"The hearings into the secret prison under Belle Reve will resume tomorrow. The Senate committee has continued to subpoena new witnesses for testimony regarding the secret prison. We asked for comments from the senators, but as of right now, all have declined to comment.
"There are still a lot of questions about this secret prison that was exposed six months ago. More questions remain about an explosion that many in the area claim was a detonation from a nuclear bomb. There has been no confirmation from officials in Belle Reve or from the Justice Department, and it is believed that upcoming testimony will be in regards to this mysterious explosion."
Never recruit teenagers. Correction, never recruit conscious teenagers. Nothing but trouble, and a migraine that never seemed to end. At the very least, you could count on Congress to be slow to do anything, even investigating.
"Individuals subpoenaed include Director Sasha Bordeaux and Secretary of Defense Joseph Devol," the news report continued. "Insiders who wish to remain anonymous believe that officials from S.T.A.R. Labs may be called in to testify on the nature of the explosion. Nothing official has been made about these rumors but we at—"
Someone was looking in the wrong direction. Good. S.T.A.R. Labs had nothing to do with Major Force. Now the Pentagon…but that was where the Secretary of Defense came in. That man would have to cover for that aspect of the situation, and while Devol was a man who hated his authority being question, he still knew how to play the game. He'd make sure anything that could implicate the Pentagon would never see the light of day.
At this point, those congressional hearings would be running in circles. Waller wouldn't have to worry about them until a verdict was reached. It would be something along the lines of decommissioning the underground facility under Belle Reve, but what would really happen is that once all the holes were patched, they would say it was closed down with no one else the wiser.
Speaking of running in circles, the door to her office forcefully opening with Killer Frost marching in, aggressively throwing her parka to a side reminded the warden of something else that was meeting the same kind of results as Congress.
"I am not going back in there, you can't make me, I won't!" the convict hissed, her shadow falling over an unintimidated Waller, who merely raised an eyebrow in response.
"He's not proposing to you yet, is he?"
The glare was the only thing Frost had left that could possibly be called heated. "You keep scumbags and murderers here that are less cold-blooded than him. If it weren't for that damn parka, he would've frozen my arm off just by touching me! Worst still, I think he's onto me. I'm not going back."
In a matter-of-fact tone, "You don't get a choice in the matter. What has he been up to?"
Fury switched to disbelief. The dismissal of the temper tantrum had not been considered by this cold-blooded killer. It was going to take more than a loud voice, a dirty look, and the threat of being frozen alive to make Waller flinch.
Slacken disbelief wrinkled into a frown. "He's writing equations down. Lots of math. I don't know what it's for."
Waller was far from impressed. "Did he tell you what it was?"
Frost snorted. "Of course not. I was too busy trying to…to warm the blood of a man. He let me know it doesn't work on a cold heart."
What did that even…? Oh, she could see. Frost was making no headway into Fries' pants. That was disappointing. All of these refusals were beginning to irritate her.
"Then you'll need to find out how to warm the blood of a cold heart. That, or get me the intel I want. A mind like that can't be allowed to go to waste. I don't care how you do it, but I want results. Do you understand, Louise?"
There was a flinch. How long had it been since Frost had last heard her name, her original name, be used and in her presence? To the rest of the world, she was Killer Frost. Waller knew better. She made sure that when she picked a new recruit that she knew everything she could about them.
There was a power to a name. None of the ridiculous aliases that were being thrown around, but the alter ego, the original name that a person grew up with. You could get very interesting results from those who had tried to forsake them.
"I'm going to freeze to death before he'll say anything," Frost grumbled.
"Then you had better pick up the pace." A dismissal, because Waller was finished with this. This wasn't the business of resting on your ass, it was for getting results no matter the cost.
And speaking of costs, she had not heard back from the team in Russia. It shouldn't be much longer until word was sent back to her about a success. If not that, then checking to make sure that the vitals were still active.
Unlike Frost or Congress, that team had better be getting results.
So, when did this become a goddamn Terminator movie?
Deadshot and the others were running down a corridor when Killshot caught up with them. He was lumbering after them, his longer legs allowing him to keep up even if he wasn't sprinting. It was more like he was jogging, though the sharpshooter suspected cybernetic parts in his legs were giving him a speed boost.
Destroying that missile right by his body had done some damage, fortunately. Killshot's right arm up to the elbow was gone, loose wires and tubes spilling out of the opening, either sparking from random surges of electricity or dripping some kind of fluid. Scorch marks marred the surface of his armor.
However, just because he was missing an arm didn't mean he was completely harmless.
