The night Thabiso got stabbed was the night everything changed.
Not just the streets.
Not just the game.
Him.
Sizwe dragged him through a narrow alley behind a row of closed shops, his arm wrapped tightly around Thabiso's waist to keep him standing.
"Stay with me!" Sizwe said, panic creeping into his voice. "Don't you dare drop now!"
"I'm not dying today," Thabiso muttered through clenched teeth.
But the pain was real.
Sharp. Burning. Deep.
Blood soaked through his shirt, warm against the cold night air. Each step felt heavier than the last, like his body was slowly giving up on him.
"We need to stop the bleeding," Sizwe said, looking around. "Now."
They reached a small abandoned shack tucked behind a broken fence. The door hung loose, barely attached. Sizwe kicked it open and helped Thabiso inside.
Dust filled the air.
The place smelled like old wood and forgotten things.
But it was hidden.
Safe… for now.
"Sit," Sizwe ordered.
Thabiso dropped onto a broken chair, breathing hard. His vision blurred slightly, but he forced himself to stay focused.
"I need light," Sizwe said.
He pulled out his phone, switching on the flashlight. The beam landed on the wound.
"Damn…" he whispered.
"What?" Thabiso asked.
"It's deep."
Thabiso let out a dry laugh. "I figured."
Sizwe quickly removed his jacket and pressed it against the wound.
"Hold this," he said.
Thabiso grabbed it, applying pressure. Pain shot through his body, but he didn't flinch.
He had learned something about pain.
It only wins if you let it.
"Listen to me," Sizwe said, crouching in front of him. "This is bigger than we thought. Those guys… they're not small-time. If they sent people after you like that, then whatever you touched—it matters."
Thabiso nodded slowly.
"The bag," he said.
Sizwe frowned. "What bag?"
"The delivery from last week," Thabiso replied. "I didn't check it. I just moved it like they told me."
Sizwe's eyes widened slightly. "You serious?"
"I needed the money," Thabiso snapped. "I didn't ask questions."
"Yeah… and now the questions are coming to you."
Silence filled the room.
Thabiso's mind raced.
That bag.
That one job.
It had seemed simple. Quick money. No trouble.
But now—
People were trying to kill him over it.
"I need to find who gave me that job," Thabiso said.
Sizwe shook his head immediately. "No. That's exactly what they expect you to do."
"I don't care," Thabiso replied. "I'm not sitting around waiting to get hunted."
"You're injured!" Sizwe snapped. "You can barely stand!"
"And what happens if I hide?" Thabiso fired back. "They come again. And next time, maybe they don't miss."
Sizwe didn't answer.
Because he knew it was true.
Thabiso leaned back slightly, breathing slower now.
"I've been broke my whole life," he said quietly. "I've been stepped on, ignored… treated like I don't matter."
His eyes hardened.
"I'm not going back to that."
Sizwe studied him carefully.
"You're changing," he said.
Thabiso gave a small, cold smile. "No… I'm becoming who I need to be."
Outside, a dog barked in the distance.
The city moved like nothing had happened.
Like no blood had been spilled.
Like no war had just begun.
Sizwe sighed and stood up. "Alright. If we're doing this… we do it smart."
Thabiso nodded.
"First," Sizwe continued, "we patch you up properly. Then we find information. Quietly."
"From who?" Thabiso asked.
Sizwe hesitated.
"There's someone," he said finally. "But I don't like him."
"Why?"
"Because he knows everything," Sizwe replied. "And people like that… always have a price."
Thabiso smirked slightly. "Good. Because right now… I'm starting to understand the value of things."
An hour later, Thabiso was patched up as best as possible.
The bleeding had slowed.
The pain hadn't.
But he could stand.
And that was enough.
They stepped back into the night, moving carefully through the streets.
"Where are we going?" Thabiso asked.
"Downtown," Sizwe replied. "There's a spot. Hidden. That's where he operates."
"Who is he?"
Sizwe glanced at him.
"They call him Ghost."
Thabiso raised an eyebrow. "That's not suspicious at all."
"He's not a normal guy," Sizwe said. "He deals in information. Names. Deals. Secrets."
"Sounds expensive."
"It is."
They walked in silence for a while.
The deeper they went into the city, the darker it felt.
Less lights.
More shadows.
More danger.
Finally, they stopped in front of an old building with flickering lights.
"Here," Sizwe said.
They went inside.
The hallway was quiet. Too quiet.
At the end of it was a single door.
Sizwe knocked twice.
Nothing.
Then once more.
A voice came from inside.
"Enter."
They stepped in.
The room was dim, lit only by a desk lamp.
Behind it sat a man in a hoodie, his face partially hidden.
"You're late," he said calmly.
Sizwe crossed his arms. "We didn't have an appointment."
Ghost chuckled softly. "You never do."
His eyes shifted to Thabiso.
"And this must be the one causing noise in my city."
Thabiso stepped forward despite the pain.
"I need information," he said.
Ghost leaned back slightly.
"Information is not free."
"I didn't say it was."
Ghost smiled.
"Good answer."
He folded his hands.
"What do you want to know?"
Thabiso took a breath.
"The Black Vultures," he said. "What did I take from them?"
The room went quiet.
Even the air felt tense.
Ghost's smile faded slightly.
"Careful," he said. "That name carries consequences."
"I'm already bleeding," Thabiso replied. "So just talk."
Ghost studied him for a long moment.
Then—
He leaned forward.
"You didn't just move a bag," he said quietly.
Thabiso's heart pounded.
"What was in it?"
Ghost's eyes locked onto his.
"Something worth killing for."
A pause.
Then—
"Something powerful enough… to change your life forever."
Thabiso swallowed.
"Like what?"
Ghost smiled again.
But this time—
It wasn't friendly.
"A choice," he said.
Silence.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Then Ghost added:
"And trust me… whichever one you make…"
His voice dropped.
"It will cost you everything."
Outside, the wind howled through the streets.
Inside, Thabiso stood at the edge of something far bigger than money.
This wasn't just about survival anymore.
This was about power.
And power—
Always demands a price.