More chapters in my Patreon. Patreon.com/Saintbarbido.
::-------------------------------------------::
Chapter 3 Interception
(General P.O.V)
"Strange, update me on the progress of our prisoners," Amanda Waller barked as she strode into the Task Force X military operating office.
It was a sprawling space designed for maximum efficiency and productivity. The walls were lined with state-of-the-art technology, from high-definition screens displaying real-time maps of locations of interest to the United States Government, to advanced communications systems connecting soldiers in the field with commanders back at headquarters. Though Waller's brand of 'Soldiers' were not usually the patriotic type or even the type to play nice with the authorities.
The centerpiece of the room was a massive, curved display that spanned an entire wall. The display showed a 3D representation of Belle Reve, complete with surveillance feed of each cell block, individual inmate's cell, levels and real-time weather data.
Surrounding the display were rows of sleek, ergonomic workstations, each outfitted with multiple monitors and a suite of powerful software tools. From here, analysts and prison guards could pore over the camera feeds to monitor any unusual activity and prevent riots or escape attempts. Their duties also included, developing operational plans for when Task Force X was deployed on the field and tracking the movements of enemy forces in real time.
In one corner of the room, a secure communications hub hummed with activity. Here, operators could tap into satellites, intercept enemy transmissions, and coordinate with military units around the world.
And The person sitting on top of it all was Amanda Waller. She was ruthless, experienced and smart. Willing to make or break any rules to further her own goals. High risk missions that could only be carried out by expendable soldiers. Skilled and superpowered Criminals that the world wouldn't miss were they to die.
Hugo Strange, a bespectacled tall man with a bald held and beard, pulled up a reel on the display in the middle of the room.
"Quite a roster we have this time around Ma'am."
He told her.
The first image showed a hulking, muscular figure with a heavily textured, scaly hide, sharp teeth and glowing red eyes that reflected an animalistic nature.
"Killer Croc."
Amanda muttered.
"I was wondering when the prodigal son would return."
The next image showed a blonde female, with white pasty skin and a deranged smile on her face. She was posing for her mugshot.
"Ugh. Why am I not surprised?"
Waller frowned in distaste.
"The good thing is that Floyd is getting his teammate back."
The reel changed to show a middle aged man with a scruffy beard.
"Firefly."
Hugo told her.
"Next." She responded, uninterested.
The next image showed a man dressed in a crown and a costume that carried a playing card motif. The literal King in the deck of cards.
"King, a member of the Royal Flush Gang."
That grabbed Waller's attention.
"We have one of their original team members here right?"
She asked.
Hugo nodded, pulling up a different image, this one showed a completely white figure, a large behemoth of a man with a sinister smile on his face.
"Ace, an Android with superstrength. We keep him on sublevel Z. Unfit for Task Force X recruitment due to his mechanical nature."
Waller nodded.
"What about King, is he useful?"
"Very. King, real name Joe Kearney possesses a metagene that allows him to control minds. He was captured by the League during a failed heist in Montreal. They also seem to have replaced Ace with a new member. A girl."
Waller leaned back on her seat.
"Interesting. Move on."
"And last but certainly not least, your own personal pick."
Hugo pulled up the next image on the reel and a note of nervous anticipation appeared on Waller's face.
"Davian Mabuz, 19 years old, no codename, metagene unknown, troubled kid, went to Juvenile detention from age 13 when he caused a massive explosion in downtown L.A., responsible for the death of Gotham P.D commissioner James Gordon."
On the monitor was a young African American teenager with silver hair. Waller leaned forward, examining the image.
"The hair is a feature of his unknown metagene, correct?" she asked.
Hugo shook his head, pulling up more images of a younger Davian. "He grew up in an orphanage, and as far as the matron can remember, he has always had the silver hair."
Waller hummed thoughtfully. "Children can be vicious. He was probably an outcast for most of his early childhood."
