I do not own Deadshot/Floyd Lawson, Amanda Waller, Leslie Thomkins, or Alfred Pennyworth.
This story is not meant to make money, but only entertain and maybe hearten its readers. I hope it does both for you.
Deadshot had raged, thrown things, and shouted at the ceiling in his white cell. Now, as he was led down a white corridor, handcuffed, by two guards, he smirked. He'd wanted out. Now, he was out. He wanted to know what all this was about. He thought he was about to.
If it was some sort of revenge thing, he could convince them it hadn't been him. He was good at that. If this was about some sort of job, he could up the price on them due to all these theatrics. As he passed glass walls of cells, otherwise like his own, though, he felt himself stiffen up as he gazed through them.
White walls, mattresses with or without sheets and blankets, sinks, toilets, no dividing walls to hide these things from each other. Some had posters and knick-knacks too. What frightened him though was what the occupants were doing. One punched a weight bag, one read while lying on their caught, one performed a kata, none, though tantrumed like he had or seemed to be examining their cells for weaknesses, and some watched him go by with emotionless expressions. Others smiled at him. These were the worst of all, though, because he knew the smile. He'd given it to his targets. It was the smile that said, "You poor Sap."
At the end of a hallway dozens of steps after the glass walls of cells had stopped was a door. One of the guards opened it for him. He stepped through it to see a white table with an African American woman sitting on the far side of it.
He grinned at and sat across from her. He gave her his warmest grin despite the fact she might be responsible for all the torment he'd gone through for far too long. "Well, I'm here. What do you want?"
She lifted something from her lap and slid it across the table toward him. He glanced down. Then his eyes widened. The headline of the article he stared at read "Famed Sniper Known as 'Dead-shot' Shot Dead Himself by Interpol in Paris Hotel."
He blinked down at the paper. "What is this?"
"It's so no one looks for you."
After a moment of tense silence, his face and form relaxed. He leaned back in his seat and aimed a big grin at her. "I don't get it."
She gave him a sly smile. "Sure, you do, Lawton. Your work and the pride you take in it are important to you, but not quite as much as the lifestyle you buy with the wages you make from it. You can still have them. The problem is you've oversaturated yourself in them. You may have grown tired of everything in a decade or so and found yourself burnt out. I'm here to save you from all that."
His face went a bit lax, the smile disappearing as his eyes further focused on her. Her own smile widened at the sight. "Here's your new life. You do as I say, and you get rewarded. You don't, and you get punished."
His face went white. He rose from his chair and reached for her. She smiled at the movement. Her fingertips turned a nob on her watch.
He shrieked and reached for the back of his neck. Then he slumped over onto the table's white surface. She folded her hands on the same and smiled down at the back of his head. "Like so. However, do well, complete the work I give you in the manners I specify, and though you will be watched and controlled from afar in a like manner, we'll let you enjoy yourself within specified parameters."
He rose from the table's surface panting, "You, you …" He reached for her again, but her fingers were already at the watch's nob. He cried out and fell on the table again. The guards began to approach him from behind. They lifted him up from under his arms. Waller didn't stop or give them additional orders but spoke to Deadshot's slumped form. "We'll let you think about it by yourself for a while …"
. . .
Jeannette's face did not move much when the doctor told her she could leave the hospital. She gazed out the window as his voice went cheerily on instead. "Well Miss Taylor, looks like we'll be missing you around here. You'll be going home this morning."
Jeannette's eyes slid closed. She swallowed. The doctor gazed at her. His own smile fell away. Then a knock made him turn around.
Despite her gaze being turned away, Jeanette heard his voice change to a tone of awe and concern. "Dr. Thomkins! I didn't think you'd be back this soon.
"My work is important to me, Don, but so are my activities outside this hospital ..."
Jeannette turned her head to watch Dr. Thompkins, who'd looked after her before some personal emergency caused Dr. Brown to look after her instead. The woman with the silver bun always tightly and tastefully held up with a hairpin with some small, glistening, tasteful decoration on it stepped up to the side of her hospital bed. "Miss Jeanette, do you remember Madge?"
Jeanette's green eyes focused on those of the older woman. She nodded. Dr. Thompkins cracked a smile at her. "Madge and I would like to invite you home with me."
Jeannette raised her head from the pillow a bit. Samson would be mad. But he'd be mad anyway. Might as well get a longer reprieve.
. . .
Jeanette blinked standing in front of the car staring at the house it was parked in front of. It wasn't as large as the apartment building Samson owned, but it was plenty big for just Dr. Thomkins to live in by herself. But the doctor had driven her, and two other people came out the door of the house and toward her.
Madge strode right up to her with a big, knowing grin on her face. She stopped about a foot from her. Her grin got even bigger. "Hey, Jeannette!"
The brunette's green eyes widened at her redhead friend. "You're not killed by Samson by now?"
Madge shrugged. "He tried. That's why I'm here. Trust me," She shook her head, "it ain't easy to kill anyone here."
Jeannette's eyebrows rose. Then her eyes widened as a man stepped up to Madge's side. A little moustache on his face twitched up at the corners. His blue eyes twinkled. The cap on his hat and dark suit caught her eyes. They seemed new or in very good condition, pressed. There was an obvious British influence to their design.
She gave an unconscious nod of approval to them. Then her eyes rose to meet his as he spoke. She saw he was giving her a bow, which made her raise her eyebrows higher as did his words. "Welcome, Miss Jeannette. Your new life awaits."
What do you think?
God Bless
ScribeofHeroes