Chapter Text
“You went off alone? The Cheetah could have killed you!”
There’s a Kanga-sized Purple Lamp in Diana’s quarters, and it’s healed her ear in time to hear Bruce’s scolding. Diana walks past him, stepping over stray Amazon artifacts and empty ice cream containers, until she reaches her vanity. From here, she removes her lone remaining star-shaped earring, then puts in her two red, bead-shaped ones.
“Thank you, Bruce, I appreciate the feedback. Excuse me.” Her task complete, Diana power walks away at the speed of Hermes. When her surroundings come back into focus, she’s in the Watchtower’s cafeteria. Diana joins the lunch line.
Wondrous as Purple Rays are, they do have limitations. Besides that they can’t regrow limbs and require Blue Ether fuel—which she’ll lose access to once Themyscira leaves the mortal plane—the rays also burn calories. Diana barely survives the wait for her daily allotment of tater tots and square-shaped pizza.
Diana is on her way to her friends’ table when her newly-healed ear is hit by a shouting match. In the line across from her, one of the aforementioned friends is getting into it with some buffoon.
“Seriously, Guy?” Kara puffs out her Supergirl logo like a moth revealing its wing pattern to scare off a predator. “After everything Waller did?”
“What?” Guy holds a transparent green smartphone in his gloved hand. “It’s a meme. It’s ironic!”
From her vantage point, Diana’s hawklike Amazon eyes take a peek at Guy’s phone screen. A short is playing on loop. It depicts Diana’s infamous neck snap, except that the victim has been replaced with Obama. Also, the AI put Diana in a bikini.
Kara notices Diana’s eyeline, and then Guy notices Kara noticing. At once, Guy’s ring goes dim and the smartphone blinks out of existence. “I was only looking,” Guy says. “Am I not allowed to look? The president posted it.”
Diana says nothing, but her stare communicates enough for Guy to pale and excuse himself from the cafeteria.
The moment Diana sits down, Taylor says, “Remind me again why we let chuds onto the League?”
Kara sits herself opposite them. “Because if we cut ties with him, then instead of being an asshole with one of the most powerful weapons in the universe-” She taps her ring finger against her lunch tray. “-then he’d be a rogue, uncoordinated asshole with one of the most powerful weapons in the universe.”
“I swear the Lantern Corps hands those rings out like candy…” As Taylor speaks, and possibly unbeknownst to herself, her salt shaker levitates off her plate and then comes crashing back down.
Diana again says nothing, though this time it’s because she’s busy stuffing her face (There’s no such thing as table etiquette on Themyscira, as Amazons believe in being non-judgemental).
Abruptly, Kendra says, “Uh, guys?” The others follow her gaze to a wall-mounted TV, which is displaying a GBS broadcast. “We, uh, might want to see this.”
Diana grabs the remote and ups the volume. To Taylor, she adds, “I hope the screen isn’t too bright?”
“It’s okay,” says Taylor.
The news showcases the aftermath of Barbara Ann’s attack today. Thanks to the Justice League’s fast acting, the guards she hurt are in stable condition. Diana allows herself to exhale.
But it proves premature—the feed cuts to a live broadcast from the White House. A gaudy stage has been erected on the lawn, one with enough lights to give Diana a headache let alone Taylor. Standing on that stage and wearing an equally gaudy tie is the living embodiment of headaches himself, Pete Hegseth.
“These metahumans think they can do anything they want,” the Secretary of War bellows. The position had been called the “Secretary of Defense” since World War II, but Trump recently saw fit to rename it. “Well, they’re about to learn that the only real superpower lies in the United States’ military. I am proud to announce our newly expanded and woke-free Task Force X. Now let’s give a moment of silence for our departed friend Elon, who would have loved that name.”
The news camera must be on a drone, considering how far it has to pull back to capture the full lineup. Diana tries to do a headcount but gives up around twenty-four hundred. Besides the Belle Reve regulars like King Shark and Killer Croc, this new Suicide Squad also includes the entire contents of Stryker’s Island—Parasite, Metallo, Toyman, Atomic Skull, practically Clark’s whole rogues gallery. Speaking of which, the Rogues are here, too: Captains Cold and Boomerang, Heatwave, Mirror Master… They’ve even raided Arkham Asylum, it seems, having included people who are legally mental patients rather than supervillains, such as Scarecrow and Mister Freeze. No stone unturned.
