Democracy

killing

At midnight, I find myself standing in the training room. I don't remember how I got there. My knuckles are drenched in blood. So are my clothes and there is thick stripe of the scarlet through my hair. I hate when this happens. So does everybody else.
After cleaning up and straining for a while to remember who was the source of the blood, I search the compound looking for them. Each room looks equally scared and surprised to see me, probably noticing the slight red tint to my hair and the injuries on my knuckles. Nobody in the compound is dead, meaning the police will be finding a couple bodies strewn up somewhere. Time for a tactic change.
I head off to find the others. They're all asleep in their rooms. Usually I would send Saul off to do this. Chuck tries to stab me. Harriet actually does stab me. And Fern wasn't even asleep. Dorian must have gone home. We gather in the games room.
"I killed someone." I state. The group nod and begin to ask questions. This isn't the first time we've dealed with these types of happenings. "I don't know who is dead so that's the first thing we have to find out. I'd rather use this to our advantage. It's the perfect time to reveal ourselves to the police," that's all I really have to say. Harriet usually sorts out the details. "I'd like Dorian to tag along when we meet the police but I think tonight would be the best time to find out who is dead." There are nods all round and after Harriet and Chuck have brainstormed about the best way of meeting the police, we head out.
It's not what I would call quiet in the small city we live in. Car brakes are constantly squeaking and there's always some sort of shouting. I plug in some headphones, just playing the same song over and over, it isn't as good without Dorian's voice over it. We split up wandering about solitary for half an hour before anybody finds anything. But it turns out the crime wasn't murder, it was robbery and it didn't matter to any of this.
The wind is bitter and the cold chokes the back of my throat. My fingers are numb even tucked inside my pockets. I slip into a store, knocking out all cameras but one. Why not let the police come to me? From the back of the store, I grab a drink and take it up to the counter where a tired looking, overly happy man is waiting. He gives me the generic customer greeting I assume is default for this store. I produce the knife from within my belt. This isn't America; I don't need to worry about the shopkeeper having a semi-automatic under his counter - just a panic button.
"Press the button," I tell him. "All your cameras are out," I say cutting out the final camera. The boy's face is terror-stricken; his stare doesn't leave the blade in my hand. But eventually, he presses the button.
When I hear the little click, I pull him forward across the countertop and flip him upside down before beginning to carve into the inside of his mouth wjth my knife. He screams. Blood is soaking my fingers by the time I'm done with the boy, having engraved a little '4' on the inside of his cheek. He clasps it hard, screaming. Tears are soaking his cheeks. I turn around and push myself up so I'm sitting on the counter. Like an impatient child, I swing my legs back and forth under the counter, fiddling with the knife in my hand.
After some time, sirens sound outside. I swing around, grabbing the boy, who has sat down in the corner, and pulling him up, pressing my knife against his neck. I go back again to sit on the counter, still pressing my knife to his neck. The officers come in wielding batons. As soon as they see me, they radio for armed back up.
"Hello," I greet them, a friendly smile on my face. The two officers take defensive stances with the batons in their hands. It's strange; one of them is left handed. "My name is Luke, I've been meaning to have a conversation with you and your lot for quite some time now." I add, cheerfully.
One or the police officers holds his hands out flat in front of him gesturing downward. "Ok Luke, just first put the knife down." He says, talking painfully slow and in a gentle manner.
"Or...?" I say, shoving the knife further under the boy's throat bringing blood forward. I smile a little. The police officer stiffens, the other edges forward a little. I laugh, dropping the knife. It clatters to the floor. "I'm just kidding," my laughter stops. "I don't need the knife."
The boy tries to move out and away from me, seeing that I'm weaponless. I stop him before he can move any further. When the police try to move forward to grab me, their faces light up with confusion as they find themselves unable to move.
"Who's body has been found?" I ask the one who had tried to make me drop the knife. They look at me, confused, and try to grab at me. I break their arm. They cry out. My eye travels across to the other officer, who is still trying desperately to move from his position. "Well?" The policeman stops for a second, looking up at me and across at his partner. Questions transform his face.
"How? How did you?" His eyes are creased with worry.
I smile at him raising my fist and opening it. "Magic." I taunt, my face lighting up with a grin. I hold the grin for a couple seconds before letting it drop. Better for them to think me pyschotic than anything else.
"I'll kill him," I say, looking pointedly across at the boy. "Even before your back up comes." I add. "Just tell me who you've found dead."
The officer with the broken arm becomes panicked, looking across at the boy, who is sobbing violently at the threat on his life and his inability to stop it. "Two civilians. A man and a woman, mid 20's, Chandler and Rose Simpson," the officer blurts. I've never heard of the people. But, all the same, I smile at him. A single tear rolls down his cheek. "They were on the west bridge." He says, quietly, ashamed.
I nod as a thank you to him, before breaking his neck. His partner screams out and I break his. The boy's sobs become more and more violent. I leave him there, heading for the West Bridge.
Riddled with police officers, the bridge is the perfect destination to get some fucking facts. The walk over had almost been uneventful. I passed a screeching police van, likely full of the backup the officers called. Other than that, nothing happened. Chuck is waiting for me at the crime scene. He tells me that Harriet and Fern have just split up to find out some more. I call them back and send them home, with instructions to bring Dorian to the police station tomorrow morning. Without his knowledge I also managed to pocket Chuck's knife.
Once the three have disappeared home, I duck under the white tape the police have laid out. When one of the uniforms eventually spots me heading towards the body and tries to make a grab for me, I stab him in the chest twice before sinking my knife into his eye and slicing an X into it, all before the next policeman tackles me to the ground. Easily I push him away from me and launch on top of him. This time I take more care, drawing 4 X's on his chest in fifteen seconds. When I look up, two guns are aimed at me. My plan would be rendered useless if they shot me, but we're not in America, so they settled for an arrest. A pair of pathetic little handcuffs were shackled onto me by an upset looking man without a uniform. Then that same man led me to a car, flanked by two uniforms.