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04/01/2026

EPISODE NINE

WHEN FIRE RETURNED

The mother fell ill quietly.

Her body weakened, her breaths shorter. Oyoyo stayed close, praying daily that her children would return soon.

One afternoon, a familiar figure stepped into the compound.

Ejoke.

Now a lieutenant.

His uniform fit him perfectly, authority settling naturally on his shoulders. His mother cried when she saw him.

“You came,” she whispered.

“I promised,” he said.

That night, peace returned briefly.

At dawn, screaming shattered it.

Gunshots.

Fire.

Bandits.

Ejoke moved instantly.

Training took over.

He secured his mother and aunt, positioned them safely, then armed himself. From within the house, he observed, calculated, waited.

The first attacker fell silently.

Then another.

And another.

Ten men dropped before they understood what they were facing.

When a second truck arrived, Ejoke moved fast. He flanked them, threw a gr***de, and dove for cover.

The explosion lit the morning sky.

Confusion erupted. Screaming. Retreat.

The bandits fled, firing blindly, afraid of an enemy they could not see.

When silence returned, Ejoke stood still, breathing hard.

For the first time, the past loosened its grip.

He had not run.

And this time, he had won.

03/01/2026

Oh great

DEAD ON ARRIVAL

EPISODE SEVEN

THE GOODBYE THAT LINGERED

Morning arrived softly, as if it knew the weight it carried.

Ejiro woke before dawn, her suitcase already packed, her room stripped of anything that might tempt her to stay. The walls felt bare without her laughter echoing against them. Every step she took toward the sitting room felt heavier than the last.

Her mother was already awake in her wheelchair, staring out the window.

They looked at each other for a long time.

No words came first.

Ejiro knelt slowly, resting her head against her mother’s knees, the same place she had cried the day her father died.

“Mama,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

Her mother’s hand moved to her hair, fingers gentle, familiar.

“You are not leaving me,” she said softly. “You are moving forward. That is different.”

Tears slipped down Ejiro’s face.

“Who will help you? Who will sit with you when it hurts? Who will—”

“I will be lonely,” her mother said honestly. “I won’t lie to you.”

Ejiro looked up sharply.

“But I will also be happy,” she continued. “Because my children are choosing life. Because you are refusing to be buried with your father.”

She smiled, though her eyes were wet.

“Every step you take forward keeps me alive.”

Ejiro hugged her tightly, careful of the chair, careful of the fragile strength her mother now carried. They stayed like that until the sun climbed higher.

When it was time, Ejiro stood.

She kissed her mother’s forehead.

“I’ll call every day.”

“I know.”

“I’ll come back for holidays.”

“I know.”

“I’ll make you proud.”

Her mother nodded. “You already have.”

When the car finally pulled away, the house felt suddenly hollow.

Silence settled in like an unwanted guest.

The mother sat alone, staring at the empty doorway, the echo of footsteps still ringing in her ears. Loneliness crept in slowly, wrapping itself around her chest.

But beneath it lived something stronger.

Hope.

She imagined Ejoke in uniform. Ejiro in a foreign classroom. Futures unfolding far beyond bloodstained roads.

Later that afternoon, another presence entered the house.

Oyoyo.

Her sister did not knock loudly. She simply walked in, sleeves rolled, eyes already assessing what needed to be done.

“I’m here,” she said.

From that day, Oyoyo became her legs, her strength, her companion. She pushed the wheelchair through corridors and into sunlight. She cooked, cleaned, and talked endlessly to fill the quiet.

And when the nights became too long, she stayed awake.

The house breathed again.

03/01/2026

EPISODE EIGHT

STEEL AND MEMORY

Ejiro learned quickly that distance did not erase memory.

No matter how busy her days became, her father’s death followed her into lecture halls and quiet dorm rooms. Sometimes, in the middle of studying, her hands would shake. Sometimes, she would hear shouting that wasn’t there.

She forced herself forward anyway.

She buried herself in books, assignments, and deadlines. She learned to smile in public and cry only at night. Healing did not come easily, but she did not stop trying.

Back home, Ejoke was learning a different kind of survival.

Military training broke boys and rebuilt men.

The days were brutal. The nights worse.

They ran until their lungs burned. Crawled through mud and thorns. Stood under rain holding rifles heavier than fear. Mistakes were punished. Weakness was exposed.

