#kinnaman

Biting back a host of frustrated comments that will only serve to get him shipped off on a more-impossible-than-usual assignment at some point in the future, Rick follows the formidable Waller along the winding corridors of Belle Reve Correctional Centre, wondering just who or what exactly she has in store for him this time.

Please not the Weasel. Anything but the Weasel.

They are currently headed to the heart of the prison, specifically cell block A, where most of the members of Task Force X are serving out their lengthy sentences.

Rick clenches his jaw as the fluorescent lights buzz noisily overhead, glad that Waller can’t see his solid façade slip ever so slightly. He avoids going to this part of the prison if he can help it, prefers to keep to his small office in the newer part of the building.

Throughout his years of service to the US government, Rick has visited countless prisons, but Belle Reve is by far the worst.

It isn’t the criminals that bother Rick so much, though.

Sure, the inmates of Belle Reve are some of the most despicable humans and metahumans ever to walk the earth, but over the last few years he has built a tentative rapport with the veteran members of his team, affectionately nicknamed the Suicide Squad: Harleen “Harley Quinn” Quinzel, Gotham City’s certifiably insane Princess of Crime; Floyd “Deadshot” Lawton, gun-for-hire with a death wish; Digger “Captain Boomerang” Harkness, Australian bank robber and pain in Rick’s ass; and of course Waylon “Killer Croc” Jones, no description necessary.

What bothers him most is the prison itself.

If you ask him, the very walls of Belle Reve exude more evil than all of its residents combined.

Rick isn’t a religious man, but he’s pretty damn sure that if the devil does exist, he dwells right here in the core of this concrete hell.

Almost losing himself to these unsettling thoughts, he realises that they’ve entered the women’s block. His curiosity is piqued. It’s oddly quiet in here today, but he chalks that down to Quinn’s absence. Rick often encounters the eccentric female singing to herself or trying to psychoanalyse the guards, but she’s already been discharged from her cell to be briefed on today’s mission.

Waller comes to an abrupt halt outside the last the cell on the left. All it takes from her is one raised eyebrow before the nearest guard hurriedly unlocks the door, then makes himself scarce just as quickly. Rick suppresses a grin. He’s been on the receiving end of that look many times.

It doesn’t matter how many times he puts his life on the line for his country, facing the very worst of the worst; Amanda Waller can scare the shit out of him with a single glance.

Right now, she’s looking at him with what can only be described as boredom as she points to the reinforced metal door of cell thirty-three.

“Your newest team member.”

Angel

Angel’s first thought on arriving at Belle Reve Correctional Centre is that there must be a mistake.

She doesn’t belong here.

Not because it’s a prison - she has committed a crime after all. Several of them.

But after spending approximately five minutes of her indefinite sentence being escorted through the corridors of Belle Reve it has become apparent that this is a place for real criminals. The crazy, unpredictable, eat your liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti kind of criminal.

Angel is a lot of things, but crazy isn’t one of them.

At least not yet.

Who’s to say how long it will take for her to lose her mind in this hellhole?

Blackgate Penitentiary was by no means a ride in the park, but there’s something fundamentally wrong with Belle Reve.

No one has yet explained just why she’s been transferred here from Gotham City. In fact, over the last few hours no one has said very much to her at all. Unless you count the jeering, screaming and catcalling she was subjected to on the way to her new cell.

By the time the door to the cell opens again, revealing the stern face of Director Amanda Waller, it already feels as if Angel’s served one lifetime.

She scrambles up from her cot into a sitting position, not sure whether to be relieved or worried by the unexpected visit. The woman exudes an aurora of supreme authority as she strides purposefully into the cell, carrying a brown manilla file that Angel suspects might just be her own criminal record. She hasn’t had the pleasure of reading the details herself, but she can take a good guess at what’s contained in those pages.

Premeditated.

Position of trust.

Multiple victims.

