outside, the bodies of the gate guards had been reduced to smoldering husks, and the fog began to dissipate. As it cleared, the aftermath came into view: the beaten and paralyzed officers, toppled furniture, cracked walls, and scattered debris painted a vivid picture of the chaos that had unfolded. Bloodstains marked the ground, and faint footprints tracked the Soldiers' movements deeper into the building.
Earlier, at around the time the police headquarters was about to be raided...
09:35a.m, University of Lusaka, Leopards Hill Campus.
"Whether or not the respondent is guilty of manslaughter seems more fitting than the charge of murder, given the facts of the case, in my opinion," a girl in a blue T-shirt said confidently, passing the microphone back to the legal and academic writing lecturer.
"Okay, that'll be the last submission," Ms. Chama announced. "I've heard all your arguments, and I must say, you all seem competent enough. That said, if this were an exam, I'd mark both sides fairly as long as you defended your claims well."
The new lecture hall buzzed with the usual morning activity: some students slacked off on their phones, others engaged in casual banter, a few dozed off, and the rest paid attention to the lecture. Among the attendees was Demetrius, seated near a window. Though his eyes faced forward, his mind wandered. Demetrius's gaze drifted outside to the parked cars and passing students. His thoughts meandered: "I wonder if I'd survive a jump from up here. Not impossible, but would it break my legs? Maybe I could aim for a car to cushion the fall." His musings were interrupted by movement below.
A dark-skinned woman in a sleek red body con dress and sunglasses strolled toward a silver Mercedes Benz SL75. Her walk was elegant, each step deliberate. Demetrius couldn't help but wonder about the sunglasses. "Hungover?" he mused.
As she reached the car and prepared to unlock it, a Soldier appeared seemingly from nowhere. Startled, the woman screamed, raising her hands in panic. Without hesitation, the Soldier struck her with a brutal backhand to her face. She crumpled to the ground. The moment the Soldier slapped the woman, the sharp crack of the impact rang out across the parking lot. Demetrius, seated by the window in his classroom, witnessed the scene with wide eyes. From his vantage point, the situation seemed surreal—a soldier assaulting a faculty member in broad daylight.
"What the fuck!" Demetrius exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing through the lecture hall. His outburst caught the attention of the other students, and like moths drawn to a flame, they surged toward the windows. From their elevated position inside the new lecture hall, they peered down at the unfolding chaos below. Ms. Chama, too, joined her students, frowning as she struggled to make sense of the bizarre scene.
Outside, curious onlookers—students loitering near the parking lot or walking to their next class—had begun to gather cautiously around the commotion. The sight of the dean, sprawled on the ground near her Mercedes, left them murmuring in disbelief. Some pulled out their phones, eager to document the bizarre scene, while others hesitated, unsure whether to intervene or retreat.
"Iwe chikala!" shouted Mandamus from the front of the crowd outside, his voice tinged with both disbelief and amusement.
Inside the hall, his exclamation floated through the open windows, reaching Demetrius and the rest of the class.
"That's the dean. What the hell is going on out there?" one student asked nervously, pressing closer to the window.
"Yo! What's cutting man?" Mandamus continued to shout outside, his voice standing out amid the rising din of onlookers.
The Soldier, undeterred by the crowd's attention, knelt over the dean's body. His movements were deliberate and eerily calm. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder as he pulled a knife from his boot and, without hesitation, slit the dean's throat. Gasps of horror rippled through the students outside, and some instinctively stepped back.
Above, in the lecture hall, Demetrius watched in stunned silence. His fingers tightened against the windowsill as he processed the brutality of the act. Around him, chaos erupted. Demetrius remained frozen, his gaze locked on the Soldier below. He noticed the man sprinkling some kind of powder and leaves over the dean's body. Then, he set it ablaze. White smoke began billowing from her head, quickly spreading and shrouding the scene in an unnatural fog. "What the fuck is that?" Demetrius muttered to himself, his heart pounding.
"He just killed her!" a girl cried out, clutching her chest as she stumbled back from the window.
The growing crowd outside quickly descended into panic. Students began running in every direction, their earlier curiosity replaced by fear. Some fled toward the gates, only to find them heavily guarded by more soldiers, who had also killed the school guards normally stationed there. Others sought refuge inside nearby buildings, their screams echoing through the air.
Mandamus, standing near the edge of the dissipating crowd, was still processing what he'd witnessed. The surreal mix of violence and ritualistic behavior had left him unnerved, but he masked his discomfort with his usual bravado.
"Ela boi Ulibe matu? (Hey my friend, you don't have ears?)" Mandamus shouted to the soldier. " Hmm, benja boi(Benja my friend), nivi chani ivi? (What is this?), this is some next-level shit," he muttered under his breath.
Benjamin, standing nearby, smacked him on the back of the head. "Iwe chikala! Ya rapping a span man."
"Ona(Look) chikala!. That man's moving mad. Agwesa muntu na slaz imozi boi. (He's dropped a person with one slap). Nimfwiti uyu chikala(This chikala is a witch). Nah, fam, this ain't normal."
