The Flight Knows

A perfumed room like gypsy home
She looked to find a mark
Of who would possibly join the Flight
There were none she recognized

But near the window scratched on wall
Was a note meant just for her
A sign of domination and a threat
He's drawing closer

When the cops arrive she vanishes
They'll take what she needs not
She hurries home to tell the debtor
Her head a mess of thoughts

He tries to keep her calm and yet
She's panicking for now
How'd he know she'd be there then?
And how'd he get her friends?


Next Week: A New Ally?

The Gypsy Men

Time to test her fresh skills now

And hope it all works out

Just for now she's draped in cloth

Prepare her for her costume

Around the slums she slithered through

Waiting for teh sounds

When at last they came she followed quiet

But had to hide in shadows

Some men in shadowed rooms stood

Echoing their noise

But badly hidden a cop did see

She felt a fight draw near

As guns were drawn she leapt before them

Humming as she moved

She held her arms in warning but

They moved in anyway

She banged their skulls on knee and stone

They fell hard to the ground

She observed them quick and her stomach turned

They were gypsy men

She turned them to the cop and said

"Flights. Ask them when they came."

Away she moved to check the hideout

And search for more Flight men.


Next Week: The Flight Knows

Working So Well

Far away in blacker domain
The Flight observes it all
He smiles as the Phantom stumbles on
The poison worked so well

A cautious voice intrudes his thoughts
A henchman yet confused
He humbly states they've caught the last
The prison room is full

Excellent, things went so well
Much smoother then before
He looks to yet another screen
A gypsy woman roams

Interesting how things turned out
Not quite how he expected
When she'd run away he'd never guessed
She'd try to be a hero

But best she was for it worked so well
His plan moves smoothly on
He rises to go check and see
The prisoners are comfortable.


Next Week: The Gypsy Men

Foreboding Chat

He slithers away where none can see
Thy gypsy man is guarded well
But with one glare from the masked man's face
They step aside for him

The Phantom strides into the cell
Trying not to limp
They gypsy man's eyes go wide
At the sight of him

The Phantom stands and stared him down
What more does he know
He shakes his head but the Phantom shouts
He won't be trifled with

The men outside plan to use him
For foolish misplanned ventures
He can't dissuade them but he works alone
He can stop it sooner

The man stutters he knows no plan
Only of the spoils
His head bowed low he finally said
She was a friend of his

Intrigued the Phantom asks for more
Of this gypsy girl
The man speaks of her grand escape
And the use she was before

So this woman was the Flight's lost ally
What could she now know?
He starts away but the man's not done
He's trembling ever still

He warns him not to underestimate
The Phantom never does
But the man insists his leg's just the start
The Flight's hand reaches far

Only then did the Phantom feel
The blood drip down his leg
His mind growing faint, he hurries away
A far out hand indeed.


Next Week: Working So Well

A Foolish Plan

The Phantom wakes in aching pain
His leg it seems in flame
he found it shrunk as though sucked dry
He moaned but moved besides

A message he found upon the table
From the good old friend
A meeting amongst the fighting men
While the Phantom did rest

In throbbing pain he dresses up
To join them anyway
The friend's unsure, the rest relieved
Discussions carry on

The man they've caught will speak no more
They'll keep him under guard
But what he speaks could be a lie
No reason have they to trust

But what if jtye could return the man
A mole for them to be
The Phantom scoffs, the Flight's no fool
He'd never fall for that

Yet now the men are taken by
The notion of a spy
If they could twist it to the Flight's own game
They could maybe win

The Phantom's words are drowned in words
And he hasn't strength to fight
He vanishes away into the dark
His own plan must be made.


Next Week: Foreboding Chat

Patterns of the Past

Late that night she roamed the streets
With troubled heart and mind
Sounds so like owls and planes
She hums a hollow tune

Just before the Flight had come
To take the gypsy camp
They'd heard such sounds all around
Then he'd come to them

But to echo the sounds across the slums
One had to be assisted
One thing for sure, the Flight had friends
What else did they do to serve?

But what bothered her most was the possible pattern
Between the past and now
These sounds he made could just be a mark
A sign that it was him

Yet something itched behind her thoughts
An itch she couldn't scratch
She wandered home in the heavy dark
Something was very wrong.


Next Week: A Foolish Plan

The Composer's Investigation

Tired of endless sewing and picking
The woman leaves for some air
Once out of sight the debtor's eyes
She ran towards the alleys

The Flight wanted something
Very very badly
She'd find something out no standing still
She'd somehow find a way

In a bar room she walked so firm
Silence falls around her
All eyes watch her warily
As she takes a seat alone

Slowly chatter rises again
A wide berth's given her
Soon a young one approaches her
Words begin to share

Soon a crowd is gathered close
As she tells old gypsy tales
In comfort they begin to speak
Of their own strange happenings

Odd sounds that echo in the night
Sounds like owls or planes
The woman recognizes the mark
The Flight is not alone.


Next Week: Patterns of the Past

Burn Hole

Dreams of past fights haunting him
Day and night it seems
Old Flight methods rage in his mind
Preparing for who knows what

A god friend wakes him from a nightmare of
The Flight's teasing face
He says for now the streets are safe
Men posted all around

Many precautions have been taken this time
Against the Flight's next move
But the friend still wonders as the Phantom does
What are they warding against?

Was it simply revenge the Flight did seek
And his "spoils" too
That didn't ring true to either of them
Their must be something more

Memories shared and theories passed
Barely inching closer
Just then the wound in the Phantom's leg
Begins to smart and burn

It burns a hole right through his shin
No blood or mess is made
The Phantom finds his world dimming
And thusly passes out.


Next Week: The Composer's Investigation

Held Back

The woman hears the people cry
And wrestlings unjust
But the debtor holds her arm so firm
And says, "No fight today."

People scurry about with signs
Proclaiming the Flight's new reign
Old fears are coming fresh to light
Fears she'd seen before

But she knew this was just the start
As must the Phantom too
For reasons that she couldn't see
The Flight had more in store

The debtor though just strolled away
Through the little market
Searching through fabrics and testing much
Ignoring all the crowds

She was relieved when it was time to leave
A fabric chosen well
Her arm felt bruised from the debtor's grasp
But she was not released

At home he let her go and held
The fabric to her face
Her time to fight was drawing near
Her mask first to be made.


Next Week: Burn Hole

Menace in the Slums

The fool works at his daily duties
Sweeping, cleaning things
But in the lowest places he works
Ears are at the ready

A drunken slob comes stumbling in
Making new messes for him
He falls into a chair and calls
For more drunkenness

The barman joins him and in loud tones
They make good sport of the fool
But soon they're off in their own little world
The fool sweeps near to listen

From the slums they'd both come from
And each had tales to tell
Of a strange dark figure, caked in mud
Tormenting all who passes

No one knows if it's creature or man
But a right good mess it's made
The streets, they said, used to be safe to walk
Now you'll never know

The fool left them quite irked at it all
No matter what this creature was
It couldn't have aught to do with his foe
This menace of the drunks.


Next Week: Held Back

Music of Comfort

Extra training begins so quick
For the threats are now abounding
The debtor knows tricks of silence and sight
He'll teach them to his friend

With every session the debtor notes
The woman always hums
A tune to match whatever she does
He listens all the while

At one point yes, the debtor asks
What her music meant
She smirks and says it soothes her soul
Whenever danger's near

She learned it from a gypsy friend
When she was but a child
He'd sing to her to help her sleep
Before he'd passed away

Since then she'd kept the habit up
A fond old memory
The debtor greatly encourages it
In all their training sessions.


Next Week: Menace in the Slums