Deathstroke vs the Squad
In a five-on-one fight, the odds may be against the one. Strength, prowess, endurance, it didn't mean much if the five took control. You had to act smarter, change the whole scenario so that it was better odds.
Two-on-one would be more preferable. However, superpowers changed the game enough that it would be more in the one's favor to fight one-on-one instead. So how to do it?
Consider who you were fighting, and options that you might not think about became relevant. Let's face it, the five here were criminals in every sense of the word. So was Deathstroke. Yes, all of them were more than willing and capable of killing; for some of them it was part of the job. Killing others was no big deal, but their own lives? A different matter altogether.
The plan was to increase the level of danger deliberately. Survival instincts would take care of the rest.
None of this lot would accept orders from Waller of their own choice. That was why the bombs were in their heads. Ensured compliance so they were willing to risk their lives to an extent. Would it be enough to get a few of them to back off? If they could be convinced to set themselves up to go in for a quick kill, that might be more than tempting for them to keep out of the action.
Who to go for first? That was easy.
Deadshot would be the best option. Deathstroke was looking forward to testing his mettle against the world-renowned sniper. One problem, and that would be the only one who didn't care enough about his own life in the first place. Major Force was a soldier, not a real warrior, so he took orders no matter what they were and followed them to a T.
No sooner had the dual-colored assassin heard Deadshot's "None taken" remark that the psychotic soldier charged with a roar. Enhanced strength, durability, absolutely reckless with no awareness of anything around him, and the nuclear-based energy that kept him powered made for a significant problem.
Before coming here, Deathstroke had made sure to restock on his gear and equipment. Yet, what could you possibly do to counter someone like Major Force? Most of the preparation had been made to counter the Justice League and the Teen Titans, not the Suicide Squad. Nevertheless, this is where improvisation came in.
It was a simple grenade. Against someone like Major Force, it meant absolutely nothing. But it wasn't for Major Force. The assassin lobbed it at Killer Frost instead. Frost saw it coming and without any restraint, she reactively threw up her hands and the temperature immediately lowered.
Reflexively, Deathstroke threw himself out of the way as Major Force drew uncomfortably close. This placed the former—yes, former—soldier between him and the grenade. Frost's frozen blast captured not only the grenade, but it kept going until it also encased Major Force himself. Spikes of ice stretched out and stopped inches away from Deathstroke, but he wasn't touched by any of it save the sudden decrease in temperature.
All in all, this all took place in less than five seconds.
Five seconds, though, could be an eternity in a fight. Every action could be measured in fractions of a second. Fights flowed, they didn't start and stop, and this one would be no different. Deathstroke was already unsheathing his sword and that movement flowed into a swing, striking down two boomerangs that had been thrown at him.
The man responsible, Boomerang, gave a swear. Not bad striking when standing in his blind spot, but so many years of experience and training his perception made such a tactic moot. Boomerang, though, was not the most dangerous one here, if you didn't account for the ice block over there.
From knocking aside the boomerangs, he reversed the swing and turned it into a slash, the sword edge almost trembling as it struck the bullet that was fired at him. Anything moving at the speed of sound was going to have some blowback. With the right skills and enough training for reflexes to take over, it was possible to deflect a bullet with a sword, but you had to be really good.
It was also a credit to Deadshot's unerring aim that none of the ice spikes stabbing out from the frozen Major Force were hit. His own sword did more damage, breaking off several pointed tips.
Another swear from Boomerang served as humorous commentary.
A rush, do not give the sniper any time to get off another shot. Close combat was where he himself would excel and both of them knew it. Deadshot in response took off in a sprint, but that did not necessarily mean he was running away, far from it. He was trying to keep his advantage while simultaneously drawing Deathstroke away from the squad.
The sniper's arm would aim and fire off shots, each bullet fired at a wall or a cell, occupant or not. To the untrained eye, it seemed like a random act but there was nothing random about it. The bullets were ricocheting and it led to the sword-wielding assassin to have to jerk, twist, and come to abrupt stops to try and avoid them. One bullet clipped the left side of his mask and left a scrap in the orange.
This was allowing Deadshot to put some distance between the two of them, a worst case scenario coming true.
But his options were not that limited. Another throwing dagger was slipped out and now he used his own impressive aim to throw the blade at his fleeing opponent. With the sniper's back to him and Deadshot never looking back, it should have been a clean hit.
