Thick smoke and the smell of gunpowder filled the building, lifeless corpses gazed at Amir with lifeless eyes. Amir walked through the hallway, his heart pounding as he approached the source of the screams and gunfire. Suddenly a pale hand grabbed his leg, Amir looked down, fear and shock etched on his face.

“Why, Amir? Why did you let us die?” The corpse whispered.

Amir shouted in grief, “I didn’t want any of this”

Then, suddenly, the door in front of him opened, and Shah’s guards rained bullets on him.

    Amir woke up screaming, his skin as pale as snow, and cold sweat streaming down his face. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

“Again. Always the same damn dream.” His voice, heavy with frustration, broke the silence.

“How many times, huh? How many times do I have to relive that moment?”

Amir exhaled sharply, and the room was quiet again, but his mind was anything but.

    Finally, with a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet. He moved to the corner where his clothes were folded, he wore his typical clothing; a crisp white shirt; dark wool trousers; and a heavy brown coat with a pocket for his watch. He then adjusted the flat cap on his head, casting a shadow over his scarred face

A small mirror hung on the wall, and Amir glanced at his reflection. The man staring back at him looked tired, dark circles under sharp eyes and a scar on his cheek, a face hardened by the challenges of his life. He straightened his posture and turned away.

    The main room of the hideout was dimly lit by a few oil lamps. Maps, papers, and notes were scattered on the table in the center of room and smell of the tobacco lingered in the air.

Amir pushed the heavy wooden door open, revealing the main room of the hideout. Three men and a woman were working. Just like Amir, they were remnants of a dream that had been shattered.

As Amir stepped inside, their gazes lifted towards him. No words were exchanged, but in their world, words were often unnecessary.

    Amir met their eyes and gave a small nod. One by one, they returned the nods before lowering their heads back to their tasks, marking maps, writing notes, or cleaning weapons.

He looked around the room, his few belongings neatly stacked against the wall. This life he led now, moving from one hideout to another, meeting shadowed faces in alleys, was nothing like what he’d imagined back then. Back when he was a believer.

Now he barely believed in anything, except his grudge against the crown. Today, he was meeting a Russian contact who promised guns and ammunition, payment enough to continue the work of disruption. At least for now.

    The sky was gray, and a dim light cast over the city of Tabriz, Amir walked through narrow alleys, feeling the chill on his skin, but he paid no mind to it. The contact was to be met in a teashop, a place where anonymity was valued as much as the tea.

After a while, a man with a face chiseled like a stone arrived. He gave a slight nod and slid into the seat across from Amir without a word.

“So,” the man said with a thick Russian accent, his voice was as cold as his expression, “You have something for me?”

Amir offered a silent nod, then leaned closer to keep his voice low. “There is a group, hiding in an engine factory near Baku, and another one hiding in a silver mine near Yerevan. They’ve gone underground since the raid.”

The Russian’s eyes flickered with interest. “And I guess you want something in return”

“You guessed right, I still have some scores to settle.”

The Russian let out a small, amused grunt, then nodded. From under his coat, he slid a small bag towards Amir. The weight of it was satisfying. “Enough for a few skirmishes,” he said.

Amir pocketed the bag with a slight nod, then left the shop without looking back, he felt the weight of the ammunition settle against his coat, a cold assurance.

*

    Kazem sat behind his desk, looking at a picture of young man in a crisp and new military uniform. Reza, his younger brother, had been full of conviction, joining the royal guard with an almost naïve belief in loyalty and honor.

“A good man,” Kazem murmured in the empty room. “I’ll bring them down, Reza,” he whispered. “One by one, until none of them are left to dishonor your memory.”

With a heavy sigh, Kazem set the photograph down and opened the manila folder on his desk. Inside were details of a raid carried out days ago on a royal arms depot at the city’s outskirts. Kazem’s fingers lightly tapped on the wooden desk rhythmically as he read the details of the raid, trying to discern the patterns.

