Suicide Squad

by Marv Wolfman

  “The change cannot be contested,” she said loudly enough that everyone could hear every word. “But it will not hurt if you surrender to the light. Accept what is already done.” She wrapped her robe around him and kissed him. Her lips pressed to his as a chrysalis of light surrounded them both. A similar glow came from the septagram, and writhed around them.

  The witch held him a few seconds more before releasing him. Then she smiled.

  The SEAL gasped, and cursed under his breath.

  Her kiss somehow turned him into one of those things. This was where those creatures came from, he realized. The would-be goddess took his people, his friends, and turned them into more of her blasphemous monsters.

  The SEAL couldn’t look away. He bowed deeply, took a weapon from a large pile, and joined the line of Enchantress’s slaves. The decent man he had been was gone. This thing was an enemy now. Something they might have to kill—if they survived long enough.

  Killing their friends—killing their family—that wasn’t what any of them had signed on to do.

  FORTY-ONE

  Fifth Avenue was a decimated wasteland, most of its buildings leveled to the ground, shattered glass and other debris strewn across the street.

  A window shattered.

  Harley batted aside the few remaining glass shards from the window of Northern Lights, a stylish clothing store frequented mostly by millennials aged twenty-one through thirty. She had stolen some of her favorite outfits from the Northern Lights store in Gotham City.

  She reached in and pulled an expensive crystal purse off of its display pedestal. When she turned back to the street, everyone was staring at her. Except for Flag.

  Flag glared at her. “Seriously? What is it with you people?”

  Unfazed, she swung the little purse over her shoulder, and rolled her eyes at him.

  “We’re bad guys, remember. It’s what we do.”

  Harley struck a pose and checked her reflection in the mirror. “How does this look?” Arms out, she danced a bit, reveling in her new acquisition. “Me likee.”

  * * *

  Flag shook his head and walked off. He hoped when push came to shove, they’d do the job he needed them to do. Until then, might as well let them have their little fun.

  They’ll pay for it all later, he thought optimistically.

  * * *

  Lawton saw Croc standing about thirty yards away. Then Croc gestured for him. Deadshot looked back and saw Flag was deep in conversation with GQ and a few of the other SEALs, probably arguing over who had the biggest gun.

  They call themselves heroes, but they’re just as ridiculous as everyone else, he mused. Then he let Croc come to him. “You want something?”

  “Yeah,” Croc said. “When we’re back in Gotham City I have a list for you. Names I want scratched out.”

  Now that was unexpected.

  “You have any idea what my fee is?” he said dismissively.

  Croc laughed, or gave what Deadshot took as a laugh. It was deep, guttural, and nasty.

  “You killed a man once,” Croc said.

  “More than once. That’s my job. I do it well.”

  “Whatever. He was an important man. You cut out his heart and sent it to the client.”

  Then Deadshot remembered the job. The client’s requests were twisted, but he paid big for it.

  “I don’t discuss my business,” Deadshot said.

  Croc laughed again. “I was the client. I know what you cost.”

  Deadshot stared, studying him. There were deeper levels to this… man… than he would have expected. He’d have to take the job offer seriously.

  Suddenly Flag shouted.

  “Everyone take a knee,” he bellowed. The SEALs immediately formed a perimeter around the Squad. They watched as Flag double-checked his map, then pointed to the Federal Building just four blocks away. “Our VIP’s at the top of that building. We get up there, pull the target out of the vault, and make it to the roof. Helos will be waiting for us.

  “After that, it’s Miller time.”

  Deadshot took his monocle and used it to bring the Federal Building into clear focus. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  “Who’s up there?” he asked curiously.

  Flag started toward their destination. “Not your concern,” he said, as the others joined, following behind.

  Deadshot wasn’t pleased. Why do I think this is all turning to crap? he thought, but he held his tongue.