“Under Waller, this task force was kept a secret,” Hegseth continues, “and membership was optional in exchange for reduced sentences. Well, no more of that crap. The only way to ensure American sovereignty is to bring the metahumans to heel. That’s why Empire Enterprises has created new, state of the art nanobombs.” To demonstrate, he turns over his shoulder and barks, “Bizarro, step forward.”
The supervillain obeys. Bizarro’s messy hair, chalky skin, and a mirrored S-shield make him into a twisted version of Superman, just as everyone on Earth has a counterpart on Bizarro World. Diana hears the Bizarro-US economy is booming.
“As you can see-” Hegseth chuckles to himself. “-Bizarro here has all the power of Superman while also being totally obedient to the cause of our national security. The ‘Superman gap’ has finally been closed, and our administration was the one to do it.” The war secretary beams with pride, which only seems to add to the grim demeanor of everybody else on stage.
Bizarro looks straight into the camera and yells, “Democracy am functioning properly! The USA am a healthy and prosperous nation with equality for all!”
Hegseth pats his shoulder. “What a patriot. Let’s give him a hand, everyone.” The remark is met with silence. Hegseth then glances back with a raised brow, which causes every supervillain to promptly begin clapping.
After the applause dies down, Hegseth continues, “Uncle Sam may have been lost during this evening’s tragic events, but even in death, his body continues to serve this great country. Thanks to Empire Enterprises’ breakthrough innovations in techno-magic, our nanobombs are coated in a protective layer of godblood. That’s a force not even the Justice League’s magicians can circumvent.”
On the other side of the screen, the cafeteria’s collective gaze falls on Zatanna. “He may be right,” she admits, hanging her head.
Back onscreen, Hegseth says, “The Cheetah thought killing Sam would make us weaker, but all she’s done is summon our wrath. The first and primary objective of this new Task Force X is to go big-game hunting. They will not rest until the Cheetah is stuffed and mounted in the Oval Office!”
By this point in the broadcast, Diana is already on her feet. Hegseth’s next remark only strengthens her desire to leave:
“And while we’re at it, we’ll purge our country of the last remnants of the Amazons. The Cheetah is a known ally of Wonder Woman, and so it couldn’t be clearer who was behind today’s attack. Of course the Amazons would send a lackey to do their dirty work after we made them run and hide like the weak little girls they are.” Hegseth is so worked up, he seems moments away from pounding his chest like a gorilla.
Diana leaves her lunch tray behind. She’s lost her appetite.
***
Barbara Ann is starving. The moment she and Jade are seated in a booth, she grabs a menu.
Jade begins to say, “Do you have anything vegetarian for my friend-?”
“Steak,” Barbara Ann cuts in. “Rare.”
The waitress scurries off to fulfill the order, leaving Barbara Ann alone to withstand Jade’s quizzical stare.
“What?” says Barbara Ann. “I’m stressed. It’s comfort food.” Even the process of walking inside and being seated wigged her out. She and Jade have met up in Augusta, Maine, about as far from Texas as one can get without crossing a border, and yet Barbara Ann knows the distance will do nothing to aid her, not when the whole country’s a glorified police state. Hell, not even a glorified one. When it comes to keeping a bomb out of her head, Barbara Ann’s sunglasses and headscarf are doing an unnerving amount of the heavy lifting. In hindsight, she regrets choosing the cheetah print scarf. “You’re sure it’s safe to talk in here?” She glances in the direction the waitress walked off.
Jade leans back in her seat with her forearms on the table. She’s wearing her Cheshire costume without the mask today, yet Jade nevertheless resembles her namesake feline. “We don’t even have to whisper—I’m friends with the owner.” She pauses. “Also, the staff here knows that if anything we discuss leaks, I’ll kill ’em all. Plus their immediate families.”