"Here's to hoping Mr. Mabuz finds a place to belong in Belle Reve," Hugo said.
Waller frowned, throwing a knowing look his way. "Well? Out with it then."
She knew he had reservations.
Hugo hesitated, adjusting his glasses. "Merely an observation, ma'am. Within him is an incredible power. A power that I am not confident we can control."
Waller took a deep breath, letting it out slowly with a thoughtful expression. "That's the thing, Strange. We don't need to control it, we just need to point it at our enemies."
Hugo wondered, "Is that why you hurried up the process of his case? It was highly unusual. It seemed as if the investigation was glossed over."
Waller made a noise with her throat. "The state understands that no matter whether he was guilty or not, a statement needed to be made, otherwise we would have other criminals, both metahuman and normal people, thinking they could get away with killing a police commissioner. They were all too willing to place Mr. Mabuz under my care. This way, at least he is useful to the nation."
(Davian's P.O.V)
10 minutes had passed.
There was a clock above the table with the three guards on it. 10 minutes that I used to come to terms with my new situation. I was alive. And it only hit me that I was not only still breathing but doing so in a fictional world after 5 minutes. The rest of the 10 minutes were spent trying to think of a way out of whatever mess this body's last occupant had gotten himself in.
Yeah, that was the other thing. I wasn't in my body as I had initially thought. For starters, I was missing a few notable scars. One on my left hip from a stray bullet and a long jagged one on my left arm. They had been the mark of my survival.
I was also not as tall as I used to be. My real body has been cresting at 6'3, nothing to scoff at but nothing outstanding either. I knew guys who got drafted who were way taller. Most of them stood at 6'5 and above. The point is, I was a tall ass dude but from what I could see, this body was barely over 6'1. I was 6'1 at 18/19, which meant that this body was barely out of adolescence.
I tightened my fist, seeing the muscles of my forearm ripple slightly. He wasn't as built as I was either. I felt a certain lack of...strength.
'Tap.'
I looked up, staring at the right wall of my cell.
'Tap.'
There it was again. I looked at the guards and noticed that they were doing their own thing, playing cards. I dragged myself across the floor and leaned on the wall where the sound was coming from. Another tap sounded and I reciprocated.
"Pst, can you hear me?"
I was still not completely convinced that I was in a fictional universe. However, if this was a prank, then it was too elaborate. I glanced at the guards once more. They weren't watching me.
"Yeah, what do you want?"
I responded keeping my voice low.
There was a giggle followed by the sound of a body shifting.
"Did you actually do it?"
Harley Quinn asked.
I blinked in confusion.
"Do what?"
"Oh come on! You Know what I mean! Stop stalling, pudding and I can maybe perhaps not really protect you from Batsy when he comes for your ass."
What the fuck was she talking about?
"Listen Clown, I have no idea..."
"She's asking if you're a cop killer."
A loud, deep and growling voice spoke up, interrupting me and filling the entire truck.
The guards paused in what they were doing. A baleful look was sent my way from two of them.
"shut the fuck up Waylon."
The Guard from earlier told him in a low tone.
"Or what?"
Shit. Waylon? That's fucking Killer Croc.
I was in the truck with Killer Croc and Harley Quinn. This is not good. Not good at all.
"Muhahahaha!! What did it feel killing him? Personally, I would have burned his body right infront of his wife and kids!"
The mood in the whole truck turned sour.
I don't think I was making any friends with the continued implication that I killed someone. A cop no less.
"Yo watch your mouth. I didn't kill anyone, you sick fuck."
My anger was flaring up as I tried to defend myself.
"Hahaha."
Harley started giggling.
"Is he serious?"
Another voice asked from a cell further down.
Even the guards looked skeptical at my claim. It was clear no one believed me. And why would they? I was in a cell and they weren't. In the eyes of the law and basically everyone else, I was a criminal. Even though I had no recollection of what this body had done.
