A/N
So, Kill the Justice League looks pretty fun. Or at least the FanDome trailer was.
Anyway, drabbled this up.
Tick Tick Boom
I'm gonna fucking die here.
The revelation didn't impact Floyd Lawton as much as one might have thought. Who that one was, of course, was a question he wouldn't have been able to answer, and if he did know who that one was, he'd ask them how the hell they were able to read his mind, provided he didn't just shoot them. But telepathy or no, the man known as Deadshot knew that he was going to die in Metropolis, and that was really fucked up.
Oh sure, he'd done plenty of fucked up things himself. Usually involving a bullet from him going into some poor sucker's skull. He knew that even if he lived to a ripe old age, playing Scrabble in a retirement home with other assassins, he'd still end up dead. And if Hell existed, he'd end up among the fire and brimstone, because there was no way God was going to let him into Heaven, and he doubted that any amount of firepower would tear down the pearly gates that were somehow using fluffy clouds as their foundations.
In a way, he'd welcome it. Because all the people he'd killed would be in Hell waiting for him, and that way, he could kill them all over again. And since he was going to die in Metropolis, and indeed, likely everyone on planet Earth would die as well, that reunion might be coming sooner than expected. Only…
"Yeah, I was right all along!"
He frowned. If Hell was other people, he was in Hell already.
"Yeah, you come taggin' along!"
Case in point, a crazy lady hanging upside down from a stripper pole, singing the lyrics to a song he'd heard Zoe playing once, but whose name escaped him thanks to Rick Flag declaring that visitation hours were over.
"Cause I have done it before, and I can do it some more…"
Scowling, he looked away from the crazy lady, and looked at the hobo nursing his head in his one hand, while treating his headache from a bottle of wine in the other. Because reasons.
"…got my eyes on the score, and I love you no more…"
And in the other corner, a man-sized, man-eating shark, who was attempting to do a crossword.
"It's too late, it's too soon, or is it tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, boom!"
Floyd winced as Harley made a boom sound with her mouth, and a boom motion with her hands, still hanging upside down from the stripper pole like a bat, of all things. Bad enough that he was with someone even crazier than him, bad enough that Captain Boomerang was still whining about his headache…
"Four letters, ends with unt…"
…bad enough that King Shark was likely writing an R rather than a C, but the words ticking and boom?
He put a hand to the back of his neck. Something was ticking in there. And soon, it might go boom, splattering grey matter all over this room. Only if Waller did that, then the entire world might be doomed.
"Whatcha smilin' at, handsome?"
He tried to ignore the serial killer who'd taken a seat at the table before him. Likely the entire world was doomed anyway. Hell, Amanda Waller might be able to get some fun in by causing Task Force X's heads to splatter Metropolis before the end came.
"Hey! You listnin'?'"
Despite the prospect of a detonated head, he smiled. If there was a Hell, and he was going to it, then surely Amanda Waller was going to it as well. He might even be able to do some decapitations himself.
"Listen bub, when a fine lady talks to you, most gentlemen would pay attention."
The smile faded, and his eyes stared into the Cthulhu-esque maws of darkness that were the pupils of Harley Quinn. Black holes that sucked all light and sanity from the world around them.
"You're not a lady," he murmured. "And I'm not a gentleman."
Harley looked ready to explode. He didn't care. Thinking about Hell had got him thinking about Zoe. Thinking about Zoe had got him thinking about Heaven. Thinking about Heaven had got him thinking that it was all a bunch of B.S. That he was going to die, Zoe would die, however later, and that he'd never be able to see his baby girl again before the world came crashing down around him.
"So too I'm a lady," said Harley.
"Unt…unt…" King Shark murmured. He looked at Captain Boomerang. "Runt?"
"Cunt."
"Excuse me?" Harley asked.
"Not talking about the thing between your legs, Harl, talking about the crossroad." The captain (who wasn't a captain at all, Floyd reminded himself), staggered over to what he called "the overgrown cephalopod" (despite not knowing what a cephalopod actually was). "Cunt. It's totally cunt."
"What did you say about cunts?" Harley asked.
"Oh Jesus Christ, I said-"
"Punt." King Shark leant over, holding the pencil between his fingertips, and scribbled it in, holding the crossroad for the team to see. "Punt," he repeated.
Harley let out a squee and began clapping. Floyd rolled his eyes.
"Punt," Boomerang murmured, before staggering to a third table. "Know someone's fucking head I'd like to fucking punt all the way back to Alice."
Floyd didn't doubt it, but there was no shortage of options.
Amanda Waller, for conscripting him into this suicide squad?
Brainiac, for launching an invasion of Metropolis?
Superman, who'd been mind-controlled by Brainiac, and had nearly killed them already?
The Flash, who not only had been mind-controlled, but had smack talked the squad while he was running around them like a child with ADD?
Or was it Wonder Woman – one of the members of the Justice League who hadn't been mind controlled, who'd caught Captain Boomerang's attention, and who'd used her lasso to slam him against the ground when he'd asked her if she'd like a drink when this was all over?
Granted, Boomerang hadn't been that diplomatic, but then, what good was diplomacy right now? God's sake, they were up against someone who called himself Brainiac, who was unleashing giant purple things on Metropolis, to turn people's eyes purple, so they could help the purple things kill other things that weren't purple. Which included them. Which included the people who'd once frequented this fine establishment.
Floyd sniffed. There was still a scent of dust and ash in the air. When they'd stumbled into Happy and Lucky's (they hadn't been happy, but certainly lucky), they'd found it abandoned. Chairs overturned, booze spilled, even pieces of green lying on the stage before Boomerang had snagged them. Sooner or later, Waller would get in contact, asking them why they weren't en route to Point Golf, but until then…
Floyd sighed and made his way to the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. If he was going to die, he was going to die drunk, damn it. He was going to die with a gun in his hands, a smile on his lips, and-
Tick tick tick.