More than once, Ejoke wanted to quit.

Each time, his father’s final moments returned.

The shouting.
The gunfire.
The helplessness.

He clenched his fists and pushed on.

“I won’t run,” he told himself. “Not again.”

His instructors noticed him early. His discipline. His focus. His refusal to fall behind. Academically, he excelled. Tactically, he adapted fast. Physically, he endured.

He trained harder than anyone.

When others slept, he studied. When others complained, he practiced.

By the time graduation approached, his name stood at the top.

Best in weapons handling.
Best in field tactics.
Best academically.

Not because he wanted medals.

But because he wanted justice.

26/12/2025

DEAD ON ARRIVAL

EPISODE FOUR

BETWEEN BREATHS AND BONES

Morning crept into the hospital without warmth.

The sun rose somewhere beyond the concrete walls, but its light did not reach the corridors where survivors lay stacked in pain and silence. The hospital smelled of antiseptic, smoke, and blood—a mixture that clung to the air and refused to leave.

She lay in the intensive care unit, motionless.

Machines surrounded her bed like silent guards. A ventilator breathed for her in slow, mechanical rhythm. A monitor traced thin green lines across a black screen, each rise and fall proof that her heart still worked, even if the rest of her seemed uncertain.

The doctors spoke in low voices.

“Severe spinal trauma.”
“No response to stimuli.”
“Possible permanent damage.”

Words were written. Files were signed. Decisions were made around her body as if she were not there, as if she could not hear them.

But somewhere deep inside her, something listened.

Her mind drifted through broken images—
a kitchen table,
steam rising from tea,
Ejoke’s voice calling her,
Ejiro’s arms wrapped tight around her waist.

Then fire.

Gunshots.

The sound of her husband falling.

She tried to scream.

Nothing came.

Her fingers did not move. Her legs were gone from her awareness, like they had never existed. Panic rose, thick and suffocating, but her body did not react. She was trapped inside herself, awake but buried.

A tear slid from the corner of her eye.

Hours later, a nurse noticed.

“She’s crying,” the woman said softly, leaning closer. “Doctor… I think she’s conscious.”

The doctor stepped forward, shining a light gently into her eyes.

“Madam,” he said clearly. “If you can hear me, blink.”

Nothing.

“If you understand me… blink once.”

Time stretched.

Then—barely—her eyelids trembled.

Once.

The room went still.

“She’s in there,” the nurse whispered.

Hope did not rush in loudly. It arrived carefully, afraid to break what little remained.

---

Across town, Ejoke sat on the floor of a crowded neighbor’s house.

He had not slept.

Ejiro leaned against him, finally exhausted, her breathing shallow but steady. Around them, survivors spoke in hushed tones, counting the dead, listing names, arguing about who was to blame.

Ejoke heard none of it.

His hands were clenched so tightly his nails had drawn blood. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his father fall. Every time he opened them, he expected to see his mother walk through the door.

She did not.

A man entered quietly and spoke to the adults first. Heads turned. Murmurs spread.

Then the man knelt in front of Ejoke.

“Your mother is alive,” he said.

Ejoke’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs.

“Where?” he asked.

“She’s in the general hospital. Badly injured.”

Ejiro stirred. “Mama?”

Ejoke nodded slowly. Relief and fear collided inside him, leaving him dizzy.

“Can we see her?” Ejiro asked.

The man hesitated.

“Not yet.”

The word felt heavier than no.

---

That night, in the hospital, she drifted again.

Pain pulsed through her spine like fire trapped under skin. Even breathing hurt now, even with the machines helping. Voices came and went, fading in and out like waves.

She heard her children crying.

She tried to reach them.

Her hand twitched.

Just slightly.

Enough for the nurse to gasp.

“She moved,” the nurse said urgently. “Her hand moved.”

The doctor returned quickly, testing reflexes, watching carefully.

“Madam,” he said, leaning close. “You’re safe. Your children are alive.”

Her heart rate spiked.

Tears flowed freely now, unchecked.

Alive.

The word wrapped around her like a fragile promise.

“You were very brave,” the doctor continued. “But your injuries are serious. We don’t yet know if you’ll walk again.”

She did not care.

Not yet.

All that mattered was that her children still breathed.

Her husband did not.

