The Recruitment Pitch Needs Work
It had never been the plan to come back to this place, but this is where the hunt had led.
Belle Reve peeked over the treeline, cold and foreboding as always. Waller's private fortress and the seat of her power. Deathstroke had more of his fill of the place than he had ever cared to have. This is where the Titans had holed up, and it would be here that the hunt would end.
As swamp water sloshed against his boots, the assassin reflected on his brief time here. Snatched out of Gotham after a three-way fight between himself, the newly reemerged Batman, and the lethal Lady Shiva, he had been sedated with enough tranquilizers to take down a bull elephant until he had woken up in a cell with Amanda Waller towering over him.
Task Force X, or the Suicide Squad for those trapped in it, was to be the rest of his life. If he tried something stupid like escape or defy a direct order, the little bomb she had implanted in his head would terminate him. Play nice, play by Waller's rules, do your time, and maybe you would get the promise of freedom as a reward. It was an illusion; freedom would never come.
There was always another mission. It was never just one. You did another, and another, and eventually you'd lose your head.
But Waller had a blind spot, one he was not keen to inform her of, if ever. The woman was crafty, smart, perhaps one of the best manipulative bitches he had ever had the displeasure of knowing, but she was damn good at her job. She had to be. So finding one thing, one thing outside of her carefully calculated plans, that was a minor miracle.
He was just too good. This wasn't a boast or bragging. His way of doing things left behind certain tells, and when you knew what they were, tracking his movements suddenly became all the easier. Wintergreen, that old son of a bitch, figured it out and took things one step further. His oldest friend in the world deliberately set up a little mission that Waller could not ignore, and when she set him out along with the rest of the squad, Wintergreen was waiting.
That moment, seeing the old soldier waiting for him, you could not imagine the relief. It became clear quickly enough that getting him out from under Waller's thumb would be a work in progress, and so it was. So many little pieces of bait did Wintergreen set up, and Waller was unable to notice the pattern. Each and every one of them brought Deathstroke closer and closer to escaping, pieces of information traded between them until the time was right.
Wintergreen had figured out a way around that bomb in his head. Deathstroke was communicating less and less with the other thieves and killers he had to work with, going alone and out of sight. Waller tolerated it because he always got the job done and who cared how. Silence from him was expected when it was time, and he slipped away to be intercepted by Wintergreen. The bomb was disabled long enough to have it removed. By the time Waller figured out what was up, it was too late.
The assassin had mailed the bomb back to Waller, one last taunt before slipping back into the shadows only to reemerge for another job. At least this time he would be paid. He could only imagine the fury that his old overseer felt. The impossible had been pulled off.
It figured, though, that Waller would try to take advantage of this situation for her own gain. The second he had learned that the Titans were in Belle Reve, he could already see Waller's fingerprints over the setup.
She wanted to correct her one and only mistake. He wanted to set things right by Grant. The two intercepted and here they were.
These were just bad memories. In a cell, a briefing, the job, and back to the cell, rinse and repeat. Highly regimented, the only "freedom" you had was inside your cell where you could rot unless proven to be useful. Everything was scrutinized until complacency set in. To be reminded of all that was just another reason to kill these Titans.
They were the ones to start this. It was going to end with them.
Pausing against a tree, Deathstroke slipped at a small, portable computer. Flipping it open, he booted it up and did a double check to make sure that he wasn't going in the wrong direction. On an image of a map, several red dots grouped together in one location and that location was identical to Belle Reve's coordinates.
From the side of the handheld computer, a cable connected it with a small, yellow-colored communication device. It was the standard issue that was given to all Teen Titans, and the one he had pocketed from the now deceased Molecule was continuing to pay dividends. Someone had thought themselves clever, installing a function that would allow a user to locate the locations of other communicators. Each Titan, or at the very one of them, would always carry this device on their person.
It made it so much easier to hunt them down. None had suspected that their communication system was compromised and Deathstroke was keen on not giving that advantage away. Closing the computer and stashing it away along with the stolen communicator, the one-eyed assassin continued his trek through the bayous of Louisiana. His destination was confirmed and he knew how to reach it.
The next question would be how was he going to get inside? There were several options, but only two stood out. Waller always did a powerplay with any of her new recruits, especially if she was doing a group. There was a subterranean route that allowed her Suicide Squad to slip in and out of Belle Reve undetected. It would always be dangled in front of a newbie, daring them to try and go for it, gambling with the bomb in their head. More than a few had jumped at the chance and learned that their new warden wasn't bluffing. It got the rest to hunker down and take their new orders.
Sometimes, he wondered if Waller deliberately recruited more than she needed, anticipating someone would detonate their bomb and blow their head into pieces. With her, you could never rule out the possibility.