Small gun turrets were on top of his shoulders, and they were firing a barrage of bullets. The three Suicide Squad members had to duck into an intersecting hallway each and every time the Russian caught up to them and fired. So far they had been lucky enough to get out of sight, but there was only so much luck they had.
For instance, they were in the middle of a hallway that seemed to stretch forever, ending with a turn to the right. That turn seemed to inch closer to them with every running step they took. If Killshot reached the opening of the corridor, all he had to do was open fire and they'd be screwed.
So yeah, they were getting chased down some godforsaken Russian facility with a part-man, part-robot stalking their every step. It was a fucking Terminator movie.
"We've got to bloody come up with somethin' else, leadah!" Harkness shouted over his shoulder, leading the trio. "We'll right up get killed doin' what we're doin'!"
"I know!" Deadshot yelled back, picking up the rear though not by choice. "I'm all ears!"
There was a tremor then, one that got all three men's attention. They started to slow down, which was a mistake. However, there was another tremor, and then another. Each subsequent one felt like it was getting closer.
Then the wall next to them burst apart. Killshot came rushing in, yelling a war cry. He held his left arm up, the hand no longer a hand, but a towering sword.
Deadshot, unfortunately, was the closest one to him.
The sword came swinging down, and the sniper ducked down, darting to his right. The sword sliced over his head, nearly clipping Diablo as he was the next closest. Somehow, he was able to leap backwards and avoid getting cut. However, this effectively put the cyborg between the sniper and the other two men.
Killshot then swung the sword back the other way. Seeing it coming, Deadshot dove backwards, holding both of his arms up as he took aim with his wrist mounts. The moment his back hit the floor he opened fire, bullets striking all over the cyborg's body, but once again not making so much as a dent.
"Keep goin'!" Harkness shouted as he began running again. Diablo ran after him. The sharpshooter didn't blame them, it was the smart choice. It was just his luck that he was the one that was cornered, separated from the others by a big, hulking freak of nature.
"How does it feel to be abandoned?" Killshot gloated as he turned to fully face Deadshot. The bullets never stopped pelting him all over, but he didn't look phased in the slightest. Holding his sword up, he angled his arm so that he could thrust it down, which he did an instant later.
Immediately, Deadshot rolled to his right, Killshot's left. The sword pierced into the floor right where he had been lying only a moment earlier. Considering it was made of concrete, it made one wonder just how strong the floor was, even if it was decades old.
Quickly, Deadshot scrambled onto his hands and knees, soon after rising up onto his feet. He pulled out a knife, ready for a quick strike. In this case, he shoved his free arm up underneath Killshot's sword arm, forcing it upward so that he had a good shot at the man's armpit. He then drove his knife into that rather sensitive area, right where the armor should be at its weak—
The tip of the knife struck the man's armpit, and then snapped in two. The two men froze, Killshot looking beneath his shoulder at the smaller man, Deadshot staring dumbly at the base of his broken knife, and the rest of the broken blade hit the floor a moment later, clattering on the ground for a second. It was a high-pitched tinkling sound, just so you know.
That had been his favorite knife. His favorite knife was now broken. The guy that broke it just cooly stared at him before a knowing smirk appeared on his face. There was no way to see the smirk since that faceguard was still there, but the eyes showed the man's glee. At this range, the sniper could see through the glass of the visor covering his eyes, and could make out their shape, so that's how he knew the flesh around the man's eyes crinkled.
So Deadshot kicked a leg out, hitting the side of Killshot's knee. This caused the cyborg to cry out as the knee buckled and he dropped to one knee. Darting around the cybernetic man, Deadshot went running full out, trying to reach the end of the hallway. He had to make the turn if he wanted to live. He had only bought himself seconds to do so. All Killshot had to do was turn around and open fire with those shoulder turrets.
His arms pumped at his sides; his legs and feet pounded the floor. The end was near, whether that was his life or the turn. He could hear grunting from Killshot as he recovered and began to turn.
There was the corner within grabbing distance. There was the sound of machine gun fire beginning.
Deadshot swung the turn just before bullets began pelting the wall that formed the end of the corridor.
Goddamn that had been close.
The relief of making the turn was quickly replaced by Diablo standing right there.
"The hell!" the sniper shouted as he contorted his body to avoid running the man over. "What the fuck are you doing just standing there?! We've got to move!"
"No, ese, we don't," Diablo responded.
"Like hell we don't!" He could hear the sound of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching them, indicating Killshot was jogging down the hallway towards them. "That machine is hot on our ass! We're dead if he catches up!"
