Hot, sticky, and miserable, that's what a freaking rainforest was. How could anyone stand to be here? Live here? Do—hold on a second, the ground was…muddy. Slick. Goddamn.
Oh, and the bugs! Mosquitoes and other things that wanted nothing to do but to bite, bite, bite, and suck, suck, suck until you were a husk of yourself. Multiplex was lucking out there because his suit covered every inch of him. Everyone else? Not so much. So much slapping, and sometimes you might get the culprit, more often than not, you didn't.
They arrived by plane, then with a smaller plane to some place out in the tropical boonies, then a ride on a jeep until it could go no further. At this point, it was walking only. You would think that heading to one of the places where their target had been seen would be their first stop.
It had been. It was where the small group had arrived after the second plane ride. That had been a cleared-out area with a dirt landing strip for them to land on, and anything that didn't involve that had all sorts of construction, or in this case destruction, vehicles and equipment. They were clearing out swathes of rainforest, for what none of them really cared.
Who knew agreeing to joining the Suicide Squad would lead to a place like this? Lots of brown people here, all sweaty, all exhausted looking, but not working all the same. Too many attacks had them on standby until the threat was past, though there were some brave souls daring to chip away at the edges.
The jeep ride had taken them deeper into the forest, more towards where the most recent attack had taken place. Talk about a bumpy ride. Everyone was rattled, but not because there had been any action.
But then the jeep got stuck, and it was on foot from there.
The ground was so soft. You could feel yourself sinking briefly. If it wasn't solid enough, then there was squelching. Horrible sound that was becoming. It felt like it took so much effort to walk. Why hadn't they done anything about—oh right, they were tearing it down, so they hadn't gotten anything to be stable yet.
Anyone who was wearing fabric had them darkly stained with their sweat. Any exposed skin had rivets of the liquid flowing down them. Breathing was heavy for those wearing any kind of armor or carrying anything heavy. So, basically Javelin and Mad Dog.
"Stinkin' jungle," Punch muttered to himself as he stepped down and sank up to his calf in mud. "Who thought it was a good idea to have this?" Some effort was used to yank his leg out of the mud and—oh great, dirty and stained. Going to be a bitch to wash it out.
Jewelee shoved aside large, green leaves that then swung back into place and slapped Javelin in the face.
"Watch it!" Javelin snapped.
"You do better if you can!" Jewelee retorted until she ran into thick brush—if you could call it that—herself. "Ugh!"
"Careful, dear." Punch reached back to steady his wife.
"Why are we here? This place is horrible!" Jewelee exploded, tearing the tropical foliage apart with her hands.
"Got a job to do," Mad Dog grunted from the front of the pack.
"And the bitch has to choose for it to be out here?" Jewelee demanded.
No one answered her. There was not a good enough answer to give in the first place.
"You think this is rough? I'm the one in all black. Care barely breathe," Multiplex grumbled. The man suddenly tripped on a tree root and down he went. There was a splat that followed. "I hate this fucking place!"
You and all of them. This was miserable. Why couldn't Waller have sent any of them to, let's say, Hawaii? Have some Mai Tais while they were at it. But no, no, not even Rio, the middle of the Goddamn Amazon. Wasn't there a river too? Didn't that river have piranhas in it? This got better and better, didn't it?
Those grenades that Waller had them bring with them, they weighed on the waist a bit noticeably. You know what happens when you have something heavy that you have to carry while surrounded by heat and mud and everything else? More sweat and exhaustion, that's what.
They had been told what they could do, but who really believed it? Capture something in a block of ice, right. Why not just go to the North Pole and take a swim? Same effect. Actually, that sounded a bit nice right about now.
"So hot…" Jewelee moaned as she stumbled her next few steps. One of her hands brushed against one of the grenades which they brought with them. Her eyes flickered downward and stared hard at the weapons. "These…these make ice, right? We can use one. Use it to cool down—"
"Don't even bother," Javelin snapped at her. "Save them. Throw them at the bitch we're trying to find, and when we get her, then you can cool off."
"Dick," Jewelee grumbled.
Beside her, Punch was about to throw an arm around her, but then thought better of it. The heat was stifling enough as it was and adding another's body heat to that… "We should keep our eyes peeled. Who knows, we might just 'see' whoever we're looking for and who knows? They might be too fast for these things, am I right?"
The only female frowned, but then her eyes lit up as she figured out what her husband was hinting at. Give it a few minutes and they just might "see" someone and need to freeze them. Yeah. Right. Just a few minutes, no one would mind.
As the squad trekked further through the forest, none noticed the pair of eyes watching them.
