I’m Bullet. Not The Bullet. Not a bullet. Just Bullet.
They call me a sidekick, he calls me his partner. These days I’m not sure what I am.
I’m not sure what he is either.
I watched as he died, helpless to get to him in time. My suit still has some of his blood on it. At least, I think I can see it.
I don’t have a typical origin story. I’m not an orphan. I’m not an alien. I don’t have powers. I’m just doing what’s right. What needs to be done.
“Don’t ever call me by my name.”
He wears a mask, but I could still see how unaffected he was. He didn’t care how angry I was. He was just full of blood lust. I stood by helplessly as he slaughtered them.
Sometimes it’s hard not to kill. You can only stop the same bad guys so many times before you think “If I just killed you, you couldn’t harm anyone ever again.” But, really, that’s the difference between them and us. We have boundaries.
“You’re not you.”
It’s true. He isn’t who he was before he died. I had a mind reader search him, she claims it’s still him. But there’s something different- something missing. A widening black hole behind his eyes.
I watched him shoot himself. Just like that. Gun in his mouth, trigger pulled, red mist. I’m 22, I have seen some fucked up shit so far. But that…watching him move after an hour with out a scratch on him…it was a whole new experience.
He says he almost killed me, back there when I left him amongst those bodies.
Would I have come back to life? Or is that just for super heroes, not their sidekicks?