The new facility was online. It had taken a tremendous effort to transport any and all relevant materials and equipment here. What had been left behind would need to be recreated with what they had on hand until the first supply shipments began to arrive.

It was a hassle. Unnecessary. But with the breach in security and possible spies still out there, their deaths unconfirmed, moving this project had become necessary, which meant time was wasted doing that instead of achieving progress.

The world kept advancing, and so too must Russia. New weaponry and technology were needed in order to secure its place in the world order. Events in the West had exposed too many failings, and this project, resurrected from the archives of what was once the Soviet Union, was to play a key role in that.

New guns, planes, and ships could not be advanced as they were, especially with the need for them on the western border. Artillery still needed time to catch up with that of the western powers. Drones, however, were advancing, but even their capacities were limited as anti-drone technology caught up.

Something new was needed. Even those that had researched in the days of the Soviet Union had seen a glimmer of promise with this route. There were psychological components as well, ones that could strike at morale, boosting it for loyal Russian soldiers and sewing fear into their enemies.

This was not the first time cybernetics were looked into by those in power. The renewed interest is what resurrected this program and provided the funding to get it going again.

The true seeds for this effort, however, did not come from wars along their borders. There once had been another threat, one that had been far more devastating to them than the corrupt Western powers. This threat had come not from the West, but from the stars.

The Thanagarian Occupation had covered the globe, and Russia had been no exception. The martial law imposed had been an insult, but the terror at learning that the World Defense Shield was something else entirely, something that would destroy their planet, Russia along with it, had kickstarted the renewed interest. The war was more convenient to advancing this particular agenda, a way to obtain results from the fruits of research.

There had been one notable success from the previous iteration. One Anatoli Knyazev had been a participant, and those that had been part of the process into transforming him into the vaunted KGBeast had been beside themselves upon learning of his untimely demise.

The project was renamed in his honor, Project Knyazev, and its goal was to bless their country with a new generation of KGBeasts.

Leading Project Knyazev was Dr. Alexi Nikolai. It had been an honor for him to be tapped, but administration was rankling his patience. His fields of expertise— engineering, robotics, and cybernetics—were where his passion truly lied and anything else was a distraction to that.

Yet he understood the need for secrecy. He understood that keeping this project away from prying Western eyes was non-negotiable. There could be no more breaches or compromises. He wanted to be sure that Project Knyazev would be safe and allowed to flourish. Failure was not an option.

What they couldn't take with them had to be destroyed. That was the truth and why he was frustrated. Data could be transferred from one terminal to another. Blueprints and plans were similar. Cybersecurity could be beefed up, but that did not mean it was infallible. As shown with the previous incursion, manual overrides still existed and accessing the main terminal made it easier to hide breaches provided you overcame the cybersecurity.

The infiltrators' incompetence had exposed them the last time. The…costumes were ridiculous, yet gave a means of identification. They were a group of criminals wanted by the United States, and that superpower's law enforcement was very keen on their apprehension. It…it complicated the view that Washington was involved. It could not be denied that there were new players who were beholden to no other nation and operated on the highest levels, sometimes even using other nations as pawns.

Was there someone else with an interest in cybernetics and was hoping to benefit from Project Knyazev first? It was not without the realm of possibility. The list of those who would be interested was long.

Regardless of who was masterminding these infiltrators, other security measures were being put into place. If someone else wanted to interfere, they would find that this time would not be like the last. The research could not be stopped by outside forces, and already a new prototype had been drawn up.

More importantly, this new prototype was authorized to be implemented. They had a volunteer already. The next stage of this program was already underway, and preliminary testing would soon follow.

Never again would they be subject to another power's whim, be they from the West or from the stars. Russia would soon have the technology to protect itself and once more rise to the top of the world stage itself. Then let them all come, American, Thanagarian, it wouldn't matter.

Project Knyazev was unstoppable; he was unstoppable; and soon the world would know that too.