There was a compartment door that formed the outer hull of the generator. The hatch was opened, revealing a complex weave of computer circuits and wires. Fries was sliding a circuit board into place, then connecting it with a wire, inserting it into a port. That should be the last circuit needed.
The other pieces had been attached, and all that was left was to install the necessary program. Linking up a computer, Victor struck a few keys before a window appeared, an endless stream of text appearing. It seemed to write itself out, sometimes filling the entire window, other times only a few letters appeared before jumping to the next line.
Victor waited until the code finished. He then typed in a few more keys, hit enter, then typed a longer code. Once he was satisfied, he hit enter again, and more text began to appear.
A few seconds later and the generator began to hum, the sound growing louder before it faded abruptly. There, that should do it.
Disconnecting the computer, Victor then closed the hatch, hearing it click into place. The computer he had been using was on a rolling cart. Rolling up the wires that had previously connected the computer to the generator, he placed the coiled mess onto the cart.
"You finished?" a guard asked him, a bored expression on his face.
"I am," the scientist answered.
"Good. Let's get you back to where you belong."
Victor didn't respond to that. He didn't even finish cleaning up his mess and just walked away from it. Someone else would be along to clean it up, he assumed. It wasn't his preference; he wouldn't dream of doing such a thing in his own lab. However, there was this permissiveness that permeated this place. The guards did not care if he kept a tidy work area if his efforts delayed their duties. Their irritation was palpable.
Leaving the generator room, the bald man allowed himself to be guided back to the main cell block, blatantly ignoring the prison population there. However, he couldn't help but glance towards a doorway that he had yet to access. He had witnessed a number of people in white coats go in and out of that door.
Such people were an uncommon sight in a prison.
What that told Victor was that there was something through that doorway that required people of certain expertise. He had an inkling as to what that expertise was.
"Heh, so you're the Iceman."
Victor slowed to a stop. The guards did the same, each one grimacing. Following their looks, he found a towering man nearby. He had his arms crossed over his chest, muscles chiseled from constant workouts. There was this look of superiority on his face, as if he were looking down on the hypothermic man.
"Smith, back off," one of the guards ordered. "He's dangerous."
"He doesn't look that dangerous," Smith snorted. He took a step, and then another, drawing closer to Victor. He found himself tilting his head back to look up at the man. "I've got to say, I'm disappointed."
"I don't believe we've met," Victor said.
"Believe me, you'd remember me if we had. They say that you're a walking disaster. Well, from where I'm standing, the only disaster you could make is making snow fall in July when you pee."
He was a crude one. No doubt there was hardly an intelligent thought in his head that didn't revolve around bully-like tactics. "I am merely passing through. If you would not mind…"
"No, I don't mind," Smith replied. "I mean, you're basically wearing a high-tech fishbowl on your head. That's hardly scary. Tsk, you're hardly a threat without that suit of yours."
At this, Victor noticed one of the guards glance away and to the doorway he had yet to use. It was only for a moment or so, but it was enough to give him further confirmation of his suspicions.
He returned his attention to the prisoner in front of him. "I did not build that suit to be a weapon, but to protect my life. It was never meant for battle."
"Bullshit,' the man snorted. He then took another step closer to him, invading his personal space. "I'm willing to bet that you're as helpless as a puppy. You're nothing without your little ice toys."
Victor stared at him, then contemplated his next move. The correct choice would be to ignore this stubborn bully and walk away. However, that had never worked on his bullies in grammar school. In a prison, such a tactic would have a similar result. No, such people could not be reasoned with; only a lesson equal in blood could work.
To do so in his condition would cause him some pain, but it would certainly make his point.
"Do you know the properties of cold?" Victor suddenly asked.
Smith blinked his eyes. "Of cold?" he repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Cold is merely the absence of heat. Yet, they are both linked to each other in a never-ending battle. One such concept is the formation of a hurricane. A hurricane is created when hot air rises about the ocean, leaving a void that needs to be filled. Air from all over rushes in, which is the phenomenon we know as wind. However, in this case, that moving air is coming from a colder area. That same area ends up leaving a void as well, which causes air to rush there as well. When this phenomenon becomes cyclical, rotating, only then does a hurricane forms."
As he spoke, he held his hand up, using his other hand to begin peeling the glove he wore off.
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Smith demanded.
"I just wanted to explain the concept of what is about to happen to you," Victor said as he fully removed the glove, exposing his skin to the much warmer air. The very heat, even at room temperature, felt as if it were scalding his skin, Victor doing his best to not hiss from the pain he felt.
Then he grabbed Smith's forearm with his bear hand.
