Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Prospective members of Task Force X need to be in perfect health, Warden” Amanda said bluntly, keeping perfect pace with the man despite him being a foot taller than her. “How did he end up in the medical wing two weeks ago?”

The warden, a heavyset man with gelled hair, swallowed as he guided them towards Hertz’s cell. “Uh… he mouthed off to a guard, then slipped and broke his nose.”

It was clear that he was rattling off a pre-prepared lie, but she was willing to look past the barely-feasible façade. She wasn’t too heartless; many guards at Belle Reve had lost family or friends to the psychopaths and criminals they were paid to watch over. If she could get away with reducing their sentences, they could be allowed to relieve some of their anger every once in a while.

The cell door opened with a buzz as the Warden slipped his card through the scanner, allowing Waller entry first. She stayed by the door. This wasn’t a social call.

“Richard Hertz” she said simply, not one to waste time on small talk.

Hertz winced slightly as he pulled his face out of his pillow and his eyes adjusted to the light.

“…yeah?” he said groggily. “It’s like, three in the morning.”

“It’s five o’ clock in the afternoon and I want to talk to you about something.”

He squinted slightly.

“I know you. You’re that woman with the suicide squad, aren’t you?”

“The official term is Task Force X” Waller bristled. “A black ops unit made of criminals with little to no hope of release within their life time. I’m sure you know where this conversation is going.”

“Yeah, kinda. You want a big-shot like me to help the kiddies out, right?”

“You are no big-shot, Hertz. Barely anyone around here knows you, even in this cell block. Those who do aren’t very impressed.”

“They should be. I got a whip.”

“You’ve got an attitude.”

“I also got a whip.”

“Which you cannot carry in prison and is therefore irrelevant. Either way, we’re getting side-tracked. This” she said, pulling an image out of the briefcase she’d brought with her and tossing it across the room, “is Corto Maltese. I have a black ops mission that needs to be carried out. In case you didn’t know the deal: complete the mission, you get ten years off your sentence. Disobey my orders, get yourself captured, hell, mildly irritate me and I detonate the explosive device you will have implanted in the base of your skull.”

“You gonna tell me what this mission actually is?”

“Accept the offer and you will be briefed on it tomorrow. Otherwise, there is no reason for me to tell you anything.”

“Goddamn, lady… alright, I’ll join.”

“Good.” Not that she expected any other answer.

Firstly, Hertz was young and friendless, eager to make a name for himself. If he died, it would just be another body on the pile.

And secondly, he was stupid. That made him ideal for the “special job” she needed doing.

“Your warden will come and collect you in the morning. Kindly try to avoid falling onto your nose again before then.”

She heard something between a scoff and a grumble as she walked out.

He wasn’t as desperate as she knew other candidates would be; most of his fraud and murder charges were covered up by the “1,000” organisation he’d worked for. She allowed herself the wry thought of him telling his new squad mates that he was mostly serving time for several counts of public indecency. Not nearly as impressive in criminal circles.

*

Dick tried not to fidget under his outfit. The meeting room was warm, that was all.

After having a crate full of his stuff shoved at him (“Here you go, Dick-less”, one of the guards had sneered at him – yes, he knew just about every penis joke in the book about now) and a rather painful needle shoved into the back of his neck, he’d been frog-marched down to an auditorium where a whole host of weirdos were already waiting.

He’d ended up sitting next to some guy picking at his teeth, who wore a beanie hat and spoke with an Australian accent so ridiculous, Dick could have sworn he was having him on.

“Bloody hell. Hey, Waller, this meeting gonna come to order before we all die of old age, or what?”

“In a moment, Harkness” Waller responded evenly, sorting through a few documents that had been projected onto the screen.

“Hey, buddy.” Dick turned to his left to see some guy in the row behind him, face clad in what looked like a blue swim cap with eye holes cut out. “What have you been picked for?”

Dick settled for a shrug, hoping it made him seem humbler. If there was one thing time in prison had taught him, it was that boastfulness never ended well, regardless of whether it was towards fellow inmate or guard.

“Got two guns, an energy whip, a shield… got cool hair, I look good in a swimsuit. You?”

The guy smirked slightly. “Name’s TDK.”

“…and?”

“And what?”

“What were you picked for?”

“You’ll see.” And he settled back in his chair, clearly under the impression that he was soon to give Dick a real treat.

TDK. That was an acronym. Or maybe just his initials. Dick had no clue what they stood for, though, he’d never been too good at school. His Mum had always been sure to remind him of that.

The man sitting three seats down from TDK looked rather tense, his eyes darting around the room like he was expecting guards to come smashing through the floorboards and ambush him. Dick may not have been the smartest guy on Earth, but he knew that long, straight hair like that wasn’t ideal in a fistfight. The red jacket didn’t make him any less of an obvious target, either.

He stole a quick glance to the other side of the room. Maybe the kraut with the yellow spandex and barge pole was there solely to make him look less ridiculous by comparison.

“What are you staring at, blondie?” the guy snapped in a raspy voice, like he’d smoked six packs a day since the age of twelve. Oops. Lost in thought, Dick had clearly been staring directly at him for too long.

“Hi, I’m Blackguard” he said, at a loss for anything else to say. He needed to remember that they were only using their made-up names from here on in. Blackguard was open to less puns and ridicule than Dick Hertz, anyway.

The guy just impassively blew the air out through his nose and looked away. So he was one of those people, huh.

Realising the lights had been dimmed slightly, he turned back to face the board, eyes on an image of a regal-looking family. The rulers of Corto Maltese, apparently. Then Waller seemed to get a kick out of explaining just how violently they were overthrown and executed. Even the kids weren’t spared.

On that happy note, the image changed to show a rather sinister-looking tower.

The white-haired dude snorted. “Subtle.”

“This is Jotunheim” Waller said in a clipped tone of voice. “An old Nazi research facility guarded 24/7 by the Corto Maltese military. Your goal is to enter and destroy every trace of what is known as “Project Starfish””.

Starfish? Sounded lame. He’d kind of hoped they’d be stealing some cool alien guns or something.

“Ain’t that some term for an arsehole?” the Australian sniggered. “Any connection there you wanna tell us about?”

No-one else laughed, though what Dick had initially mistaken for a giant mound of hair in the first row made a slight choking noise.

“…no” Waller cut across the silence, her tone of voice advising against any further attempts at humour. “This project could prove dangerous to the US should the island’s new government decide to use it. Whilst the Herrera family were strict rulers, they struck up deals with us for the sake of peace. The likes of President Luna, however, have not.”

She flicked to the next slide.

Dick double-checked the image, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. He’d seen junkies before, but he’d never heard of someone who injected the stuff directly into their brains. Hardcore.

“This is your way in. Doctor Gaius Greaves, also known as the Thinker, is the scientist in charge of overseeing the Project. On the evenings, he often frequents a gentleman’s club called La Gatita Amable and is well-known amongst the… staff there.”

“Huh?” Dick said, more as a reflex than anything. Anyone in a five-mile radius could likely smell the distaste in her voice, but he didn’t get why.

“Strippers, Hertz.”

The Australian guy looked a bit too eager as he sat up a little straighter in his chair.

“None of you get any ideas” she added, as if knowing exactly what was going through the man’s mind. “You will be there to retrieve this asset and then you will be gone. I have no need of timewasters. Any questions?”

Silence for a few seconds. Dick opened his mouth.

“Good” she said, either not noticing or just not caring. “Your commanding officer will be Colonel Rick Flag.”

A broad-shouldered man stepped from the shadows, dressed in standard-issue military gear, minus a helmet. Dick could relate: sometimes you just didn’t want to ruin your hair, even if it did mean risking a bullet.

“Welcome to Task Force X” he said, sounding at least slightly happier to see them. Waller had already left the room without another word, the only sign she was ever there being the swinging door. “In case any of you wondering about callsigns, you’ll be using your standard aliases. Let’s run you through them.”

He pointed at each person in the seats as he rattled off the names. If Dick was to remember anything from today, it had to be this. “Javelin, Captain Boomerang, Mongal, Blackguard, TDK, Savant and Weasel.”

The mound of hair coughed again. Dick no longer felt alone in wondering just what it was or which pit of Hell it had crawled out from.

*

Dick was asked to stay behind after the presentation. He stood in the empty auditorium for a few minutes, briefly wondering whether this was one last nightstick-session with the guards after he threw that toilet roll at Officer Griggs’ head last week.

Then Waller re-appeared. He hadn’t even heard the door open, so she’d probably just walked through the wall like the Devil himself. She was flanked by a fat guy with what Dick could only describe as paedophile glasses and an ugly plaid shirt - he didn’t need to get close to know the accompanying BO would likely knock him out.

Dick was in prison and still got a shower at least twice a week. What was this guy’s excuse?

“I have a special task for you, Hertz.”

The temptation to say good to see you too, Miss Waller was marred only by his desire to not potentially suffer a slow and painful death.

“Yeah?” he simply said instead.

“When you arrive at the drop-off point at Corto Maltese, I need you to cause a distraction. Be loud. Get the military’s attention. Pretend you’ve betrayed your team in a deal with them.”

“But I don’t want to betray the team. They’re pretty nice.”

“You’ve known them for all of twenty-five minutes.”

“Well, I mean… I still don’t want them to kill me for selling them out.”

“If you survive, we can discuss that issue later.”

He didn’t really like the sound of that.

“Hang on, if I survive…?”

“You will be faking a surrender, Hertz. Given the predilections of the Corto Maltese government, it is likely you will be shot at.”

Dick swallowed thickly.

“…I’m not too sure I like this task.”

“You’re federal property, Hertz. Your opinion doesn’t really matter. I felt it only fair that you are at least forewarned of this decision before having to follow it through.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Just be ready when you arrive at the beach.”

He looked at the fat guy standing to her left, trying to read his face for some kind of help. He didn’t get any.

Maybe he should ring his lawyer before he leaves, just to make sure he has a will written up.

Chapter Text

The plane ride went rather smoothly, all things considered.

Dick was fiddling on with his seatbelt when a woman in loud colours and pigtails boarded.

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he recognised her instantly. Harley Quinn. Then again, everyone knew who she was: the crazy woman who’d banged the Joker and then killed Roman Sionis.

Not that the two events were in any way related. At least he assumed they weren’t.

Harley gave a cheery wave in his general direction and then loudly announced to everyone present that she’d just taken a shit. Dick couldn’t really gauge people’s responses, however, as TDK had taken the time to show him how the stupid belt connected properly. The assistance, however miniscule, was actually sort of touching, in a way.

It was only his third time flying, so once they took off and the conversation lulled for the next twenty minutes or so, he stared at a patch of metal and ignored how he could feel every jolt of turbulence in his stomach.

“We’re in a butcher’s freezer, Harls” piped up the boomerang guy. “Surrounded by dead hogs swinging on hooks… only they don’t know it yet.”

It was official: Dick could barely make out a word this guy said.

“What does TDK stand for?” the kraut – Javelin, that was it – shouted across the aisle.

Dick had only been half-listening and thus jumped slightly when TDK shouted back, almost directly in his ear.

“What?”

“Your name is TDK, correct?”

“…yeah?”

“And it stands for what?”

Dick’s mind started trying to fill in the blanks for him.

The Delightful King? The Delivery Kite?

“Me. It stands for me. S’what a name is” TDK responded, apparently choosing the most anticlimactic answer possible.

To play off the awkwardness and look nonchalant, Dick scratched at his chest, despite there being two layers of clothing and a mounted pistol holster in the way. It probably just looked like he was petting something.

“Your name is… letters?” Javelin sounded genuinely confused. Then again, TDK hadn’t exactly given them a lot to go on; everyone had matching expressions of bemusement bar the hairy thing, who seemed lost in their own little world.

“All names are letters, dickhead” Boomerang deadpanned, effectively ending the conversation.

Harley stopped flashing her pearly whites for a second so she could turn and engage in some intense eye-fucking with the German.

“I love your accent.”

He smirked. Dick wished he had this sort of luck with women; the guy was already about to get to first base and he knew it. Smarmy bastard.

“American women all love accents.”

“We do! ‘Cos we don’t got none!”

Savant’s gaze turned towards the only window in the compartment, likely wishing he could throw himself out of it.

A strangled retch prevented Dick from being caught staring again. The creepy beast next to him looked like it was hacking up phlegm and his curiosity finally got the best of him.

“Yo, is this a dog?”

What was its name, again? It had been along the lines of “Ferret” or something like that.

Boomerang had looked towards him as he spoke, more out of boredom than engagement, but his brow quickly furrowed. “What?”

Was he genuinely interested now or just taking the piss? Dick couldn’t tell.

“Is – is this thing a dog?”

“A dog?” the Aussie repeated in a more blatantly mocking tone of voice. Yeah, he was definitely taking the piss. “What kinda dog do you think it is, mate?”

Immediately, Dick felt his defensive hackles rise. “I don’t know, I’m not familiar with all the - breeds!”

“I’m gonna go with Afghan Hound” TDK cut in.

“Since when does an Afghan Hound have bloody thumbs?”

“Oh my God!” Quinn perked up. “Is it a werewolf?”

…what if it was? Werewolves have thumbs, right?

“I’ve wanted to meet a werewolf forever!” she ranted on, unaware of what this was doing to Dick’s psyche. And until the day he died, he would refuse to admit that he might have possibly panicked a little.

“They sat me next to a werewolf? Yo, lemme out!”

He rived at his seatbelt, but the thing was just as hard to take off as it was to put on.

“Hey, he’s not a werewolf, okay? He’s a weasel; he’s harmless.”

An irritated Colonel Flag had joined them, looking at Dick like this whole thing was his fault. Dick slowly slid back down into his seat, trying to ignore the way at least three of the plane’s other occupants had been vindictively laughing at him.

“Well, he’s not harmless, he’s killed twenty-seven children, but, y’know… we got him to… we think he agreed to do this.”

That really didn’t do much for Dick’s stress levels.

“Whatever the case, everyone get into position to drop!”