Barbara Ann, by contrast, hunches forward and speaks in a conspiratorial hiss. “And if the government head-bombs us before you get the chance to hunt all those people down?”
“Oh, it’s a dead man’s switch. One night a month, I break into their houses and inject them with the only antidote.”
Barbara Ann blinks at her. “Jesus Christ, Jade.”
“Mm hmm.” Jade sips her coffee.
Barbara Ann’s eyes return to her menu, mostly to keep from gawking. That poor waitress ran off in such a hurry, she forgot to collect it, and that gives Barbara Ann time to notice the prices. Has she forgotten how to convert pounds to dollars, or has everything in this country gotten crazy expensive? Barbara Ann knows she’s rich now, but still, this is absurd even for a bougie place like this. And it is bougie. The private room she and Jade were given comes complete with a fountain centerpiece.
“You know, you wouldn’t have to be so paranoid if you hadn’t pulled that stunt,” says Jade. “Did you really think the capes would let you whack a billionaire who’s also high up in the government?”
“I almost had her!” Barbara Ann pounds a fist, sending silverware clanking. “It’s those bullshit Boom Tubes. The Justice League’s unbeatable now.”
“I’d have thought you’d learned the importance of proper planning after all those weeks we spent on our heist…”
Barbara Ann considers this. “Say, I don’t suppose you’d be interested in helping me whack Cale?”
Jade nearly snorts coffee out her nose. “Yeah, I’d rather not draw the government’s wrath if it’s all the same.”
“The government might be pissed, but the people are on my side.” As she speaks, Barbara Ann whips out her phone and gives her feed a few thumbs. “You’ve just- You’ve just gotta scroll past all the artwork to see the outpouring of support.” To herself, she mutters, “Why are they shipping me with the Cheeto mascot?”
“Support or not, I’d be running for the hills right now if I were you.”
“Why run when I can fight?” Barbara Ann morphs her teeth back into fangs so she can give a pointy smile. “I’m stronger now than any metahuman. The Suicide Squad’s only advantage is numbers, so this is the perfect time to get the Legion of Doom back together. Do you still have Gorilla Grodd on speed dial?”
“Hate to rain on your parade, but Luthor’s behind bars at the moment.” Jade takes another nonplussed sip of coffee. “We’ll never get the other A-listers on our side without his resources. Like, take Sinestro. How do you even contact that guy? He lives in space.” She leans forward to place a palm over Barbara Ann’s knuckles. “My advice, Barbie? Lay low for a while. Let things blow over.”
Barbara Ann can’t help but squirm at the touch. Jade’s nails are painted apple green like a cartoon bottle of poison. “So I’m supposed to watch Netflix in some bunker while World War IV happens outside?”
Jade shrugs. “Why not? You’re an immortal goddess now. Civilizations rise and fall.”
“I guess I see your point.” Barbara Ann fidgets with her silverware. “But where do I hide, exactly? Thanks to the UN, the Suicide Squad gets to patrol the whole globe.”
“I hear Russia’s lovely this time of year,” says Jade. “I’ll book you a flight.”
“Great,” Barbara Ann says with an eye roll, “then instead of getting head-bombed for being a supervillain, I can get hate crimed for being a queer.”
“Or you could get hate crimed for being a queer supervillain. That leaked vid of you and Harley Quinn is still making the rounds…”
“We all do things we’re not proud of in prison, okay?” snaps Barbara Ann. “The point is, Russia’s off the table.”
“Cuba, then. They’ve got no extradition laws, either. You might get to enjoy a couple weeks before the US’s new metahuman army turns them into the fifty-first state.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
After that, Jade spends the next few minutes discussing the logistics of getting Barbara Ann a Cuban passport. In truth, though, Barbara Ann struggles to follow Jade’s words. She keeps thinking to herself how much nicer it would be if, rather than hiding under some rock, Barbara Ann were instead protected by a metahuman army of her own. One that was beloved by the general public, one that could even evacuate her to a whole other planet if it came down to it.
“Hey, Jade?” Barbara Ann suddenly says. “You’ve- You’ve hooked up with a cape before. It can work out, can’t it? Without having to toe the Justice League party line, I mean.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Jade manages to rip a breakfast sausage apart with a butter knife. “Things have been awkward between me and my baby daddy ever since I dropped that nuclear warhead on a populated area.”