  FORTY-TWO

  The Federal Building was less than a hundred fifty yards away. Flag kneeled behind an overturned garbage truck, and watched EAs move in and out of the area, doing whatever the hell EAs did. He gestured to the SEALs, about twenty yards behind him.

  We’re ready. Let’s do this.

  Moving in pairs, they scurried to their new positions, their rifles locked and loaded, and ready if any of the creatures spotted them.

  None did. Waller believed they were of a hive mind, fixed on a given task to the exclusion of all others. Unless programmed to do so, a single EA couldn’t directly dictate the actions of another. Flag hoped that was true. It might make it easier for them to slip past.

  With the SEALs in place, Flag darted ahead. He waited for the crowd of EAs to thin out, then gave the sign for the SEALs to leapfrog him again. They would continue that way until they were inside the building.

  * * *

  Deadshot hunkered behind the chain-link fence that surrounded the Federal Building. He was rapidly growing impatient with Flag and the SEALs and their snail-pace dance. At their current dead-man-walking speed, it would take them another twenty minutes to get inside. What was needed, he decided, wasn’t a cotillion, but a little rock ’n’ roll.

  He slipped through a break in the fence and made his way to the front door. The creatures, involved with their own tasks, paid no attention to him. Group mind. Waller’s analysis appeared to be on target.

  He waved to Flag and company, opened the door, and stepped inside.

  * * *

  Amanda Waller watched the drone feed from inside the ops center. She shook her head as Deadshot disobeyed his orders and calmly walked into the building. She held the remote detonator, deciding what to do.

  That bastard’s going to get everyone killed. At the same time she almost admired him—at least he got things done. So she put down the detonator and turned to the tech assigned to direct the camera. “Any visible threats?” she asked.

  The tech maneuvered the drone over the Federal Building rooftop and had it do a 360º scan of the area.

  “No, ma’am,” he answered. “All clear.”

  Waller sat back in her chair, her hands nervously clasped together behind her head. Something was going to screw this up, she feared. Somehow, this mission was going to go south. But she said nothing. She needed the techs to do their jobs, and she didn’t want to add anything into the mix that might distract them.

  * * *

  Deadshot used his carbine sight to scan the Federal Building lobby. It was clear. Either the EAs were lousy tacticians and forgot to place guards, or they weren’t at all worried that the humans might find them. He prayed it was the former, but he knew better.

  He crossed to the guard desk and checked the security monitors, which were still active—they had to have an internal power source. Each was focused on a different area of the building.

  “All sectors are clear,” he said as Flag and the others entered.

  “You were supposed to follow orders, Lawton,” the colonel growled, “and that meant following me, not going off on your little scavenger hunt.”

  “If I listened to you, we’d still be outside.”

  Flag turned to scan the monitors. “You do know you’re an asshole.”

  “Better believe it,” Deadshot replied. “It’s on my business card. ‘Floyd Lawton, asshole assassin.’ You want, I can tell you where to get ’em printed. All you’d need to do is change the name.”

  “I don’t see the problem, mates
,” Boomer said, interrupting. “Looks like we had a spot of luck. A walk in the park. Easy peasy.”

  “Will you please shut up,” Deadshot said. “Getting inside was the easy part. Finding our target won’t be.”

  “That was the easy part?” Boomer asked, concerned.

  “We’re still alive,” Deadshot answered.

  “What’s the hard part?”

  “When we’re not.”

  * * *

  Flag checked the building’s blueprints on his tablet. Satisfied, he put it back into its case and walked off to the left.

  “Atrium’s this way. The stairs up are on the far end. Don’t wander.” He was talking to all of them, but he was staring at Deadshot.

  FORTY-THREE

  Squad and SEALs followed Flag out of the lobby toward the building’s second quad. None of them noticed the slight movement on the guard desk’s main security monitor. For just an instant an EA looked at the camera, then scurried past, out of range.

  * * *

  “Any of you wankers got a clue why we’re doing this?” Boomer asked as they made their way through one endless stark white corridor after another. “Just saying, I’d rather be safe behind bars than get myself killed. Anyone else thinking about that?”