Weasel started screeching slightly as it twitched about in its seat. The jump honestly couldn’t have come sooner.

Dick was one of the first ones up as the rear hatch began to open, revealing…

Water.

Not good when he had an extra five pounds of gear attached to his body.

“Hey, uh, Cap?” he shouted over the sudden gust of wind billowing into the compartment.

“It’s Colonel.”

“Yeah, sure, uh… about the water… not that I’m complaining or anything, cos, y’know, only babies do that, but… couldn’t we… jump onto the actual island or something, y’know?”

Flag raised an impassive eyebrow. “Sounds to me like you are complaining.”

“Well, I mean, not entirely. I mean – it’s just when you’ve got all the muscle that I do – “

“Just do the damn jump, Blackguard.”

“It’s not the jumping I’m worried about, it’s the sinking – “

“Holding up the queue, mate” came a sigh from Boomerang.

“Huh?”

Then the guy grabbed him by the arm and leaped, pulling Dick along with him.

Dick definitely didn’t scream or anything as they fell, nor did he flounder aimlessly before finally managing to get his head above the waves.

Splashes echoed around him as the other members dropped, Harley with an excited squeal and Weasel with an echoing shriek. Well, at least someone was worse at diving than he was.

Hold on. And swimming too, apparently.

When it went under for the sixth time, Savant ended up breast-stroking over and grabbing the thing by the neck to keep it afloat, whilst Dick had been tempted to just let it drown. Yes, its face would still haunt his nightmares for years to come, but at least he’d no longer have to smell it.

Getting to the shore probably only took five minutes, but it felt like hours and Dick hadn’t swum in years. Puffing, panting and hoping no-one else had noticed how tired he was already, he crawled up to the edge of the beach, where a few of them were already waiting.

“I’ve got a heartbeat” Savant barked across to Flag, examining the Weasel’s slightly-too-still body. “It’s faint, but it’s there.”

Rolling onto his back by a dune, he noticed the carrier had long since flown away, leaving their surroundings as quiet as the Belle Reve library.

Flag spoke into his comm. “Waller, we’re on the beach and dry.”

Dry, my ass. Thank God his hair was short, his usual quiff had been wiped out and it all now stuck stubbornly onto his forehead.

His earpiece crackled to life suddenly.

“Hertz, it’s time. Do not respond, just get out there and do it.”

Goddammit.

Ignoring the bemused stares thrown his way, he hefted himself over the dune and into the sights of a pretty abandoned-looking forest. There was nothing to be seen, but he doubted he would be made to do this if they were only being watched by the local parrots.

“Hey guys!”

 He could hear Boomerang hissing something from behind, but ignored it by yelling a bit louder.

“You can come out now, it’s just me! I’m the guy who contacted you!”

His head hadn’t burst into fleshy confetti yet, so he assumed he was doing a good enough job for Waller’s tastes.

“Look, I brought everybody, look! They’re – they’re right behind me!”

The hum of electricity filled the air as a blinding pair of searchlights burst from within the trees, rendering him half-blind and able to hear only the noise of approaching feet and… holy shit, was that a chopper?

Yes, it was. A military helicopter had near-silently appeared from above, shining its own spotlight down on him, like it was about to either beam him up or have him sing for the judges like on that dumb TV show.

“Hey guys, whoa – hey – “

Even for a badass like him, this sort of seemed like overkill. Half the country’s military had to be here. The situation was looking less and less escapable and the beach felt like it was getting smaller and smaller.

“We got a deal, right?”

No, his voice did not waver at all.

“I’m the one who called y – “

A flash of silver caught his eye. Something long and metal flew past his head and somewhere into the onslaught of figures visible in the trees. A strangled gurk was accompanied by a thunderous gunshot that snapped Dick out of his reverie and made him realise that this was what was scientifically called a really bad idea.

The bullet missed his head by inches and he took this as a sign that he should probably get down.

And then all hell broke loose.

The millisecond he hit the sand, gunfire erupted from every conceivable direction and he crawled onto his stomach to the nearest rock for cover.

“Sniper down!” Boomerang called over the comms, his signature weapon – so that’s what it had been – since returned to his hand.

“Stay there, they could have more!” Rick shouted back. “Blackguard sold us out! Waller, we need to retreat!”

The rock Dick was behind didn’t exactly provide a lot of protection. Each stray shot and ricochet was slowly chipping away it, coming closer and closer to his head. He hit one of the buttons on his gauntlet, glad to see the water hadn’t screwed up the electronics, allowing the straps on it to open up and let a thin sheet of iron unceremoniously fall from within.

“Negative, Flag” Waller panned. She may as well have been reading from the shipping forecast. “The mission is too important. This is a tough group; you can make it.”

“Waller, with all due respect, we’re in the middle of a goddamn – Harley, wait!”

An energetic whoop hollered from behind, which was quick to be drowned out by a massive explosion as a rocket flew across the beach and hit the swarm of enemy soldiers dead in the centre.

Taking the diversion as a chance to better survey his surroundings, Dick noticed a much larger rock formation to his right, capable of covering three of four directions. If he could just –

The iron slab beeped shrilly, before a sheet of laser spread around it at a big enough circumference for him to hide his torso and head behind. Shield at the ready, he sprinted for his target, ignoring the muffled noises of one or two stray bullets pounding off of it.

A second explosion went off as he retracted the shield and ducked into a roll, kicking up sand and getting a slight amount in his eyes as he reached relative safety. A blurred figure was sprinting in his direction, dodging and weaving ricocheting projectiles and, he noticed as it drew closer, looking none too happy to see him.

Scrabbling to the side to let Harley join him, he noticed the dark eyeshadow really helped add some intensity to her already-homicidal glare.

“Y’know, I was more than happy to let that sniper shoot your face in” she growled, leaning forward and poking him in the chest. “God knows why Boomer thought it necessary to save ya, but consider yourself lucky.”

It took Dick a hot second to catch on to whatever the hell she was talking about.

“Oh yeah, you mean the – no, that – well, you see, the thing is – “

A third figure fell between them, clutching a pistol and not looking very pleased, either.

“Blackguard.”

“…hey, Corporal.”

“It’s Colonel. It – no, it’s not important. What the hell were you thinking? Did you think they’d spare you if you ratted us out? Pretty much the entire Corto Maltese army’s here!”

“Yeah, I, uh… I noticed.”

Narking on Waller probably wasn’t going to earn him any extra brownie points, so it was high time he improvised.

“It was a distraction. I distract them, you all jump out shooting. Pretty strategic of me, yeah?”

He’d never seen someone look so sick and tired in the middle of an intense firefight before. Thankfully, the man’s attention was drawn back to his earpiece, sparing Dick the need to dig himself a deeper hole.

“TDK! Two o’ clock!”

The guy in question stood up from behind cover like a whack-a-mole, spreading his arms and legs out. Dick vaguely considered bracing himself in case he farted and the Earth shook or something.

Instead, TDK’s arms sprung from their sockets like an Action Man’s, floating across the sand, illuminated by a massive fireball that accompanied Mongal grabbing the chopper by the bottom and pulling it out of the air.

The arm reached its target, before rather pathetically reaching out and smacking them upside the head.

A borderline rhythmic sequence of slaps and mild punches ensued, in a way that was neither impressive nor remotely helpful. The guy’s look of pure concentration sure made it seem like he was trying though, bless him.

Evidently, Rick had decided enough was enough.

“Waller, we’re leaving!” he barked into the comm. “Everyone off the beach! Follow me!”

The ranks of soldiers had been thinned slightly, but more kept piling out the trees as if they were breeding by the minute. They probably made a hell of a target by now, especially once joined by a soot-coated Mongal and still-pristine Javelin, but Dick was more focused on not stepping in too much of the blood that was seeping into the sand around them.

“In, in, in!” Rick hollered, waving them towards the treeline. TDK half-waddled over, with his arms following at a distance. If Dick hadn’t had his access to magic mushrooms cut off a long time ago, he’d have assumed he was tripping balls by now.

“And I’ll deal with you later” he growled, just quiet enough for Dick to hear. Speaking of, his will should probably have gone through to his lawyer at this point.

For an army grunt, he’s not the most encouraging guy, Dick mused as he hurtled through the trees, leaping over the odd loose root and listening as the whizz of passing bullets started to die down. As Savant – who’d only just climbed up from the shoreline to join them, the pussy – brought up the rear, Weasel’s limp form slung over his shoulders, the group stopped in the middle of a slightly denser clearing to catch their breath.

“So” came that barely-perceptible Australian snarl. “Care to tell us what that was about, pretty boy?”

Dick was bent over, trying not to retch, before finally taking his hands off his knees and straightening up when he realised no-one had responded.

Bit of a mistake.

The entire team was glaring at him and the world seemed to be shrinking into a very small corner.

“Oh, I’m pretty boy?”

Boomerang squinted bemusedly.

Savant unceremoniously dumped the stinking animal to the ground and looked to the sky. Unfortunately, it seemed God was momentarily too busy to hit him with a lightning bolt.   

Mongal looked to Flag, drawing out two rather dangerous-looking blades and spinning them in her hands. “Can I flay him now, Colonel?”

Dick had many things to say, but mainly one.

“Hold on… you think I’m pretty?”

Chapter Text

“Right, I think everybody should just calm down –“ Rick tried, but his compatriots looked a little far from calm.

“Do you know what we do to traitors on Almerac?” Mongal said quietly, still not putting the blades away.

“Almond-y whatsit?” Dick managed.

“We pump them full of drugs so they can’t pass out, before skinning them slowly, bottom-up. Then we hang the bodies from the pillars outside my palace.”

“Uh…”

“You seem confused. Allow me to demonstrate.”

“Oh no you don’t, Empress Satsuma” Boomerang cut, elbowing her out of the way. “I’m wantin’ to give him some of the old Korumburra stigmatism.”

“Hey, share, will ya? There’s enough for everyone!” Harley piped up, cracking her knuckles and grinning. Dick was pretty sure he preferred her glaring. At least the teeth wouldn’t be blinding him whilst he died his painful death.   

“Nobody’s killing anybody!” Rick snapped, pushing his way in between them. “But to be frank, Blackguard, I’m amazed Waller hasn’t sent your brains flying all over this forest yet.”

Dick’s earpiece screeched slightly as the she-devil’s voice spoke once again.

“Not a word, Hertz.”

“Uh…yeah, me too.”

Why couldn’t she just bully someone else for five minutes?

“You got any excuse as to why you shouldn’t be tied up and left here while we complete the rest of the mission?” Flag asked, hands resting on his belt as he stoically glared.

“Well, you see, Commander – “

“Colonel.”

“Colonel, I told you earlier, but you probably forgot, because of, y’know, everything that was going on… it was a distraction to – “

“Yeah, yeah, a distraction. I don’t believe you. The Lego man over here –“ he jerked a thumb at TDK, who looked slightly affronted, “- was a distraction. You just jumped up over the sand dune and announced that you’d betrayed us all.”

“But I didn’t mean any of it. Gotta be convincing.”

“The little man is lying” Javelin nodded, twirling his weapon at the far back as he leaned against a tree.

“Little -? I’m twenty-five, asshole!”

“Basically a kid” Savant grumbled, hunched over and now slapping Weasel across the face in an attempt to wake it up. “War sure as hell isn’t a game, son. You almost got everyone killed.”

“Wh – hold on, why the fuck are we listening to this guy now?” Dick could only stammer in bewilderment. “You’re asking what I can do, what about him? He throws a stick, for Christ’s sake; he has to walk over and pick it back up! He’s the boomerang guy, but worse!”

“You have guns” Javelin murmured, but Dick took some pleasure in noticing that his voice was a lot tighter. “You’re the Colonel, except nobody likes you.”

That shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

“Fuck you, Goldilocks.”

The kraut took a step forward and Dick stumbled back slightly.

“This is getting us nowhere” Flag snapped, checking his watch. It was either to check how long they had to get to their next destination, or how little time had passed before he’d been forced to take up the role of team mother. “We need to get at least halfway through this jungle before settling down for the night. I haven’t had any further word from Waller, so Blackguard will be staying with us. That means no flaying, stabbing, or… violence of any kind, got it?”

There was some mild grumbling as the rest of the group clearly tried to think up a loophole, but the wording was pretty solid.

“What about – “

“No, Harley. And would somebody wake that thing up!”

Savant’s slapping hadn’t gotten him anywhere; Weasel was just as unresponsive as ever. Dick saw this as his chance to shine.

“I know CPR!” he announced to no-one in general.

He didn’t, really.

Savant fixed him with his default unimpressed look, but moved aside and let him kneel in his place.

Christ, it smelled even worse at this distance.

“You gotta press down on the chest to the beat of a song by some band. What were they called, the Heebie-jeebies or something?”

“Bee Gees” said TDK.

“That’s it” Dick nodded, pressing both hands over where the heart should be and thanking God that he was wearing gloves. Then a thought struck him. “Wait, do weasels have their hearts in the same place as humans?”

Boomerang snorted, his gold tooth glinting in a sliver of moonlight. “Nah, I think it’s some place between the legs, mate.”

“…that doesn’t sound right to me, but I don’t know enough about weasels to dispute it.”

“It’s not” Flag cut across, now sounding thoroughly fed up. “He used to be a human once, it’ll be where it always is.”

“Human?” TDK repeated blankly.

Flag nodded. “Doctor John Monroe. A biologist transformed by a lab accident. Or maybe it was a success, I really don’t know.”

It was clear that no-one really knew how to respond to this revelation.

“Why is it” Savant ground out, “that we get two doctors on an eight-person team, but both of them turn out to be idiots?”

“Sorry, where’s your psychology degree, then?” Harley grinned, fingering her pistol.

Flag slowly put his head in his hands and groaned into them. “This is gonna be a long week…”

“I don’t need one” Savant growled, jaw clenched. “Anyone with half a brain can tell you’ve got nothing going on upstairs.”

“Give me ten seconds with a baseball bat and I can make sure you don’t either, smart guy” Harley retorted, the manic look in her eyes more than making up for her lack of height.

