There was something wrong.

It wasn't abnormal if communication with a squad ended. Sometimes contact could compromise the status of the squad, and the completion of the assigned mission took precedence. There were places in the world that communication was still an issue, even in the more developed places in the world, and that went without saying in the less developed ones. While Waller cared less about the lives of those on the task force, she despised wasting resources more, and their lives were a resource.

Lost contact was a possibility, but that did not mean it was circumstantial. Long ago, she had anticipated that a squad might try to go AWOL on her, and so there was a contingency in place. There was always a contingency in place. In this case, it was the very bombs she had implanted in every squad member's head.

She could get a location if needed. It was risky at times since doing so tended to use any and all communication networks in the area. A sharp eye paying close attention would pick up on any signals sending and receiving, thus exposing the squad potentially getting them all killed.

But this wasn't a typical situation, was it? This wasn't a facility or base hidden away from the world or a major population center. This was the Amazon rainforest, a place that lacked many of the touches of civilization. The logging camps had the most technological equipment in that place. Villages could be fully isolated and required a river to be able to have contact with the outside world, and that was not even including the more reclusive tribes inhabiting the area.

Waller attempted to locate the exact position of Delta Squad, and to her irritation, no signal was received. Another method she tried was satellite, but the forest canopy prevented even lenses from eleven miles above ground to make any kind of visual confirmation. All she had was a brief report from the ground that the squad was going in and nothing since.

When nothing else could be done on her part, outside of ensuring the squad's termination, she called in Flag.

"I don't like this," she told the colonel. "Even if they're in a dead zone, something should have gotten through by now."

"AWOL?" Flag suggested, standing straight with his hands behind his back.

Waller shook her head in the negative. "When they know the risks and happen to be in the middle of a damn rainforest? Unlikely. The communication infrastructure down there is lacking and the forest canopy is too thick. Even with that, locating their bombs would have given the game away."

"Dead?"

"They better not be," she hissed, but that possibility…was always on the table. Delta squad was…far from what she would have preferred. It was closer to a prototype squad, one that needed its roster ironed out more before it could reach its full potential.

Hell, anything under Gamma squad needed work. It may be her job to get a certain type of people to do things they would rather not do, but getting them to work together like a well oiled machine was tricky. Given enough time, she would figure it out, but the mixing and matching process was glacially slow.

Breaking a lot of eggs before making an omelet worthy of being served happened to be her style of accomplishing things.

"We can get boots on the ground, see about tracking them down," Flag suggested.

An automatic shake of her head. "Politically inconvenient right now. Get the locals to do it instead, see what they can find. If those loggers want their ecoterrorist out of the way, then they are going to need to shoulder some of the responsibility. I'll make the calls, but don't go too far. If any boot of ours goes down there, I would prefer it to be yours."

Because Flag was loyal and single-minded. He'd follow orders, no matter what he had to do to do it. If she had to send him, it would be a dire situation indeed.

Waller didn't want to send Flag in, not yet. She wanted some intel first, damn it. To have a better idea of what she would be sending Flag or another squad into. While she cared less about the lives on Task Force X, throwing away bad money was not a habit she preferred to engage in.

"I'll be on standby," Flag confirmed, nodding his head.

The warden waved him away while turning to the phone on her desk. There were calls she needed to make, and maneuvers to get the ball rolling, so to speak.

A blueprint of the entire prison was on the screen. At certain points were small squares, a plus sign in the upper left corner. Interacting with the plus sign would cause the square to expand into various sizes of rectangles, a list of names determining the size.

Victor checked each square and saw the list in each one. This was the log for who had access to which part of the Belle Reve prison complex. The longer lists were at the main entrances to the underground prison and the one above ground. Once underground, the lists became much shorter, especially when it came to more secured areas. He honestly didn't need to look into each one, but he was doing so to give the impression that he was familiarizing himself with the facility.

For someone more paranoid, they would see it as him hiding his true intentions. They would be right in that regard.

There were a couple areas that he already expected to find certain names. For his personal workshop, there was his name, along with Amanda Waller, Colonel Flag, Prison Officer Tresser, and a few other guards. Killer Frost had access too, but since her team had returned from their mission in Russia, her presence had been very absent.

He did not mind this. He did his best thinking alone.

Continuing his search, he eventually found certain areas only Waller and Flag had access to. He did not ponder much on what those areas were. The blueprint indicated small rooms, though anything could be hidden behind them. Did he need to learn what was in those places? It wouldn't hurt to know, he mused.

Eventually, he checked the research areas, and he saw the unusually few names in addition to the researchers. The researchers he did not recognize, but he did not bother looking up their credentials. There were only so many things they could be here for.

Their usefulness to him was limited, if not completely unnecessary.