  Flag tapped his cell phone holster. “Feel free to make a break for it, Harkness. I’m all for it.”

  “Calm down, you two,” Deadshot said.

  Croc stared at Lawton. “Something going on here I don’t know? When did you become Mister Peace Between All Nations?”

  “When they put their damned bomb in my neck. It’s powerful enough to blow even you to tiny bits.”

  “There is that, mate,” Boomer said, nodding. “We don’t have any choice. But, Flaggy, I hope you realize that also means we’re not actually on your side. We’re just going along for the ride, until we don’t have to anymore.”

  Flag kept walking. “I don’t need your loyalty, Harkness. All I want from you are your boomerangs, doing whatever the hell I need them to do.”

  “I can just hand ’em over to you, and then go back to sleep in my cell. I’d enjoy watching you try to handle them.”

  Diablo sided up to Boomer and put a hand on his shoulder. For just an instant Harkness thought the big man might be getting ready to set him on fire, but Diablo just wanted to talk.

  “This is not the time to fight among ourselves,” he said somberly, “and it’s definitely not the time to argue with him. Flag holds all the cards.”

  “Yeah, well, according to you, it’s never the time to fight. So when, exactly, did you become a loser?”

  “When I figured out that fighting destroys you, and killing doesn’t strengthen you. Never. Believe me. I know.”

  “I like fighting and I like killing,” Boomerang said, and he laughed. “And when I kill I feel good. So your theory’s all shot to hell.”

  “But that blissful feeling is only temporary. Kills are like drugs. You need more and more to get that same feeling again. Today it’s one kill. Tomorrow two. Next week it’ll take a dozen. Not only is there no end in sight, but after a while you forget why you ever started. Your need for relief, rather than your intellect, takes over—and it is insatiable.”

  Boomerang laughed and looked to Deadshot. “Lawton, you’re an assassin, mate. You wanna tell the boys what you think about killing?”

  “I don’t,” Deadshot responded. “It’s just my job. How I pay the rent. Nothing to get emotional about.”

  Flag turned to him with a look of disgust. “And what does your daughter think about it? How much of that part of your life have you shown to Zoe?”

  Lawton didn’t like the question. He had always tried to separate his life from his work. He never told Zoe exactly what he did, and he never wanted her to learn the truth.

  “She… she said she still loves me.”

  “Because of, or in spite of?”

  Deadshot closed his eyes, and again took control of his anger.

  Later, he thought fiercely. Not now. When the time is right. When Zoe is mine again. When this bastard can’t separate us again. Nothing else matters. Nothing but Zoe.

  “Screw you, Flag,” he said aloud. “Don’t we have VIPs to rescue and monsters to kill? So how about we shut up and do our job?”

  * * *

  It was only a few minutes later when they reached the atrium, a soaring, inspiring cathedral of glass in the center court of the vast government complex. Flag checked the blueprints then headed toward the closest stairwell.

  “This way,” he said. “Elevator’s not trustworthy. We’re taking the stairs. It’ll be good for your cardio.”

  “The stairs? For crap’s sake,” Boomer said. “I definitely did not sign up for that.” He looked at the stairs, then back to the others. “Hey. Where’s the cuckoo bird? She’s not here.”

  “Maybe a dingo ate her,” Deadshot retorted.

  Boomer laughed. “We can hope, mate. We can only hope.”

  * * *

  Harley leaned against the door to the glass elevator, bat propped by her side, cell phone in hand. She typed a quick message then hit “send.” Less than a minute later the phone buzzed. The reply.

  I am close. Be ready.

  The header said it had been sent by Mr. J.

  Harley beamed with anticipation. As the elevator rose, she saw Deadshot staring up at her. She waved, but he was pointing frantically.

  She looked up just as an EA punched through the roof panel and dropped inside. It lunged for her. She fell back and somersaulted over it, kicking while in mid-spin.