“I’ve blackmailed some of the most powerful people in America and worked as a hitman for some of Gotham’s most notorious crime families. What have you done? Get beaten around by your ex and blow up a few buildings?”

“Ooh, burn” muttered TDK.

“I killed one of those notorious crime bosses you’re so in love with. An’ before that, I helped Flag and Boomer stop a real, spell-throwing, supernatural witch. Ask them, they’ll tell you it’s true. So do you want to double down on that statement? Or do you want to keep all your teeth in your mouth before I stuff ‘em down your – “

“How deep is your love, how deep is your love, I really mean to learn…”

Dick stopped rhythmically pressing when he realised it had grown quiet again. Harley and Savant had frozen, just inches away from each other, Harley’s finger still raised in warning.

“…what?”

“Wrong song” TDK supplied helpfully. After his powers turned out to be such a flop, it seemed his one remaining purpose was just to occasionally chip in with two-word remarks.

“Well, I was doing You Should Be Dancing just before, but I got bored and switched, so…”

“It’s meant to be Staying Alive, I think. You know, from that film, what was it, Sunday Night Jazz?”

“Saturday Night Fever” said Javelin.

“Saturday Night Fever, yeah, that was it.”

“Of course, you’d know, you wuss” Dick murmured, now feeling all tired and sweaty. Trying to restart a guy’s heart really took it out of you.

“Should try and give ‘im the kiss of life, mate” Boomerang sniggered.

“Yeah, that’s an idea” Dick agreed, starting forward.

“No, Blackguard, he’s just joking – “ Flag started, but Dick had already clenched his nostrils shut and leaned forward, prizing open its mouth. “…hey, wait, hang on… I think…”

 “Uh, Blackguard…” came TDK’s voice.

Dick shook his head, eyes shut. “No, I’m in the zone now, don’t try to stop me.”

“Blondie…” said Savant.

“No, trust me, I know what I’m doing – oh Jesus, what’s he been eating… “

“You really don’t –“ interjected Harley.

“Why’s there always spinach in his teeth, I didn’t know they even served that stuff back at the canteen – “

He sucked in his gut and prepared himself. This was it. If he survived this, he deserved fifteen years off his sentence, easy.

Alright, he could do this.

He opened his eyes.

Weasel’s were staring right back.

It was unlikely any outside observer would know who screamed louder; him or Weasel. But he definitely jumped back the furthest, almost as if he’d been launched by rocket.

The jungle echoed with so much laughter it was surprising the Corto Maltese military hadn’t started shooting at them again. Even Flag was shaking his head and chuckling.

“We tried to tell ya!” Harley managed between gasps for air.

Dick considered just staying on the ground: maybe if he waited long enough, it would eventually swallow him up.

*

He made sure to stay at the back of the congregation as they began to walk further into the jungle.

Harley and Boomerang had become engaged in a conversation about unicorns at one point, but it was clear that he wasn’t allowed to be a part of it. He’d spoken up exactly once, mentioning this purple one with wings that he’d seen on TV before, but they just threw him a funny look that quite plainly said they didn’t want him around for now. The others got to pitch in no problem, also occasionally making a snide remark about his intelligence or lack of spine.

Which was fair, he supposed. In their eyes, he was the snitch that they’d have to put up with for now. It just smarted that he’d been relegated to verbal punching bag when it was barely a day in.

That being said, one member did hover close to him for the whole trek; unfortunately, it was the only one who couldn’t do much of anything besides make the odd squawking sound at every few trees they passed.  

Weasel had taken to pattering along just a foot behind him, adjusting its pace and direction to match his. He’d even run a few small experiments every so often, shifting to the left or right, or speeding up and slowing down to see whether it would copy him. It did.

He sure hoped it was a sign of affection rather than it latching onto its newest prey.

It was probably somewhere in the early hours of the morning by the time they stopped in a small clearing full of dead leaves and a few bushes.

“We’ll stop here for the remainder of the night.” Flag said, kneeling down. “Get as much sleep as you can, this surface seems soft enough.”

He threw a pointed look at Mongal. “Remember what I said earlier.”

“Yes, Colonel” she said rather sullenly.   

Dick made sure to lie as far away from her as possible, his back against a tree so no-one could stick a blade in it.

Savant turned around and let himself fall to the ground without a word. Harley plopped herself down on the ground, unfolding the empty bag she’d brought her rocket launcher in and using it a pillow. “’Night, guys!”

“’Night, Harls.”

“Guten Nacht, Frau Quinn.”

“Aw, you smooth talker, you!”

“Get to sleep, Javelin” Flag muttered, his face slightly visible amongst the shadows. If Dick didn’t know any better, he’d have said he looked almost jealous about something. He had no clue as to what though; if his money hadn’t been confiscated by the government long ago, he would have bet that the abs on the guy’s costume were fake.

“Yeah…uh, night, fellas.” Dick said blankly.

No response.

Oh, well.

*

At a guess, an hour passed before the heat, humidity and itchiness became too much for Dick to just lie still anymore.

Turning onto his side to face TDK’s still form, he couldn’t help but feel a little exposed. They were essentially in the middle of nowhere, true, but the military would likely be hot on their tail given the absence of any dead bodies back on the beach that weren’t theirs.

Though, given his little stunt, it could have turned out quite differently.

Back in his enforcer days, the 1,000 only really paid him to rough people up; they had assassins for when it came to the killing. Not that he wouldn’t take a human life if pressed, it was just that when he committed a crime, it tended to make everything a lot easier if you tried to avoid any casualties.

Did he feel guilty about what he’d done back there? Maybe a little. There’d been a lot of soldiers on that beach. If he’d been killed and the whole team went with him, whoever was out there in the great unknown would likely have a few choice words. But it wasn’t like he could have disobeyed Waller.

…well, he could have, but he doubted he’d have been allowed to keep living for much longer afterwards. She’d probably just have someone else do him in, maybe Savant. Or get Harley to drizzle him in barbecue sauce and throw him into a pen with Weasel.

It would have been the nobler thing to do, yeah. But nobility didn’t pay the bills and it wasn’t like he knew there’d be half the population of a city ready to turn them into Swiss cheese.  

He didn’t have much time to dwell on his moral situation anyway, as something suddenly wrapped itself around his lower leg.

 Shit, a snake.

He could deal with snakes, right? Just as long as it wasn’t one of those ones that could eat sheep. Did Corto Maltese even have sheep?

Moving his head slowly so as not to startle it, he risked a look at the thin, winding… brown… fuzzy…

Aw, no.

Weasel was almost hugging him from behind, purring slightly. He turned to face it, just in time for it to lick the side of his face.

He sure was glad he wasn’t a kid right about now.

He jerked his shoulder slightly and shook his affected leg. It didn’t get the hint.

Did he dare ask his teammates for help and further embarrass himself? That was if he even got the chance to open his mouth before they finally snapped and killed him for waking them back up.  

Except for Boomerang, it seemed, who was lying a few metres away and looking straight at him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Help, Dick mouthed.

The Aussie simply leaned back, not losing the smile. A simple shake of his head and the closing of his eyes made it clear that Dick was on his own.

He briefly wondered whether the unspoken contract of owing someone your life could be rendered null and void if the aforementioned someone was a big enough asshole. Dick knew that in terms of honour, he should be the last one to judge, but leaving a comrade pinned down by an animal close enough to deliver an impromptu prostate exam definitely wasn’t something a good squad mate did.

Chapter Text

As the first stretches of morning light cracked through the gaps in the trees, Dick was politely awoken by a twig being thrown off the side of his head.

“Oi. Get up. Colonel’s missing.”

Dick groaned. “Five more minutes…”

“If you don’t get up now, human, we will leave you with the rodent.”

Grumbling, he opened his eyes. So, it wasn’t a dream. He was still in a jungle in the middle of nowhere, Weasel still clinging onto him like he would dispense prizes if squeezed hard enough.

Everyone around him was slightly blurry at the minute, but he could tell that they were all on their feet and ready to go.

“Wait, am I the last one up?”

“Yes” Javelin responded curtly, picking up his weapon and brushing leaves off of it. “We considered waking you earlier whilst thinking up our next move, but decided you’d have no intelligent input to give. Don’t take it personally. Or do. We really don’t care.”

“Yeah, yeah” Dick mumbled dismissively, slowly removing Weasel’s hand from the small of his back and getting to his feet. The thing coughed as it slowly regained consciousness, mouth opening and closing and eyes twitching back and forth.

“Not to mention you two just looked so adorable together!” Harley grinned. That was the problem with her, Dick had found. You could never tell whether she was being vindictive or not. “I have a hyena back home, you know. He’s great for cuddles. Real fluffy. Is Weasel fluffy too?”

He’d only been awake for three minutes and already felt like he’d hit the maximum number of questions he could possibly answer for today.

“Task Force X” came Waller’s voice over the comms. “Come in.”

Boomerang made a show of rolling his eyes before activating his earpiece and answering back in an exaggeratedly happy tone of voice.

“Hiya, Waller! What can we do for you this fine mornin’?”

“Cut the shit, Harkness” she responded, ever the charmer. “We’ve located the camp Colonel Flag has been taken to. In - no, it was not just you, John, shut up. Infiltrate the camp and get him back before moving on to Jotunheim. These are dangerous people and should not be underestimated. Are we clear?”

“Get in, kill ‘em, get Flag out. Gotcha. I guess we could use the exercise; ‘think Mongal here’s been wantin’ to stab somethin’ all night.”

“I crave violence” Mongal said to no-one in particular, fists flexing. Dick took a step back and almost bumped into Weasel, who was trying to swat a butterfly with its paw.

The earpiece beeped as communications were cut off. “Well, today’s yer lucky day, Your Almighty Easy-peel. Hey, Dick-wad! You ready?”

Dick gave the ground a once-over, just to make sure he hadn’t dropped anything. “Sure.”

“Hey, how did the guy get nabbed, anyway?” TDK’s voice came from behind, causing Dick to jump maybe three feet.

Boomerang shrugged. “Maybe went out on patrol in the middle of the night. Maybe just wanted to stretch his legs. Either way, we’ve got to get him out of whatever sitch he’s got himself into. Now if you’re all finished askin’ dumb questions, let’s move. We can ‘prolly get there in about forty-five minutes or so…”

*

“I cannot believe it took us four and a half hours to get here” he heard Mongal growl, intense dislike pasted across her features.

Savant clearly shared the sentiment, spitting on the ground.

Harley shrugged, adjusting her bag as she joined the two of them at the clearing. “Hey, it wasn’t what I thought it was gonna be either, but look on the bright side – we got to see the sights!”

The older man kicked a tree in annoyance. “Yeah. The sights. Forest, forest, and by God, if it doesn’t look like more forest coming up real soon.”

“I get you feel bad with there being no computers around, but I’m sure you’ll get your chance real soon. Expert hacker gotta hack, right?”

“Expert hacker got to get out of this godforsaken place before he throws himself off the nearest cliff. Now, where are the rest of those idiots?”

Boomerang and TDK were just a few metres behind; Javelin, Dick and Weasel were bringing up the rear.

The fiddly thing on Dick’s zipper finally agreed to do its job as he negotiated with it by briefly hopping on one leg whilst pulling it upwards.

“…don’t tell me you guys were fucking” Savant deadpanned.

“Please” Javelin scoffed “I have standards.”

“Yeah, well, so do I” Dick snapped. Not his wittiest comeback, so he tried again. “And I could do better than some guy who obviously chose his weapon as compensation for something.”

Weasel coughed up a mound of dirt from a molehill they’d had to drag it away from a few minutes earlier. Boomerang chuckled, but it didn’t sound like it was about something Dick could chuckle about, too.

“Guess it must have been the fine Doc John here, then.”

“What?”

“Bet he wanted to pay you back for savin’ him from the jaws of death, huh?”

“Hey, the old guy dragged him out of the sea!”

“The old guy wasn’t gettin’ special hugs all night though, was he?”

“Just shut up.”

“Hope you didn’t get any hickies, ‘cos those teeth look mighty dirty – “

“Moving on from that image before we’re all violently ill” Savant cut across them, his back in their direction as he observed the small settlement below. “We need to figure out a plan of attack.”

“…and I’m not old” he added as an afterthought, giving a firm glare for good measure.

Dick saw the opportunity to steer the conversation out of these uncomfortable waters and nodded in agreement. “I’m thinking full frontal assault.”

“You want to offer yourself up on a silver platter before or after?”

“Full frontal assault” Dick repeated, trying, and failing to pretend the asshole hadn’t said anything.

“Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot, kid. That’s what happened on the beach, remember? And we had to retreat after about three minutes.”

“We’re less exposed in the jungle, though” interjected Mongal. “The trees are ideal cover. Not to mention we have the high ground on approach.”

“You’re forgetting how much surface area there is. The camp as a whole takes up too much space. There’s only eight of us, not to mention at least one will have the job of finding Flag once the fighting starts. We’d be stretched too thin.”

Dick realised what he was getting at. To cover the whole area, they’d need to split up. And in a one-on-one fight between a teammate and a gunman, he’d bet on the gunman in at least half of those cases. “… you’re saying we take it slow and stealthy, then.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Well, that was my second plan, anyway.”

Another head-turn and glare combo. Dick momentarily wondered whether his neck was starting to hurt from doing that over and over again.

“Sure, kid. Incidentally, can you even be stealthy?”

“’The hell kind of question is that? Of course I can! I wasn’t put on this team for nothing, you know!”

“You’re a walking killing spree.”

“Aw, really? Thanks, man.”

“It’s not a compliment. You can hear everything shuffle about as you move.”

He turned back around to view the camp again, lowering his goggles over his eyes. Dick stewed in indignation for a bit before picking up a more hushed conversation from behind him.

“’Wasn’t really anythin’ like that, don’t worry” the team Aussie was drawling. “Dick-head here just needed to take another piss, is all.”

“Isn’t that, like, the fifth time?” Harley asked incredulously.

“If I had a tenner, I’d bet you it’s at least the ninth. ‘Thought I’d better hang nearby just in case he has a phone on him and decides to ring up the military again.”