"You ladies need help with shutting up?"
The senior guard asked, tapping the device on his hip. Everyone got the message and settled down. I ran a palm down my face. Yeah, maybe hell wasn't too bad.
'I have no one to watch my back now.' I realized, the thought getting followed by a stabbing pain.
Nick would have told me to...
I cut off that thought quickly, distracting myself by watching the guards. They usually sent scathing looks my way.
The truck had been moving for the last 15 minutes, couple that with the time I had spent passed out and hopefully we would be reaching our destination soon. I didn't like the way the guards were eyeing me.
But first, I needed to know what was going on.
'Tap.'
I listened carefully and a second later, a response came in the form of a tap.
"Hey," I started off in a low whisper.
"I didn't kill anyone. And if I did, I don't remember it."
"Gasp! You don't remember it!"
Harley's voice was almost loud enough for the guards to overhear.
"Shh! Not too loud."
I told her. Luckily, they hadn't turned our way.
"Sorry."
She said sheepishly.
"But how can you not remember killing Gordo?"
My brain froze.
Gordo?
Did she mean James Gordon? Was that why I saw his gravestone in that graveyard? Because I was responsible for his death?
Unaware of my preoccupied mind, Harley continued talking.
"...he's like the Bat's eyes on the ground! He's been a thorn on my and pudding si...oh wait."
She abruptly went silent. That grabbed my attention.
"What is it?"
I enquired.
"I think I hear something...uh Mr. Copkiller, I think it would be best if you ducked."
I didn't even mind the insult. This was DC, when a crazy bitch like Harley Quinn tells you to duck, you fucking duck.
I didn't care that I landed on my earlier vomit. There was a sudden vibration that passed through the walls of the truck and the blue lights from the power dampeners shut off. Which meant...I grabbed for my inhibitor collar and pulled it off my neck.
The guards were just now realizing that something was up. Then the truck slammed onto something and I found myself flying face first onto the wall. Pandemonium quickly broke out.
More chapters in my Patreon. Patreon.com/Saintbarbido.
::-------------------------------------------::
Chapter 3 Interception
(General P.O.V)
"Strange, update me on the progress of our prisoners," Amanda Waller barked as she strode into the Task Force X military operating office.
It was a sprawling space designed for maximum efficiency and productivity. The walls were lined with state-of-the-art technology, from high-definition screens displaying real-time maps of locations of interest to the United States Government, to advanced communications systems connecting soldiers in the field with commanders back at headquarters. Though Waller's brand of 'Soldiers' were not usually the patriotic type or even the type to play nice with the authorities.
The centerpiece of the room was a massive, curved display that spanned an entire wall. The display showed a 3D representation of Belle Reve, complete with surveillance feed of each cell block, individual inmate's cell, levels and real-time weather data.
Surrounding the display were rows of sleek, ergonomic workstations, each outfitted with multiple monitors and a suite of powerful software tools. From here, analysts and prison guards could pore over the camera feeds to monitor any unusual activity and prevent riots or escape attempts. Their duties also included, developing operational plans for when Task Force X was deployed on the field and tracking the movements of enemy forces in real time.
In one corner of the room, a secure communications hub hummed with activity. Here, operators could tap into satellites, intercept enemy transmissions, and coordinate with military units around the world.
And The person sitting on top of it all was Amanda Waller. She was ruthless, experienced and smart. Willing to make or break any rules to further her own goals. High risk missions that could only be carried out by expendable soldiers. Skilled and superpowered Criminals that the world wouldn't miss were they to die.
Hugo Strange, a bespectacled tall man with a bald held and beard, pulled up a reel on the display in the middle of the room.
"Quite a roster we have this time around Ma'am."
He told her.
The first image showed a hulking, muscular figure with a heavily textured, scaly hide, sharp teeth and glowing red eyes that reflected an animalistic nature.
"Killer Croc."
Amanda muttered.