As he was nearing the end of his perusal, the door to the workshop opened. He glanced to a clock and saw he had plenty of time before his next tank exchange. Had the spies watching his computer access alerted the proper authorities to what he was doing, and Waller had come to interrogate him once more?

Looking to the door, he was actually surprised to see Killer Frost. She was in her prison attire, but it didn't hide the curves of her hips, nor the rise of her breasts. It wasn't the form fitting outfit she would usually wear were she free of this prison, but it was quite apparent she was female.

"Long time no see, Iceman," she greeted him. There was an actual warmth to her tone.

"It has been some time," Victor cautiously agreed. "I had thought you lost interest."

"Heh, I never really had interest, all things considered. I was bored and figured I'd come check on you."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "One of the privileges extended to you by Waller?"

Just the mention of the prison's warden caused a sour look to appear on the woman's face. "Yeah, privilege," she grunted. "Only had to service a number of suicide missions to get this much."

"It would seem the yoke weighs heavily on you."

The icy woman came to a stop by his computer station. "Yoke?" she questioned.

"An old saying. It refers to the yoke an oxen would wear when farmers were tilling their fields. It's often used today in reference to being overworked."

"Heh, then yeah, that yoke is heavy." Frost looked up at the computer screen. "What are you doing now?"

Victor returned his attention to the monitor. "I was curious about who had access to what parts of this prison. Unsurprisingly, our warden and Colonel Flag have access to most of the complex."

"You can see what places you have access to?" she parroted. "What about me? What places can I go to?"

Having looked through many of them, Victor began opening up the squares he remembered seeing Frost's name. There were a couple that she wasn't present on, but they mattered little. Frost just watched, studying the map as she considered which places she could go.

"Huh, I didn't realize I could go to so many places," she observed. "I don't think I've been to half of them."

"One does not learn if they are not curious enough," the former scientist mused.

For a moment, there was silence between them. Then, "Sorry for getting your wife involved with all of this. I know you'd rather just stay in your cell and be left alone. I hadn't realized Waller would take advantage of it."

Victor paused before he turned his head to look at the woman. "You told her about Nora?"

"Yeah. I can tell you it was an offhand remark, but that doesn't really matter, does it? You know I had to report our interactions to the bitch, and it's not like I can leave anything out without her blowing my head off. Just said you had mentioned your old wife and Waller ran with it. So yeah, sorry about that."

Yes, he had been aware that Killer Frost would be speaking to their warden. It was a mistake on his part to have mentioned her, thus giving Waller the opening she needed. He did not feel rage at this, and merely accepted the circumstances, such as they were.

"I suppose you are here to resume those duties then," he eventually said.

"Not at all. I never wanted to do them in the first place, but again, nanobomb. If I had it my way, I wouldn't have been stuck in your cell with you for as long as we were. Hell, I would prefer to be somewhere warm, maybe a beach somewhere, sipping on a margarita or a mojito. Anything that can get me buzzed to be honest."

Then she leaned down, laying an arm across his shoulders, her face next to his. "How about you? Where would you like to be?"

This was another seduction attention, Victor recognized. There was no need for her to violate his personal space. Yet, here she was.

"You do not need to touch me," he told her coldly. "What is your true intent?"

Frost didn't even move away from him, just keeping her arm on his shoulders. The insulation in the minimalist suit he wore prevented the coldness of his body from harming her. "I'm not trying to get into your pants, if that's what you're worried about," she snorted. "I know a taken man when I see one, and I'm pretty certain there isn't a woman around that could make you even consider moving on from your wife."

"You would be correct in this."

"That's got to be incredibly lonely," she commented then. "At the very least, we could be friends. Hell, even acquaintances that chat ever so often. Besides, the rest of the squad annoys me. They get the job done when we have to do shit, but I could do without ever hearing their voices if I had a choice."

"I am a poor substitute for such companionship," the frozen man intoned.

"Your silence is better than most other people's presence."

"Is that so?"

"Have you met Peacemaker?"

Victor had to give the woman an incredulous look. "Peacemaker," he repeated.

"Big guy, obnoxious as hell, usually likes insulting everyone because he thinks they're better than them," Killer Frost rattled off a description.

"Is he also called Smith?"

"Yeah, that's him."

Well, Victor knew exactly who she was talking about, for better or worse. "I have…crossed paths with such an individual."

"Then you would know why I'd prefer you over him."

Anyone, everyone would prefer someone other than this Peacemaker. Perhaps the man was close to the location of his workshop and Frost had come in here to avoid him. Victor mentally shook himself. He was beginning to empathize with this woman, which was something he could not do. If he created companionship, then that would be one more area for Waller to strike at him with. He could not give such control over himself to her.

He refused to let anyone have such power over him.

