Phonetic

The Stars are Watching

Charlie.

The stars are wonderful things.

I always wanted to figure out all the different constellations, and try and navigate my way around the globe, using nothing but the sky. Can you imagine a world without maps? No idea where you are, and no concept of what you need to do.

I flick the safety back on my pistol and tuck it back away, breathing with the wind softly stroking my face. I meet the sun's gaze across the city. It's come to watch, and this is all a show.

Let's give it something to remember.

The moon has plenty to ponder on, after last night's display. There was much to get caught up on on, especially with Alpha making the first kill, and that first kill predictably being Zulu. Predictable, but still surprising to hear.

And then Bravo rightly took out Yankee just moments later.

I need to target Xray, but I've been searching for him for hours and haven't heard the slightest peep. You'd think, for someone who can hear across almost the whole city, I'd have found at least something by now.

Just a short while earlier, I heard a gunshot that must've been at least several miles away. I haven't got a clue who it was that probably died, or who killed them. If it's this early in the game and it was only a single shot, then it's most likely one of the highers and one of the lowers. Maybe Xray.

I take a bite from the takeaway burger I got from the McDonalds down the road. It's amazing what you can do by walking in and lifting a gun. I already ate one of the sharing boxes with twenty nuggets, and am just nibbling away on a Big Mac, taking my time.

The best way to hunt, you see, is to wait. Tracking isn't really my thing. It's so much more enjoyable when you just happen upon them, because it's so spontaneous. It's something you can't think about because you'll die.

When you wait, you're on the attack instantly, no questions asked, because you have complete power over the situation. You're the one who decided to kindle the fire.

If I win, which I might, I'm going to travel the world. I'll eat whatever nature provides, and I'll pass borders like they're open doors.

Sirens drown the rest of the city nightlife, their screams are global, and their red and blue lights like the bat symbol through my eyes.

Not because the police are heroes. It's my bat, and it's alluring. I can hear the sirens stop a few roads away, and see the auras of red and blue cease between buildings. They've  been called to the McDonalds.

I stand straight, off the wall and stamp my foot into the cigarette bud. It takes me less than a minute to reach the road with police cars scattered across it.

I relax again, kind of thirsty for another fag already.

I wait, again. The police set themselves up, most staying outside by their cars for shelter because they seem convinced the gunman is still in McDonalds despite the place being closed and completely desolate of customers.

I'm not here for the police.

I can hear several steps approaching, and won't be near for at least five minutes even when they're full-out sprinting. I close my eyes, concentrating, blurring out the bellowing police cars. They're going at roughly the same pace, which means their letters are close. They're not slow enough to be Xray, but not fast enough to be Bravo or Alpha. Not even Delta or Echo. Besides, none of the top five would go to the police anyway, because we'll die first without this energy. We use it the most, and we need the most. And it's definitely not Foxtrot - if she were going to tell the police she would not do it so publically.

So, of course, it's Golf and Hotel.

They fly around the corner, sliding into each other across the slimy pavement that's still in recovery from the heavy downpour overnight. Despite being so close to each other alphabetically, Golf and Hotel don't seem to coordinate well together.

I sprint up to them, during which time they're only able to take a few steps at their full speeds. They move so slowly.

"Shit!"

"Ah, crap."

"Sorry, lads," I shrug.

Golf whips out his gun, which seems like I can see each individual frame of his movements. I grab his arm as he goes to point to gun at me, and then bring my leg around and boot Hotel in the stomach before he's even able to make contact with his pistol.

Hotel rolls backwards and skids across the floor right into the bricks of a house with a ruthless thud, his pistol skittling off to the edge of the road.

I twist under Golf's arm, grabbing onto his wrist and stealing the gun from his fingers as they twitch under the extreme strain of being three hundred and fifty-nine degrees out of place.

I release Golf, just because I need the extra hand to pull the slide back on his gun.

He doesn't hesitate before sprinting as soon as he's free, straight for the police, screaming at them. I catch up near enough to instantly, sweeping my legs under his feet and decking him. I put the gun to his head, but am suddenly tackled to the floor before my finger can bully the trigger into it.

I kick Hotel off me, jolting back onto my feet, and pulling out my own pistol from my back pocket, as well as keeping my grasp of the other, using my mouth to pull back the slide and aiming a barrel at each of them.

"Charlie - "

"I won't apologise twice," I assert.

"Okay," Golf sighs.

"Shut up, Golf," Hotel exclaims. "The police - "

I squeeze both the triggers until I feel like they're cracking under the strength. Two bangs, two bodies.

It takes an entire couple of gunshots for the police to make it down the road - still outside McDonlds, probably trying to figure out what the hell is going on - to finally react and start moving and shouting.

"Won't be able to do shit," I mumble in a groan, turning my attention to the load of swats. Do you know why they're called swats?

Because they're just like flies, especially the annoying aspect, but also because, if you know how, they're just so easy to kill.

I take the Valens from Hotel and Golf, watching as their bodies drain of colour.

I will find Xray. If Alpha killed Zulu, and Bravo killed Yankee, what kind of Charlie would I be if I don't keep the rythem going?