Both of them were in a different league compared to others in their business. This was the sole reason why Deadshot spun as he ran, booted feet lifting off the floor, and firing a single shot that knocked the knife off its trajectory and sending it to clatter off a wall. Where it ended up was anyone's guess. The spin ended with Deadshot landing on his feet and continuing to run without even a stumble.
Only a man who knew what he was doing was capable of that kind of feat, and Deathstroke was impressed. However, continuing like this was not an option.
He didn't want to use another one so soon, but a standard-issued grenade had a way of changing things. The pin pulled out, and Deathstroke was lobbing it ahead. As soon as the incendiary device left his hand, he put on the brakes and started skidding to a stop.
Once more without looking, Deadshot acted but not to shoot the grenade. Instead, a grapple line was fired up to the upper levels of Waller's private prison, and a taut line had the sniper flying up. That was not a good thing for his pursuer, and Deathstroke knew he had to remedy that immediately.
The only thing worse than distance to give to a sniper like Deadshot was giving him the high ground.
Deathstroke fired his own grappling line up and followed after. This fight was only just beginning.
Even in here, they could hear the explosions. Just a few minutes ago, their babysitters had left, and now it sounded like the action was getting started.
"He's here," Raven grimly stated, confirming what Cyborg already suspected.
"What the hell?!" Wonder Girl exclaimed, her face incredulous. "This guy doesn't know when to quit! How the hell did he find us here?!"
That…was a really good question. How had Deathstroke tracked them down to the Louisiana boonies in an underground complex under a maximum security prison? When you're trying to track someone down, that's not at the top of the list of places to check.
Gunshots were being fired, singular and one at a time. Where was the rapidfire because this felt like the time and place to have rapidfire shots.
"Calm yourselves, my friends," Starfire entreated, her hands held up as if to soothe flaring tempers.
Of course there would be flaring tempers; barely any of them really had any time for rest and that included the three hour flight here and the lack of sleep in the last twenty-four hours. They were all tired, all being hit with worse and worse news. They were injured and not at one hundred percent anymore. Terra was dead. Red was off with that warden lady and Kid Flash was getting checked up.
The cybernetic young man did a quick headcount and got five, including himself. Wonder Girl was standing, temper hanging by a thread like the rest of them with hands balled into fists. Raven was sitting, almost shrinking into herself so that only her eyes were visible from under her hood. Starfire was standing with her hands held out, much as he had observed earlier, and complete with concern painted on her face. Beast Boy was also sitting, though he was in a chair that was further away from the rest of them, and he was quiet while staring at the surface of the conference room table.
Cyborg himself was standing, his damaged right arm…trying to get it back into arm mode had done more bad than good. It was practically worthless at this point. His processors and servos, on the other hand, were still operational, and he could hack into Belle Reve's cybernetwork.
Yes, he was doing that right now. A little late, but better late than never.
Through the lens of his robotic eye, the picture changed so that he now could see through the cameras of Belle Reve. More specifically, he was looking for the ones in the underground portion of it and…that was on its own server. Alright, time to do some more hacking. Give it a few minutes, these firewalls were impressive.
A bit too impressive for a prison.
Starfire, meanwhile, was fighting to make sure no one lost their head just yet. Figuratively. "We must not give in to panic now. Before we choose that option, let us consider our other ones. Perhaps we need to gather more information?"
A second explosion rang out in the distance. Curiously there was no shaking, but that was a good thing.
"The only reason for us to be left alone and explosions is that Deathstroke found us," Wonder Girl retorted, beginning to pace with tense energy. Her arms were folded across her chest and her eyes were tilted downwards. There was the impression she'd be chewing her lip—never mind, spoke too soon. "Where the hell is Red?"
Raven's brow furrowed. "I sense he too is distressed."
"So he too must know. He was with the warden here. Left with her. She's in charge of this operation so she has to know too," Cyborg pointed out distractedly.
"Then mayhap they are developing a plan?" the Tamaranean asked hopefully. "It would be in our best interest to remain where we are until we are notified."
"Then you would think our erstwhile leader would be feeling calm," Raven stated. "He should know we're under attack again…but from what I sense, there's more."