“Oh yeah, bad example… What about Giganta? She still dating the Atom?
“Why are you asking?” Jade’s perfectly styled eyebrows narrow. “You’re not thinking of becoming a cape, are you?”
“Whaaat? Phht, no, of course not!” Thank god the waitress brought around a glass of water.
“Good,” says Jade, “because you realize, if you did become a cape, I’d have to stop giving you your antidote at night?” She wiggles her apple green nails.
Barbara Ann takes a sip. It’s perfectly audible, almost echoing through the booth.
“Babe, I’m kidding.”
“Ah ha ha ha! Good one. Good one.” Barbara Ann clears her throat.
In the drinking glass, her reflection stares at her. This whole time, Barbara Ann hasn’t rejected Diana’s help for the sake of being a contrarian—she’s done so to assert her own autonomy. But right now, accepting that help is the best choice in the name of rational self-interest. What’s more autonomous than that?
And Diana’s feelings for Barbara Ann are so plain and sincere, she won’t question it. Barbara Ann knows that they are. When the two of them were “inside the lasso,” those feelings were undeniable. Pure, powerful feelings, ones that no one had ever expressed towards Barbara Ann before.
The food arrives, thus giving Barbara Ann an excuse to discard those thoughts. That steak sure got prepared fast.
A minute later, Jade’s face has gone the color of her nails. “Do you have to lap up the blood like that?”
“Hmm?” Barbara Ann looks up from her kill. “Oh, that red stuff’s not blood,” she says with her mouth full. “It’s a mix of muscle and intestinal fluid.” She holds up her sticky claws to showcase the substance.
Jade’s face fails to change, however, and she continues to stare until Barbara Ann finds herself wiping the fluid off on a napkin and then picking up a knife and fork. The remainder of the meal passes in silence.
***
Throughout all the Watchtower’s renovations and expansions, the roundtable meeting room has remained a constant feature. The League’s founders (the ones who haven’t retired, at least) are gathered at that table now, save for Bruce, who stands across from the table so he can regale the rest with illustrative holograms projected from his fancy gauntlet.
“Russia has already announced its own Suicide Squad,” Bruce says, “complete with its own method of creating magically-shielded nanobombs. China, meanwhile, thanks to its size, was able to simply hold a metahuman recruitment drive and create a Justice League Unlimited of China.”
Diana’s bracelets dig into her stomach until it hurts. At this rate, the next World War could start any day now. Her whole career has been devoted to bringing about the precise opposite of this scenario.
“Yeah, I can see why China would go that route,” says Hal. “Armies are a lot logistically simpler when they’re not enslaving their own soldiers. Obviously, slavery on this scale has got the Lantern Corps’ attention, but we can’t free any of those poor people until we find a way around the bombs.”
“Mister Terrific and Doctor Fate are collaborating on a solution,” says Bruce. “They’ve made headway with the other nations’ bombs, but America’s are proving delicate. The Duke of Deception has grown so powerful, it’s impossible to gather reliable intel.”
“Which means if we disarm the other nations’ Suicide Squads right now, the US will be left as the top dog,” says Clark, his spit-curl quivering with disapproval. Ever since he awoke from his coma, the poor man’s been bombarded with nothing but bad news. “Through sheer numbers, the combined Justice League and Green Lantern Corps have the advantage, but the potential death toll from those head-bombs is horrific.”
Diana exhales through her teeth. How could they let it get to this point? Even after all the expanding, all the preparation in the wake of Waller’s world domination bid, the threat of a hostile US government has caught the Justice League completely off guard.
Hal rubs the bridge of his nose beneath his domino mask. “Even if we could disarm America’s nanobombs, the situation is complicated.”
“A nutjob took over the White House and started enslaving people,” huffs Clark. “What’s complicated about that?”
“Because we brought this on ourselves,” says an even-more-somber-than-usual Bruce. “We should have known that expanding the League would provoke drastic action.”
Hal nods. “We block this, the governments will search for some other way to become our equals, no matter how brutal.”