Waller had been correct in that there were limits to the computer system she had supplied him. He had no access to the outside world, which was not surprising. No doubt it was to ensure he could not alert anyone outside of the prison to his whereabouts, not that he had anyone to alert. All that would do was ensure he stayed in Belle Reve. The best outcome would be a transfer to Blackgate, keeping him imprisoned regardless.

The research materials he did have access to the computer were those on the hard drive, which wasn't much either. There was nothing on cryogenics, his field of expertise. There was nothing on any scientific inquiry that he would be of interest either. Science had not stopped since he had isolated himself in the Arctic, and Fries would be lying if he wasn't interested to learn of recent developments.

There was, however, engineering files, specifically weapons manufacturing. One of the latest files created was about his suit, something that alerted him to the real reason why he was here. There weren't many details, meaning those that had been looking over the suit hadn't been able to make much headway. There were the basics, naturally, such as the location of the weapons and life support systems. The reinforced armor that framed the suit was documented on.

Hmmm, and the suit happened to be held in Belle Reve…

There were more notes in regard to his original suit, one that held more details due to it being fully investigated. No doubt whomever Waller had studying his newest suit was making comparisons. There were extensive notes on his original Freeze Gun as well.

Closing those files, he opened another, one that he hadn't anticipated having access. Namely, it was about the nanotech bomb that had been inserted into his neck—and no doubt the necks of the other inmates here. On screen, there was a diagram, one showing the bomb before it pulled itself apart, revealing the various parts contained inside of it. Fries had to admit, it was quite sophisticated if the specs were indeed accurate.

"Impressive," he couldn't help but comment.

"What's impressive?"

For a moment, he had forgotten that his "assistant" was present. This Killer Frost looked quite miserable being in his cell. It was the following day, and she had left for sleep at some point. She had returned to serve him breakfast, which he had consumed more to keep up his strength. He hadn't spared her much attention once breakfast was finished and he reactivated the computer.

"The bombs our warden prefers to use," he answered her, continuing to read the schematics.

"Don't remind me about them," the woman muttered. A moment later, "They suck, don't they?"

"Inconvenient, yes," he agreed. "From an engineering standpoint, they are remarkable."

"How so?"

Fries got the feeling that Frost wasn't asking out of genuine curiosity, but more to simply talk. He supposed just watching him do his work was not entertaining, which only dragged out her time with him.

"It's a bomb in a traditional sense, using the same properties of one. It has an explosive agent, a primer, and trigger. The outer shell is durable to a point, ensuring that when the explosive agent detonates, it holds its shape initially, causing pressure to increase the explosive force until it overpowers the shell."

He heard shifting from his bed. The woman had most likely been sitting or laying on his bed for her own comfort. The lack of other furniture made it an ideal place for such leisure. "Sorry I asked," she grumbled.

"Because of the necessity for a remote trigger, it has a battery component," he continued, undeterred by the woman's sudden disinterest, "one that siphons off energy from the nervous system. Truly ingenious."

"Uhhh, run that by me again?"

Fries turned so that he could look at the woman. Frost was indeed sitting on the edge of his bed, swallowed up by her parka. Her face was ideally attractive, and had he been a hot-blooded man he would have felt desire. Such emotions were dead within him, and he could acknowledge the obvious without it becoming a distraction.

"The nervous system operates on electrical output created by chemical reactions," he explained. "Such impulses travel through nerve cells throughout the body. Due to the proximity of the bomb to the central nervous system, the bombs attach themselves to these nerve cells and absorb small amounts of each nerve impulse. This ensures that the bomb does not lose power while residing within the human body."

His explanation, apparently, was not sufficient enough to get his point across. "I failed high school science, so none of that made sense," she told him.

"Every time you think, you generate electricity that powers the bomb." That was perhaps the simplest way he could describe his explanation. It was rather inaccurate, but it did simplify the main points.

"Are you serious?" Frost sounded upset by this. "Does that mean these things will never just die or something?"

"Under ideal conditions, yes." Fries turned back to stare at the computer. "It would be safe to assume these conditions are the human body, so this device, in theory, could last for as long as the subject is alive."