"GyaaaAAAAAAHHHHH!" Smith screamed as he jerked himself back. Victor held his grip firmly for as long as he could, at least until Smith yanked it out of his grasp. On his arm where the bald man's hand had been was a blue handprint, one so dark in hue that it was nearly black. The moment he saw this, Smith roared, "What did you do to me, you freak?!"
Victor quickly slipped his glove back on, feeling the coldness still within his suit sooth his burning skin. He took several short breaths as he fought the pain.
It seemed being ignored was not what Smith wanted and he lunged forward, grabbing onto Victor's shoulder and yanking him towards him. "Answer me, you walking icicle fuck!"
"Put him down!" one of the guards shouted as he took aim with his machine gun. The other guard did the same, flicking the safety off of his. "Let go, Smith, or that little bit of frostbite won't matter as you'll be in the morgue!"
"Do you see this?" Smith pressed. "This motherfucker attacked me! And you're pointing your guns at me and not him! That isn't the American way!"
"The only way here is the Waller way, and she says no one fucks with the Iceman," the same guard countered. "Now back the fuck away, or we start shooting."
Smith stared at them incredulously before he shoved Victor back. "This isn't over, bitch," he seethed.
No, Victor couldn't imagine it was.
Openings, breaks, or even meadows were not present in a rainforest. Go figure. Just tree after tree, plants all over the place, bugs, bugs, bus galore, but hey, at least the sun wasn't in any of their eyes.
You had beams of light slipping through the thick canopy above, which was the only way to tell if it was still daylight. You'd think with all of the shade, it would be cooler, but you would be wrong.
Misery was really a distracting kind of thing. The longer you were miserable, the more you wanted to do something else that would make you less miserable. So, you know, distracting.
It was distracting enough that the snarl of a jaguar was enough to scare them all, even if some would not admit it.
A hand to her chest, Jewelee gasped out, "Oh, it's just…a big cat. Spots. Neat."
"It's just the local wildlife," Mad Dog grunted. "Ignore it."
"What if it tries to eat us?" Jewelee asked, voice cracking slightly.
"Then kill it," Javelin retorted.
Punch peered in the direction that they had heard the growl. If you looked hard enough, you could make out…something in all of the foliage. It was hiding in all the brush, clearly, but that growl had been easy to hear. If you positioned yourself just right, you could swear you could see light reflecting off of feline eyes.
Then the puppeteer asked, "Wasn't there something about a big cat attacking people too?"
Javelin was hit, something large slamming into him with enough force that he was carried off his feet and landed on his back, nearly disappearing in all the green. You could hear the soft soil mushing under his body from the impact.
And there she was, rising up from where Javelin once stood. Dark skin compared to that exposed on the squad's, luscious black hair with a prominent white stripe, clothing was lacking though the, ahem, appropriate areas had cover, and a very long yet thin knife was held in reverse, light flashing off of its surface.
She glared at them, her very fit body tense and ready to pounce. "Leave," she stated, her voice exotically accented.
"That's her!" Multiplex declared, multiple versions of himself splitting from his body, each one shorter than the last.
"About time!" Mad Dog roared as he raised up his automatic weapon.
Punch practically tackled Jewelee out of the way, the aim of the masked man on the target and everything in its path. That had included the married couple.
Not hesitating, Mad Dog pulled the trigger, but the target was gone. What wasn't gone was one of Multiplex's copies, which ended up getting riddled with bullets. Blood splattered as the body jerked and collapsed, doing so once the friendly fire ended.
"Watch where you're shooting!" Multiplex snarled.
Mad Dog didn't get a chance to retort. His legs were suddenly kicked out from under him, the man falling to the ground only to be rolled over and his head jerked back. A very long blade hissed along his throat, not quite marring the skin, but it wouldn't take much.
"Last chance," the woman hissed from behind.
Mad Dog didn't get a chance to respond. Then again, his response was going to be a big fuck you, he was already dead if he did leave, but Javelin's response was more immediate. A disassembled spear was assembled and thrown with deadly accuracy, and the target chose to save her own skin rather than be impaled with a flying polearm. That did not mean it was entirely clean as the knife's blade nicked Mad Dog's neck as it withdrew.
The spearhead stabbed into the thick base of a tree, but it did not remain there for long. The target was grabbing its shaft and pulling it out, a lithe hand gripping it with confidence. Javelin pulled out another spear, one that was pieced together in seconds. The two of them, the blond squad member and the exotic tribe women began circling one another, each eyeing the other, searching for an opening.
Rising up from the green, Punch kept himself over his wife, watching the action unfold. Jewelee was doing much the same as she too watched the standoff. Both were waiting for an opportunity to strike.
