A Disarray of Bullets

Stop the robbers.

That was the only task given to Cleo. One. Simple. Task. She had free reign to do whenever she needed to in order to stop them. They'd roll in front of the bank, break in, hold it up, and steal the money. And before they escaped, she was to disarm them and leave them handcuffed at the scene of the crime for the police to take care of. A piece of cake, Jacob had assured her.

And now, standing in the doorway, the two men in masks staring at her, she knew she'd overcomplicated the entire mission.

Both men roared and charged. Reacting fast, she unslung her shotgun from her back and reloaded, firing. The bullet caught the first in the chest, sending him sailing through a cubical wall. The second swung a knife at her, the blade's edge breezing near enough to make her skin tingle. Ducking, she kicked his legs out from underneath him. He crashed to the floor, the knife embedding between his ribs.

"That's enough! Shut it down!"
Cleo gasped. The building around her suddenly split apart into four pieces, each wheeling backwards on tracks. She was now standing in the center of a military training facility courtyard, the staged bank room being taken apart by officers. The two soldiers who'd played the robbers stood up, unzipping their jackets to reveal thickly padded vests, bullet proof. Both grumbled at her and stalked off.

"Cleo!"

Cleo sighed and turned around to find Rob walking towards her. A tall man with dark skin and a graying beard, he was dressed in a suit that looked like it contained technology from the future, encrusted with a bright blue and yellow flare. His veins were bulging, hands balled in fists.

"What was that?" he asked.

"What was what?" she said.

"That," said Rob, stabbing a finger at the fake bank. "You were told to stop the robbers."

"Right. But you also said in anyway necessary.

"Limited down to killing people," hissed Rob. "We don't just kill people."

"Well then, I might just be in the wrong business," said Cleo, walking off with her shotgun. "They don't call me reload for no reason, you know."

Rob jogged to catch up with her. "Do you even care about what you're doing here?"

"Other than this is a step up from prison?" Cleo stopped to contemplate his words. "Not really."

Rob put his hands on his hips, staring her directly in the eye. Cleo grew wary. She found it uncomfortable whenever he did that. "Take a look around, Cleo. Take a good long look. What do you see?"

Cleo turned. Encompassing her were military vehicles, landing pads for aircraft, and troops marching from training to patrols to the showers. Behind her, a large doorway leading to the underground bunker, consisting of a control room to monitor the goings on the island, a cafeteria to eat, and, most noticeable, the cell she was confined to every night. The thought of her scratchy cot and plain white walls sent shivers down her spine. In the sky, clouds rumbled with thunder, indicating a storm. And, in the distance, the outline of the city's skyscrapers, just a shadow on the horizon now.

"The island?" she guessed.

"Not just any island," said Rob. "Cart Island. This place isn't just some prison either. This is a rehabilitation center. We take supervillains, and turn them into something else. Is this what you want? To be stuck here forever, working to stay something you're not?"

Cleo rolled her eyes. "Out there somewhere, someone had to say it was impossible to take the villain out of supervillain. Besides, what else would you expect from someone called Reload."