It was a cold winter night. The street was submerged by darkness. The wind was raging on the pavement, blowing all the pedestrians away and resting them in their cozy small houses. Streetlights stood on both sides, and snow reflected the pale light from the bulbs. The street was just in silence, in stagnation, lacking of people, lacking of vitality. 

People were not supposed to wander on the street on such a lonely night, and you could easily focus on a man wearing a black cloak and a dark, grey hat, carrying a suitcase. He stepped on the snow, making cracking sounds, that could be easily heard in the silence of night. The man wore a facecloth, and his face was kept out so that we couldn’t get to know his appearance. His strange appearance just swayed on the street, giving the place a weird vibe.

The man was just like a headless chicken, turning left and right, passing dozens of narrow streets and pathways. He stopped several times, looking back and forth vigilantly, like a frightened animal trying to escape from a predator. What’s more, if you were lucky and brilliant enough to catch on to him, you would find out that he was just going around in circles, passing the same blocks and buildings again and again, just like a strange ritual.

He finally stood in front of an old, rusty door. He put down his suitcase, shook his arms, and finally, knocked on the heavy door. The sound of clash revibrated on the empty street, with someone shouting: “Who’s there?”

“I’m the Eagle, and I carried the weapons you required.” The man spoke in a low voice. It was hard to believe the person inside got the words. “Please be quick. The guy hardly makes me exhausted.”

The door opened with warm orange light leaking out, and a short man appeared. He picked up the suitcase with his trembling hands, trying to carry it inside the house. However, the suitcase seemed so heavy that his weak arms were dominated by gravity, and he just ended up breathing hard, with the suitcase unmoved on the snow. “What a heavy guy. How do you get that stuff?”

“It’s a secret.” The man who was called the Eagle carried the suitcase and walked into the room. “I hope these will work. It took me some time to get them. Let’s speak inside. It’s just too cold.”

The two men went inside the room, leaving the silence and inanition outside the door. The street was submerged in the pale street light again, just like nothing happened. 

………………………

The room was not big, with dim, golden light filling every single square of the room. The man who was called eagle took off his hat. Snow fell on the ground, with crack sound, and moisture came out from his messy, grey hair. He opened the suitcase with his chilly fingers. 

“I’ve got those weapons. Gonna apply your plan?”

“How much are they?”

“I’ve got seven, from the Corner of the St. Louis street, with seventy dollars. Ten dollars each. They’re getting more and more expensive, you know.”

Eagle took out a cigarette, and stood up from the small wooden chair. The chair creaked within the raging of snowstorm, as he lighted the cigarette up with fire. “Need a cigarette?”

“No thanks.” The other man picked up one of the guns, playing it on his hands. “Listen, I have got a plan. I’ve managed to get some rifles under the guise of hunting, and now we can equip our twenty-one fighters with firearm. Concrete is also available and we can build a street barricade, just like the one in the French revolu……”

The man got more and more excited. He waved the gun with his arms, while suddenly, a huge creaking sound traversed the air, with the wind, striking on the two men’s sensitive nerve.

“Did you touch the chair again?” Being disrupted, the man was furious while throwing the gun on the table.

“No. No one sat on it after I stood up.”

“Oh no.” The man looked up to the ceiling, and found a handprint, stained with snow, lying on a piece of wooden support, broken, swaying in the air.