The other route he could take was through the front door. Yes, it would give the Titans and Waller the heads up that he was here. It would give up the element of surprise he could use to end a few of their lives. It would put that underground facility on high alert and Waller would more than likely have several squads ready to try and take him down.
The decision was made. Really, there was only ever one. He wanted his prey to be scared. To feel cornered with the knowledge that fighting back would accomplish nothing. They weren't cornered animals, they were dinner. Would it be harder to do? Yes, but he was always up for a challenge.
Front door it is.
There were a few doctor guys here. Kid Flash found himself no longer on a gurney but on an operating table. It felt stiff under his body, and what was up with where his head was? There was a square shaped hole in it and feeling nothing supporting the back of his head was weird.
One of the doctor guys was speaking to another. They were keeping their voices low, and normally the speedster would zip on over, listen to them while right next to one or the other, then zip right back to the table as if he had never left it. Couldn't do that now because, you know, the knee, so this meant he had to use everything else, like his ears, to try and listen in.
There was nothing else better to do since they plopped him up right here and expected him not to talk. How many times had he been ignored? Too many. It was as if he wasn't a person or something.
Hm? What was that? "...leg is gonna be a problem…can't…turb it or…damage…face down…" Sometimes he wished he had stopped and read that book on lip reading. It would make "listening in"—snicker—so much easier. And fun. And keep him busy.
Hmmm. Something about being face down. What, was this whole operating table made so you had to be face down? Well, if it was your face in that hole under his head, then that would make a lot more sense. All the sense, even. But then what about his leg? Wouldn't that be a bad position to put him in? Not that he was a doctor or had any medical expertise or read through the entirety of the Central City and Keystone Libraries in an effort to improve himself after a long heart-to-heart with Wally.
Strangely enough, neither library had a book on lip reading either. Must have been an oversight.
Anyway, where was he? Well, in some secret underground—not literally. Right, trying to keep himself entertained instead of waiting on these doctor guys to figure out what they were going to do. Waiting was sooooo boring. Everything after getting the shot in the knee was boring because everyone and his knee wanted him to stay still.
Look, listen Bart, if they made your knee better and you could run again with no problems, then all this waiting would be worth it. Almost. Like. 99.99997 percent worth it.
From a set of doors, another doctor guy wheeled in some tanks—that had to be anesthesia! Those were mentioned in a book and that was the Central City Library, not Keystone. Gonna make him dead from the neck up, huh? Well, it had been incredibly painful getting his knee blown out the first time so that meant any kind of operation on it was going to be painful too, right? Yeah, that's what he thought.
You know, just had another thought. How long was he going to be out while under anesthesia? Speedsters had a high metabolism and could work through anything entering the body quickly. Really funny story, there was this time he, Cyborg, and Beast Boy tried to have a drinking contest with alcohol and…um…hmm, what had happened to that memory? Just a big black blur. Turns out dehydration was not something a fast metabolism could deal with it. It was so unfair. Where was he again?
Right, anesthesia. Would he burn through it all because, you know, superspeed and fast metabolism, or would he stay put under none the wiser? Heck of a time to find out now, especially in this place with all these doctor guys.
Looking back to the two doctor guys who were speaking to one another, one of them was gesturing, no idea why. Another doctor guy was wheeling a cart towards those two arguing ones, and both looked down at the top and what was on it. No clue what it was, but now Kid Flash wanted to know. What was it? All of them were quiet now.
Something was changing with them. It wasn't something completely obvious just saying what was on their minds. It was in how they stood, how straight their shoulders were, the tension that their hospital scrubs could not hide, and even he could see they were on edge. But what were they on edge about? Surely one of them was going to open up and confess it to the other and he, the dashing Kid Flash, would overhear it as if it was being said next to him. Right?
But nooo, nothing that would flat out tell him what was making these doctor guys not very crash did not happen. Lame. He was sure that was the right word for this time period.
"...this to scumbags…" whoa, almost missed something there. What was that about scumbags? "...is a kid…not right…" Huh, now whatever could that be about?
"...have orders…over with."
Couldn't they be a little louder? He was trying to listen in here!
Blink the eyes and the doctor guys were moving. Oh? Oh, were they done talking? Okay, they were done doing something that was boring. So what were they going to do now? Were they going to check out his knee? About time!
"So, docs! We getting this on the road. I said that right, right? I've just been here, waiting, so what's happening?" the speedster greeted the one moving closer to him.
"We're just about to begin," this particular doctor guy said. "In the next few minutes, the anesthesiologist will be putting you under. There shouldn't be any problems there unless you're allergic to one of the ingredients. Just relax and it'll be over before you know it."
That fast? Shoot, that was what he was talking about!
"Don't take too long," he remarked.
"We're not wanting to join anything. We're part of the T.I.T.A.N. Initiative! The Justice League won't let this happen," Red Robin argued.