You fake a betrayal once and no-one ever lets it go.

“Oh my God, dude, it was just the one time. And I learned my lesson. It isn’t going to happen again.”

He smacked his hands over his mouth, remembering a little too late that he wasn’t supposed to be hearing this. The jungle fell deadly silent, leaving only the sound of a few crickets chirping.

“Wow” Boomerang drawled as Harley folded her arms. “Turncoat and eavesdropper. You’re a real double threat, mate.”

“You’re damn right, you…half-baked… C-lister!”

“’Least I got into the papers, mate. You, on the other hand, I’d never heard of until yesterday.”

“Then let me give you the lowdown, asshole” Dick snarled, temper finally getting the better of him. “I was part of an elite criminal organisation. I fought Booster Gold, a full-on space cadet-type guy with a drone. I’ve got guns, an energy shield, a whip, and more strength in this suit than the entire population of whatever shithole town you come from combined. I’m Blackguard, motherfucker. Who are you? Captain I-use-the-first-thing-I-found-in-the-nearest-bin-as-a-weapon?”

“Careful, mate” Boomerang retorted, voice now dangerously low. “You start throwing words like that around, we might decide you’re too much to keep hold of. You’ve already tried to do us all in once. ‘Might have to get you out of the picture if you go about trying to sabotage the team’s effectiveness again, you see what I mean?”

“Well then I might have to break both your legs before you can stab me in the back like the rat bastard you are. Then once all this is over, I’ll go over to Australia or wherever the hell it is you live and screw your Mum for good measure.”

A boomerang was slowly removed from its holster on the guy’s chest, but Dick could only see red. “You sure, chum? ‘Cos all that’s stoppin’ you is air and opportunity.”

Dick took a deep breath through his nose.

“An’ there goes the air.”

“Bring it, Captain Koala!”

“Captain Koala?”

“That’s enough out of both of you!” Savant hissed, shoving them both apart. “You want to alert the whole jungle that we’re here?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time for him, right?” the jerk obviously couldn’t resist saying.

“You –“

“Both of you back away now, or I swear to fucking God, I will decimate both of you. Got it?”

Whether through sheer willpower or some supernatural force behind the man’s gaze, Dick felt himself calm down slightly. “Sure.”

“And you?”

“Aye. Sure, mate.”

“Good. Now if you’ve both finished acting like idiot children, we need to -”

He faltered. “We need to ask where the hell Weasel’s gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s right -” Dick turned on his heel, only to find himself pointing at empty space and a set of paw-shaped footprints leading towards the edge of the incline they were on. “Oh, crap.”

Savant dashed back to his viewpoint, looking in several different directions before freezing instantly. Whatever his eyes had landed on, it couldn’t be good.

“Shit” he said rather lamely. “Oh, shit.”

The rest of them came over and bundled together, trying to see what he saw.

The camp still appeared relatively calm, though it was too far away to see register everything properly. A few puffs of smoke rose from extinguished fires and one or two birds were hovering over the roofs as a woman washed clothes in a metal basin. The security arrangements actually seemed pretty light to Dick, give or take the odd armed guard around the perimeter.

And the brown, humanoid mass coming up behind one of them.

*

The affair on the beach had been, for lack of a better term, a complete embarrassment.

Suarez stormed his way into the meeting room, silently fuming. From what he could get out of the commanding officer that had been on the scene (well, before the burning poker had passed through his face and into his brain), the attack force had been relatively small.

Relatively small, he’d said. It had been nine people!

Nine people, and they’d managed to outwit an entire regiment. Suarez didn’t know whether that was a mark of their skill or the sheer incompetency of their military. Either way, someone was going to get shot for it.

Camila, the presidential aid with a simpering voice and breasts perked so far up her chest it was a wonder she could breathe, jogged slightly to keep up with him, folders in her hands.

“Intelligence ran the checks you requested, General” she said. “The other commanders are being briefed as we speak.”

Suarez just nodded, sitting down and looking to the head of the table.

President Luna looked almost bored with proceedings, hand resting against a hand and his leg up over the arm of his chair like a child that couldn’t behave themselves. Looking at him, you’d never know the man had planned and executed a perfect military coup just months ago. Suarez had been there, and it was moments like this that even he doubted his own memories.

“- the invasion force was all-American, Presidente” said a nearby Captain, who Suarez had never bothered to learn the name of. “We are exactly not sure what they’re here for, but we’ve tracked them to somewhere within the western sector of the jungle. The last known location of the rebels.”

Luna looked up slightly, this apparently being enough to wake him from his semi-coma. “You think they’re gaining foreign assistance?”

“It’s possible, sir.”

“What was Intelligence able to find out?”

The captain pulled out a remote, switching on the television sat at the opposite end of the table. A man’s face appeared by an annoyingly empty fact file, with nought but a name and some basic information.

“We’ve identified the leader via military records. Colonel Rick Flag. A decorated US marine. Plenty of tours of duty under his belt.”

The way his voice trailed off made it obvious there was something else he wanted to say.

“But…?” Luna prompted, clearly noticing this too.

“We haven’t been able to find anything on him past 2011. He returned from Iraq at some point and simply… vanished from the grid. It’s like he gave up on his career.”

“And then ten years later, he shows up again” Luna finished thoughtfully.

“This is only guesswork, Presidente, but I would assume that he was drafted into some sort of black ops unit. It would take an immense of skill or government backing to stay this well hidden from the public eye.”

“And the others?”

The captain nodded. “This is where it becomes stranger. Intelligence had to check them based purely on physical appearance and clothing alone, so they’re yet to find anything specific. But all of them were linked to the US prison system. Further vetting showed that they’re supposed to currently be serving sentences.”

Another man sat a few seats away let out a guffaw. “They’re recruiting criminals? Have they no shame?”

They’re Americans, you idiot. Of course they don’t.

Suarez held the retort back, noticing that the image had changed. A beach-blonde man, quite young. Based on appearance alone, he looked quite susceptible to spilling secrets, given some…persuasion.

“This target was a point of interest in the after-action report. Apparently, he alerted the regiment to his squad’s presence, saying he’d called them and made a deal beforehand.”

“And had they?”

“No, sir. The regiment opened fire, as per their orders.”

“However, we do have an informant, do we not?”

“Yes. They have instructions to only make further contact if the enemy enters the capital.”

Luna clearly had an unanswered question, if the raised eyebrow was any indication.

“Given the fact that the… security level in this room is lower than in the police headquarters, Presidente, we thought it prudent not to mention their identity out loud.”

The captain was sweating slightly, and it certainly wasn’t because of the weather. Either out of fear of Luna or Suarez himself, Suarez didn’t know.

Good. He had a right to be scared.

Luna nodded absent-mindedly, flicking through his briefing papers, apparently satisfied with this response. It looked like the man was off Suarez’s mental blacklist, at least for now. Lucky.

No-one spoke for a moment, the silent only cut by the crinkling of pages and the odd noise from their leader. A scoff here, an exasperated sigh there. A visible shudder and a “Santa Maria” when he came across what Suarez could only make out as a tall, hairy thing.

Then he let out a curious hum. This time, Suarez could just about see the image of a young woman with blue eyes and dark make-up, and his heart sank.

Oh, no. No, he knew that look. It was a look that could only end in catastrophe.

Suarez respected Luna more than any of their colleagues believed, but he had to step in before he doomed them all by thinking with his dick before his brain.

“Presidente -” he began.

“Hold on a moment, I’m thinking.”

Yes, that’s what I’m worried about.

“Please do not consider lowering your standards and approaching these people as a friend.” Or just one of them in particular.

“Whyever not? We are a stable country now, Mateo. We’re civilised.”

A gunshot echoed from the basement. Looked like the scheduled executions had finished up for the day.

Suarez hated it when Luna referred to him by his first name. It made him feel like a disgraced toddler, or even worse, one of the man’s godforsaken birds.

“But you make a good point. Espionage in our country is not to be tolerated.”

His finger shot towards Camila, who turned to face him like she was on a pivot.

“Find a way to get a message out to our informant: I would like Miss… Quinn, brought in alive. The rest are… expendable.”

It was the best news Suarez had heard all day. Luna snapped the file shut. This meeting was over.

“Now, I believe Doctor Grieves had something to show us?”

Chapter Text

It was genuinely surprising that by the time they’d hurried down there, no-one was dead yet.

Weasel had clearly gotten the attention of the guard, but was content to stand there and stare at him as the guard stared right back, a look that could only be described as pure horror on his face.

Watching from the treeline, Dick almost wanted to walk over and poke it. He then went back on this thought after concluding that he didn’t want to end up losing a finger.

About a minute had passed and neither of them had made a move. He was pretty sure they hadn’t even blinked. Weasel was the quietest it’d ever been.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anyone else around, otherwise half the camp would be gawking by now” Savant whispered. “Let’s – “

Then Javelin straightened and threw his weapon upwards.

Like, straight up.

He may not be on the same wavelength as all of them, but Dick definitely wasn’t the only one to stare at the guy in incredulity.

“What the hell was that?” Savant growled. It seemed he’d taken up the role of team leader as of the last twenty minutes.

“Wait for it.”

They turned back. Weasel had made a soft cooing noise which sounded frankly terrifying in this situation.

“Yep, waiting.”

“Good.”

The guard may or may not have wet his pants, but had still made no move to alert his friends.

“Still waiting.”

“I’m aware.”

Harley shuffled a bit and accidentally elbowed TDK in the stomach. “Oop, sorry.”

“It’s fine” TDK muttered back, a little breathlessly despite the chest armour.

“Okay, this is dumb” Dick said. Yeah, he was a bit too loud, but they were planning on killing this lot anyway. “Can we just- “

A whooshing noise cut him off as the javelin sailed back into view, plummeting back towards earth like a bomb. Dick had honestly never thought that it could fall that fast.

But it didn’t hit the earth. The guard looked up at the very last second, just in time for it to enter his mouth and come straight out between his legs in an erupting spray of blood and guts. And there were some pretty gruesome sounds to match.

“Holy shit!” Dick swore, observing the newly created cannibal’s barbecue skewer.

Javelin looked extra smug, which was quite an achievement for him.

“Pure skill, if I do say so myself.”

“Well, ain’t that some great aim!” Quinn remarked, back to staring at the German’s head with interest too intense to be strictly professional.

Javelin shrugged, as if he was going to fool someone by acting humble.

“It’s all in the arms. I can show you how to do it yourself later, if you so wish.”

“Yeah, that’s great and all, mate” Boomerang interrupted, “but how are you gonna get the thing out of ‘im?”

Javelin fell silent for a moment. “Well, that’s easy, it…you see…”

“Good luck” the Australian sniggered, as they proceeded to come out of the bushes and approached Weasel, who was sniffing the air curiously.

Dick pressed down on the armour plating on his arm, rewarded with the slight buzz of electricity as the strength enhancers powered up. He had to give it to the 1,000: it didn’t exactly make him Superman, but they really knew their tech stuff. Not that he wasn’t an unflappable tank of awesome without it, but it certainly turned heads when you could tear off car doors and use them as frisbees.  

Most of the structures set up ahead of them consisted of four props and a roof, with few walls. Logistically, it made sense, but that didn’t mean it was any less irritating when you were trying to sneak around the place.

The stocks of Dick’s pistols repeatedly bounced off his jacket as he half-crouched, half-ran towards the sound of two voice and the scent of cigarette smoke. Savant’s earlier words echoed in his mind, and he silently willed them to shut the hell up.

Savant himself was moving away from the group, peering around the corner of a sheet of corrugated iron used as a fence. He looked back at Dick, his fingers up in the universal sign for “two”.

Then a whole bunch of other signs. They lasted a good seven seconds and it was safe to say he didn’t understand a single finger movement.

Dick nodded anyway, but he could tell by the way his gaze lingered that Savant didn’t believe it. Thankfully, nothing was said before he slipped around the fence and out of sight. Dick coped him.

Both targets were men, middle-aged and rather large, their backs to them and conversing in rapid Spanish. Savant had already come up behind the one on the left and grabbed him by the head, drawing a knife from his boot and cutting their throat open in one quick swipe. The second man spun around in shock, going for a pocket, but Dick quickly ran up behind him and –

A boomerang flew into view and embedded itself in the back of the guy’s head.

Dick stood there dumbstruck for a couple of seconds as what should have been his kill dropped to its knees and onto its face.

“What the hell, man?”

“Whoops” sniggered Boomerang. “Gonna have to be faster than that, mate.”

“This isn’t a contest -” Savant began, the tiredness in his voice conveying the knowledge that this was all likely going to fall on deaf ears.

“Think you’re hot shit, huh?” Dick challenged him. A woman with a crate in her arms stepped into view and stopped dead upon seeing them. In a swift press of a button, the springlock on one of his holsters released and a pistol was ejected into his hand. Without even looking, he raised and fired.

The bullet went through the crate and carried on into the woman, who fell like a sack of potatoes.

Dick didn’t need to look around; he knew someone had to be impressed.

But Boomerang just threw him a is-that-all-you’ve-got sort of shrug, spinning his now-bloodstained weapon and hurling it in response to a sudden sound of surprise. Three more people, who just seconds before had been laughing together, were disengaging the safety on their rifles.

Dick’s second pistol flew into his spare hand immediately, but before he could fire, the overblown toy sailed back around an arc. It slit the throat of number one as it scraped him mid-flight, before sailing around number two, who jumped slightly in fright and misfired.

Right into the head of number three.

One and three dropped, but number two sort of stood there with a dazed look on his face. Boomerang still had that shit-eating grin on his face despite the clear failure.

“You missed one.”

“Watch.”

A crimson slit suddenly grew across number two’s forehead and blood dripped down his face. Then the top of his head just kind of slid off in a near-perfect cut.

Then he dropped.

“You’re showing off” They bean to trek deeper into the camp. A young man with a pencil moustache turned the corner. Dick unfurled his whip and wrapped it around his neck in a practised motion. The speed and force were rewarded with a muffled crack as the guy’s neck broke. “We never agreed on showing off.”