Diablo didn't reply to that; he didn't have time to. In that instant, Killshot appeared at the turn, twisting his body to face them.
The little Mexican man then held up both of his arms and let out an enraged roar. Fire blasted out of his palms like a flamethrower, filling the entire hallway from wall to wall, ceiling to floor. Killshot disappeared within the flames, an abbreviated yelp of surprise cut short by the torrent of flames.
Diablo kept this up for what felt like minutes, though perhaps it was maybe twenty, thirty seconds tops. Deadshot had never seen anything like it though, at least not without the actual flamethrower being connected to some tank or even a combat drone. The very heat he felt was scorching and he couldn't help but raise an arm up to shield his face from it.
And then the little bald man stopped the flames. The former gangbanger dropped his arms to his sides. He stared with a regretful yet determined look at the damage he had made.
And that damage was…wow. Open flames were eating at the walls, even if they were just cement. There was a hole in the wall directly ahead of them, its edges melted rather than sharp and jagged. Even more incredible was that there was no sign of Killshot.
Waller had repeatedly said that Diablo was a heavy-hitter. Now they had their proof.
"Damn," Deadshot couldn't help but say.
"We should get going," the smaller man said softly before he turned around and began walking away. It took Deadshot a moment before he followed after him, keeping up with his sedate pace.
It wasn't long before they caught up with Harkness. He was standing in an intersecting hallway, staring down towards the damage Diablo had left behind. "You could've done that at any time?" he questioned, his tone making him sound dazed.
"I could," Diablo admitted.
"Then why the bleedin' hell didn't you do it, I don't know, all the other times we coulda used it?!" the Aussie demanded.
"We did just fine without it. This time I couldn't think of any other way out of this mess without using it," the smaller man replied succinctly.
"Well, learn to use it more," Deadshot interjected. "We still need to get out of here and there's no telling how many more of those cyborgs are running around here."
Naturally, that's when their radios went off.
"Explosives are in place," Plastique reported. "Ready when you are."
"That's our exit cue," Deadshot remarked. Then he activated his side of the comm link. "Blow the place when ready. You have the greenlight."
Another scream, more blood painting the walls and floor; business as usual. Plastique was more than comfortable with letting Electrocutioner and Black Spider do all the heavy lifting, namely killing each guard they came across.
There had been more guards inside of the building then there had been outside. There was something to be said about trying to keep a low profile, but damn, the ratio was completely lopsided. Just when you thought you had a break, more guards showed up. Good thing her bodyguards didn't look the least bit winded, otherwise she'd have to get her hands dirty.
But they were on a ticking clock. Right now the guards were focused on hunting down intruders rather than looking for any signs of sabotage. That at least helped keep her bombs off anyone's radar for the time being. However, someone with a cooler head was going to check the areas they had been and want to know why they were there.
Seeing as they had a little lull right now before the next wave of guards showed up, the demolition expert decided it was time to break the radio silence. Her team was close enough to their entry point, so even if they got the go-ahead—not that they would—they'd only delay the order by a couple minutes.
Turning on the comm link, she said, "Explosives are in place. Ready when you are."
The response came back quicker than she had expected.
"Blow the place when ready. You have the greenlight," came Deadshot's response.
It couldn't have been more than a couple seconds. Plastique had honestly expected a little delay, at least one long enough to get to the exit point. A scowl appeared on her face. Don't tell her Deadshot's team had already completed their objective and had been waiting on her.
"That seemed rushed, did it not?" Electrocutioner commented after a moment. All of them would have heard the communication, they just wouldn't respond.
"I heard the same," Black Spider confirmed. Even though he was the one slicing and dicing all of the guards, he somehow had managed to not get pained with blood. There were a few splatters on his costume, sure, but he wasn't drenched at all. His knives, on the other hand, were literally dripping with blood.
"What, you two think they ran into some trouble? More than what we have?" Plastique questioned.
"Perhaps," Electrocutioner shrugged. "But there was unquestionable urgency in his tone. We need to get out of here sooner rather than later."
"Follow me," Spider responded as he turned around and began jogging down the hallway. The other two followed him, making the twists and turns back the way they came. Surprisingly, there were only a couple more guards they ran into, which Spider dispatched easily as he sliced one guard's neck and the other he stabbed in the face.
Eventually, they were back at their starting point, but there was no sign of Deadshot or his team. That caused Plastique to frown. Where the hell were the others? They better not be dragging their damn feet.
"What now?" Electrocutioner asked. "I don't see the others."