"I was wondering when the prodigal son would return."
The next image showed a blonde female, with white pasty skin and a deranged smile on her face. She was posing for her mugshot.
"Ugh. Why am I not surprised?"
Waller frowned in distaste.
"The good thing is that Floyd is getting his teammate back."
The reel changed to show a middle aged man with a scruffy beard.
"Firefly."
Hugo told her.
"Next." She responded, uninterested.
The next image showed a man dressed in a crown and a costume that carried a playing card motif. The literal King in the deck of cards.
"King, a member of the Royal Flush Gang."
That grabbed Waller's attention.
"We have one of their original team members here right?"
She asked.
Hugo nodded, pulling up a different image, this one showed a completely white figure, a large behemoth of a man with a sinister smile on his face.
"Ace, an Android with superstrength. We keep him on sublevel Z. Unfit for Task Force X recruitment due to his mechanical nature."
Waller nodded.
"What about King, is he useful?"
"Very. King, real name Joe Kearney possesses a metagene that allows him to control minds. He was captured by the League during a failed heist in Montreal. They also seem to have replaced Ace with a new member. A girl."
Waller leaned back on her seat.
"Interesting. Move on."
"And last but certainly not least, your own personal pick."
Hugo pulled up the next image on the reel and a note of nervous anticipation appeared on Waller's face.
"Davian Mabuz, 19 years old, no codename, metagene unknown, troubled kid, went to Juvenile detention from age 13 when he caused a massive explosion in downtown L.A., responsible for the death of Gotham P.D commissioner James Gordon."
On the monitor was a young African American teenager with silver hair. Waller leaned forward, examining the image.
"The hair is a feature of his unknown metagene, correct?" she asked.
Hugo shook his head, pulling up more images of a younger Davian. "He grew up in an orphanage, and as far as the matron can remember, he has always had the silver hair."
Waller hummed thoughtfully. "Children can be vicious. He was probably an outcast for most of his early childhood."
"Here's to hoping Mr. Mabuz finds a place to belong in Belle Reve," Hugo said.
Waller frowned, throwing a knowing look his way. "Well? Out with it then."
She knew he had reservations.
Hugo hesitated, adjusting his glasses. "Merely an observation, ma'am. Within him is an incredible power. A power that I am not confident we can control."
Waller took a deep breath, letting it out slowly with a thoughtful expression. "That's the thing, Strange. We don't need to control it, we just need to point it at our enemies."
Hugo wondered, "Is that why you hurried up the process of his case? It was highly unusual. It seemed as if the investigation was glossed over."
Waller made a noise with her throat. "The state understands that no matter whether he was guilty or not, a statement needed to be made, otherwise we would have other criminals, both metahuman and normal people, thinking they could get away with killing a police commissioner. They were all too willing to place Mr. Mabuz under my care. This way, at least he is useful to the nation."
(Davian's P.O.V)
10 minutes had passed.
There was a clock above the table with the three guards on it. 10 minutes that I used to come to terms with my new situation. I was alive. And it only hit me that I was not only still breathing but doing so in a fictional world after 5 minutes. The rest of the 10 minutes were spent trying to think of a way out of whatever mess this body's last occupant had gotten himself in.
Yeah, that was the other thing. I wasn't in my body as I had initially thought. For starters, I was missing a few notable scars. One on my left hip from a stray bullet and a long jagged one on my left arm. They had been the mark of my survival.
I was also not as tall as I used to be. My real body has been cresting at 6'3, nothing to scoff at but nothing outstanding either. I knew guys who got drafted who were way taller. Most of them stood at 6'5 and above. The point is, I was a tall ass dude but from what I could see, this body was barely over 6'1. I was 6'1 at 18/19, which meant that this body was barely out of adolescence.
I tightened my fist, seeing the muscles of my forearm ripple slightly. He wasn't as built as I was either. I felt a certain lack of...strength.
'Tap.'