Okay, didn't like the sound of that—and he was in! Alright, let's find out…
He scowled. "Those babysitters of ours are fighting him. They're not too far away."
"And I bet that they're Plan A," Wonder Girl informed them about her thoughts. "How is this any different from the League? We don't know these people and we don't know if they stand a chance. He gets through them, we're sitting ducks."
"Then that would mean moving would be our best option," Raven remarked. "Unfortunately, we don't know the layout of this place unless…Cyborg?"
"Ahead of you. Got it downloaded," the cybernetic Titan replied. "It's almost as big down here as it is aboveground. I say we find where Kid Flash is. He's gonna need all the protection he can get."
He knew the speedster could take care of himself, but right now? The guy had gone beyond all limits at this point. The leg was obvious, but his arm when he did that thing at the Tower? All sorts of strain on it. A lot of muscles pulled. He didn't know if speedsters could heal quickly or if the severity of the injury meant anything, but he didn't want to chance that.
"Perhaps we may find Red Robin consecutively," Starfire suggested.
That was sounding like a plan there. When you had an idea of what you could do, it made things feel less threatening. "We can do both then," he agreed, looking to Wonder Girl for her opinion and getting a nod. Raven was next and a nod he received from her. So, no one wanted to stay right here. There was still one more, but he didn't think…
Cyborg frowned. Shrinking the images of Belle Reve's secret prison and security feeds, he used both human and robotic eyes to do a quick search of the room. His frown then turned into a scowl.
"Anyone see where Beast Boy went?"
Three more pairs of eyes followed his example, Raven's eyes wider than the rest for some reason. Yet, not a single Titan here could spot a green-skinned shapeshifter who…had been very quiet lately. Too quiet. Like he was never this quiet even when asleep.
"He's not…" Wonder Girl trailed off, not wanting to voice what they were all starting to suspect.
"That idiot," Raven began to seethe.
Please. Please do not tell him that Beast Boy was going to join in the fray. That was beyond stupid and they had a bunch of hardened criminals out there who might not care about friendly fire or, you know, the sanctity of life. Of all the things Beast Boy could do, this was taking the cake.
"We can try to catch up with him," Cyborg suggested, already starting to head to the door. Hmm, none of them had heard it open…but BB could shift into an insect and go under it, not needing to open it in the first place.
"Wait."
Raven had been standing up and Starfire was starting to follow after him. The three of them turned to the one who had spoken, and Wonder Girl was chewing on her lip but there was some idea floating around in her head. Precious seconds passed while they waited for her to speak.
Precious seconds in which Beast Boy was closer to danger.
Blue eyes hardened with determination and the armor-wearing blonde looked up at all of them. "I have an idea. Cyborg, can you find something for me?"
Boots landed on the catwalk, a rippling shudder running up and down the suspended platform. Deathstroke scowled at the distance between himself and Deadshot. The sniper was opposite him and nothing but space between the two. The railings of the catwalk served as a pathetic defense.
It was a bad situation, and so the dual-colored assassin went for broke. From behind his back, he unslung the automatic weapon he had brought and unleashed a barrage of bullets. He may not have much cover up here, but the same went for his adversary.
Deadshot bolted into a run, heading further along the catwalk and the many cells connected to it. Other prisoners were falling or rolling onto the floor of their cells to try and not become collateral damage.
Not once was he letting up on the trigger. He turned with his aim following after the fleeing sniper, hoping to put enough pressure that the other man couldn't get a shot in. It didn't work, especially when his automatic jerked from being hit by one of Deadshot's accurate shots. The ceaseless fire ended and Deathstroke crouched down for all the good it would do.
"You have any more ammo or are you going to run out like an amateur?" Deadshot called out, his voice booming throughout the cellblock.
Pistols then. Letting the strap on the automatic cling to his shoulder, Deathstroke slipped out two pistols and began firing them off one after the other.
Deadshot fired back, but his shots were aimed—incredibly—at the bullets flying towards him. It was a new sound, bullets ricocheting off of bullets, and it was also a display that when it came to firearms, he might be outclassed.
This couldn't continue. Dropping the pistols, Deathstroke knew that he would have to force a close-quarters fight. That meant getting out of the open and into a more confined location. If memory served correctly…
Now he was the one breaking into a dash, trusting that the armor he wore would keep him safe. The helmet he knew he could count on, but the armor was in plates to allow for more mobility. A man like Deadshot would easily be able to hit between them. Could probably do it in his sleep.