A smile wasn't forthcoming, as he looked at his right hand.
Tick tick tick.
Keeping the rhythm of the song Harley had sung. The song his daughter had listened to.
Tick tick tick.
Counting down to the end of everything, or the detonation of the bomb in his head.
Whichever came first.
"Aw, fuck. Incoming."
Floyd took another sip and released the safety of his wrist guns. Boomerang had got out his culturally appropriated flappy stick, King Shark his minigun, and Harley her two bazongas, held above her other two bazongas. All weapons pointed to one of the many holes in the roof of Happy and Lucky's, as something came down. Something a bit pointy that was going to penetrate a big hole.
"Is it a bird?" Boomerang asked.
"Is it a plane?" asked King Shark.
The Australian looked at the fish. "A plane," he sneered. "Does that look like a fucking plane to you?"
The shark stared at him.
"I mean, are planes that small?" the merc asked, gesturing towards the small object coming from the sky towards them. "Do they descend vertically?"
"Um…no?" King Shark asked.
"Course not. So now we know it's not a plane, we…aw, fuck!"
Floyd didn't dispute the sentiment, as the object descended through the hole in the roof, revealing itself to be a drone. One that extended a flatscreen in front of Captain Boomerang, showing the unwelcome mug of Amanda Waller. Doing a better job of grinning than either the shark.
"No, it's not a bird, or a plane," said Waller. "But luckily for you, I'm not Superman either."
"Got that right," Floyd murmured.
The screen pivoted to the assassin. "Enjoying your shore leave, Task Force X?"
"Hey, we just escaped a buncha psychopaths," Harley protested. "We deserve a break."
"Miss Quinn, you are a psychopath, so you'll forgive me if I don't believe that you need a break from your own kind."
Harley went to say something, thought better of it, then pouted as only a girl with pigtails, a dress, and a long pointy thing could.
"Point Golf," Waller said. "Now. Or else those heads of yours end up being used for golf."
The team stared at her.
"What?" Waller asked, sounding perturbed.
"Point Golf, heads used for golf?" Boomerang asked. "Oh honey, you can't do that."
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah, he's right," Harley said. "Lame."
"Totally lame," Floyd agreed.
"Golf…golf…golf!" King Shark chuckled. "Funny!"
"See, the fish gets it," Waller said. "Move out. Now. Or bad jokes will be the least of your problems."
Harley let out a whine, but nevertheless began readying her pistols. Boomerang gave her the finger, but also began preparing. King Shark, still chuckling, stuffed the pencil and crossword into his trouser pocket, before picking up his minigun.
"Something you want to add, Deadshot?"
Floyd, however, kept his eyes on the screen. On Waller.
"Well?"
"Just want you to know," he murmured, "that jokes about golf and decapitation are the least of our problems."
"I bet."
"You've ordered us to kill the Justice League," he murmured. "Does that sound something remotely feasible to you."
"In truth?"
Floyd rolled his eyes. Waller wouldn't know truth if it joined her on the golf course wearing a dress.
"Not really."
His eyes stopped rolling. He expected many things from Amanda Waller. Honesty wasn't among them.
"Still, that's how this works," their handler continued.. "Long-shot odds on long-shot missions, where scum like you die horrible deaths. And if you make it back, you get a few years off your sentence until I find another job for you to do where you can die in other horrible ways."
Maybe she does know what the truth is.
"So yes, Floyd, your chances are shit. But I give shit odds to shit people like you. So either I blow off your head now, or Superman rips it off himself, or by some miracle, you survive." She grinned, her white teeth gleaming in the gloom of ARGUS HQ. "I'll let you describe the best course of action."
And with that, the flatscreen retracted into the drone, which just as subsequently lifted up into the sky. Flying up like…well, maybe not like Superman, but some other spandex-wearing weirdo who could fly. It wasn't as if the world was short of those gits.
"Trouble on the home front?"
Floyd unshouldered his rifle and checked the magazine. "Focus on your problems Harley, I'll focus on mine."
"But aint't we in this together?" she asked, taking out her bat and swinging it. "I mean, Mister J said that the world was full of problems. And if we all get to share the problems, we can make problems, and enjoy those problems, and-"
"Harl, your Mister J was a cunt," Boomerang said. "And hey, I like cunts. Especially getting into them. But he's gone, and we're gonna be fucking gone if we don't move out."
Floyd smirked. "Taking the leader, Boomer?"
"Fuck you Deadshot, I just don't wanna get my head blown off."
Floyd released the safety of his rifle. "Duly noted."
He looked at the team before him – drunk Australian, crazy girl, overgrown fish, all led by token black guy. Wonderful. All he needed now was someone to complain about political correctness, and that way, he could make sure his guns were working.
"Task Force X…move out."
So help me, I am not turning into Flag.
With naught but a wing and prayer, the four exfiltrated the building. Stepping into the streets of Metropolis, and heading for their next RV point.
"Yeah…lyrics," Harley sang.
Floyd rolled his eyes and started to jog.
"Yeah, I was right all along."
Hoping that Zoe was safe.
"Yeah, you come taggin' along."
Hoping that Harley would shut up.
"Exhibit A on a tray, what you say As I throw it in your face?"
Hoping, and not being rewarded.
Exhibit B, what you see? Well, that's me. I'll put you back in your place."
Reflecting that maybe, his head going boom wouldn't be so bad right now.