"That bites."

Fries closed the file, then returned to the one on his suit. He couldn't help but feel the annoyance that momentarily occurred when he saw it. It was no coincidence he was seeing weapon schematics.

"Do you happen to know why Waller wants me?" he suddenly asked out loud.

There was silence before Frost answered, "Because you're you, I guess."

It wasn't surprising that she wouldn't know. No doubt Waller didn't trust her underlings with her goals and ambitions. Closing the file on his suit again, he began examining the titles of the other files until he found one that he had a suspicion on. Opening it, his suspicion was confirmed.

"What's that?" he heard Frost ask.

On the screen was another diagram, this one on an invention of his that hadn't seen the light of day in years. "This is my Freeze Bomb," he spoke coldly.

"Freeze Bomb?" the woman repeated. There were more sounds of shifting, which were followed by footsteps. These steps grew louder as she drew closer to him. "You mean like the bomb you made for the Night of Ice?"

"The same." It shouldn't have been surprising that schematics would be made on his bomb; the disgust he felt that they existed at all filled his being. Admittingly, he was the one who perverted his cryogenics technology to make it, but for someone other than himself to detail its making only told him that others were interested in his expertise for one thing.

To be given access to bombs, his various Freeze suits, and even his Freeze Gun told him all he needed to know why he was sought out.

"The next time you see Waller," he spoke out loud, gaining the full attention of his "assistant." "Tell her I am not interested in the making of a weapon for her."

Belle Reve was ultimately a prison, even with its secret underbelly. That meant there were aspects to it that were quite different from your average prison.

In other regards, it was just the same as the other prisons.

It had been awhile since Lawton wore prison clothes, mostly because it seemed he was always on the move, always out on assignment. Most likely because he was out doing jobs that the US government wanted to keep on the down low and have plausible deniability. The days he spent in his cell were few and far in-between.

Because he was a field agent didn't mean he didn't have to do normal prisoner jobs though.

In this instant, he was actually mopping a floor. That's right, he had a mop, a bucket of dirty mop water, and enough time to meander through the chore. He wasn't alone either, he had company.

Two were prison guards, each strapped with guns that they kept the safety off and trained on him and one other. The other was an old acquaintance of his.

Merlyn the Archer was his name.

It had been awhile since Lawton had seen him. Their last job in Gotham if he wasn't mistaken. How the two of them had kept off of each other's radars was another story, but now they were here, working like any pair of prisoners would. Merlyn had his own mop, the two of them sharing the same bucket/squeegee combo. They minded their own business for the most part.

"So I heard you found yourself the Iceman," the archer grunted at some point.

Lawton lazily cast a side eye at the guards. While both were on alert, they weren't nervously clutching at their guns. It was always safe to assume they preferred quiet over anything else. Perhaps if he responded, they would mouth off at them to shut their traps.

"I did," he acknowledged, going through the rhythmic motions of mopping.

"Must've knocked off a few years on your sentence. What's that give you now? Less than two hundred?"

"Who knows?" And honestly, Lawton didn't. As much as Waller's speech about shaving off time was nice, he didn't know how much time he had exactly. The boss woman never mentioned how much time was taken off for each successful mission, and she probably preferred it that way. After all, he hadn't heard of anyone actually successfully completing the Task Force X program.

That probably had more to do with its members dying a hundred percent of the time.

"Ain't that the truth," the archer grumbled. "Can't say I like it."

"Don't like what?"

"The Iceman being here."

That gave Lawton pause. Again, he glanced at the guards, who were just watching them. They were clearly listening; whether that was out of interest in the topic, or they were listening for Waller, that was up for debate.

If he were being honest, he felt the same unease too.

"The guy is a wanted felon," Lawton pointed out. "Fugitive too. According to any court or prison warden, he's right where he should be."

"Where did you find this guy again? The Arctic?" Merlyn countered. "And what was he doing up there? Minding his own business I bet. He was keeping out of everyone's hair; they should have kept it that way."