Boomerang finished slitting the throat of a dumpy woman whose legs he’d just taken out from under her with another practised throw. “Fucking…blood – Jesus – yeah, this isn’t showing off, mate. It’s just real Aussie grit. By the way, your lace is untied.”

“Nice try, pal, I tie them every – hang on, my boots don’t have laces!”

But his confusion had already been taken advantage of, as Boomerang had managed to rush off ahead to get the rest of them first.

No way that’s happening.

Letting the charge of the power enhancers flow to his forearms, Dick grabbed the corpse of the fat woman and hurled it with all his might.

He made a slight miscalculation.

Boomerang noticed it at the last second and managed to sidestep just in time, but the assorted group of fighters huddled around a burnt-out campfire weren’t so lucky. The body flattened them.

But then it kept on going, smashing against a makeshift guard tower, which wobbled perilously before crashing to the ground amidst numerous screams and cries of pain. It was more than likely the entire hemisphere heard the ruckus, so it wasn’t altogether surprising that shouts of alarm echoed from further down the camp and the sound of an entire brigade of troops suddenly started getting close.

“Find cover, this could get loud” Savant snapped, his jaw set so firm he could probably knock someone out with it.

*

In fairness, the fight wasn’t very long. They were just picking off a few remaining stragglers when Savant decided to speak up again.

“You’re a liability, kid. A liability.”

Dick activated his shield and slammed it into some guy’s face. The guy’s nose spurted blood everywhere as he fell backwards, before his throat was caved in by a super-powered kick. “He started it!”

“Who, me?” Boomerang shouted back, giving an innocent smile that fooled absolutely nobody.

“Then ignore him” Savant growled. “Act like an adult for once. This situation is too important for you to mess around like – hold that thought.”

An attacker who had come running through a doorway, wielding a machete and screaming like a madman, rapidly found himself on the receiving end of an armlock that resulted in three broken bones.

“You’re a liability, kid. A liability.”

Dick frowned. “Yeah, you – you just said that.”

“…oh. Well, my memory ain’t the best. Just don’t be, alright?”

He’s an old crazy man. We have an old crazy man leading our team. We’re all going to die.

“Mongal. He died about seven minutes ago. Come on, leave him.”

“I am aware” Mongal replied curtly, bent over a body, “but extraction of the skull is not an easy feat, unlike what I deign to call the battle we’ve just experienced. I intend to bring something back for my trophy room after all this is over and if I cannot use the traitor, then this pathetic whelp will have to do instead.”

That definitely wasn’t something Dick wanted to probe any further and judging by Savant’s curled lip and short cough, the same rang true for him.

One final opponent shakily got back up – not an easy feat, given the fact that he’d just been on the receiving end of a flurry of punches from Harley – slowly raising a pistol like it would get him somewhere.

A javelin sailed over Dick’s shoulder and skewered him to the wall via the jaw. That guy hadn’t had much of a chance either way; Dick didn’t mind handing out a freebie at this point.

There was only one hut left to check; it was a good distance away and in a much more open spot. If anyone had been on look out, they’d definitely have seen them by now. Harley jogged up next to them, humming idly to herself. Dick pointedly ignored the disembodied arm a few metres away that was stabbing one of the corpses repeatedly in the throat with a sharpened bit of rock. He’d walked blindly towards the jaws of death only yesterday; less than twenty-four hours had passed and here he was, possibly doing it again.

It was quiet. Too quiet. But then a slight murmur came emanating from behind the curtain over the doorway. And it had a rather signature southern twang to it.

“Rick, we’re here to rescue you!” Quinn yelled as they burst through, arms wide like a cheerleader.

“Come with us if you want to live -” Savant began, before pausing, pistol lowering slightly. “…at a lower standard than this, I guess, holy hell.”

“Yeah, it ain’t gonna be this easy from here on in.” Dick said happily as he came up behind the two of them, yet to spare Flag a glance as he re-tied his whip. “We’ve killed them all for you today, but next time we expect you to at least do some of the work. Boomerang will say he did the most, but I was responsible for at least a good half of it, y’know -”

Savant elbowed him in the ribs and he finally looked up, the adrenaline meaning the urge for a fight had not yet subsided. “Ow, what was that for?”

Then he noticed Flag. And how un-tortured and generally comfortable he looked. He even had some bandages on; a steaming mug of something in his hand.

Boomerang appeared by Dick’s other side. “’Ere, what’s all this?”

Flag frowned. “Healing. This is me, healing. Good job you guys showed up when you did, though, we’ve just got word of a breach somewhere in the last few minutes. Sounded like a dangerous group, might be worth taking a look at.”

He slowly lifted a hand towards a woman sat there with him, hair back in a ponytail and dressed in rather unremarkable military clothing. “By the way, guys, this is Solsoria, leader of the resistance group trying to take down the current government.”

He twisted his body to better face them, the bandages clearly noticeable. “We got into a skirmish when I was busy checking the perimeter last night, but we managed to patch things up. She basically saved my life, even if it was one of her own that shot me.”

 His mouth set into a straight line.

“Thanks for backing me up, by the way. It’s really appreciated.”

Just how loose was this guy’s definition of a perimeter if a gun battle had failed to wake any of them up at the time?

Solsoria leaned forward, a concerned look on her face.

“What did you say happened to my people?” she asked in an obvious native accent.

Oh.

She was staring right at him.

Dick felt the familiar sense of heat spread across his body as he began to panic at the realisation that they may have made a slight mistake.

“Uh…”

Act dumb.

“What are people?”

Not that dumb!

*

Dick had decided it best to look at the ground rather than the steadily mounting pile of corpses in front of them. Solsoria was already on the warpath; the last thing he wanted was to accidentally establish eye contact and give her an excuse to kill him.

She was hurling profanities at Flag, rapidly switching between Spanish and English as he struggled to get a word in edgeways.

“Too far!” she was yelling. “This is the exact definition of too far!”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Americans!”

Boomerang looked like he wanted to argue against that remark, but clearly valued breathing more.

“I know” Flag said finally. He looked slightly nauseous; the heat combined with all the bodies was starting to attract flies. “I know. They’re… well, they’re fucking idiots. But we’re here to help take down Luna. Maybe not directly, but it’s possible.”

“Don’t push me, Flag” she snarled. “We’ve been talking for hours up until now; I know full well you’re full of shit.”

Flag held out his hands placatingly, as if that would block a bullet in the event that his next sentence got him shot.

“Trust me, I get you. I do. But when we go into Jotunheim, chances are there’s going to be some noise. The President gets everyone over there and, well… I bet the palace will be pretty much unguarded.”

Solsoria was still panting as if she’d just run a marathon, but her eyes had taken on a more interested look. “And you can accomplish all this, can you?”

“I know we don’t look like much, but we’re a cohesive, military-level unit.”

A brief pause as she turned to face them.

“…Weasel, get that out of your mouth.”

A tall, heavyset man with auburn hair pulled into a ponytail, who was helping pile the bodies, seemed to making a suspicious amount of eye contact with them, as if deliberating something. Eventually, after six rather intense minutes of smouldering stare-downs, he rolled his shoulders and took a few steps towards them as Solsoria continued to berate Rick into next week.

Dick’s initial worries of whether he ought to prepare to receive a bloody nose were quashed when all he did was give a nod. You could practically smell the testosterone. “Savant.”

His accent was thick; most likely eastern European.

“You know this guy?” TDK asked.

No-one was paying attention to the verbal beatdown on Rick’s end anymore. Every Belle Reve resident turned to Savant, whose usual sharp side-eyes wilted with surprisingly little resistance.   

“Hey, Creote” came his barely-audible reply, choosing to ignore his comrade. He was quiet, even for a man whose preferred method of communication was the dead-eyed glare.

Another nod, then Creote walked back and carried on like nothing had happened, leaving Dick with even more questions that he’d started out with.

Well, that was… weird.

One of the bodies moaned slightly. A floating arm hiding behind the pile smacked them back into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Grieves was suspiciously happy when he met them at Jotunheim. For a man who had spent months attempting to dissuade Luna away from his “pet project”, he was all smiles and giddy joy.

Luna had kept his thoughts to himself. Suarez had no such qualms.

“What are you smirking about?”

“I’ve been running the physical for your troops this morning” he replied, his tone matching that of a child with poor impulse control locked in a sweet shop. “I must say, it’s been a real pleasure getting the opportunity to come across such blank canvasses. It’s like your last chief medical officer never experimented you on at all!”

So that was it.

Suarez spluttered indignantly. “I should hope not!”

Grieves gave him a cool look, as if he’d suggested doing a triple backflip in a chicken costume. “I wasn’t talking to you. Presidente, you agree that scientific exploration is the best way forward, yes?”

Luna nodded absently. “Indeed. But I’m much less interested in your morbid tests, Doctor, than I am in the specimen you keep down here.”

“Ah” Grieves breathed, with a dramatic tremor to his tone. “You mean Starro the Conqueror.”

“Is that what it calls itself?”

“Yep. A touch dramatic, maybe, but who are we to judge?”

The giant plexiglass window in front of them was suddenly obscured by an appendage that was about fifty feet high and thirty feet wide.

“Hello, old chum!” Grieves spoke to it like they were old friends just catching up. Hey, what’s up? Not much, just experimenting on innocents. What about you? “You’ve got guests!”

The wretched drones lined in cages either side of the room began moaning and wailing in unison. Luna tried his best to ignore them; these sacrifices were necessary, after all. Although he’d be a lot more comfortable with it once it was being done to the resistance movement and their American friends.

“Regarding my earlier inquiries, Doctor: can we use it as a weapon?”

Suarez scoffed. “A weapon? Presidente, if we set this thing free and lose control, it will make us look incapable.”

“No, Mateo. It will make us look like a threat. We are prepared to unleash a monster that cannot be stopped upon the US, one of the great world powers. They will cave to anything we ask, provided we stop it. If we can’t, then what do what exactly can they do about it? Take it all back?”

“Early tests are inconclusive” Grieves muttered, flipping through a clipboard. “The skin is most certainly impervious to conventional bullets and explosives, so enemy militaries should be no problem… but be careful, once one of his young are attached to a host, it is bonded permanently.”

Luna knew this full well. He’d seen photos taken from one of the man’s many lab sessions and had no desire to see them again.

Peering under one of the pages, Grieves’ voice became even more muted. “There is also a risk of being unable to monitor the numerous hosts, given that one… uh…managed to escape yesterday. Anyway -”

A cacophony of shocked noises came from the assembled captains. Suarez’s gun was out of his holster and pointed at Grieves’ head in one slick motion. He’d clearly been practising for the moment.

“Give me one good reason as to why I shouldn’t decorate that opposite wall with the contents of your head.”

Grieves gave an overly-dramatic sigh. “Because I wired my heart to a miniature Zyklon B capsule that’s powerful enough to kill you all should it stop. Also, good luck trying to find someone else to replace me.”

Luna slowly put a hand over the top of the pistol and lowered it. “Can the specimen be re-captured?”

“It depends. If it attempts to fight, we will likely see it again. A one-eyed starfish attached to the front of someone’s face is fairly conspicuous after all. If it flees, then it should not be of any trouble. Only Big Blue here is capable of reproduction, it seems.”

Luna mulled his thoughts. Suarez could be a brute – an unfortunate side to the man that he’d since admitted to himself that he could do nothing about – but he had a point regarding their public image. Fear was not the way forward, but a healthy reminder of strength never went amiss.

He knew what Suarez would want to do in this situation: airdrop the thing into the States as soon as possible, sit back and watch the show. But the alien couldn’t be everywhere at once and if all of America’s allies “responded” simultaneously, there’d no longer be an inch of Corto Maltese that wasn’t radioactive.

They needed to present their own rule as a viable alternative to the obese imbeciles over the other side of the Atlantic. America’s government had to be discredited somewhat first. They needed to find sympathisers and a good PR team. Or failing that, charm some tourists, perhaps, or pay actors.

Or willing traitors.

An idea that was rather brilliant, if he did so himself, struck. He turned back to his men, trying not to feel too irritated when he saw that Grieves was once again riling Suarez. It was probably one of the man’s top three hobbies by now.

“- I don’t think so, Doctor” Suarez was growling. “From this point on, we’re cutting your budget. We need real scientists at work here, not buffoons who go around sticking zoo parts in people.”

“You’re failing to grasp my surgical brilliance” Grieves responded curtly. “If I hadn’t made you aware of this development, you would have remained none the wiser. Silvio here has had a baboon uterus implanted inside of him for the last three weeks and you don’t hear him complaining.”

One of the soldiers standing guard by the door gave an undisciplined cry of horror. “You said you were just filling a cavity!”

“I was. The one I made in your abdomen.”

“Be quiet” Luna murmured. Immediately, all arguing ceased. “We’re done here for now. Continue monitoring the specimen, Doctor Grieves.”

“Should I act as if invasion is on the cards, Presidente?”

Luna made a mental note to assign more supervision to the man’s lab sessions from now on. He got away with anything down here; should he disagree with any of their aims regarding his research, he could easily sabotage it all somehow.

“If there is, will that be a problem?”

Grieves smiled and Luna silently hoped he’d never have to witness such a sight again.

“Testing an extra-terrestrial enslavement-machine on my fellow countryman? Why, no. That won’t be a problem at all.”  

“Just notify me if there are any developments. Suarez, contact the Intelligence Department. Tell our agent that there is one other American agent that I want to speak with.”

*

In his defence, Dick hadn’t meant to listen in on two no doubt personal conversations. He’d just been dying for another pee and had no clue which hut had a toilet in it, if any of them.

Night had fallen once again and the mosquitoes were out in full force, swarming the place amongst the echoing cries of a bird or monkey. He just wanted to get this over and done with; leather tended to chafe if there was a bite on any… sensitive areas.

