A Disarray of Bullets

"And where do you think you're going?"

"I've got forms to fill out," she said, walking faster. "Don't worry, I'm not going to the city. No friends. Nothing. Just plain old boring work."

"Cleo."

She paused, glancing over her shoulder. Rob was shaking his head disapprovingly. She was used to such a look, though it still stung a bit. "You have the chance of a lifetime. Don't make anyone regret sending you here instead of prison."

Cleo gave a mocking salute and left the room.

-----

The storm arrived just as Cleo made it to the city.

It was odd to her that a city would randomly be here. She;d heard rumors surrounding it, of course. It had been a bustling community, the streets had begun to be overrun with crime, gangs raged out of control, the U.S. military had to get involved, on and on. Whatever the case, it had resulted in a ghost town, each street eerily abandoned. Walls were tapped with crude graffiti. The road was littered in bottles and spray paint cans.

The rain was coming down heavily now. Cleo turned left on her motorcycle, veering into a parking garage. Sheltered from the rain, she kicked down the stand and took off her helmet, her matted gray hair falling in her eyes. She brushed her face off, walking to the other end of the floor.

As she got closer, she could hear music playing. A makeshift bar appeared, along with a threadbarren couch facing the open street and a punching bag, hanging from a beam several meters up. Four figures were lounging about, the smell of their unshowered stench filling her nostrils. She smiled.

"You're having a party?" she said, coming up from behind. "And you didn't invite me?"

The closest person, Jacob, turned and laughed. "Thought you were busy," he explained, hugging her. As usual, he was dressed in his leather jacket and cargo pants, with a sash over his torso, clips for his gun at the ready. At his side were his signature twin boomerangs, the golden paint polished enough to shine.

"Well look who came," said Cory, who'd been boxing the hanging bag. He was in a tank top and baggy shorts, with fingerless gloves and untied sneakers to finish the outfit. Typical, thought Cleo. Half of Cory's attire were his tattoos, inked all over his body in the randomist of spots. A tic-tac-toe game in progress on his bicep. A coil of rope around his wrist like a bracelet. The word mischievous in block letters on his calf. Her favorite was still the stitches sprouting out from his mouth, like someone had lazily sewn his face together.

And, of course, Zeke. While he had no costume other than regular clothing, his lanky build complete with his jet black hair that hung down past his brow made enough of a statement for him. Today, he was standing out in the rain, dripping wet. He grinned warmly at her before returning to doing nothing.

"Shut up," she said, waving Cory off.

He smacked her playfully in the arm. "Want a soda?"

She nodded.

While Cory got one from a cooler in the bar, Jacob led her to the couch. "Here, I wanna introduce you to someone."

Coming around the couch, Cleo finally got to see the fourth and most mysterious figure. He was a man, maybe in his late thirties, and with a grizzled look. His belly hung past his beltline, and he wore an unzipped jacket two sizes small. Baseball cap on backwards, he was picking his yellowed teeth with a toothpick.

"Reload, meet Berserk," said Jacob, referencing their aliases.

The man stood, offering a hand. "I'm Travis."