The clouds wage war above,

Dark masses colliding without grace,

While the city sleeps powerless below.

They materialize from shadows -

Five figures wrapped in darkness,

Steel glinting in trembling hands.

Their breath forms ghosts

In the winter air.

"Wallet and phone," the leader barks,

Voice cracking like autumn leaves.

"Ah," I tap my chin, "To whom should I hand them?

Surely not just you - your friends seem capable."

Confusion ripples through their ranks

Like wind through summer grass.

"Don't play games!" The leader steps forward,

But uncertainty has already taken root.

“Here? There? Perhaps over there?”

I gesture wildly, watching doubt

Spread like ink in water.

“We wouldn't want to slight anyone.”

They turn to each other,

Voices rising like startled birds,

Arguments sprouting like weeds

About fairness and protocol.

I drift away through the darkness,

Leaving them to their parliament of thieves,

Their voices fading like morning mist.

Sometimes the best defense

Is a well-placed question

And the human need to be heard.