There’d been an outhouse with a hole in the ground, but it had since been occupied by Boomerang. Any prior thoughts about knocking on the door were eviscerated with extreme prejudice after hearing muted whispers of “oh, Pinky” and some other rather suspect noises. The resident asshole had already insulted Dick’s reputation and stolen his rightful kills, he didn’t need to deliver any mental trauma on top of that.

“C’mon Flag, sit down!” The shrill Brooklyn accent was the first thing to catch his ear, even from about fifty metres away.

“They’ve already given me food, Harley” came the calm but tired voice of Flag.

“Yeah, but they ain’t ever given you anything like this!” she crowed. “I had loads of these back in Gotham. Great little place called Sal’s did them all the time! A sausage, bacon and egg muffin! Well, I mean, we don’t have eggs in the jungle… or bacon… or sausage, either. Hey, do you think they have pigs around here?”

“I’m amazed Solsoria let us stay the night, given what you and your groupies went and did earlier. God knows what she’ll do if we kill any livestock as well.”

“Aw, she’d come round if I gave her one, too.”

“No, Harley” he scolded, as if disciplining a child. “You find any animals, you leave them. Got me?”

“Aye-aye, sir” she chuckled. “But only for you, Flaggy.”

Flaggy? They seemed a lot closer than Dick originally thought they were.

“Hey, they must have muffins at least, right? Well, bread. Bread’s good. We can toast bread.”

A beat of silence.

“Hey, do you want toast?”

A sigh. It wasn’t exactly a mental strain to figure out who it was coming from.

“…sure, Harley. I’ll have toast.”

There was some banging and clashing. Dick just went ahead and relieved himself there and then, not wanting to miss any of the gossip.

“Hey, Flag?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think of the guys, anyway? We never got the chance to catch up on the chopper.”

It sounded like Rick was smacking his lips.

“I mean… they could use some work. Fuck, could they use some work. But there’s… potential. Savant would likely be the best leader should something happen to me.”

A derisive snort. “Like I’d let anything happen to you, Flaggy.”

“Well, he’s got the military background, the tactical skillset -”

“I don’t wanna know who would be best if you croaked it, Rick. I wanna know what you think about them, not the mission.”

Her voice had just the slightest lilt of seriousness to it. If Dick noticed it, then Flag definitely had.

“You and Boomer are the best ones here, obviously.”

“You can say you love me, Flag. Ain’t no-one here but us” came a teasing reply.

“Actually, I was gonna say you’re both the most experienced. But it’s always nice to have a familiar face out around either way. Stops things from looking totally bleak, I suppose.”

The clink of a plate being set down on a table. For a struggling guerrilla movement, the freedom fighters didn’t seem to be low on good kitchen utensils.

“Some of the new guys…  well, some of them are pretty obviously just cannon fodder.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I knew Waller was cold, but… not letting us get the hell off of that beach when it all went to shit…”

“Bearing in mind that the reason everything went to shit is still walking around, taking constant toilet breaks and leading the charge in murdering half of our new resistance buddies. You betray somebody, you at least let them dry off a bit first, right? My hair was still damp and everything.”

“Yeah… betrayal…” Flag muttered, suddenly sounding a little distant.

A few seconds of silence.

“You alright, Flaggy?”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, I, uh… look, Harley, I’d rather not think about Blackguard right about now. I’m already tired of the guy. He isn’t important. Let’s just focus on having a nice evening before we once again get plunge ourselves into the pit of certain doom once again, huh?”

Dick felt slightly upset, even if he didn’t understand why.

*

Conversation number two was stumbled upon as a result of Dick getting lost on the way back and being unable to find his designated hut.

“Your hair is getting long.”

The front of the building was three-quarters exposed. Savant and the Russian bloke were sat with their backs to the outside, gazing rather intently at each other’s faces.

Dick dived behind a tree thick enough to cover his shoulder pads, not aware that this would make him seem just a bit more suspicious until the deed was done.

“How’ve you been anyway, Creote?”

Silence. Dismissive. Awkward.

“You getting medicine? Food? Some good books to read?”

“What if I told you I wasn’t getting any of those things?”

A gruff sigh.

“…then I’d feel like crap.”

“Exactly. I come out of hiding, find out you’re the US government’s bitch now -”

“I’m damn well not!”

“You got caught and thrown into Belle Reve, which is pretty much the last stop before a morgue.”

“It wasn’t the cops, you know. It was Batgirl. There’s a reason jobs in Gotham run so high.”

“Who was maybe about fifteen years old at the time. You’re slipping in your old age.”

“I’m four years older than you, tops. I think my legacy will survive, thanks.”

“Decades have gone by, not so much as a birthday card…”

“Cut the bullshit. You know that frigid bitch Waller would have tracked it.”

Even the huff of laughter sounded heavily accented.

“I’m messing with you. You remember how to joke, yes?”

“…yeah. But just tell me this, how does a guy with brains and brawns, the whole combo, end up living in his own filth in the middle of Corto Maltese?”

There was a creak, likely one of them leaning back in a chair.

“Love.” came the one-word reply. Dick’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Love, plain and simple. Played by the heart. One day the job goes south and I don’t hear from you, so I leave town. Eventually every agency in the country is hunting me, so I sneak away to another country. Of course, they end up having an extradition treaty with the US, which in turns leads me to join the guerrillas. Then the military takes over. Then you arrive.”

“…how long’s it been, man?”

“I stopped counting. Ten years?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Ten years, and you kept an ear out for me.”

“Of course. We are partners, are we not?”

Another huff, though it had a somewhat lighter air to it.

“Yeah. We are.”

Silence settled, but Savant spoke again just as Dick was moving a leg out from behind the tree.

“…look, I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m real goddamn glad to see you again. I’m telling you, if this damn bomb wasn’t implanted in the base of my skull, I’d gladly go out with you and rob a bank, right here and now.”

“Eh, well. We can’t rob a bank, but there is something we can enjoy in the meantime.”

“Yeah?”

The crashing of metal and wood pierced the silence, punctuated by a startled woah from Savant.

“You remember this back in the day?”

“Oh, yeah.” Savant’s voice suddenly sounded a lot huskier. “I remember.”

Oh.

The banging and clattering continued, now blended with a cacophony of throaty noises and groans.

Oh.

It was probably time to leave.

Dick waddled out from his cover, trying not to look in their direction as he tried to both be quick and stealthy at the same time. At the rate they were going, the fact that half the camp hadn’t come round to see what was going on constituted a small miracle alone.

There was no interruption in the ruckus and nobody tried to shoot at him, so he thought he’d done a good job of slipping by unnoticed.

*

“There’s a bit of romance going around, huh?”

Everyone had been allocated a two-man hut when Solsoria had grudgingly let them stay the night. Naturally, no-one had voted to share with Dick – he’d wondered whether it was even worth being part of this mission if it was just going to be like college all over again – so it was little surprise who he ended up with.

“Which of us here do you think’s the fittest? I mean, Savant? He could totally get it.”

Weasel’s mouth stretched open and its eyes rolled back in a comical yawn.

“No, think about it! Scars, grizzled voice. He’s a proper action hero. Do you think I look like an action hero?”

Silence. Dick couldn’t hold it against a creature physically incapable of speech, but it was hard to even try and fool it when he was barely fooling himself.

“…yeah, well. Maybe not.”

He rolled onto his back. The mattress, whilst filthy, was a damn sight more comfortable than the bottom canopy of the jungle last night. Still did nothing for the heat, though.

“I’m gonna take my clothes off.”

Silence. He tried a joke.

“Don’t get any ideas, huh?”

Still nothing. What if it was getting ideas?

“I’m going to tie my whip around my arm.”

That’ll show it.

“…you…you’re alive, right?”

A slight coo, followed by the sound of air being blown heavily through the nostrils. Ah. 

Satisfied, even if slightly freaked out, Dick shuffled to the furthest possible edge of his mattress and tried to drift off. He expected it to be a long time coming.

What he didn’t expect was to eventually wake up and find himself inside the Presidential Palace, sat in his boxers next to Harley Quinn.

Chapter Text

Dick scrambled for his trousers, but the upturned tin bucket he’d dumped them on had been replaced with the golden arm of an ornate chair, decorated with red fabric and ivory swirls. It made his head hurt.

It was probably for the best that he’d kept his underwear on last night, then. Everything else had probably been left where it was when he’d been abducted.

Harley was sitting next to him in a similar chair, observing this in mild interest. Dick only just realised that she seemed to have been given a bit of a makeover or sprucing-up: her skin was paler, her lips painted and eyelids coated in shadow. Not to mention the dress, a ballroom-type number that glittered slightly in the light and made her look –

“Why are you dressed like a fairy?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you dressed – you’re all shimmery and everything.”

“Why are you not dressed at all?”

“Well, I was with Weasel last night and it was getting hot, so I took my trousers off -”

“Just gonna stop it there, I’ve changed my mind and don’t wanna know anymore.”

“Wh – no, not like that!”

“You will remain silent for the President” barked a guard from behind, a cap on his head and a metal-grey moustache hanging limply on his face. Dick hadn’t even noticed he was there and responded more out of surprise than anything.

“Yeah, uh – sure, Colonel.”

“That’s Capitan to you.”

Dick couldn’t help but scowl, wondering just how the hell he was supposed to get this right if the answer kept changing.

“…hey, can I have my clothes, please?”

“No.”

“…oh, okay.”

He turned back to Harley.

“But seriously, why are you dressed like a fairy?”

“I was thinking more like a princess.”

“Fairy.”

“My hair is styled to look like there is a crown of flowers on my head. Princess.”

Yeah, or one of the Ugly Stepsisters.

It was a good comeback, but not sufficient reason to risk having his teeth kicked in. So Dick stayed silent and decided it best to accept her argument.

But that was a good one, brain.

Two double doors burst open, steam billowing out from the room beyond and highlighting the silhouette for a tanned man, with handsome young features and nought but a towel around his waist.

Harley stared.

Dick stared too, but for rather different reasons. A congregation of masseurs and servants had begun to flow out from behind like a flock of geese. He wondered how much they got paid to basically have to look at that guy’s junk all day.

“Miss Quinn” the President smiled, the very embodiment of a man who was good-looking and knew it. Him and Javelin would hit it off. Or at the very least kill each other. “I must say, you look ravishing.”

He strode right past Dick, still in his towel, before bending down slightly and pecking Quinn on the hand.

She was still staring, open-mouthed, but her lips twitched upwards ever so slightly.

“I hope your journey wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

“I’ve had worse! Mind, you should probably wash out that bag you shoved over my head, it kinda started to smell by the half-hour mark.”

“We don’t get many complaints about them after use” the man chuckled, guiding her up from the seat and still holding her hand.

Harley let out a tinkly, un-Harley-like giggle. “I like your boldness, honey. But why go to the trouble of kidnapping little old moi?”

“I have admired you from afar for many years now. Senorita.”

Pervert.

“You’re a hero to me, as well as to my people.”

“…I think you might have me confused.”

“I disagree. Harley Quinn’s fire and rebellion in the face of American oppression is something to which my entire country aspires.”

Harley stood there for a moment, maybe unused to such positive attention. “Oh.”

Dick, meanwhile, may as well have been the curtains for all the attention he was getting. Not to mention that he was still in his boxers. But it seemed that Luna had finally taken notice, as he eventually turned back around and gave a similar smile, leaving Dick to wonder whether he was also about to be flirted with.

“Mister Hertz” he said, a little breathlessly. “A pleasure to meet you, too. You are of great interest to us and it is my personal belief that you can help elevate the status of our country exponentially.”

“…thanks?”

“Your bravery on the beach in betraying your comrades – such zeal! Clearly, you tire of their presence just as much as us.”

Oh great, they were back on this again.

Luckily, it seemed that he wouldn’t have to formulate a hasty response, as Luna’s next question was addressed to both of them at large.

“I have prepared lunch. Would you both be so kind as to join me?”

So that was his game.

Dick had accepted a long time ago that he would never be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he recognised a recruitment drive when he saw one.

Harley bounced on the balls of her feet, clapping her hands in glee. “Would I!”

Dick had to admit, his stomach was rumbling, too. Come to think of it, he hadn’t eaten since last evening, his meal consisting of watery soup and a cup of vodka. He imagined Boomerang right now, holed up in the guerrilla camp with nought but another bowl of gruel and immediately felt much more smug about his own current situation. “Yeah, I can go for that. But could I get some clothes first?”

Luna’s eyes moved downward and Dick couldn’t help but feel slightly violated. “I think we have some spare uniforms in the back.”

A khaki vest and trousers were unceremoniously dumped in his lap by the Capitan, his expression that of a man who’d had his soul sucked through his backside long ago. Turn him over, and you’d likely find the words Property of the Corto Maltese Government stamped onto his boot soles.

“I apologise for keeping you stripped like this, Mister Hertz, but unfortunately your clothing consisted of too many dangerous items that would have posed a risk should you have… caused a fuss.”

Unfolding the clothing with little care, Dick made out a patch of the country’s flag sewn into the sleeve. A lowly soldier’s uniform. He thought back to the beach; the prospect of putting it on made him feel like a turkey being led around the back of the wooden shed at Christmas time. As well as no small amount of indignation.

This is it?

…well, where’s my dress?

*

Rick counted his ammunition, before tossing it into his satchel alongside a few spare pistols. Solsoria sat a few feet away, going over a scrap of paper and muttering to herself.

They’d rendezvoused with one of her contacts, a tour guide in the capital who was willing to sneak them in. Milton was a stocky, bald man with a thin beard, who’d looked just about ready to break down and cry when they’d came out of the darkness, armed to the teeth, with Mongal’s predatorial eyes bearing into his soul.

Then he’d seen Weasel and passed out.

He eventually re-awoke about an hour ago, now helping them load crates of supplies into the back of the transport, keeping a distance too wide to be subtle. If any of the squad members noticed this, they didn’t comment on it.

The sun had recently set, oil lamps keeping their area visible as they worked.

“You think these people can infiltrate Jotunheim?” Solsoria asked. Coming from anyone else it likely would have sounded disbelieving, but Rick could tell she was genuinely curious.

He turned, watching Boomerang “accidentally” drop a container full of .50 calibre rounds on Savant’s foot.

