“I don't speak English.” she said, earbuds in her hands, having just removed them, to spray out the words with an intense disgust.

The words arrived at his ears. A European accent, perhaps German?

“Oh you don't.” he smiled and laughed.

He had asked her if they got WiFi up on the rooftop. A ruse. It was a weaker signal maybe, but he knew the rooftop and the WiFi worked just fine.

It was only the two of them up on the hot concrete roof. Most of it was exposed directly to the sun with a section covered over with what looked like bamboo and some straw. There wasn't much of a view of the city. A few scattered blocks, plenty of large palm trees. There was a handful of party rooftops. Clubs, cafes, restaurants.

Stupid Latin music carried on the calm wind.

She was there to sunbathe. In her little colourful bikini. She must have been new to South America. Her body was still milk white. It shone like the aluminium on a spaceship set for some distant star. This little machine was lost and vulnerable.

And in the presence of unrelenting brutality.

He wasn't there to sunbathe.

His hair was brown, made lighter by the sun. He still looked youthful for his age, but the signs he wasn't 21 anymore were there, a balding crown and fine wrinkles on his forehead and spreading out below his eyes.

His blue eyes kept a check on her body.

He sat on the wire chair, each strand a different colour. She lay on a cushioned bench. The white wall of the roof jutted out and concealed most of him from her and most of her from him. He could see the underside of her legs, she had her knees in the air, her legs open, revealing her bikini bottoms tightly wrapping her in. Measley protection.

He was still considering the camera in the corner by the entrance to the roof. It looked old and broken. How seriously did this hostel take security anyway?

There weren't any security guards by the door downstairs. And he hadn't seen any screens playing the cameras. Was there really some backroom of white knights to come to the rescue of a sunbathing German girl in distress.

She had her earphones back in now and was laying face up, burning her fragile young body in the hope of a hot tan.

Ripping her chest open with the knife in his pocket, her heart punctured by steel. The blood. That final look on their pretty, stupid faces when they realise they're fucking dead. He felt the familiar rush of NEED. The need for that relief.

He hit his phone with his fingers and thumbs, all for show, his mind was now fixated on that camera in the corner. The one problem.

Sick of not knowing he stood up and walked towards it. He gave the camera a long look as he approached the stairs. Likely dead. Likely no problem. But he had to know for certain.