Upper right arm bore the impact of the first shot. His side next but the bullet struck the edge of a plate and was redirected. The next bullet clipped the side of the thigh next. A gloved hand sought out and wrapped around the automatic weapon that was bouncing against him and found its way to the trigger.
Turning the barrel about, Deathstroke unleashed cover fire in the general direction that he anticipated on Deadshot being located. A couple more shots struck his armor, but the cover fire did its job as it helped to reduce the sniper's accuracy.
Making a turn, the entrance to a hallway was up ahead. If he could get in there, it would cut off the direct line of sight that his adversary had, though ricochet would still be a threat. His running legs further exerted themselves while he bowed his body forward, attempting to shrink the size of his body and try to make it harder for the back of his neck to be hit. His helmet covered his head, but not the entirety of his neck; likewise, the plated armor didn't extend that high.
Yes, it allowed him to turn his head easily, but it came at the price of vulnerability. If Deadshot got a lock on that small area, the possibility of being rendered quadriplegic was enormous. He fired more shots without aiming, trying to distract the sniper long enough.
Salvation was approaching in several feet. Just a little further. Come on, you can do this. Almost there… Almost…
A leap off the catwalk, and he was going into a roll as he landed on the floor below, but he did it. His roll came to a stop just in front of the hallway opening, and it took some effort forced through his legs to resume a sprint. Down this corridor towards the areas of this prison that were more for administration and support, the assassin gave an extra push to gain some distance. Waller's inner sanctum was down this way, that and several briefing rooms. All of it was to support the various Task Force X squads until they went into the field where they were on their own.
But it wasn't safe. Not yet. Keeping low while continuing to move further down the hallway, ricocheting bullets followed after him, a last attempt from Deadshot to take him down. These shots missed, but they were also done to slow him down. How did he know?
Appearing at the mouth of the hallway, Boomerang and Frost appeared, the former holding his weapons of choice while the latter released a blast of subzero power that was icing the floors and walls rapidly.
Deathstroke jumped over the visual sight of rapidly falling temperatures. It didn't take a genius to know that if he remained crouched, then that ice was going to run up and down his body. Now it was to take out his pursuers.
One thing about the ice that Frost had created, it wasn't smooth. While slippery, it held more traction to it than a sheet of it. His boots had the kind of treading that would increase what little traction there was, and naturally the special forces training he underwent provided the skill to keep his balance.
It was as if he was running on a surface that he should all rights be falling face first on. He could make out the widening of Frost's eyes at the shock, then they narrowed which gave away her intent to strike.
Icicles pelted at him, but he was able to sidestep them and keep from slipping. His approach was only slowed down, not halted. The frustration on Frost's face was clear to see and that was turning to desperation the closer he was. Beside her, Boomerang was keeping himself away from the frosty meta, using his arms to shield himself from what might be some icy blowback.
It would have been more destabilizing if there had been some boomerangs thrown at him. Their loss.
Realizing that she was rapidly running out of time, Frost went defensive. Ice formed around her hands and lower arms then grew larger and larger until they were rounded shields. Once more, his sword was held aloft, and he was slashing with it. Any blade made of steel and the like would have been stopped dead in its tracks, but this particular blade cleaved through the thick ice easy.
The angle of the blade had it so that only the wispy tips of Frost's hair was clipped by the sharp edge; she wasn't his true target and what would be the point of killing her if there was no money in it? No, she was just the latest obstacle in his path, and one that could be removed without too much effort.
The assassin's body began to turn, and a leg swung out as he continued to spin, his attack landing into the ice woman's side. The force was enough that the metahuman slammed into the wall, one that was much harden thanks to the ice that covered it. Frost bounced off of it and a swift punch to her face threw her upper body back while her lower body continued forward.
Down she went, landing on her back, and just to be sure, another kick had his boot striking the side of her head and limp she became.
Facing Boomerang now, Deathstroke watched as the career criminal held his arms up. No, it wasn't to throw his weapons at him; it was the common pose of surrender.
Tilting his head, "What? Not going to try?"
Boomerang rapidly shook his head. "I think we both know I ain't a match for you."
Smart man.
Nodding, Deathstroke replied, "A little mercy then, out of professional courtesy."