"The Justice League has no authority down here. And let me remind you, you came to us. You gave up any and all protection the League could offer, not that they were doing a good job in the first place," Waller refuted. "Your safety here was always going to come at a price, Titan. That's how the world works."
"And how long will we have to pay until the debt is settled?" the masked teen nearly snarled.
Oh, she was looking smug now. "I'll be the one who decides when the scales are balanced."
That wasn't a number of any kind. So basically at her discretion? That could be up to and at their own deaths. For some reason, he didn't think she would have any problems slowing that down.
His fingers were itchy, needing to grab hold of something solid. There was a preference for a weapon, but he didn't think that would fly very well, so the communicator was a good second choice. The others needed to know what he knew, but to get word to them while standing in front of the person who had told him everything…
That person also had sharp eyes. "Going for the belt? You think harming me will save you? You have time to get off one shot, so you better make sure it can kill me." Itchy fingers stilled. "That is…if you can."
It was too ingrained into him not to kill. Here was someone daring him to do just that. Between a rock and a hard place…
But backing down wasn't an option. If he did that here and now, he would be setting the tone with Waller. This might have been said a million times by now, but he was a teenager so screw the damn rules already.
The communicator was slipped out of his belt. Waller appeared disappointed. That or disgusted. It was hard to tell, not that he was going to ask to find out.
Flipping open the communicator's lid, his thumb made the motions to a button and he quickly selected Cyborg. It would be faster to let the cybernetic Titan relay the important stuff, namely making sure none of the Titans were separated.
Wasn't Kid Flash being prepped for some kind of surgery or a lookover? Did Waller's contingency involve anything like putting something in the body? He didn't want to think about it but needed to.
It was a second's hesitation having that thought that distracted him. In the room that Waller herself had brought him into, the door that sealed them off opened and a uniformed man on the other side stood at attention. Details such as the fact that his uniform was of military make and not that of the standard issue for the prison guards. Clean cut, serious, and stepping into the room, this newcomer towered over Red Robin, every pore on the man screaming danger.
Picking up on this new presence, the teen vigilante lowered the opened communicator and looked over his shoulder. He measured this guy with a sharp eye, noted the little details in the body language, and considered what his next move should be.
"Before you get any bright ideas, I would recommend you surrender your utility belt and any and all devices and gadgets on your person to Colonel Flag," Waller recommended. "You'll get them back when I allow it. Hand over that little toy in your hand as well. Consider it my property now, if you will."
Cornered and boxed in. This couldn't be an accident. He was starting to catch up with how fast this was all moving, but unlike Kid Flash, the masked teen was proving to be not fast enough. This whole deal was getting worse and worse by the second, and the Titan leader knew that no one had seen the worst yet.
Like a cornered animal hoping to find a way out, Red Robin wracked his brain in the hope that something—anything—could turn this around.
Ask, and you shall receive. In this case, what happened was a buzzing noise, one that was followed by Waller removing a smartphone from her person and looking at the screen. That she felt so confident that she could do that and get away with it showed the level of control she believed she had.
The corner of her mouth quirked, then with the remote in her other hand, she pressed down on a button and the image on the screen changed. What it now presented was a security feed with a view of one of the cell blocks. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, unless you considered the man walking down it with his body encased in armor.
The black and orange colors gave him away, and suddenly everything felt like it had somehow gotten even worse. Deathstroke was here. He had found them? How?! A.R.G.U.S. had gone through extreme lengths to keep their flight here a secret, so how?!
"You're already paying dividends," Waller remarked, calm and focused. "I'll alert the squad. You handle the Titan here."
That last part was obviously for Colonel Flag here. Turning to face the army man, Red Robin may have been the trapped rat here, but like any cornered animal, there was only one course of action that could be taken at this point.
Ruthless mastermind behind him, the immediate threat of the Colonel in front, and the doom that was Deathstroke stalking his way closer from above, the only option left was to fight.
Home again, home again, jiggety jig, though there was nothing sweet about Belle Reve.
Deathstroke was casual in his gait as he strolled through the cell block. His booted feet clomped on the floor, and for those who weren't asleep after lights out, their attention had them sitting up and watching him. Some tried to hiss at him, draw his attention from which they might try to target his help and get out of here.
Everyone was whispering, fearful of Waller's wrath. The warden may not always be aboveground, but her presence was palpable around here. Could he have snuck his way to this point? Yes, but that wasn't the point. He wanted attention this time. He wanted his prey to be alert that he was here and here for them. No matter how far they ran, he would always catch up.
Besides, the guards up front were easily dealt with. An alarm would have been entered, and Waller would know he was here. Sure, there could be more guards on their way, but the bitch knew how good he was and how outclassed her guards would be.