This raid was one of many recent attacks that had struck Tabriz, each carried out by rogues from different factions with different motives. Democrats, whose intellectual members were getting bolder; Communists, though shattered and fractured by loyalist forces, were still clinging to their underground networks; Religious moderates with their own agendas; and loyalist agents trying to crush any opposition that challenged Shah’s authority.

    Kazem’s eyes traced a rough map of the city pinned to the wall beside his desk.

Each district was marked with pins of various colors, red for loyalists under Shah’s control, blue for moderates, green for democrats and orange for districts suspected with communist activity.

He narrowed his gaze to the northern parts of the city, the attack pattern was emerging, but it didn’t make sense. These were coordinated strikes but he couldn’t guess which faction is responsible.

Kazem’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. A junior officer entered, holding a fresh report in his hands.

“Detective Kazem,” the officer said while placing reports on the desk. “I’ve brought the witness statements from the raid on the arms depot.”

“Thank you, Omid,” Kazem replied with a steady voice. Then he waited until officer left, then he opened the report. The statements were few; only one of the guards claimed to see some men enter.  He was then hit on the back of the head and couldn’t identify the attackers. 

Kazem leaned back in his chair, considering his options. It was difficult to find and isolate rogues from different groups responsible for any of the attacks in the city. He was tracking ghost-like figures that moved in silence, shifting loyalties, and a city filled with rival ambitions and betrayals.

Kazem stood in the silence of his office, his thoughts clouded with the complexity of Tabriz’s politics. He was determined to find a trail that he needed for a counterattack.

                                     *

    Amir stood before his small band of followers around the table. His comrades' expressions were mixture of exhaustion and defiance. These were the few who had survived alongside him, the ones who had remained after the Shah’s forces tore through their ranks. Each of them bore the scars, visible or hidden. They were bound together not by ideology anymore, but by shared losses and the promise of revenge.

Amir cleared his throat and began, “We have all given up more than most could bear,” he said, his tone unwavering. “We lost friends, families, homes, and some of us more than that. But we are still here, and they haven’t forgotten us. They know we are thorns they can’t pull out.” His tone started rising “We’ve become ghosts to them,” he continued “They can’t find us, and that probably scares them, they know what we are capable of. Each time we strike, we remind them that their golds, guns and guards can’t keep them safe.” He watched them as heads nodded, eyes hardening in agreement.

He set the cloth-wrapped bundle on the table, slowly unrolling it to reveal the shining ammunition. The sight of fresh bullets excited the group.

“These,” Amir began while taking a bullet from the bundle and showing it to the group, “Are from an ally. Enough for few skirmishes. The Shah took from us, now it’s time for us to take from them.”

A murmur of approval spread through the band. Ali, his second-in-command, reached forward, with his gaze fixed on the ammunition. “This will do nicely,” he muttered. “What’s next?” he asked glancing at Amir.

Before Amir could answer, cellar door creaked open, and slim jittery man entered the room, Kamal, one of his informants, said hastily, “Mr. Amir, the noble up on the hill, Mahmoud Khan, is leaving his estate in two days to meet the Shah in Tehran, and he is going to leave all the valuables he has hoarded for years in his vault.” Amir nodded, then turned towards his men, “Looks like we have our next target.”

    The air hung heavy with the scent of jasmine and the distant noises in the city. A full moon cast shadows as Amir and his band prepared for the assault. Amir traced the route on the map drawn by Kamal, his finger stopping at the courtyard.

“Yasaman, you’ll divert the guards' attention at the main gate. Ali, take Hasan and secure the rear entrance. Kamal, you’ll stay and observe for any potential dangers,” Amir ordered, his voice cold and determined.

“Don’t worry, Amir” Yasaman purred. Adjusting her veil and with a smile playing on her lips, she headed towards the gate.

“We’ll be in position.” Ali nodded, checking the pistol that clinked softly against his coat.