“…when the time comes, yeah. They will. I trust them.”

In reality, he trusted maybe two of them. But Harley wasn’t here right now, so at the minute that number was lowered to one.

Boomerang was sleazy, loud and crass, but he never failed a mission. He’d do what he’d been sent to do – just so long as the route to the facility didn’t involve passing a vulnerable-looking jewellery store.

He knew he shouldn’t, but deep down, he hoped Harley was alright.

He’d never say events had followed a set pattern back in Iraq, it would be insulting to the memory of all those he’d lost. But the violence and bloodshed of what now felt like a previous life was comparatively regular compared to everything that had happened since she bombed her way into his life, teeth flashing and eyes full of manic glee.

It had been mutual animosity at first. Then grudging respect. Then friendship.

And now, God help him, possibly something more, or at least on his end.

He knew it would never end well, even if reciprocated. But illogical feelings were named that way for a reason.

One thing was definitely for certain: Waller could never find out. He may work under the woman, but all the shady things he’d done were for his country, not for her. Never for her.

A romance couldn’t possibly survive these conditions, anyway. It was hard to give confessions of infatuation when you were being shot at from fifteen different angles, after all. During the odd moment of calm, he could try…something, but… she’d likely think he’d finally lost it.

His musings were interrupted as Mongal separated the now-brawling Boomerang and Savant, telling them in no uncertain terms that if they continued, their heads would suddenly and violently be detached from their bodies.

Boomerang muttered something with a grin, in which Flag could just make out the words “rock hard”, before the alien knocked him out cold with a single punch to the face.

These people may have functioned well as individuals, but there was next to no synergy that brought them together as a team. What he couldn’t understand was why Waller had chosen the likes of Monroe and Pitzner, the fucking Detachable Kid, over competent fighters like Floyd Lawton or Waylon Jones, who he’d implicitly trusted since the events of Mission City.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say they were almost being set up to fail.

A lot of details hadn’t been adding up lately, ever since the catastrophe on the beach. He’d read the team member’s dossiers; it was obvious just by looking at his record and psychological profile that the unfortunately-named Richard “Dick” Hertz wasn’t exactly a criminal genius. But even a man who couldn’t remember Flag’s title properly would know that contacting the Corto Maltese military wasn’t a good idea when you had a nanite bomb in the base of your skull and an unpleasant death just a button’s press away.

Waller considered what she did to be in service of her country and didn’t care how many bodies she had to wade across to accomplish her goals. In this regard, both her and President Luna deserved each other. But the defining feature was that there was a goal - she never sent maximum-security criminals to tropical hellscapes just for the fun of it.

Rick hoped to God that this wasn’t some kind of test.

Dragging himself away from such chilling thoughts, he turned his attention back to the group. Most of the packing had been done; TDK made to pick up a rather heavy crate and cried out as it proved too much for him to bear. A loud popping sound signified his arms once again coming free of the body, hands still gripping the bottom and getting crushed under the weight.

To his left, Javelin was making no moves to help the man as he hopped about, yelling in pain, instead giving a rather concerned-looking Milton a lecture on the benefits of growing hair.

Rick decided it best not to make eye contact with Solsoria, who was also watching the spectacle with an indecipherable expression. The longer this mission went on, the more he empathised with the nihilistically tired look Savant always seemed to have.  

*

Lunch was nice, if stilted.

Harley and Luna sat in the middle of the table, laughing and joking as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Dick had placed himself at the far end, which proved a wise choice when they started feeding each other in a slightly nauseating display of romance.

He just kept his eyes glued to his plate and ate mostly from the platter of prawns, which were closest to him. The khakis were weirdly itchy.

They were also taken to see the man’s pet birds afterwards. Dick liked the parrots and their flashy colours, it made him feel a little kid again. He was less keen on the canaries, however; one nipped his finger when he got too close and another took a shit in his hair. The colour blended with his dye job decently enough to hide it, so he asked a question once they’d reconvened in the presidential office to mask the way he was rubbing at his scalp with a paper tissue.

“Hey, you didn’t hurt anybody when you got us out of that camp, did you?”

It was a query that surprised even him. Just when exactly had he ever worried for Weasel rather than because of him? 

Luna frowned. “No, it was a small stealth force that extracted the two of you. Our contact made sure everything went off without a hitch; not a single sentry needed eliminating.”

An enemy contact in their ranks? As in, a real one? Dick stored that little titbit away for later.

Luna had already turned his attention back to Harley, who was sitting on a luxurious, gilded sofa with one leg one top of the other and her hands knitted together. She had still that same starry look in her eyes. And also a chicken leg, for some reason. Had she been holding on to that all afternoon?

Dick turned to stare out of the window and figure out where the hell he was in regards to the wider area. Definitely the centre of the capital, but there was no sign of how far he’d been taken or if the jungle was anywhere near them. This was going to be harder than he assumed, though in retrospect, he didn’t know what he really expected. He doubted there’d have been a big neon sign reading “secret resistance camp” over the place he wanted to be.

“You want me to what?”

Dick tuned himself back into the conversation a few feet away.

“To marry me.”

“You’re joshing.”

“Might I be frank, Harley?”

Who’s Frank?

“You might be.”

“Thank you. Since I took control, the majority love me. But some find me to be an unacceptable leader.”

Harley laughed. “What kinds of dicks would find that? Don’t they know how awesome you are? Have you shown them the birdies?”

“It may sound archaic to someone from your part of the world, but my people, the Corto Malteseans, they’re very old-fashioned. And I am a bachelor.”

“So they want you to get hitched?”

“My people say you would make the perfect wife. Because, you know, you symbolize anti-American fervour. But I am a romantic, Harley. I agreed to meet with you just to appease them. However, upon spending the day with you, I find myself hardly able to think straight. You are perfect in every -”

“You are so freaking hot!”

Then they jumped on each other, Luna shoving Harley up against a pretty expensive-looking painting and tearing the canvas to shreds in a sudden carnal lust. Harley seemed to be reciprocating just as violently, quickly dragging them to the floor and knocking several vases from their stands.

This went on for roughly half an hour.

Dick wasn’t really sure what to do with himself in this time. He tried whistling, but he’d never been good at it and could barely hear himself over the ruckus anyway. In the end, he opted to fiddle with a pen sat on the desk and clicked the end to different rhythms whilst he waited, trying to tune out all the furious noise.

When they eventually ended up on the carpet, breathing heavily with giddy smiles on their faces, he dared to turn around and properly look at them. They paid little mind, still lost in each other.

Luna’s gaze fell on him as he steadily got back up and began re-buttoning his shirt, as if only just remembering that he was there. Dick just hoped he wasn’t about to be asked to join in.

“Can I offer you anything, Mister Hertz? Coffee? A cigar, perhaps?”

“…no, I’m cool, thanks.”

He eyed up the abandoned lunch, surprised that it hadn’t been cleaned up yet. Was it rude to eat cold food in a presidential suite? Maybe. But he’d just seen two people tapping ass all over national heirlooms, so he was assuming all bets were off right now.

“Harley Luna” Harley murmured. “I like the ring of that.”

Luna didn’t respond, facing the window and staring at a rather familiar tower in the distance.

Harley clicked on before Dick did. “That’s Jotunheim?”

“Yes. Nazis came here seeking asylum after World War II. They built Jotunheim to continue their unorthodox experiments. Until the Herrera family accepted the bounty on the Nazis’ heads and killed them all.”

“Wowza.”

“Many years ago, the rumours began of a beast. These helped the Herrera family maintain power. They would send their political enemies and their families to the fortress, never to return. I have recently learned these were not rumours. They were murdering thousands in bizarre experiments with this creature.”

“Well, it must be a big relief to have it in your hands now, huh?”

“Absolutely. Now, it is our enemies who shall be fearful. If anyone dares to say a negative word about their new president today, their parents, their children, and anyone they ever loved will be sent to Jotunheim to feed the -”

Dick had picked up a cold kebab skewer whilst half-listening to the conversation and thus almost jammed it into his eye when a gun went off, the noise echoing off of the marble walls.

Luna had a hand over his chest, a stunned look on his face as the life slowly began to seep from it. Blood was pouring from a surprisingly small hole in his bare torso.

Harley lowered the antique pistol she was holding and gave a sad sigh.

“I’m sorry. Recently, I made a promise to myself that the next time I got a boyfriend, I’d be on the lookout for red flags. And if I saw any, I would do the healthy thing and I would murder him.”

Dick had never really been in a relationship before and therefore had no experience to go off of, but that sounded fair enough to him.

“And killing kids? Kind of a red flag.”

Luna gave a stifled groan, throwing a begging sort of look in Dick’s direction. Dick wasn’t sure if Harley’s gun was still loaded and didn’t think she was really in the right headspace for him to approach her about it. As a result, he chose to stay where he was and let the man slowly crawl along the floor.

“I know, I know. I know what you’re tryin’ to say. Harley, why not just leave? And I’d say, why are you screaming at me? I’m not deaf. I’m standing right here. And then I’d say, when your taste in men is as bad as mine, they don’t just go away quietly. They slash your tires and they kill your dogs and tell you that the music you like ain’t real music at all. And all the cruelty…”

Dick didn’t read the news a lot. He knew who the Joker was, but nothing specific. But going off what he was hearing right now, he could at the very least take away that the guy was a real asshole.

“…it tears you apart after a while. You were real pretty and all, and R.I.P. to that absolutely beautiful monster between your legs, but… all in all… I think you’re more pretty like this, with all those rotten thoughts emptied from ya head.”

Luna had stopped moving, his last breaths escaping weakly.

Dick slowly took a bite from his kebab.

Time seemed to sit still for a moment, before Harley perked right back up as if a switch has been flicked. “Oh, hey! Forgot you were there.”

Dick shrugged. “Sort of getting used to it, honestly.”

“Sorry you had to hear all that. Had some stuff I had to work off my chest, ya know?”

“Yeah, it…” Dick had had no idea what to do except stand there as she’d ranted on. Her attention was now focused exclusively on him and he still didn’t. “…I mean, it kinda sounded like you needed to get it out, so… do you feel any better?”

Harley’s bottom lip shifted as she scratched her head with the barrel of the gun. “Yeah, I guess.”

She examined the weapon she’d just used to murder the country’s leader in cold blood. A bit of a dickhead, but the leader nonetheless.

“Can’t believe this thing had a bullet.”

The double doors were flung open with such force they made a crack in the walls, roughly a bazillion soldiers running in, all shouting over each other. They even had their torches on, for some reason. Dick knew he had to put his hands up, but very little else.

“Manos arriba!”

“De rodillas!”

“Suelta el arma!”

“What?” Dick shouted back, wincing as a particularly bright beam hit him the eye.

They just kept yelling at him for a bit longer, their attention also half on Harley, who was waving the pistol around with little precaution.

The crowd jostled slightly as a man with a thick white beard and murder in his eyes shoved his way to the front, also joining in with the ruckus. “Vas a venir con nosotros!”

“Huh?” Dick shouted again.

“Vas a venir con nosotros!”

“This is what I meant about yelling!” Harley screeched.

Evil Santa pulled out his service pistol and fired it into the air. “Everyone, shut up!”

The room fell silent. A few pieces of plaster dropped from above and smashed off his cap, spraying his shoulders with dust.

“You two are coming with us. We have some questions for you.”

Somehow, Dick doubted that the “questions” involved another lunch.  

The window was directly behind him. Just as the soldiers began to take a few steps forward, he threw himself backwards with enough force to smash the glass and fall through.

He thought it was a pretty good escape plan at first. Once gravity took the wheel, however, he remembered that they had been four floors up and there was nought but a hard street below.

The impact hurt. A lot. And there was a substantial number of horrible sounds to accompany it.

Feeling the cool air hit his face as all the citizens around him began to scatter in fright, he had just enough time to notice that a lot of stuff that should have been in the back of his head was now all over the cobblestones.

Then he blacked out.

Chapter Text

He was back on the beach. 

Well, sort of. It was still dark and the only source of light was the moon – no, the sun reflecting off of the moon, he reminded himself; he’d randomly heard so himself from John Economos during one of Waller’s visits – but there was otherwise a significant lack of carnage and mayhem.  

The water was relatively calm compared to how it had been when they’d airdropped in, gently lapping in and out against a flat stretch of sand. The dune they’d used to hide behind had since eroded away.  

There was the distinct outline of a helicopter, the rotors bent and tail missing, as well as no small number of bodies. One was nestled below the remains of the cockpit, charred and skeletal, smelling vaguely like diesel and barbecue.  

He slowly took a slow stroll towards it, keeping an eye on the treeline. He didn’t want a repeat of earlier, but luckily, the slight splashing of waves remained the loudest sound in the area. He had no clue why he was drawn to this body in particular, but he didn’t feel all… there, somehow.   

The top half of the corpse had orange skin, to an almost luminous degree. It didn’t all look like fire damage. 

And that was a pretty familiar-looking helmet. 

Dick squinted. That wasn’t right. Mongal had pulled down the helicopter and thrown it clear of the team before it had exploded. He’d talked to her just hours ago. Well, he’d been threatened , but it had still been by a walking, breathing Mongal. A Mongal who wasn’t currently the alien equivalent of a chicken drumstick.  

Turning around in bewilderment, something flashed in his eye and temporarily blinded him until he moved a hand to block his face. The thought of it potentially being the flashlight of an enemy soldier entered his mind and he reached for one of his guns, but his hand hit only fabric. 

He looked down. He was in his prison uniform. Crocs and all. 

Now officially weirded out, he re-focused his attention on the silver burst of light just metres above more helicopter wreckage. It took a more sleek, angular form as he got closer…a boomerang, being clutched in a severely mangled hand; the arm it was attached too missing multiple chunks of flesh.  

“Hertz.” 

And apparently, God had said let there be Amanda Waller . Dick risked spraining his ankle with the speed at which he spun around. 

There she stood, dressed in the same hideous pink coat she’d been wearing on the first day of the mission, not a hair out of place. Part of Dick wanted to ask just what the hell was going on; the other part wanted to make her eat that stupid necklace, one pearl at a time.  

