Kimani "Kim" Njoroge had done many stupid things in his life—once, he bet his entire month’s rent on a pool game against a man with one good eye and perfect aim. But standing at the dusty starting line of the Nyandarua Gauntlet, he knew this topped them all.

The one-week, no-holds-barred competition had simple rules:

1. You must reach the final checkpoint.

2. There are no fixed paths.

3. Sabotage is not encouraged… but also not illegal.

That last rule was why Kim flinched when a flaming motorcycle launched into the air beside him, its rider screaming as he crashed into a pile of stolen election posters.

The race hadn’t even started.

Kim’s "team" stood behind him, radiating pure disaster energy.

Amina Mwinyi, a high school teacher, cracked her knuckles. She wasn’t here for the money—she just needed an outlet for her anger before she started throwing desks in the staffroom.

Major Otis, a retired "soldier" (who had only fought mosquitos during night patrols), adjusted his fake combat vest. "We move like a covert unit—swift and unseen!" he declared, despite being the loudest human in existence.

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Chege wa Munene, their "engineer," had arrived on a homemade bicycle powered by "clean energy"—which meant it exploded twice before they even left camp.

Their first challenge? Survive the starting whistle.

The gunshot fired.

Immediately, someone threw a live chicken into Kim’s face.

He staggered, barely dodging a flying jerrycan as rival teams tore through the starting line, kicking, punching, and launching makeshift weapons. The Marauders—a team of steroid-fueled gym bros—tipped over another group’s cart while laughing like movie villains.

Kim’s team scrambled, weaving through chaos as:

A tuk-tuk exploded after hitting a hidden landmine (planted by some genius the night before).

A man on stilts got taken out by a flying coconut.

A water tanker lost control, creating the first-ever mud tsunami in Gauntlet history.

Somewhere in the madness, Kim spotted a group that wasn’t running.

A well-organized, too-disciplined team—men wearing dark gear, barely reacting to the carnage. One of them even checked his watch like this was a boring Monday.

They weren’t normal competitors.

Kim had no time to think about it. Because a runaway wheelbarrow was heading straight for his face.

As they escaped the madness, Kim’s eyes landed on something strange—a locked steel case in the hands of one of those serious-looking competitors. Heavy. Protected. Important.

Before he could process it, Chege tripped, hit a wooden sign, and unknowingly flipped the arrow to send half the competitors running in the wrong direction.

That stupid accident? It would matter way more than anyone realized.

Because the Gauntlet had just begun… and things were about to get worse.