"I'm inclined to agree, but a certain nanobomb in my head tells me differently."

The Dark Archer snorted. "You and me both." At least they knew where each other were coming from. "I also heard something else that's making the rounds. He shot down the warden's offer."

"He did," the sharpshooter confirmed.

"Even with the bomb in his head?"

"Even with the bomb. It's kinda impressive if you think about it."

"It was a high-risk gamble," Merlyn retorted. "Somehow it paid off. Got any idea how that happened?"

"No clue. How ever he did it, now she's apparently rolling out the red carpet and everything."

"Red carpet?"

"Yeah, shoved some computer equipment in there."

"Computer? Why?"

"Beats me."

Merlyn picked up his mop and plopped its head into the dirty mop water. Letting it soak for a moment, he then raised it out, put it into the squeegee, and squeezed as much water out of it as possible. It wasn't ever really successful. "The difference between the haves and have-nots," he grunted.

"Not like anyone could take it from him if they tried," Lawton pointed out, moving over to the rolling mop bucket to do the same as Merlyn had just done. "Guy's practically in isolation, not to mention going into that cold ass cell. Anyone that tries is getting a bad case of frostbite for their trouble."

Merlyn moved a couple steps away and plopped his mop back onto the floor, sliding it back and forth. "Tell me something: when you saw the guy, did you get a good look at him?"

Lawton was squeezing the water out of his mop at that point, raising an eyebrow. "Sure did. He was hard to miss."

"Did he have the look of a killer?"

The sniper paused. He knew what Merlyn was getting at. There were people that, with just a look, you could tell they killed people. You could tell whether it was something psychotic, something they regretted, or something they did. Any trained killer knew what to look for. Thinking back to the capture of Fries, he knew the man had no problem using the harpoon gun he had. He had no problem killing.

Which fit with his whole Night of Ice thing. He had killed a lot of people then. He had killed a lot of people before then too. However, he didn't get the sense that it was something he enjoyed. It was something he did because it was a means to an end. In that regard, he was very much like Lawton himself. He killed people for a paycheck.

"He had the look of someone that would kill if pushed," he eventually answered, returning to his moping.

"Kill or be killed," Merlyn mused. "Or perhaps kill when pushed into a corner."

"Those are basically the same thing."

"Yeah, I get that. Now just think of the position this guy is in. He's been dragged a couple thousand miles and thrown into a prison cell. He's got some bitch demanding he play ball with her or else. That just screams being cornered to me."

Yeah, it did to him too. Thing was, this wasn't some arrogant pissant new to the cell block. This was a guy that had built a goddamn legend about himself. Admittingly, he didn't look like much in person, but there was usually a reason someone gained infamy.

So if Fries was cornered, it made one wonder just what he would do to change that situation.

"I don't know about you, but I don't really like it," Merlyn finished, laying out his thoughts on the matter.

"I don't like it either," he couldn't help but agree. "I don't like it either."

Alpha Team was present for the briefing. None of them were in uniform yet; instead they were all in matching prison uniforms. Once the briefing was over, they would have a short time to prepare, get in appropriate attire, stock up on supplies and ammunition, and then it was go-time.

"Attention, Convicts," Waller greeted them as she stood next to a holographic projector. This bathed the room in a soft blue color. "Thanks to the blunder in Russia, that facility has been closed down and abandoned once again."

"That wasn't our fault, ya know," Harkness grumbled.

"Have something to share, Boomerang?" the dark-skinned woman questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Only that we're lucky to be here is all."

"Lucky," she repeated unimpressed. "Well, lucky you are as we have a rare, second bite at the apple." Previously, the holographic projector had been showing a bird's eye view of the facility they had infiltrated, then promptly turned tail and ran. The image zoomed out, revealing the country of Russia for a brief moment. The image then shifted to another part of the country, zooming in until another facility was visible. "It would seem our friends have moved their operations to this new facility, located in the Siberian tundra.