Flag stomped on by, and Lawton watched after the soldier. Whenever the colonel was strolling down these hallways, it meant Waller was up to something. She always was, and this meant at some point he would be gearing up and heading out on another mission.

He was sick and tired of these missions, but there was nothing else he could do about it. Trapped in this hell, hoping to cut off enough time to finally get out, that is if you didn't get killed first. When you weren't on missions, then you were treated like another convict, and right now that had him mopping the floors down this particular hallway.

It actually gave him an excuse to head in Waller's direction. There might be a chance to get a heads up on what was going through the pipeline.

With a mop in hand, the small yellow trolley with its bucket half-filled with water dragged along with it, the imprisoned sniper continued with his janitorial duties while doing his best to get positioned close to Waller's office. He didn't need to get too close; hearing had to be sharpened in his line of business as he didn't like getting snuck up on. He knew how to pick up on the most minute of sounds.

At first, he only heard a soft murmuring, which was his cue to get the mophead sopped up and splattered onto the floor. The rhythmic motions of pushing forward and pulling back followed, the floor getting slick with water. He did his best to get as much of the area treated all the while edging closer to one particular doorway.

It was pure luck that the door wasn't closed all the way, and if he continued to play his cards right, the officer's occupant would be none the wiser. Plus, his warden's voice was starting to rise in volume, something that only happened if she was letting her real thoughts into the conversation.

Whoever she was talking to, they were getting on her nerves and quickly too. Whoever could do that? That she continued to talk instead of hanging up or press a button meant whoever she was calling, they either weren't on the squad or had enough pull that she wasn't able to risk pissing them off. There wasn't a shortage of such people, unfortunately.

"—been in no contact. I am unable to reach them as of this moment. Excuse me? I will not send more of my men in just for something as simple as confirmation. You have far more hands and feet available to you than I. Send some of them out."

And she was losing patience while still sounding professional. Only a hard as nails bitch like Waller could pull off a tone like that and make it sound natural. But who was she talking to? Lawton continued with the motions of his moping, not moving far enough away so that he was deaf to what was being talked about.

He wasn't able to hear who was on the line. Hell of a time to only get half of a conversation, but what could you do?

"I fail to see where that is my problem. May I remind you that you sought my help, not the other way around? You're the one that stands to lose the most if you keep playing games like this…I am going to pretend that you did not say that and continue as if we're having a professional conversation."

Whoever was on that line was not happy with her. They should be so lucky they could say whatever they wanted. The worst that could be done against them was to renege on helping out, Waller cutting her losses.

"I doubt a simple scouting expedition is beyond the capabilities of your workers. If they can find where my squad is and what their current condition is along with any and all intelligence they have gathered, I might be convinced to send another team in."

Someone here had the upper hand and it wasn't the poor sap on the other end.

"Already done so? And? What did they find? It would be in your best interest to stop wasting my time." There was a warning in the warden's tone, one that hinted that she was on her last shred of patience.

The mophead was put back into the bucket, then raised up to be slipped into a slot just over the water. A lever caused the insides of the slot to close in and thus squeeze out excessive water. Once done, the sniper was back to pushing and cleaning once more.

"Ice? All of them?"

Lawton's gut was telling him he did not like that sound of that.

"And the target?"

He waited with bated breath.

"By all accounts, you have pulled your weight. Is there anything else—do not speak that way to me again. You won't like what happens when I follow through." A pause. "You know what the difference is between you and myself? I know what I'm doing, and you wouldn't be the first to underestimate me. I can guarantee you also will not be the last. I will be prepping a second team and they will complete their end of the contract."

And that was another cue. Lawton began to speed up his work, doing his best to get some distance between himself and that doorway. From what he was able to make out, whoever Waller had sent to take care of that particular mission, they had failed. Ice might be involved. They may have been armed with those grenades Fries had cooked up.

What had happened, though, and why was it that whoever Waller was working with agitated? Something wasn't going according to plan, and the proud members of Waller's prized Suicide Squad were going to be the ones to fix it.

You didn't need to be a genius to figure out exactly who was going to be sent, but he could still be surprised.

Though, he would all but guarantee his participation if he was caught out in the open like this. There was no need to risk his hide just yet until he got the confirmation. Until then, like he always did, he would keep his head down and wait.

Ya know, when jail was your home, and you spent a lot of time away from home, you don't realize how much you missed it until you were hardly ever there.

Who would have thought being in a cell would be a vacation?

That was a rather sad commentary on Harkness' life at this point. Who ever wanted to be in jail? After tasting freedom? Even a little freedom like he…well, could he really call it freedom? He had a bomb in his head that said "yeah, right, just try me." So yeah, not exactly the good ol' U.S. of A, bald eagle flyin, stars and stripes wavin' freedom.