The truth pressed down on her chest, heavier than any wound. A silent scream tore through her mind, shaking something loose inside her.

Her fingers curled weakly.

Grief settled into her bones.

Outside, night swallowed the ruined village.

Ash still coated the ground. Fires smoldered quietly. Nothing had been rebuilt. Nothing had been buried properly.

And inside a hospital bed, a woman lay suspended between survival and loss—alive, but altered; breathing, but broken.

Her story had not ended.

It had only hardened.

Somewhere, far from the machines and bandages, fate waited patiently.

And when she finally opened her eyes fully, the world would learn what it had created in the ashes of that morning.

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EPISODE FIVE — COMING SOON

24/12/2025

DEADBON ARRIVAL
BY Solomon M. U Solomon Mamuzo Umuwe

EPISODE THREE

ASHES AFTER DAWN

The bandits left the town the same way they had come—fast, loud, and without regret.

Their trucks roared down the ruined road, tires crushing debris and bodies alike, engines coughing smoke into an already darkened sky. No one chased them. No one could. The village they abandoned behind them no longer had the strength.

Smoke hung everywhere, thick and choking. Flames still licked at collapsed roofs, crawling through wooden frames and dried mats. The air smelled of burning flesh, fuel, and grief. What had been a living place only hours before now looked like the remains of a war forgotten by the world.

Ejoke stood in the open road, holding his father’s hunting gun.

His hands were tight around the stock, knuckles white, finger resting just beside the trigger. The weapon felt warm, almost alive, as if it still carried the echo of the chaos that had passed through his hands moments earlier. Around him lay bodies—neighbors, men he knew by name, people who had shared meals and laughter only days ago.

“Ejoke…”

Ejiro’s voice came from behind him, shaking.

He did not turn at first. His eyes were fixed down the road where the bandits had disappeared, his chest rising and falling too fast. The gun trembled slightly in his grip.

“Ejoke, please,” she said again, stepping closer. “Drop it.”

He finally looked at her.

She was barefoot, her dress torn and blackened with soot. Her face was streaked with tears and ash, her eyes wide with fear—not just of what had happened, but of what she saw in her brother now.

“Give it to me,” she whispered. “Please.”

“They killed him,” Ejoke said quietly.

Ejiro followed his gaze to where their father lay on the ground, unmoving, blood dried dark against his clothes. Her breath caught, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming.

“I know,” she sobbed. “I know. But this—” she pointed at the gun, her hand shaking “—this will only take you too.”

His grip tightened.

For a moment, the world narrowed to the weight of the gun and the fire burning behind his eyes. He imagined chasing the bandits. Imagined pulling the trigger. Imagined the sound it would make.

Then Ejiro stepped in front of him.

“I already lost Papa,” she said, her voice breaking completely. “I can’t lose you too.”

Something in her words cut through him.

Slowly, painfully, Ejoke lowered the gun. His arms felt suddenly weak, as if the strength holding him upright had drained away. He let the weapon fall to the dirt. It landed with a dull thud, harmless and empty.

Ejiro rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him. This time, he did not push her away. He stood there, stiff and silent, as the fires crackled around them.

Sirens wailed again in the distance.

More police trucks and government vehicles arrived, skidding to a halt amid smoke and debris. Officers poured out, weapons raised, shouting orders that came far too late. Medics followed, rushing toward the wounded, pulling survivors from the ruins.

Anger exploded almost immediately.

“You ran!” a man shouted, grabbing at an officer’s vest.
“You left us!” a woman screamed, pointing toward the burned homes.
“What kind of government is this?”

The officers tried to push people back, tried to explain, but no one wanted explanations. Cries and curses filled the air, mixing with sobs and coughing.

Ejoke barely noticed.

His eyes searched the chaos desperately, his heart pounding.

“Mama?” he called out.

No answer.

He scanned the road, the burning houses, the clusters of people being pulled toward ambulances. Stretchers moved past him, bodies strapped down, some covered, some not. Medics shouted numbers and injuries.

He did not see her.

He did not see her lying broken by the roadside.
He did not see her lifted onto a stretcher.
He did not see the ambulance doors close.

By the time he reached the place where she had fallen, she was already gone.

Only scorched earth and blood remained.

“Ejoke,” Ejiro whispered, tugging his sleeve. “We have to move.”