“Colonel Flag, this is Angel Peterson, but you might know her better as Gotham’s ‘Angel of Death’”.

Angel isn’t sure how she managed to miss the very tall, broad-shouldered, soldier-type accompanying Waller. After all, he’s currently taking up all the room in her small cell. Handsome in a sort of rugged, dangerous way, his dirty blonde hair is cropped into a military cut and his strong jawline is partially hidden by a scruffy beard.

In contrast to Waller, all business-like in her purple suit, Flag wears a khaki shirt tucked into dark tactical pants, and a pair of tough combat boots. His shoulder holster is empty for the time being, probably a wise decision when visiting criminals in such close quarters, but one look at the size of his biceps, straining against the sleeves of his shirt, tells Angel he’s probably just as dangerous without a weapon in his hand.

Flag’s hazel eyes meet Angel’s gaze with thinly veiled contempt. An expression she’s become well acquainted with since her incarceration. The contempt only increases as his attention lands on the loathsome loop of black stone around her neck; the price for sending three Blackgate prison guards to the emergency room.

She doesn’t know how it works, this hideous collar, just that it inhibits her… abilities. Makes her feel like even more of a caged animal. An animal that’s had its claws clipped.

Waller hands Flag the file. “Peterson was arrested six months ago for the murder of a state Senator. The ensuing investigation revealed she was responsible for a further five deaths at Gotham General Hospital whilst employed as a trainee nurse – I’m sure you saw the news coverage.”

He rifles through the pages impassively before scanning Angel from head to toe.

“Meta?” He asks roughly.

“You asked for someone with medical training. Consider this a gift, Flag.” Waller shoots the man a disparaging look. “She has the ability to give and take life with the touch of a hand. I had her transferred from Blackgate a few hours ago, especially for this mission.”

Flag’s eyes return to the file in his hand. “Not exactly what I had in mind, Waller,” he grumbles.

Angel doesn’t like the way they’re talking about her as if she isn’t even in the room. Especially doesn’t like the words they’re throwing around. Like ‘mission’ and ‘gift’.

“Excuse me,” she pipes up, her voice hoarse from lack of use. “Could someone please explain what the hell is going on?”

Rick

Rick’s first thought is that she’s all skin and bones, this strange woman sitting before him. Deathly pale with dirty blonde hair hanging limply over her shoulders; lips chapped, and fingernails bitten. Wide blue eyes ringed with dark circles stare back at him like a deer in the headlights. He knows the power dampener clamped around her neck is mandatory for all meta-human inmates, and with very good reason, but there is something abhorrent about the way it swamps her slight frame.

He’s met many Belle Reve prisoners over the years, hundreds probably. Means he’s more than qualified to recognise the fact that Angel Peterson does not belong here, does not belong with Task Force X.

But the female’s sudden yet polite outburst takes Rick by surprise, causes him to reconsider his initial evaluation.

Perhaps a flame smoulders below the surface.

Ignoring her question, he forces himself to look away from the prisoner and back to Waller. He remembers the story of a young nurse being charged with multiple murders. Didn’t know she was a Meta, though. What he’s been asking for is someone who can save lives, not take them. He’s got plenty of murderers on his team. Doesn’t need another one.

“You really want to send her on this mission?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a migraine coming on, something that only seems to happen in Waller’s presence.

“I told you, I want zero trace of our presence when you reach the target. That includes injuries, Flag. She is going with you. This is non-negotiable.”

Waller turns on her heel and starts to leave the cell, but Rick calls after her. “We ship out in two hours, how am I supposed to get her ready in time?”

“I don’t care,” Waller snaps. “Just get it done.”

Once his boss is out of earshot, Rick exhales heavily.

“Alright, on your feet Peterson. I guess neither of us gets a choice today. Looks like you’re coming with me.”

The prisoner doesn’t move. Stares up at him with a glimmer of defiance in those blue eyes. “I’m still waiting for someone to tell me what this is all about.”