I looked up, staring at the right wall of my cell.
'Tap.'
There it was again. I looked at the guards and noticed that they were doing their own thing, playing cards. I dragged myself across the floor and leaned on the wall where the sound was coming from. Another tap sounded and I reciprocated.
"Pst, can you hear me?"
I was still not completely convinced that I was in a fictional universe. However, if this was a prank, then it was too elaborate. I glanced at the guards once more. They weren't watching me.
"Yeah, what do you want?"
I responded keeping my voice low.
There was a giggle followed by the sound of a body shifting.
"Did you actually do it?"
Harley Quinn asked.
I blinked in confusion.
"Do what?"
"Oh come on! You Know what I mean! Stop stalling, pudding and I can maybe perhaps not really protect you from Batsy when he comes for your ass."
What the fuck was she talking about?
"Listen Clown, I have no idea..."
"She's asking if you're a cop killer."
A loud, deep and growling voice spoke up, interrupting me and filling the entire truck.
The guards paused in what they were doing. A baleful look was sent my way from two of them.
"shut the fuck up Waylon."
The Guard from earlier told him in a low tone.
"Or what?"
Shit. Waylon? That's fucking Killer Croc.
I was in the truck with Killer Croc and Harley Quinn. This is not good. Not good at all.
"Muhahahaha!! What did it feel killing him? Personally, I would have burned his body right infront of his wife and kids!"
The mood in the whole truck turned sour.
I don't think I was making any friends with the continued implication that I killed someone. A cop no less.
"Yo watch your mouth. I didn't kill anyone, you sick fuck."
My anger was flaring up as I tried to defend myself.
"Hahaha."
Harley started giggling.
"Is he serious?"
Another voice asked from a cell further down.
Even the guards looked skeptical at my claim. It was clear no one believed me. And why would they? I was in a cell and they weren't. In the eyes of the law and basically everyone else, I was a criminal. Even though I had no recollection of what this body had done.
"You ladies need help with shutting up?"
The senior guard asked, tapping the device on his hip. Everyone got the message and settled down. I ran a palm down my face. Yeah, maybe hell wasn't too bad.
'I have no one to watch my back now.' I realized, the thought getting followed by a stabbing pain.
Nick would have told me to...
I cut off that thought quickly, distracting myself by watching the guards. They usually sent scathing looks my way.
The truck had been moving for the last 15 minutes, couple that with the time I had spent passed out and hopefully we would be reaching our destination soon. I didn't like the way the guards were eyeing me.
But first, I needed to know what was going on.
'Tap.'
I listened carefully and a second later, a response came in the form of a tap.
"Hey," I started off in a low whisper.
"I didn't kill anyone. And if I did, I don't remember it."
"Gasp! You don't remember it!"
Harley's voice was almost loud enough for the guards to overhear.
"Shh! Not too loud."
I told her. Luckily, they hadn't turned our way.
"Sorry."
She said sheepishly.
"But how can you not remember killing Gordo?"
My brain froze.
Gordo?
Did she mean James Gordon? Was that why I saw his gravestone in that graveyard? Because I was responsible for his death?
Unaware of my preoccupied mind, Harley continued talking.
"...he's like the Bat's eyes on the ground! He's been a thorn on my and pudding si...oh wait."
She abruptly went silent. That grabbed my attention.
"What is it?"
I enquired.
"I think I hear something...uh Mr. Copkiller, I think it would be best if you ducked."
I didn't even mind the insult. This was DC, when a crazy bitch like Harley Quinn tells you to duck, you fucking duck.
I didn't care that I landed on my earlier vomit. There was a sudden vibration that passed through the walls of the truck and the blue lights from the power dampeners shut off. Which meant...I grabbed for my inhibitor collar and pulled it off my neck.
The guards were just now realizing that something was up. Then the truck slammed onto something and I found myself flying face first onto the wall. Pandemonium quickly broke out.