Diana can’t help but remember what Oliver said all those years ago—the more radical they go, the more the opposition digs its heels in. Are all mortals like this? So insecure in the face of higher beings, they’ll do anything for a taste of power?
“So what's our answer?” asks Arthur. “Do we scale down the League?”
“No.” Clark stands tall, shoulders straight. “Even if we did, the nations of Earth wouldn't back down. The Justice League will continue to do what it always has: saving lives. We just need to keep the peace until the midterms. That’s less than a year away. Then the Dems will take control, impeach Trump, and everything can go back to normal.”
“Is this the same ‘normal’ where the Suicide Squad operates as a black ops team and AXE throws people into unmarked vans?” asks Diana.
Clark turns to her. His spit-curl seems somehow frailer and less majestic than usual. “The same Americans who voted to banish all outsiders are waking up now to the government's cruelty. Those programs will both be defunded and scaled down significantly—I have hope of that.”
The remark casts a silence across the roundtable. It looks to Diana like Clark has more to say, but no words are forthcoming, no matter how challengingly she scowls at him.
The silence is broken once the T-emblazoned face of Michael Holt—Mister Terrific—appears from Bruce's hologram projector. Diana prays for good news.
But the gods must be busy today. “Fate’s best attempts at scrying have failed,” says Michael. “There’s no way we can crack the nanobombs without an intact one to study. We've tried to swipe a few, but those things blow the moment they’re unaccounted for.”
Clark stamps a red boot. “A perfect stalemate.”
“That coating of Uncle Sam’s godblood is proving the greatest obstacle,” Michael continues. “It’s… unfortunate that the government was able to reassemble the American Talisman.”
His next words are cut off by a sudden bang. The Watchtower’s doors are automatic, yet Diana still slammed one behind her as she stormed off.
***
A dumbbell hovers over Doris’s not inconsiderable pecs. She takes a glance around the Belle Reve prison yard. No one is watching (Giganta needs no spotter). Doris grows a couple inches—and thus fully lifts the dumbbell.
“Isn’t that cheating?” says a voice.
Doris nearly drops the thing on her neck. Instead, though, she manages to sit up and toss the weight aside, which leaves a crater in the far wall. “Cale? What are you doing here?” She blinks a few times.
It’s odd enough to see Veronica Cale here in the midst of a sea of women in orange jumpsuits, let alone to see her wearing a long-sleeve dress buttoned all the way to the top. Her advancing age has made her modest, it seems, not to mention pale and sickly. Doris herself is hardly much younger, but the years have thankfully been kind to her muscle tone.
“I take it you don’t watch the news?” Cale’s voice is pinchy like someone squishing an ant between their fingers. “I’m Waller’s replacement.”
Doris scoffs. A strand of hair has fallen over her eye, giving her a teenage aura. “How can anyone keep up with that junk? It’s so depressing nowadays.”
“You have no idea. Now suit up.” Cale tosses something at Doris’s head. It proves to be a yellow, two-piece costume. Doris is well familiar—there are few articles of clothing that can grow alongside her. “I’ve got a Squad mission earmarked just for you.”
“Pass,” says Doris. “My sentence ends next week. No need to reduce it. I think I can wait that long.”
Cale clicks her tongue. “Ooh, you really should skim the headlines, at least.”
“Hey, what the-?!” Next thing Doris knows, her arms are grabbed from behind. A flick of her head tells her the assailants are Bizarro and Killer Croc. An odd pairing, but Doris can hardly think about that right now. Her mind is racing. On impulse, she begins to grow, but it seems to make no difference to her captors. As she exceeds ten feet in height, Bizarro simply floats up to keep pace behind her—whilst carrying an injection gun.
Doris feels a pinch on the back of her neck. That feeling, too, is familiar. A defeated Doris returns to normal size, her jumpsuit stretched and tattered. “I want my lawyer.”
In a relaxed motion, Cale kneels down, retrieves the Giganta costume, and hands it back. “What you want,” she says, “is to not have your head blown off.”
There comes an expectant silence. What else can Doris say? She bows her head and mutters, “Yes, ma’am.”