  The thing slammed into the elevator’s glass wall, but used the impact to push itself back into Harley. It forced her to the ground and grabbed her by the throat. She twisted her legs around its head and snapped it back. It flipped over and landed on its feet, readying itself for another attack.

  The monster was a horrifying sight, all that darkness covered over with dozens—if not hundreds—of eyes, staring at her, anxious to kill her. She was sick to her stomach, but she knew she couldn’t stop fighting long enough to throw up. Every second mattered.

  Harley leapt and grabbed the EA by its head, smashing it again into the glass wall. This time it stayed down. She jumped on it, kneeing its mid-section, then remembered her gun, at home in the holster hanging from her belt. She tried to grab it, but the thing kicked up and slammed her to the other side of the elevator.

  It scrambled back to its feet and lunged for her. Its hands grabbed her throat again, but this time with more force. Instantly she was having trouble breathing.

  White explosions blinded her. She tried to knee it again, but she didn’t have the strength to drive it back. Hands still wrapped around her throat, it pushed her to the floor and squeezed her even harder.

  Her hands reached for her gun, but the thing lifted her by the neck and slammed her into the wall. It stared into her eyes and growled. Her eyes rolled up into her head even as her hand finally found her gun.

  She didn’t have to see the thing that was strangling her—she knew exactly where it was. She shoved the magnum under its chin and fired.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  “Go to hell, you stupid turd,” she screamed.

  Its head exploded from its body. Black shards smashed her in the face. As the headless form slid to the ground, she wiped its parts from her eyes and spat out the remnants that had lodged in her mouth. Then she fell to the ground, heaving, trying to catch her breath. She needed a minute to regain control, maybe longer.

  But she wasn’t allowed it.

  A second EA swung down from the elevator roof and smashed its way through a pane of the elevator’s glass wall. She saw it stand to its full height. All its eyes stared at her. It looked hungry, anxious for the kill.

  She ducked as it tried to grab her—spun, wrapped her legs around its feet, and pulled them out from under it. The thing fell to the floor. In an instant Harley was on top of it.

  She was still holding her gun. She pushed it under the
thing’s jaw, intending to blow it into pieces as she’d done with the other one, but it kicked her into the wall. She struggled to her feet, but the thing’s foot rested on a sharp piece of debris. It kicked up, propelling itself into her, causing her to drop her gun in surprise. The creature was on her before she could retrieve it.

  It became a hand-to-hand fight.

  The EA was bigger than she was, and stronger, but Harley was more agile. She dove between the thing’s legs and then cannoned her feet into its back, kicking it into the glass.

  It jumped back to its feet and tried to punch her. She ducked under its fist and, with both hands locked together, slammed it hard.

  She barely fazed the beast. It tried to punch her again, and this time it connected. Hard. Harley reeled, saw bursts of light flashing all around her. Stunned, she fell back to the floor. She felt her bat on the floor next to her. She grabbed its grip and as the EA reached for her she swung it, smashing it into the thing’s face. Chunks of black exploded from it. Even with only half a face, though, it was still coming for her.

  Harley slammed her bat into it again, separating its head from its shoulders. It wavered back and forth, but wasn’t yet going down for the count. She somersaulted at it and slammed her legs into its chest. For an instant nothing happened, but then the thing fell back, crashed through the shattered glass, and fell into the elevator shaft, disappearing into the darkness.

  * * *

  Deadshot and Croc ran to the elevator to join the fight, but when the doors opened, they saw Harley holding her bat over her shoulders, whistling as she calmly exited the elevator as if nothing had happened.

  “Hi, guys,” she said merrily. “Don’t we have some big-bads to slaughter?”

  Flag and the others approached. He looked at Harley, saw the shattered glass and a dead EA still in the elevator, and nodded approval.

  “Okay,” he said, looking at the corpse. “Now we know they’re here. Keep moving. Stay together.” They made their way down a long corridor, offices on all sides. Flag paused in front of a dark office.