No, she was going to try and hit him hard. That would be downstairs, in the part of the prison no one was suppose to know about. The assassin knew about it, the warden knew he did, and he knew that she knew he did. Why waste time and resources on preventing a given? Waller was more than proud of her pride and joy, her precious Suicide Squad.
They would be waiting, probably promised a massive reduction in their sentence here should they actually put him down. Dead or alive, it didn't matter. A group desperate for any hope would take on a man for whom death held no meaning anymore. The hunt, on the other hand, still did.
To an elevator did he trek through one of the most secure prisons in America. It looked like any other, innocuous even, but this was the way to the basement. It was no surprise that the doors were sealed closed, a panel that needed a keycode located right next to it. Little gadgets came into play, and onto the panel did he plant a hacking device. Cheap, one use only, but updated that it would be able to take on the firewall and retrieve the passcode.
After placing the device into position and turning it on, it took several seconds for the security panel to be successfully hacked and the correct passcode to be entered. This merely unlocked the elevator doors, though if Waller wanted to be more of an asshole, she'd keep the actual elevator down below and out of reach.
Using his own brute force to get the doors opened, the assassin's prediction was proven true. Only the elevator shaft greeted him with cables stretching downwards to the box below. Nothing was moving, but that wasn't going to be a problem.
With a small leap, Deathstroke jumped for the dangling cables and then began sliding downwards. His hands were protected by his gloves, any and all friction burning prevented as he slid down. His feet were crossed on one another, a means to keep his descent controlled and careful. No sense getting completely out of control.
Seconds later, the roof of the elevator box itself came into view, and soon enough he was on its roof. Getting his feet firmly planted on it, the assassin went to work on the emergency hatch, opening it up easily and getting the view of the inside of the elevator. Empty, no one waiting, but this was where all speed and efficiency stopped.
A trap was waiting for him on the other side. That would be where he would station the squad members. Get one of the heavy hitters to blast into it and the game would be over after that. He didn't put it past any of the conscripts in there to be…trigger happy.
Debating quietly, the assassin came to the decision that he would be willing to sacrifice a throwing knife in exchange for retaining some level of safety. Slipping it out, Deathstroke eyed the button panel as best as he could. This meant having to peek his head in through the emergency hatch, one arm hanging out with the throwing knife in hand.
One button. That was what he was aiming for. His arm swung lightly back and forth, then his wrist flicked. The knife spun and if he had used the right amount of force—the butt end of the blade struck one of the buttons, specifically the one that opened the doors. Pulling back out of the hatch, he waited as the doors slid open and…nothing happened. He continued to wait, just in case.
The doors did not close. They should have by now. Wait, shadows on the floor. Someone on the outside was keeping those doors manually open. They had cleverly waited, but the light fixtures were inadvertently giving them away.
A smoke bomb then—no, make it tear gas. The irritant would distract long enough for him to slip in quickly before they wised up. Pulling out the pin, he dropped the aerosol device into the open elevator and waited as the cloud of mildly irritating gas flood out and filled the air. There had been a swear right before that, and then several gunshots fired into the elevator.
Smart man. Someone was being preemptive. Deathstroke waited, placing his hand on either side of the emergency hatch and counted down.
Feet went in first and they were swung as the masked killer dropped down. Landing in a crouch, he kept low for a fraction of a second before lowering his head and one shoulder, legs unbending to allow him to charge out of the elevator and shoulder tackle the unfortunate soul that happened to be in his way.
There was an "oomph!" and something solid backed away. Deathstroke helped with that, pushing back and through the small little room that was the last place of any pleasantness that could be found here and into the secret cell block beyond.
By then, they both were out of the tear gas and the assassin was able to get a look at who he was shoving back. He had had his suspicions, the lack of any gunshot had sowed some doubt, but really, there was only one person who would have been at the forefront and acting cautious.
Deadshot was putting distance between the two of them, his right arm held up with the wrist-mounted gun barrel aimed right at him. A shot wasn't taken even though this was the prime opportunity to take it. Instead, his fellow assassin had backed into the rest of the awaiting squad.
From Captain Boomerang who held a hand in front of his mouth and nose, eyes still tearing up, an icy woman who by all accounts was known as Killer Frost was also wiping at her eyes, a mountain of a yellow and red colored man that was Major Force, to the smug-looking Vertigo who of course always kept out of the way of the action.
This must be the best that Waller could throw at him. Unlike the Justice League, these would not hold back and might even try to kill him. Accidents happen, after all, even when under direct order.
Rising to his full height, the assassin lifted up a hand to grip the handle of his sword, but he did not unsheathe it just yet. He did, however, extend the proverbial olive branch. "What are the odds you stand down and let me finish my business here?"
Deadshot spoke for the group. "You know what they are."
The olive branch was incinerated to a crisp. "No hard feelings."
"None taken."
To business then. He'd be professional and as a courtesy make this quick.