Javelin went first, lunging at the tribal woman with a thrusting spear. The dark-haired woman held her ground, blocking and parrying the thrusting weapon. She jabbed forward with the spear's shaft, Javelin jerking his head back to avoid it. Blows were enchanted, neither hitting one another as spear and spear clashed against one another.
Plants were trampled underfoot, bark was dislodged from trees when a slashing spearhead missed, and metal clanged against metal time and time again. The target had some acrobatics to her, flexibility and agility keeping her ahead of Javelin's raw strength and skill.
Then a Multiplex copy tried to interrupt, charging at the dark-skinned woman from her right. Without breaking a sweat, she blocked the charging copy, getting an "oof!" out of him only then to jab the flat side of the spearhead into the side of the copy's head. The butt end of the shaft swung and landed against the left pectoral, then that butt end slammed down on the top of a left foot. A knee rammed into a stomach, bending the copy over, and it was at that moment that Javelin made another charge.
The blond-haired man's weapon was aimed right for that lithe figure. The torso was the planned area to strike. Time slowed even as it thundered ahead, and the feet were becoming inches.
The woman hooked the appropriated spear around the Multiplex copy and then spun the two of them around. It was the copy that ended up impaled on Javelin's spear, the woman herself putting some space between the two of them.
"Oh, come on!" Multiplex cried out.
While Multiplex mourned the death of a second copy, Punch and Jewelee were the ones to jump into action. Jewelee slipped out three gems, each one held in place between her fingers. From the gems, light flashed out in the direction of the tribal woman. The dark-skinned woman shielded her eyes with an arm.
"Good work!" Punch praised as he held up a stylized gun. Taking aim, he fired not a bullet but what appeared to be multiple strings.
Though vision was impaired, the exotic beauty must have had strong senses and good reflexes. Javelin's stolen spear was swung into the path of the strings, the strings wrapping around the weapon and almost snagging the woman until she abruptly let go of it.
He had no use for a spear…well, not from here. Besides, it wasn't his style. Throwing his arm to a side—and not throwing his gun away, have to make a note of that—the spear was thrown away where it hurtled through the air until it unexpectedly stopped into the body of another Multiplex copy.
"Ooh!" Punch winced. "Sorry!"
"You're all assholes!"
Totally deserved that.
Flicking a little switch on the gun, the strings oozing from its barrel was sliced off and fell to the ground. Now he was good enough for a second shot. Jewelee was continuing to blind their target, so at least that hadn't changed. Taking more careful aim, he fired another volley of strings. Without the spear, she was vulnerable and soon he would be able to control her.
Because of the light from Jewelee's gems, none were able to see the pendant that the woman was wearing, nor how it too began to glow. What they were able to see was that in one second, their target was right there, Punch's strings incoming and about to grab her, and in the next second there was nothing but air, the strings flying through that suddenly empty space harmlessly.
Punch blinked. "What just—"
A powerful blow to the back of his head had him crumpling onto the ground. Jewelee whipped her head about only to receive the bottom of a foot to her nose. Back she went as she was swallowed up by the leafy forest floor. From her hand, the three gems she held fell loose and scattered into the soil.
Bullets began ringing out once more, but just as before, the woman was gone again. Mad Dog swore, whipping his head about as he tried to find her. Where the hell could she be? What the hell was going on?
A noise, much like a crunch, had him whipping about and firing several shots to his right. No Multiplex copies were hit this time. Mad Dog's breathing was getting heavy, neck muscles tensed as his Adam's apple bobbed. Where did she go?
A foot swung and struck the underside of his automatic, the barrel of the weapon pointed straight up. The mask-wearing gunman barely threw his head back, the long knife their target wielded nearly grazing his throat. She was moving quick, and he only had enough time to swing his rifle so that it was between himself and the follow up knife slash. Blocked, he attempted to aim and shoot her, but she was suddenly to his left and shoving his aim off even as he pulled the trigger. Bullets rifled but only hit a tree trunk.
A leg hooked around his, then pulled up. Mad Dog found himself balancing on one leg for a few seconds before balance was lost and he fell down to the muddy ground. A foot then pinned one of his arms down, specifically the one that had a finger on the automatic's trigger. From above, the woman glared down at him, light sheening off of her knife, and in that seconds, Mad Dog knew what was coming next.
Turns out he was wrong because Javelin came running in, and while the woman jumped off the masked man, his squad mate ran over him. Growling, Javelin spun on a heel and threw his spear with force and precision.
Their target ducked under the spear, but that move slowed her down long enough for Javelin to get back in close to her. A fist swung, power and strength contained in it, but the dark-haired woman evaded that too. Who didn't was another Multiplex copy that got decked in the face.
