The moon glowed hauntingly yellow and was modestly obscured by a noiry night sky. Under street lamps i let the wind bathe my newly sprout wings. Feathers of black and red. Gas mask equipped, i could hear the echo of my own breath. Looking through the lens of the obscura, i tried to capture my shadow. A made man of humble origins standing under numbers 4o47 approached me, dissected me, and gave me an offer id be a fool to refuse. As much as my fear wanted to. Unlike most liars of the street, his boasts were legitimized by the company he kept. This opportunity, a blessing or a curse? i’ll walk into the lair with the heart of a child but 3 eyes wide open.