Birdwhistle

1

The end of the world didn’t begin with a bang, nor with the clashing of swords, an assassin's blade, or even the deafening blast of a suicide bomb, but with a council of politicians saying “I”. And it will certainly will not end with a whimper. The world can’t end with a bang, or a whimper; only with a bloodcurdling scream. At least, that’s how Sagan’s world ended. And his war began. 
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Sagan Hartshorn perches on his usual vantage point, watching everything and nothing in particular. The Garrison Tower has been standing for as long as he can remember. It’s always been his favorite place to watch over the city. Ironically, it also happens to be the single largest news station in the city, and media, especially when corrupt, is not something he needs right now. It is quite a nice tower though, and the second tallest in the city. He’s sat up on that tower more nights than he can count, just thinking. And plotting, sometimes. He wouldn’t call himself a villain though. No, everything he does is for a purpose. Villains make generalities about what they want and attack without cause. He’s more of a vigilante, but for the “wrong” side. The funny thing about it all? Everything he does is out of fear. Fear of it happening again, to someone else. Maybe his methods are illegal, but never once has he killed anyone. People have gotten hurt yes, that is unavoidable. But he would never kill an innocent person. Never again. He has to make things change. Make it different. Make them pay Something has to change in this city. Something that will make them see how bigoted and self absorbed they all are.

Sagan, tired of his internal monologuing, and silently demanding justice when none will come (a typical Thursday night), decides it’s time to make something happen once more. Why does he have to do everything? Why is he always the one that has to make them burn? He stands up and stretches, his outfit tugging at his limbs since it’s gotten a bit too tight lately. He places his hands around his mouth and, instead of yelling, a shrill whistle leaves his lips. A birdwhistle, to be exact. A second later, he takes a step off of the building and plummets seventy stories to the street below in a fantastic display of fire, and feathers.
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Aster Johnson is a regular in the Omicron Police Department. Drinking the cheap, tasteless, and constantly stale coffee is almost second nature to him now, and he honestly doesn’t notice how terrible it is anymore. He does avoid the doughnuts though, since they’re usually two or three days old at the minimum. In replacement, he constantly raids the snack cabinet, and it’s almost like he can’t exist without his hand in a box of crackers, or a similar snack. Box food and stale coffee has been his breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the past few days now, ever since Calibane has started his shit back up. Aster has been on high alert since he burnt the Garrison Tower down a few days ago, and has been tasked to follow every single relevant lead relating to Calibane. Now, he may be a shapeshifter, but apparently the Captain doesn’t understand that it isn’t the same thing as being able to be multiple people at once. Since his assignment, Aster has had about ten hours of sleep total in the past four days, and dry crackers full of processed cheesy goodness is starting to not cut it anymore. He hasn’t gotten any closer to finding Calibane either, but that’s the least of his worries. His stomach, as if on cue, grumbles in protest at the lack of nutrition, yet he is forced to ignore it, his lunch break (the first one in the past three days) is still hours away. The phone on his desk rings, the unnecessarily loud tone startling him. He frantically starts clearing papers off his desk, searching for the phone. He finally finds it, and picks it up with a flustered greeting.
“This is Head Detective Omicron Police Department from Aster Johnson, how may I help you?”
“I think you’re just a tad bit confused there bucko.” The voice on the other end of the line sarcastically mocks him.
“My apologies, it’s been a crazy few days, in case you hadn’t noticed. Now, how may I help you today?” Aster half growls through clenched teeth, trying--and failing--to keep a polite tone.
“I just thought you would like to know that your golden boy Calibane just burnt down City Hall.” The carefree voice replies before the line goes dead. Aster freezes in place for a moment before frantically dialing the informational number for City Hall, and it immediately goes to voicemail. He slams the phone back into its place and grabs his jacket, sprinting to his squad car, barely getting it on before jumping into the driver’s seat, placing the key in the ignition, turning on the sirens, and speeding out of the station at top speed.