Their conversation was cut short by the rising panic in the crowd. As the fog spread, many students began coughing and shielding their faces, unsure of its effects. Mandamus turned to Benjamin, his usual swagger momentarily replaced by genuine fear.
"Benja, lets dip man," he suggested.
Benjamin nodded. "Yeah. Let's get inside before this smoke messes us up."
Together, they pushed their way through the crowd and headed toward the nearest building..
Inside the new lecture hall, panic began to spread as more students realized the gravity of the situation. Anne, Natasha, and Taonga huddled near the window, their faces pale with fear.
"Is that witchcraft?" Natasha whispered, her voice trembling.
"It doesn't matter what it is," Anne replied firmly. "We need to figure out what's going on—and fast."
Demetrius, however, wasn't listening. His focus remained on the soldier below. As the fog thickened, obscuring the scene, he made a sudden decision. Without a word, he slid the window open and climbed onto the ledge.
"Meech! What are you doing?" Anne shouted, her voice breaking with alarm.
He didn't respond. Instead, he leapt from the two-storey building, disappearing into the fog below.
A male student sitting a few desks behind the window where Demetrius had leaped sat motionless, his expression disturbingly calm, as if he'd seen this kind of chaos before. The others weren't so composed.
"What the fuck is Meech doing? Is he mad?" Taonga's voice cracked, her breath fogging up the glass as she pressed her face closer, trying to pierce the dense mist below.
Anne folded her arms tightly across her chest, her voice low but firm. "I always knew there was something...off about Meech, but this? I didn't think he'd ever go that far."
"Off?" Taonga spun around, her eyes wild with disbelief. "You think this is just 'off'? What if he's—what if he's—" her voice broke, her words dissolving into a panicked whisper.
"What if he killed himself? I mean, is that what we're doing now? Is that the move? Fuck!"
Before anyone could answer, Taonga sank to the ground, curling into herself like a fragile ball. Natasha, trembling, knelt beside her, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.
"I don't know anyone who could survive a jump like that," Natasha murmured, her voice thin, barely audible. "I just—God, I hope he's okay."
Anne exhaled sharply, steeling herself. "He has to be. That's Meech. That's my Meech. The man I have a crush on isn't going out like that." Her eyes blazed with determination. "Let's figure this out. Somebody here has to know what the hell is going on."
Natasha glanced at Anne, her brow furrowing. "Do you think Meech knew something? Like, about...whatever this is?"
"How the hell would I know that?" Anne snapped, though her voice softened immediately. "C'mon. Look—over there." She pointed toward the back of the room, where a guy with shoulder-length dreadlocks and a sharp black suit leaned against the wall, watching everything like he was the only one in the know. "He looks like he's seen things. Let's ask him."
The girls weaved their way through the chaos.
The classroom buzzed with raw emotion: some students frantically paced, their muttered prayers barely discernible over the din. Others had folded into themselves like Taonga, trembling on the floor. A few prayed aloud, voices rising in desperate intercession. But there were others—less rattled, eerily calm. The unbothered included Ms. Chama, the lecturer, who sat at her desk, legs crossed, a neutral expression masking whatever thoughts churned beneath.
Anne squared her shoulders as they reached the boy. "Hey. Excuse me. Hi, I'm Anne. This is Natasha and Taonga. Can we talk to you for a second?"
The guy looked up lazily, his sharp jawline twitching as he chewed gum. His gaze flicked over them, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "At-how, ladies. Name's Mandamus. What's the vibe like?"
Anne blinked at his audacity, then pressed on. "Look, something tells me you know what's going on. Care to share?"
Mandamus tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "Hmm, shawty yapena panja (it's wild outside)."
"Try us," Anne replied, though a chill ran down her spine.
He snorted. "Scan. They've pegged the dean. Some soldier pulled up and clapped her you dig. Then afterwards the ohn removed a blade and slit her throat."
Taonga, momentarily snapping out of her panic, blurted, "Hmm, how is this shit real man?"
Mandamus leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Chill shawty, perch. This yo also pulled up with charms waziba(you know). He hammered some wild juju on her body, that's why there's smoke outside."
Natasha gasped. "No. Freaking. Way."
Mandamus held up a hand. "Swear down. Everyone started jetting when it pulled up. Elo you just know, when a black man runs, fam, you don't ask. You just ran."
The girls stared at him, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. Anne shook her head slowly. "I don't know what's worse—what you just said or the fact that I understood every word of it."
Mandamus shrugged. "Crazy times. That's why I pop Yellow jackets. Toss you some sunshine"
"Yellow...what?" Taonga asked.
"Phenobarbital. Barbs youngster." He flashed them a grin, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Anyway, I've gone to rap to the yo, the pills have hit laka. Maybe I can save you pyes some two pulls."
They watched him stroll away, his swagger unaffected by the chaos surrounding him.
Anne turned back to Natasha and Taonga, her voice trembling. "We need to find out what's really going on. Now."
The fog outside thickened, creeping closer to the windows, and the faint smell of smoke from burning flesh, began to waft into the room.