Neighbors gathered around them, familiar faces hollowed by shock. One man gently pulled the children back as soldiers lifted their father’s body onto a vehicle.

“Where are you taking him?” Ejiro asked, her voice barely audible.

“To the mortuary,” the man replied softly.

The word landed hard.

Ejiro broke down completely then, crying into Ejoke’s chest. He held her, staring blankly ahead as the vehicle drove away with their father inside it. No prayers were said. There was no time.

As the authorities worked through the ruins, anger continued to boil. People shouted at government officials, accusing them of cowardice, of arriving late, of retreating when the village had needed them most.

No one defended them.

As evening crept closer, neighbors led Ejoke and Ejiro away from the road, away from the bodies and fire. Someone wrapped a cloth around Ejiro’s shoulders. Someone pressed water into Ejoke’s hands.

“Your mother will be found,” a woman said gently, though her eyes were unsure. “She is strong.”

Ejoke nodded, but said nothing.

He did not know she was already fighting for her life in a hospital miles away.
He did not know she lay silent, unresponsive, while doctors worked over her broken body.
He did not know how close she was to slipping beyond reach.

As night settled over the ruined village, Ejoke sat in silence, his sister beside him, the weight of the day pressing down on his chest.

The gun was gone.
His father was gone.
His mother was missing.

And somewhere inside him, something hardened quietly, waiting.

The ashes were still warm.

Inside the Hospital

The ambulance doors burst open before the vehicle fully stopped.

Hands reached in at once—urgent, practiced—lifting her broken body onto a stretcher and rushing her through corridors already crowded with the wounded. Her clothes were stiff with dried blood and ash. Her face was gray beneath the soot, lips parted slightly, breath shallow and uneven. One leg lay at an unnatural angle, unmoving. Her spine had taken the worst of it.

“Female. Mid-thirties,” a paramedic shouted as they ran. “Jumped from a moving vehicle. Possible spinal fracture. Severe trauma.”

The stretcher wheels rattled violently against the hospital floor as they pushed her into the emergency room. Lights above flashed past her open eyes, white and harsh, but she did not react. She did not blink. She did not speak.

Doctors surrounded her immediately.

“Pulse is weak.”
“Blood pressure dropping.”
“She’s crashing.”

Scissors cut through what remained of her clothes. Gloved hands pressed hard against her chest. Tubes were forced into her mouth, oxygen flooding her lungs. Machines were connected, their sharp beeping filling the room like a countdown.

Her body bore the story of what she had endured—burns along her arms, deep bruising across her ribs, blood seeping slowly from wounds that no longer bled fast enough to scream danger. Her back was rigid, wrong, as if something essential had snapped and refused to return to place.

“Stay with us,” a doctor said, leaning close to her face. “Madam, stay with us.”

Her eyes stared past him.

They were open, but empty—fixed on something far away, something no one else in the room could see. Not the ceiling. Not the lights. Somewhere beyond the hospital walls. Somewhere before the gunshots. Somewhere before the fire.

Her heart faltered.

The monitor screamed.

“Cardiac arrest!”

The room exploded into motion.

“Start CPR!”
“Charge to two hundred!”
“Clear!”

Her body je**ed violently as electricity tore through her. Once. Twice. Her head rolled slightly to the side, dark hair clinging to her face. Still, she made no sound.

Hands pressed rhythmically against her chest, again and again, trying to force life back into a body that seemed already half gone. Sweat dripped from foreheads. Commands were barked sharply. No one slowed down.

Between compressions, her chest rose mechanically, pushed by air not her own. She lay utterly still beneath it all—silent, broken, refusing to respond.

“Come on,” someone muttered under their breath. “Come back.”

The monitor flickered.

A faint rhythm returned.

“Pulse!” a nurse called out, relief edged with disbelief.

They worked quickly now, stabilizing her, fighting to keep that fragile line steady. Fluids rushed into her veins. Bandages were tightened. A neck brace was secured carefully, reverently, as if she were already something fragile beyond repair.

Still, she did not speak.

Not a cry.
Not a word.
Not even a flicker of recognition.

Her face remained calm in a way that felt wrong—too still for someone pulled back from death. Tears slid silently from the corners of her eyes, disappearing into her hair, unnoticed by everyone but the ceiling she continued to stare at.