Grabbing the former Central City Rogue by the front of his jacket, he viscously yanked the man forward while jabbing his knee up and into Boomerang's gut. Air escaped audibly from the Aussie's mouth and while the convict both in the present and in ancestry was bent over the assassin's leg, Deathstroke brought down the butt end of the handle of his sword into the back of the man's head.
Another crumpled body, still breathing. There wasn't a hit out on Boomerang so life he still retained.
Speaking of life, his own was still on the line, and alarms blared in his head in time for another slash of his sword to block the bullet fired at him. Standing at the mouth of the hallway stood Deadshot, arm held up with his gun barrel aimed right at him.
Damn, he caught up. Well, time to improvise.
From the monitor, Red Robin watched as Deathstroke engaged with Waller's hit squad. Instead of being distracted by it, he chose that very moment to make a move.
He spun on his heel, made to run, but then went to the defensive. Colonel Flag was waiting for him and attempting to restrain the teen vigilante. Red Robin latched onto a lower arm and quickly pulled it, inadvertently using that limb to block Flag's other hand.
Pulling back a hand, he rammed a fist into Flag's side, jabbing the ribs twice, then kicking one of his leg's between Flag's. Hooking a foot around the army man's ankle, another yank had the larger man thrown off balance and then he took that chance to run around and to the door. As he approached, the masked teen raised a leg and kicked out, using his running momentum to add to the force he used to kick open the door.
It worked and he was escaping into the hallway just as a gun fired. The door jamb splintered but he had managed to slip past in time. His feet thundered on the floor as he ran, a hand going to his belt as he figured that Flag would soon be on his heels and shooting at him.
Withdrawing the small capsule, he threw it on the floor and felt some slight relief as the smokescreen erupted from it. Another bullet was fired from behind, but without visibility, Flag didn't have a clear shot. Red Robin made the first turn he could, letting his body run into the wall and pushing off of it with his arms. There was no time to slow down here.
Communicator back in hand, he opened it and contacted Cyborg. "Cyborg, where's the medical wing? No time for questions, just answer!"
This place was not a labyrinth, so getting lost and losing his pursuit wasn't going to be easy. Still, if he could put as much distance between himself and the man chasing after him…
"What's going on, Redi?" Cyborg's reply sounded from the communicator. Red Robin winced at the volume, but did not stop.
"Where's the medical bay? Hospital wing? Where did they take Kid Flash?!" he answered with only more questions. "We're not safe here and I don't just mean Deathstroke."
No immediate response. Perhaps a good thing because Flag turned the corner and shot at him again. Down another hallway did he dodge the shot. Legs pumped as he tried to pick up speed while the booms of explosions echoed throughout the complex, reminding him that they really were between a rock and a hard place here.
"Alright, got a lock on you. You give us the details later, but you're going to want to keep heading straight and take a left in about a hundred feet."
Cyborg must be in the system. Good. Meanwhile…
A birdarang was slipped out and he threw it behind him. There was no need to be accurate, not when Flag was starting to turn the corner and get a direct bead on him. A flash and a crackle gave away the flare of electricity that his birdarang emitted and cry of pain from Flag told the teen vigilante that for the moment his pursuit had more pressing problems.
Taking the left that Cyborg recommended, he continued to follow the instructions given to him, every second feeling like an eternity. Faster, faster, he needed to go faster. What this place lacked in complexity, it more than made up for in distance. Long, wide hallways, everything feeling like it would take hours just to reach the right turn, and let's consider the many doors here. Who knew what was in all of these rooms?
One of them had the rest of his team. Another had Kid Flash in a very vulnerable position. Perhaps down a hallway he would find Deathstroke duking it out with the security in this place. If he could somehow, somehow do one thing and do it right, this whole mess wouldn't be an absolute one.
Because he was responsible. It was his decision to try and trust A.R.G.U.S. and it had arguably put them in a worse position. Live bait, a potential sacrifice so that Waller could get her hands on the one who dared to get away. It felt like there was still so much going on here that the Titans were still ignorant of.
But none of it would matter. They would do what they needed to do to get out of this alive and without any contingency that Waller wanted to do to them. So please, do not let him be too late. Do not let it be too late for Kid Flash or the others.
Too much had already been lost. Their lives and their freedom were on the line.