"They said we could blow up the building. I say we do it," Black Spider responded.
"Without knowing their location?"
"We are on a suicide mission. Casualties are expected. They know this. If something has gone wrong, then the others are telling us to make certain we at least complete our portion of the mission."
"You don't have to tell me twice," Plastique said as she held up her detonator. She turned it on, which sent a frequency to the fuses in her simplistic bombs, making sure they were all active. "I hope you are all ready for some fireworks."
And with that, she pushed the button."
The night was silent save for the wind. Cold arctic blasts blew in, pushing the snow around, building random snow piles and slopes.
This peacefulness was interrupted when a loud explosion rang out. The east side of the Russian facility erupted into flames, blasting them up into the air as the roof was blown apart. A second explosion ripped through the north side of the building, followed by another one in the northwest corner. Several more explosions tore through the roof at random points then, fire reaching as high as it could into the air.
Then, when it could not take it anymore, what remained of the roof caved in, collapsing into the building. At various places of the outer walls, large sections crumbled and fell apart, spilling chunks of concrete inside and outside of the building.
A thick cloud of smoke rose high into the air, a signal to any and everyone that something explosive had gone down.
"You had to give the freakin' greenlight while we were still inside, you dumb fuckin' wanker!" Harkness roared.
"I didn't expect the other team to have already evacuated when I made the call," Deadshot countered. "Besides, we didn't know if Killshot was dead or not, so the ceiling falling on top of him should have finished him off."
"Oh, is that how you're rationalizing this? Why don't ya cap us all next time and ya won't have to worry if we're all out or not!"
"Well, I can see he's back to his loud, complaining self," Plastique remarked.
Yeah, admittedly telling Plastique to blow the joint had been a bit premature. But they had that cyborg guy proving to be a complete pain in the ass. Bullets weren't working; regular human strength was a no-go; and there was no telling if Diablo's fire powers had actually damaged him. Collapsing the building seemed to be the way to go to make certain the guy didn't get back up.
Having to outrun falling debris told him he had spoken rashly in that moment. Somehow, he, Harkness, and Diablo managed to not get crushed and picked their way out of the wreckage of the base. Boomerang had been stewing about the entire thing ever since. Even after meeting up with Plastique's team as they headed for the pickup point, he hadn't stopped his bellyaching.
"Hey, you'd be right peeved if you had a roof fall on ya," Harkness spat back at the demolition expert.
"If the roof fell on you, then you'd be dead or dying right now," Electrocutioner gruffly pointed out. "So clearly it didn't fall on you."
"That's because I was dippin' and divin' the entire time. I'd like to see you do what I just did!"
"Can we all just be quiet?" Black Spider asked. "We are still too close for their patrols to find us. They'll clearly hear us if one of us is screaming at the top of their lungs."
"Yeah, time for the quiet game," Deadshot agreed. He didn't bother to spare Harkness a look, who was no doubt glaring daggers at him. They staggered through the icy tundra, the uneven surface of ice and snow making them all look as if they were fumbling around in the dark. They had some light from the moon and the fire that was still burning back at the Russian base, the latter of which the sniper was counting on to keep any pursuit off of their asses until they were gone from this freezing hellhole. It was like they were in the ninth circle of hell or something.
Despite the hiccups they had faced, this could be considered a relatively successful mission. They had the intel Waller wanted; they had blown up the facility as per their objective. They were all alive too. That was a trifecta if he had ever heard of one.
That all changed when a rocket suddenly flew right by them. All six of the squad members dropped to their knees as the rocket flew further away until it struck the ground, exploding as snow and ice were sent flying up into the air.
Spinning around, Deadshot nearly groaned. He just had to think that last part, didn't he? What a way to goddamn jinx himself.
"Oh, bloody hell!" Harkness swore. "No way in freakin' hell! This guy again!"
That's right. Killshot—again. His bulky frame partially blocked out the firelight from the burning base, but he was very visible. Pieces of his armor were missing, such as the mouthguard and even the side of his helmet. His right arm was different, no longer a normal-looking appendage, but instead had a bazooka extending out from his shoulder. What, did he just take off the other arm and attach that rocket launcher in its place? There were also singe marks all over the once pristine armor.
So much for dropping a ceiling on the guy.
"Friend of yours?" Plastique asked as she pulled out her handgun, holding it up at the ready. Black Spider had his long knives out as well.
"Friend is a strong word," Deadshot responded as he just remained crouched. There were more of them now, so they had more options on fighting this guy.