Outside the room, the hospital buzzed with noise and grief.

Inside, she lay suspended between breaths, between worlds—alive, but shattered; saved, but unresponsive; her body present, her spirit somewhere far away in the ashes of the morning she could not escape.

And as the doctors stepped back at last, exhausted, one truth settled heavily in the room:

She had survived.

But no one yet knew what part of her had been lost.

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EPISODE four loading..........

23/12/2025

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DEAD ON ARRIVAL

CHAPTER TWO

ASHES BEFORE MORNING

The first hand grabbed her arm before she even understood what was happening.

The mother barely had time to turn before rough fingers closed around her wrist and yanked her forward. The room spun. The smell of gunpowder still hung in the air, sharp and bitter, mixing with the familiar scent of tea and bread that now felt like a lie. The men were shouting again—orders barked without mercy, words crashing into each other like stones.

“Leave her!” Ejoke screamed.

His voice tore through the room, raw and desperate. He ran toward his mother, small fists clenched, fear and rage twisting together inside his chest. For a brief second, he believed he could stop them. That belief shattered when Ejiro grabbed him from behind.

“No, Ejoke!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his waist with all the strength her small body could find. “They will kill you!”

He struggled, kicking and reaching, tears burning his eyes as he watched the men drag their mother toward the door. She looked back once. Just once. Her eyes met Ejoke’s, and in them he saw everything—love, fear, apology, and a silent command to live.

Then she was gone.

Outside, the morning had turned ugly.

Fire crackled at the edge of the village. Smoke rose in thick black columns, staining the pale sky. Houses burned. Roofs collapsed. People ran in every direction, their screams swallowed by gunshots and roaring flames. The ground trembled beneath heavy boots and speeding vehicles.

The men shoved her toward a waiting Hilux van, its engine already growling like an impatient beast. She stumbled, nearly falling, but they forced her upright and threw her into the back. The metal floor was cold. The smell of fuel and blood filled her lungs.

The van lurched forward.

As it sped through the torn streets, she counted the turns without meaning to. One. Two. Three. She thought of her husband’s body on the floor. Thought of Ejoke’s scream. Thought of Ejiro’s arms tightening in fear.

Minutes passed. Or seconds. Time refused to behave.

Then she made a choice.

When the van slowed briefly near a bend, she moved.

With everything she had left, she pushed herself toward the open back, ignoring the shouts behind her. The world rushed forward in a blur of smoke and fire. She leapt.

Her body hit the ground hard.

The pain came like lightning—white, blinding, absolute. A sound tore from her throat as her spine shattered beneath her. She rolled once, then lay still, staring at the sky as it burned orange above her. Firelight danced across her vision. Ash drifted down like black snow.

She could not move her legs.

She could barely breathe.

Tears streamed down her face, cutting clean lines through the dirt. Around her, the village screamed. Flames devoured homes. The earth shook with gunfire. And she lay there, broken, alive only enough to feel everything.

Back at the house, Ejoke broke free.

Ejiro’s grip loosened when another explosion shook the walls, and that was all he needed. He ran outside barefoot, heart pounding, ears ringing. He did not know where he was going. He only knew what he had lost.

Near the doorway, leaning against the wall, was his father’s hunting gun.

For a moment, he froze.

The weapon looked too big for him. Too heavy. Too final. But as he picked it up, something inside him hardened. Fear burned away, replaced by a sharp, quiet fire. His hands stopped shaking.

They will pay, he thought.

He stepped into the chaos.

That was when the sirens came.

A distant wail cut through the noise, growing louder by the second. Police trucks burst into the village, tires screaming as they skidded to a halt. Officers poured out, shouting orders, raising rifles. For a brief moment, hope flared across the ruined streets.

The gunmen turned.

Bullets met bullets.

The sound was deafening—automatic fire ripping through walls, glass exploding, bodies dropping. The air filled with smoke and screams. Ejoke dropped to the ground, crawling behind a fallen cart as shots tore through the space above him.

Near the roadside, his mother watched it all from the dirt.

She could not turn her head, but she could see enough. Police officers fell one by one, their bodies jerking under gunfire. Blood soaked into the ground, mixing with ash. The men moved like shadows, fast and ruthless, their laughter cutting through the chaos.

Within minutes, it was over.