Perhaps if he were a middle eastern country with a large well of oil…

Memes aside, Harkness was starting to feel stir crazy. Ever since he had signed up for this Suicide Squad deal, he spent more time out of his cell and prison than being in it. Being in prison was a break from the near-death experiences that lay just outside the walls. Anyone with a brain could tell that Waller didn't give two shits about 'em. Each and every one of 'em was cannon fodder to her, nothing more.

Still, breathing fresh air would do him some good. He was kinda wondering when the next mission would come—and it would come. Waller wasn't one to let a pot boil over if she could help it.

"That pasty ass, bald head, son of a bitch. I'll tan that blue-skinned dumb fuck if I ever see him again!"

Speakin' of pots boiling over…

It was almost with regret that Harkness turned the corner. He knew the voice all too well, so he knew who he was going to find. That was Peacemaker, the loudest loudmouth you ever did see. He was workin' himself up again, mopping the floors as was his job today. The endless string of words was annoying. While he didn't mind conversation every so often, there was just something 'bout this dingbat that made him crave the silence.

It also wasn't that much of a stretch to realize who he was talkin' about either. There were only so many people with blue skin around here, and that was Waller's favorite pet at the moment. Why Peacemaker was mad at him, well, that was anyone's guess.

There were a couple other inmates with him, ones Harkness didn't know. Didn't matter really, they were probably on the short list for Epsilon. Call them Inmates 1 and 2.

"God, will you shut up?" Inmate 1 demanded. Clearly, he was tired of Peacemaker's bitching. "You've been talking about that guy all day. Find something else to mumble about, or just shut your fucking mouth."

"That's tough talk coming from you," Peacemaker rebutted. "You want to shut me up, you're gonna have to earn it."

"Just give me an excuse," Inmate 1 spat back.

"Knock it off, the both of ya," Inmate 2 interjected. "I don't want to hear either of you two bickering like brats."

Peacemaker dropped his mop, the handle clashing on the floor loudly. He held out both of his arms. "C'mon then. If you two think you can take me, here's your chance. Just know I'll beat both of your candy asses like a drum."

Harkness just watched the bravado, then rolled his eyes. Yeah, he was totally skipping this. This wasn't even entertaining to watch.

However, something did catch his eye. On one of Peacemaker's arms was a handprint. It was clear as day, like someone had grabbed him there with their hand covered in ink and the ink stayed.

He should have kept walking. He should have just left this latest example of American machismo. Yet, he was transfixed by that handprint.

One of the other inmates noticed this. "What the hell are you looking at?" Inmate 1 demanded.

This caused Peacemaker to drop his arms as he turned to face the Aussie, as well as Inmate 2. Well, he was being dragged into this. Might as well figure out what the heck happened to the dumbass' arm. "Just admiring the tattoo on Smith's arm," he said, not the least bit intimidated by the machismo spewed his way.

Peacemaker looked at his arm and his scowl was back in full force. "That pissant Iceman did this to me. Fuckin' grabbed my arm and did that. Shit hasn't gone away."

The Iceman did that? The next question was how that could happen, but again, Harkness knew better than to ask. He was pretty certain he wouldn't understand the answer. Still, it was surprising that the Iceman raised his hand against someone. He seemed to not want anything to do with other people.

Knowing Peacemaker, he probably tried to instigate something with Fries and that was the result. Could hardly fault the frigid man for that. "You do know the Iceman's a threat for a reason," he mentioned. Not that he had seen proof of it; none of them had. There were only the stories about him.

"Pfft, they're clearly played up," Peacemaker blew off. "What has he done exactly? Set up a bomb? That's it? I've killed more people in one night than he ever has. Why should he get more respect?"

That was a pretty good point. Harkness was pretty certain that everyone in Belle Reve had a higher body count by this point. Fries was just a guy with a reputation, that was it.

And yet, there had been that thing in Gotham not too long ago. The one where all of those nutjobs broke out of their asylum, and trashed the city. It was said the Iceman was involved in that too. And considering one of those inmates was the bleedin' Joker; well, you had to be able to hold your own against someone that held the record for active murders.

"I ain't got any idea why the Iceman is treated the way he is," Harkness admitted, "but apparently he's held his own against some of those crazies in Gotham. That's got to count for something, right?"

"Bullshit," the musclehead retorted. "All of them die the same way, with a bullet to the head. That no one has tried means that no one has the balls to do it. You give me a gun, and I'll put a bullet in the head of each of those insane sons of bitches. Count on it."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Harkness shrugged as he began walking off. He really shouldn't have stopped.

To Guest: Fries's current suit is based off of the undersuit Fries' wears in Arkham City, though we only see him in the pants rather than a full bodysuit. The helmet is whatever you see fit. There really isn't a model for it.