It had only been one month.
The body count rose daily. He had stopped killing only those that were deemed “bad guys.” Moving on to other heroes and finally innocent people.
He had set off bombs, ran through crowds firing his guns. It was a massacre. A “heroic” rampage that caught everyone off guard.
One month. Then it ended.
He had trained her to do what he could. She knew she was his replacement if something should ever happen.
Bullet looked at the gun in her hand. Despite the name she had chosen, she never used them. Never liked them. Guns were for nothing but death.
She had followed him throughout the city. Trying to swallow the emotions that welled up with each death. Bodies lay in the streets, flames danced out of broken windows and family cars.
She knew she had to end it. The Fixer told her it might take someone who was a good guy to kill him for good. Every time a villain, or himself, took his life he came back emptier than ever.
That was the only word she could come up with to describe what he had become. Empty.
She refused his new philosophy of nothing. The apathetic anarchy of his actions made her sick.
“You’re supposed to be a hero. You’re supposed to be protecting them.”
“Aren’t I doing just that?” Then he’d pull the trigger and another life would be gone.
Bullet was ready to put an end to it. She had never killed before. But things had changed. She had lost him once, watched him fall onto the street.
The sound of his body hitting pavement still echoed in her dreams.
“I can’t do it. I can’t kill. I can’t kill him.”
“I don’t think we have much of a choice, Bullet. He’s killing without prejudice now.”
“I can’t do it, Fixer.”
“You’re the only one he allows to get close enough. It has to be you.”
She couldn’t help but feel he was saving her death for last.
She watches as slips into a window. It’s a familiar sight. He fell from that window just a month ago.
“So, you’re alive and well and now some murderous rampage. All is anarchy and the hero has truly fallen.”
He stands there, guns hanging by his side, staring at the man who had killed him the first time.
“I can only assume you have come to kill me. Maybe it’s a glimmer of sanity in all of this madness. A moment of clear thought, just long enough, to enact revenge.”
“Not revenge. I’m here to help.”
The man starts to laugh. “You want to help me by killing me?” His laugh grows louder.
“Stop laughing. And you, turn around.”
“Look at this! Could your trusty sidekick really be my saviour?”
“Don’t say a word. If i here you make a sound I will break your legs. Now, you, turn around.”
“Jesse…go away. This is not your time.”
Her mind shut down. He kept speaking to her but she heard nothing. She didn’t want to. It was easier to just imagine him as there, not alive, just there.
She took the gun from her belt. It felt heavier than it had before.
It all came roaring back.
“Have you won her over to your ways? Has Bullet lost it too?”
She didn’t answer.
She just pulled the trigger.
He didn’t move. Blood started to pool around his stomach, seeping through his clothing.
“Jesse…what are you doing?”
“I’m ending it.”
She shoots him again, this time the bullet tears into his shoulder.
“You can’t kill me. I can’t die.”
“I’m going to try.”
She fires again. He makes a sound as the bullet pierces his thigh. A sound escapes his mouth this time. A sigh of annoyance.
He doesn’t even have to aim. He pulls the trigger and she screams.
They are alone. Exchanging bullets. She screams, he stays silent. Blood soaks their costumes and splatters around.
She’s out of bullets.
She’s thankful for the Kevlar lined gloves he gave her. She barely feels it as her fists smash into his face.
No punch is pulled, no kick is spared. It’s a fight to the death between heroes.
She is able to grab one of his guns. Wrestling it away she pushes it against his head and pulls the trigger.
There were two shots.
His head snaps back. Her ribs shatter as a bullet enters her heart.
In two growing pools of blood two heroes lay there. Full of holes, bones broken, lifeless.
A gloved hand twitches. One of the bodies stops bleeding.
A true hero never stays dead for long.