The surviving officers dragged their wounded away, retreating under heavy fire. A final burst of gunshots chased them out of the village. The gunmen raised their weapons in the air, shouting victory, their voices full of triumph and cruelty.

Then they left.

Their vehicles disappeared down the road, leaving smoke, fire, and silence behind.

The village was destroyed.

Ejoke remained hidden until the noise faded. The gun slipped from his hands as his strength finally gave out. He did not cry. Not yet. Something inside him had gone quiet, sealed itself away.

On the ground, unable to move, his mother stared at the sky.

Her husband was dead.

Her body was broken.

Her children were alone.

Tears slid into her hair as the fires crackled around her. She did not know if Ejoke and Ejiro were alive. She did not know if she would ever walk again. All she knew was that the world she loved had ended before the sun fully rose.

And somewhere deep inside the smoke and ruin, a promise took shape.

This was not the end.

CHAPTER THREE LOADING............

Story by Solomon M. U. Solomon Mamuzo Umuwe

23/12/2025

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DEAD ON ARRIVAL

CHAPTER ONE

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On a cold morning, when the air still carried the quiet of dawn, a small family gathered around their kitchen table. The windows were lightly fogged, and outside the world felt distant and calm. The house was quiet, wrapped in soft gray light. Inside, warmth lived gently in every corner.

The mother moved slowly around the kitchen, careful not to make noise. She poured hot tea into simple cups and placed them neatly on the table. Steam rose gently, filling the room with comfort. She laid out slices of bread and a small bowl of honey, her hands steady and familiar with the routine. Everything felt normal, peaceful, and safe.

Ejiro and Ejoke sat close to each other on the bench. They were wrapped in thick sweaters, still sleepy but calm. Ejiro held her cup with both hands, enjoying the warmth. Ejoke watched the steam rise from his tea, his eyes following the soft curls in the air. The quiet made the moment feel special, as if the house itself was breathing slowly.

No one rushed. The clock ticked softly on the wall. Outside, the morning stayed still. The children spoke in low voices, sharing small thoughts and dreams. Ejiro smiled often. Ejoke listened more than he spoke, feeling safe in the quiet presence of his mother. The mother watched them with gentle eyes, grateful for the peace of the moment.

As time passed, sunlight slowly found its way through the windows. The room grew brighter, warmer. The mother cleared a few plates but left the table mostly untouched. She did not want to break the calm too soon. For a while, nothing else mattered.

Then, suddenly, the peace broke.

From far outside came a sharp sound. Then another. Loud. Violent. The sound of guns.

The children froze.

Shouts followed. Footsteps. People running. Screams filled the air, sharp and full of fear. The calm morning disappeared in seconds. The mother stood still for only a moment, her heart racing as she listened. More gunshots echoed, closer now.

Without speaking, she rushed to the children. Her face changed, fear clear in her eyes. She grabbed Ejiro’s hand and pulled Ejoke close.

“Hide,” she whispered urgently.

She led them quickly through the house, her movements fast but careful. She pushed them into a small hidden space, one she had never thought she would need. She pressed her finger to her lips, warning them to stay silent. Ejiro began to tremble, tears filling her eyes. Ejoke held his breath, trying not to make a sound.

The noise outside grew louder.

Then the door burst open.

The father ran into the house. He was known everywhere as a strong forest guard, brave and respected. His face was tense, his chest rising fast as he breathed. Behind him came men with guns. Their eyes were hard. Their faces showed no fear, no mercy.

The mother stood frozen in the middle of the room. Her body would not move. Her mind refused to accept what her eyes were seeing.

The men shouted.

A loud gunshot filled the house.

The father fell.

The sound echoed in the walls, in the air, in the hearts of everyone inside.

The mother could not scream. Tears rolled down her face as she stood there, watching in disbelief. Her legs felt weak. Her world shattered in a single moment.

From his hiding place, Ejoke saw everything.

He covered his mouth with his hand to stop himself from crying out. His eyes were wide, filled with fear and pain. His body shook as tears ran down his face. Ejiro clung to him silently, her small hands tight around his arm.

The men left as quickly as they came, their footsteps fading into the distance. The house fell silent again, but the silence was no longer peaceful.

It was heavy. Broken.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

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Chapter Two loading....................

23/12/2025

Chapter one drops by 11am

23/12/2025