"Then he is as good as dead," Black Spider declared as he launched himself forward. What should have been the assassin racing away like a blur was instead a costume man appearing to be stumbling towards a giant of a man. It didn't look nearly as cool as it should have been.
"Boomerang, give him cover!" Deadshot ordered.
"Nah, mate," Harkness declined, clutching at his boomerangs. "The way Spider's movin', I could just as easily hit him as that giant pissant."
Spider then leapt high into the air, soaring towards Killshot, his knives gleaming in the moonlight. In response, Killshot just tilted his body so that he could take aim with his bazooka. A rocket fired damn near at point blank distance.
But there was apparently enough space for Spider to do something truly badass. The moment the rocket was closing in on him, the assassin swung his leg, twisting his body as he did so. His foot struck the side of the rocket in midair, knocking it off course. The missile shot off to the side, arching upward into the air before it curved downward to hit the ground some distance away.
Using the momentum of his kick to his advantage, Spider went into a spin, throwing one of his knives right at Killshot as he nearly completed the first spin. The Russian cyborg threw his cybernetic arm up and used it to block the knife, knocking it away. By then, gravity had finally pushed the assassin back to the ground, where he landed, and then promptly darted to one side.
"Gotcha!" Harkness shouted as he threw one boomerang after the other. Two of the weird-looking projectiles flew towards Killshot, one striking the man's left shoulder, promptly exploding. The man yelped, though it was unknown if it was from pain or surprise.
That's when the second boomerang struck its target, this one being the bazooka. Give credit to Harkness, or chalk it up to good fucking luck, but the boomerang actually managed to lodge itself into the barrel of the bazooka, exploding a second later.
Out of the corner of his eye, Deadshot noticed Electrocutioner creeping away, circling around the fight and their enemy. No doubt he was keeping his eyes open for an opening. Well, Deadshot would help him out in that regard. Doing the same but going in the opposite direction, the sharpshooter crept through the snow, one step at a time as he too circled the fight. He had both arms raised up, ready to begin firing the guns from his wrist mounts.
The smoke from the small explosion cleared up then, revealing the mouth of the bazooka to be shot. The barrel was splitting apart like a banana peel. There was no telling if it was still usable or not, but Deadshot was of the mind that it wasn't. Then again, if Killshot got desperate, he could still try.
Not wanting to find out, the sniper began firing his rounds, ignoring the thought he had to be running out of bullets soon. Just like before, his bullets struck the armored man, but didn't so much as leave a dent.
It did, however, draw Killshot's attention. Growling, the man turned to face him, his legs bracing themselves as he prepared to charge.
That was when Black Spider reappeared. Seeing the man coming in low, Deadshot stopped his gunfire so that he didn't hit his teammate. His timing was impeccable as a moment after he ceased firing, Spider swung a kick that landed on the back of one of Killshot's knees. The knee buckled, causing the man to cry out as he dropped to one knee.
The assassin then darted away once more, just in time for a blast of electricity to strike Killshot. Immediately, he seized, his body stiffened from the voltage. Damn near opposite of Deadshot was Electrocutioner, who was just letting his attack go.
Well, Deadshot knew who he wanted on his team next time around. Standing up straight, he then walked over to the stunned cyborg, forever paralyzed by the continuous flow of electricity. All the while, he made adjustments to his wrist mounts, ensuring he had his remaining armor-piercing rounds ready.
By the time he reached Killshot, Electrocutioner stopped shocking him. Small wisps of smoke rose from his body, the Russian seemingly frozen in the same pose. Because part of his helmet was broken, Deadshot got a partial look at the man's face. He was bald, freshly shaved from the look of it. His one visible eye was rolled into the back of his head from being electrocuted, so there was no telling what his eye color was. His mouth was still tightly clenched.
Pointing the barrel of his wrist mount at the side of Killshot's head, Deadshot fired a shot point blank. The man's head jerked to one side, a dent appearing on the opposite side of his head where the helmet was still intact. Killshot remained in that same pose before he slowly toppled over.
Deadshot just stood over him for only a moment before he fired several more rounds, each one tearing into the side of his head and face. Blood was flowing out of the bullet wounds, trickling down the front and back of his head until it stained the snow. Deadshot didn't stop until he was satisfied the guy was dead.
It was several moments before Boomerang trudged up to stand next to the sharpshooter. "Think he's dead now?" he asked.
"We can always slit his throat to make certain," Black Spider offered.
"If you can find his throat, be my guest," Deadshot told him. "I don't care if we have to mutilate this guy, I want to make certain he's dead. I'm not going to stumble through this tundra any further unless I know we're not being followed anymore."