An elbow struck Javelin's gut, but he bore it with a grunt. Pushing the offensive, he lobbed punch after punch at the woman, and their target kept avoiding each and every one of them.
Several yards away, Jewelee was picking herself up, mud staining her costume. She was grimacing with disgust, but as she looked up, she could see the person responsible duking it out with her teammate. An unsteady hand was reluctantly lowered so that she could push herself back onto her feet, but a slight miscalculation had the limb brushing against a larger than normal grenade.
Her eyes looked down, and in a few seconds, the proverbial lightbulb flashed on in her brain. Of course, those freaking grenades! Why hadn't they been using them yet?
Getting back onto unstable legs, Jewelee removed one of the grenades she carried, and after a few seconds of fiddling with it, she activated it. She thought she activated it and—oh right, there was a knob on top of it and not a pin. Of all the times to actually pay attention when someone was demonstrating something… Forget it, she was ready to ice this bitch.
She watched for a few seconds, watching as Javelin got nowhere with his punches, and then with a tongue slightly sticking out of the corner of her mouth, she pulled her arm back while turning the knob until she heard three clicks. With a lot of effort, she threw the grenade, waiting in anticipation as it flew closer and closer and closer…
It had been a clear shot. Really. Jewelee had had a view of nothing but the woman's back. There was no way for her to see what was coming. And then the tribeswoman practically danced to a side, moving out of the way of the grenade. You know who didn't? Javelin.
The device detonated just as it hit the man's chest, and in seconds, there was nothing but a block of ice that just happened to have Javelin right in the middle of it. His face was scrunched up in frustration and effort, and now it was stuck that way.
Well, crap.
Her name was Ya'Wara.
This forest was her home. It had been since her birth. No matter how many years it was, or the places she journeyed to, this place would always be near and dear to her heart.
That it was under assault had her mobilized to protect it. It wasn't just the fact that it was her home, but the home for the beasts that also lived there. Friends and allies they were, and while she was not like a friend who could communicate with a specific kind of wildlife, she understood the fear and confusion of these animals who did not understand this intrusion.
For months she had battled with the men who had come here, wreaking destruction with every footstep they took and damaged the machines they brought with them. For a brief moment, they had begun to withdrawal, but she understood they only did so because they had summoned this group of individuals to eliminate her.
She would not be brought down that easily.
The fight was strenuous, and she was outnumbered. She had to keep ahead of everything these people used against her. They…they were capable of harming themselves just as much as they attempted to harm her. It was…different than what she was used to.
It changed, though, when there was ice where there should be no ice.
One of the men was encased in it. There was no expression of surprise or shock, just the one that promised violence. For a brief instant, she found herself becoming still as she stared at the sight.
"You moron!" one of the other men yelled.
"I thought I had her!" the lone woman yelled back.
Right. Focus. The danger was not passed.
"She's got a good idea, though," the man in a garish costume argued as he held a round object in his hand. "Can't hit her, freeze the whole—"
A hand had been turning a knob. This much Ya'Wara had been able to make out. As she braced herself for what would come next, what happened was something she had not prepared for.
There had been a brief click when that knob had turned, but just as it had happened, blue smoke erupted from the device and engulfed the man. As it dissipated, the man in the garish costume was enveloped in ice along with some of the plants around him. He seemed to be in the middle of speaking, the expression on his face held no awareness of what was happening to him.
Her sharp ears picked up another click, and her gaze fell on the one man with a gun. Though he was crouching, his head was bent down to look at his waist, and then he too was covered in the same blue smoke. Much like the man before, he was covered in ice as well, but with his face both lowered and covered, you could not tell what expression he was making.
"Oh man! Oh shit! Oh no!" Panic, she understood that tone. She found it had come from the man in black, the one whom there were multiple ones of with decreasing height. His hands were reaching to his belt in fright, but then the blue smoke erupted once more. There was another one, one that slowly revealed a smaller copy that was covered in ice too. Three more revealed smaller copies of the man frozen solid as well.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no—" the last remaining and woman sputtered as she practically tore at her waist. It was for nothing as with a scream, she vanished into a small cloud of blue. Once the smoke was gone and only ice remained, Ya'Wara could see the visage of fear perpetually frozen on the woman's face.
In that instant, the fighting was over. The native of this land looked over the bizarre sight, struggling to understand what had just occurred. Had their own weapons turned against them? Why? How?
What devilry was at work here?
While she was curious, Ya'Wara knew better than to remain. A hand reached to the pendant she wore, an artifact she had been entrusted with by the previously mentioned dear friend. Barely a thought was needed to activate the pendant's power, and she vanished from this place.
The icy tombs of these would-be assassins were all that remained behind.