"Same standard M.O., they're funneling the same resources to this new facility, another abandoned Soviet testing facility. Your mission is to go in, obtain all relevant files on their project, then smash it up and get out. We already know what they're doing, so there is no need to be meek. I want this cybernetic project of theirs obliterated. Destroy anything and everything once you have everything of use. Hell, blow up the facility if you so choose."

"You're speaking my language," Plastique remarked as she perked up at this announcement.

"You think we have enough heavy-hitters for this?" Lawton questioned. He was ignoring the projection in favor of the warden. "If we're just going in and blowing the place up, then there's no point in sending a team with stealth capabilities."

"Between Plastique and Diablo, you should have enough," Waller responded.

"Plastique, maybe. In case you haven't noticed, Diablo is a pacifist. The most he's done is make a campfire for us."

"Then you'll need to be more persuasive in bringing out his power." She did not have time for their crap today. Every single one of these inmates would bitch and complain all day if she let them. "He's a part of your team. Figure it out."

"It would be more prudent if we had an entire team participating," Electrocutioner interjected. "A team is only as capable as its members. If one is not pulling their weight, then there is a higher chance of failure."

"I'd listen to one of the Seven Men of Death," Harkness was quick to agree.

"Agreed," Black Spider added.

Waller just glanced at Diablo, who was just taking the criticism in stride. He didn't look the least bit bothered by basically being called useless. She was quite aware that the former gangbanger wanted nothing to do with violence anymore, which was a shame because he could be a force of nature for her if used properly. His insistence on not using those powers was a problem.

If he thought being stubborn was going to get him out of her service, well, he had another thing coming.

"Then find a use for him," she told her team. "I don't care if you make him a pack mule or cannon fodder. Do what you have to do to succeed on this mission, I don't care how you do it so long as that facility is a smoldering crater."

The sour looks she saw on their faces told her they didn't like the order, but they weren't going to argue it further. Good. "How about Frost?" Harkness then asked. "This sort of mindless killing is right up her alley."

Well, he wasn't wrong. And while Waller would have liked to have the ice queen with them, she was on an equally important mission at the moment. If only she had Victor Fries on the team. If there was anyone that could take care of this mission, it would be him.

Perhaps if this team failed again, then she would put all of her chips on breaking the Iceman. If he thought she would only deal with him with kid gloves, then he was sorely mistaken.

"Frost is on another mission at the moment, so she isn't available," she told them. "All of you present will be on the team. I currently don't have any other assets to assist on this mission, so quit asking for more. Your transport will be here within the hour, so I highly suggest you get yourselves ready. I don't care if I have to drop you in there buck naked, you'll be tearing that facility down even if you have to pull it down with your bare hands.

"Now if you don't have any more questions or are done bitching, get your asses in gear. Fail this mission, and I promise you you'll never have to worry about another one again."

The team was silent, so they understood their position. "You're dismissed," she told them, and they all began filing out. Once they were out, the holographic projector turned off, the room's normal lighting the only thing keeping the room lit.

In all honesty, she knew she was sending the team in on a high difficulty. This was actually a perfect mission for Major Force to solo. Drop him in, let him go nuclear, and everything would be finished. The Russians wouldn't want to admit why a former facility was suddenly destroyed by a nuclear explosion, so they would lie to cover up their real plans, no doubt say something about improperly handled nuclear material. It would have covered up their involvement as well, so no one would look further than that.

Not for the first time—and she doubted it would be the last—did she curse Deathstroke and the Titans. Her Task Force X roster was weakened, her program was exposed to the world, and she was having to deal with self-righteous idiots that had no idea what it took to safeguard the world. They could afford to play around with fanciful notions of ethics; she had no such benefit. Her world was as black and white as they came. There were threats to their country, if not the world, and they needed to be dealt with. The means in which they could be dealt with did not include talking and negotiating. You didn't negotiate with a toddler. You couldn't negotiate with someone in bad faith.

You could only force them to do what they should be doing, bludgeoning them with force if that is what it took. Teddy Roosevelt once said to walk the world quietly, but carry a big stick.

Well, she was the big stick, and she usually found a reason to be used.