Dick licked his lips apprehensively. “Is… is this Hell?” 

“Yes” Waller replied, her voice the tonal equivalent of TV static. “We’re in Hell.” 

It probably wasn’t a good sign that he couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic or not.  

The uncertainty must have shown on his face; Waller seemingly saw fit to continue. “If this was Hell, we’d be having cream tea with Heinrich Himmler right about now.” 
 

Dick’s only real response was a shaky laugh. He hadn’t tripped this hard since high school. “Yeah, no… no kidding.” 

Those waves weren’t getting any quieter. 

“What’s, er... what’s happening here?” 

“The exact opposite of what I planned” Waller responded simply. Her view was fixed somewhere into the middle distance, a sort of wistful look to them. Well, wistful for her, anyway. “You followed my orders, but things swiftly devolved from there.” 

“If you’re talking about Boomerang, then yeah, that guy’s a real prick -” 

“I’m not talking about Harkness. I'm talking about you .” 

Dick was well and truly lost now.  

Waller snapped out of her reverie and something was shuffled under her right foot, apparently having been conjured from nowhere. Before he could even question it, she used her leg to flip it over with a surprising display of strength, to reveal it to be another body. 

It was kind of hard to tell for a second – the face was missing, a bloody, dripping crater where all the features used to be – but Dick’s stomach dropped into his knees when he realised it was his.  

He couldn’t speak properly for a moment. Then he gagged. Then he managed a slight “ ouch ”.  

“Inmate Hertz, also known as Blackguard, is flown to Corto Maltese with seven teammates” Waller droned on, completely apathetic to the way Dick was trying not to throw up all over his crocs. “Upon arriving at the drop point, the inmate proceeds to try and betray his team to the enemy, but is betrayed and killed for doing so. A firefight occurs as a result, in which the rest of his team are killed, too.” 

Dick’s indignation won out over the pressing urge to be sick.  

“Hey, that ain’t the story!” 

“No, but it was supposed to be.” 

“You told me to do that, you old -” 

He stopped dead. 

“...huh?” 

Waller looked downwards and shook her head, giving a light chuckle. It was the scariest thing Dick had ever heard.  

“You are the dumbest motherfucker I have ever met.” 

Hearing her swear was so surreal.  

“...what?” he managed in a small voice.  

“When you got off that beach, I could have detonated your nanite explosive, but felt like doing so would imply that I considered you some kind of threat. You’re useless. You can’t even die properly.” 

He had no idea what he could even attempt to say in response to that. 

“I need blood, Hertz” she said simply. 

The sky lightened slightly, before slowly turning a bloodstained red. The sand beneath his feet seemed to be trembling slightly, but Waller looked completely unbothered by this. In fact, her voice seemed to be getting louder.

“What the hell?”  

The sand cracked and split apart, large chasms growing just inches away from him. The wreckage of the helicopter was pulled in, dropping, but making no sound to prove there was a bottom.  

“I need blood” Waller echoed, her voice suddenly growing deeper and reverberating off the walls of Dick’s skull. “I need blood.”  

“I need more blood!”  

Things suddenly turned really foggy: both Waller and the beach faded into blackness and a blurry mess of colour suddenly sprang into vision. 

A weird sloshing sort of noise settled into his ears and the whistling stopped. The shapes started to become clearer, an array of pink and grey moulding itself into the face of Gaius Grieves grinning down at him.  

“Ah-ha! Back from the dead!” 

“Wh – how -” Dick managed, about seventy percent sure he was hyperventilating.  

“I have, against all odds, succeeded!” he replied, either not noticing or not caring. “Aristotle, eat your heart out!” 

His brow furrowed for a moment and the smile faded somewhat. 

“Well, after some trial and error…I think your heart stopped roughly forty-two times, but who’s counting? It’s like I always say: there’s nothing wrong with playing God, just so long as you’re good at i-” 

Dick’s arm shot to lift him by the throat, but he forgot that he didn’t have his armour on. The eventual result was more of an awkward sort of grab, but still strong enough to start pressing.  

“What did you do?” he snarled. “One minute I’m on the beach and Waller’s there and I’m dead and I think I fell, like, seventy feet -!” 

He stopped talking only to draw breath.  

Dick had had enough. He was going to kill him. He was going to kill this man.  

“You smug, maniacal -” 

Clearly, his grip must have strengthened, as the smile quickly vanished in favour of a hasty outburst. 

“Hey, hey, hey! That’s just how I look when I do good work! Smug and maniacal! See?” 

His face re-contorted into what Dick had to admit was a rather canny impression.  

“Besides, I feel like we’re glossing over the part where I defied the conventions of modern medicine and literally brought a dead man back to life.”  

Dick nodded lamely, slowly removing his hand from the scientist’s throat. Whilst the worst had cleared, the headache must have decided it was going to stick around for a while. “Yeah, uh, how’d you do that?” 

“Simple. Past research has proven to me that Project Starfish possesses some fantastically regenerative properties.” He pointed down towards Dick’s stomach, which, Dick realised with horror, had a gaping chasm where skin should have been. “We need blood to live, yes? So, I simply put seventeen pints of Project Starfish’s blood in!” 

With those words, he pulled a large bucket from bellow the bedside and tipped it over before Dick could stop him. About a gallon of weirdly purple mixture entered the cavity and bounced around in it for a bit, before dissipating like it was entering a bath’s plughole.  

Dick must have been on some strong shit, because he didn’t even feel it. Or anything below his chest, for that matter. 

“No way is that easy.” 

“I know, right? Why do people even go to medical school?” 

 Dick knew he’d never been a kid genius, but something about this method bothered him a little. 

“Wait, how’d you know it would fit my blood type?” 

The doctor gave a comically exaggerated laugh of mirth before leaning in and whispering, despite them being the only ones in the room. 

“Mister Hertz, as punishment for an... administrative oversight, I have suffered a massive budget cut recently, not to mention that advanced equipment is rather lacking in this building. I’ve spent the last hour filtering that blood through my underwear. Trust me when I say that the blood type may be the least of your problems.” 

“...am I supposed to be awake for this?” 

“No, not really. In my defence, all I had to do was stitch this last bit back together, but then you decided to suddenly wake up for no reason.” 

“What do you mean, last bit?”  

“Well, there was quite a lot damaged by your fall. I wanted to prove a point, you see. I’ve fixed seventeen bones, reconstructed that broken neck and removed the fragments that were stuck up there from impact. I even managed to remove some unneeded body fat. If anything, you should be thanking me.” 

Dick just let out a long-suffering sigh, wondering at just what point had his life become such an all-singing, all-dancing shitshow.  

Thinker shrugged slightly, despite the pressing matter of being strangled “Anyway, who cares? You’re alive, aren’t you? Though I’d like to probe that dream a little further...” 

“Oh no you don’t, pal – hey, you’re that guy from the slideshow! The scientist at the...science place!” 

Thinker gave him a flat look. “Yes, at the science place. ” 

“Hang on, what was it called – Yaroslavl!”  

“Jotunheim.” 

“Eh, it’s close enough” Another though struck him. “Is it here? Are we in Jotunheim right now?” 

Just think, he could finish the mission early, go back to Belle Reve with ten years off his sentence and something he could rub right into Boomerang’s ugly face.  

“No, we’re in my basement.” 

Dick gave him a funny look. He raised his hands defensively. 

“Hey, don’t make this weird.” 

“Whatever, dude. Finish stitching me up, will you? I need to get out of here and find the rest of the guys.” 

“Who says you’re leaving?” Grieves murmured, his face suddenly taking on a dark look.  

Dick swallowed thickly. He hadn’t really thought about that. 

“Just kidding” he added, brightening back up at a speed fast enough to give Dick mental whiplash. “It was worth it to see the look on your face, though. No, you can toddle off once I finish sewing this all back up again, but I want you to do something for me. Get me in contact with your friends.” 

From a planning perspective this made little difference to Dick; one of the big aims of the mission was to basically kidnap the guy, anyway. Why he wanted to hand himself over to the enemy, on the other hand, was more of a concern.  

“No, you may not ask why.” 

How did he guess what Dick was going to say? 
 

“I can read your mind.” 

“What?”  

“Oh, yes. Your thoughts are astoundingly few and far between, but I can interpret what small number of functioning synapses there are. Now lie back down, shut up, and I’ll give you a lollipop afterwards.” 

“Giving out lollipops in your basement really gives off red flags, man.” 

“And if you could keep comments like those to yourself, I’ll even give you one from the batch that isn’t laced with experimental chemicals.” 

* 

Thinker hadn’t bothered giving him a map or anything. Just a hearty “All finished!” and an instruction to leave his home before Fargo came on.  

Having contact Waller for directions was inevitable, but no less uncomfortable, in this post-dream reality. She'd given a sigh, like running her own operation was some big waste of time and directed him to that club she’d been talking about before the mission.  

He took a few seconds to read the cursive sign, flickering neon pink and not looking particularly inviting. La Gah-tits...La Gator...La Gat...something Spanish.  

People were throwing cautious looks his way, given that his soldier’s uniform was now stained in what a casual observer would assume to be beetroot juice. He needed a change. If this place was the kind of seedy little shithole it advertised itself to be – the striper and burlesque ads plastered on every available space of wall helping this case - there was bound to be some clothes or costumes somewhere. 

“You can just as easily use the front entrance, you understand” came Waller’s voice, sounding thoroughly fed up. And it had only been five minutes.  

“I need a change of clothes” Dick muttered, having broken into a thankfully empty changing room via the fire exit.  

“I’ll leave you too it, then. But before I sever contact, be aware: as I’ve notified the rest of the team, the military seems to have put up signal jammers in the area. You may not be able to contact us again, but remember that we can still detonate the bombs. So, no funny business. Got it?”  

“Sure, sure” Dick replied, only half-listening.  

Waller was silent for a few seconds, before giving one last piece of advice.  

“The city is crawling with security forces. Keep it subtle, Hertz.”  

“Right” Dick said, observing the rather… unorthodox choices available in front of him. “Subtle. I can do subtle. No problem.” 

* 

Digger tried not to smile as he let the warmth of his alcohol wash over him. A can of lager, a thin Hawaiian shirt and a spray of cologne? He may as well be on holiday here. 

Flag, on the other hand, seemed wound tight enough for his head to come flying off should anyone accidentally nudge him. If Savant looked paranoid, the Colonel was one of those crazed lunatics you found shouting about an apocalypse of carnivorous marmalade on street corners.  

Some fella in a security forces uniform had come over to their table to check their identities, but Digger wasn’t worried. He'd conned people before and the moment he set eyes on the guy, drooping moustache and all, he recognised the easy mark.  

Flag had told him they were tourists, rattling off some story that included their arrival date, the sights they’d seen and when they planned to leave. It was good; too good to just be made up on the spot. He'd clearly been practising beforehand.  

But his body language was what worried Harkness slightly. He was too stiff. His shoulders were tensed and his eyes were far too piercing. Digger had run from enough policemen and secret service agents in his life to recognise it for an almost unconscious reflex, but it just screamed “ military”.  

“Here, mate, if ya gonna be any longer, we can always just a book a room at the nearest hotel.” 

The man looked up from the sheet of paper he was checking, seemingly satisfied. Harkness may not have held any special love for Waller, but she knew how to get a document forged.  

“Or , you can crash with us for a little while. ‘Wanna see how wild a soldier can get, know what I'm sayin’?” 

He made sure to throw his best “I-want-to-root-you" look as he said this. 

The guy looked successfully disturbed, but managed a coherent answer. “I am a captain. For your safety, I suggest you do not flout your... lifestyle at me or proposition me whilst I am on duty.” 

Ooh, tough guy.  

“Lifestyle, mate?” 

“Your immorality.” 

Rick's eyes were now focused on him, with the slightest pleading look behind them. Clearly saying, don’t push this any further . And whilst Digger wanted nothing better than to glass the guy right now, they hadn’t even seen Grieves yet. Looked like the classic barroom brawl would have to wait until later. 

He leaned back in his chair, letting a playful smile settled upon his face.  

“No need to be getting' too offended. My lips are sealed from here on in. Just an Aussie thing, ya know.” 

“You’re Australian?” 

“Oh, aye. What, does that score me extra immorality points?” 

“These documents say you’re American.” 

Shit.   

“Yeah, I got American citizenship. Haven't been back home in ages.” 

“What a funny coincidence” the captain said, leaning in close enough for Digger to smell the tobacco on his breath. “One of the fugitives we’re hunting is Australian.” 

It was okay. He could get out of this; he’d gotten out of harder jams using his words before. 

“Aw, wow” he chuckled back, raising his can with one hand and reaching for a smashed bottle on the floor. Rick ever-so-subtly shook his head. “A fellow countryman, huh? So far out here? Who knew?” 

“Yes” the captain growled. “Who knew?” 

A light cough came from behind as a blonde woman who looked vaguely familiar tapped the man on the shoulder.  

“Who in the hell are you?” the captain grimaced as he turned, looking at them like they were draped in roadkill rather than a pearl necklace.  

Then the woman spoke, and Digger nearly choked on his drink.  

“Hiya, darlin’. Couldn’t help but hear some talk about Australians. You all Aussies too, are you?” 

Harkness had about five million questions, not least of which being how the grunt was somehow fooled by such a terribly fake accent.  

The captain nodded, the intensity on his face dialling back slightly. “Yes. Of course. Merely a conversation. I was just passing a few remarks to this man here, but it seems I may have… mistaken him for someone else. May I ask you a few questions, Miss…?” 

“Herzina.” 

This was not happening. He’d been drugged. He was tripping out. It couldn’t be real.  

Stealing a glance at Flag, who had an equally strong “about-to-be-hit-by-an-oncoming-freight-train” expression, proved that it wasn’t just him seeing this.  

“Miss Herzina. What a beautiful name” the Captain responded, apparently all class now.  

The woman gave a shrill giggle, which sounded akin to a guinea pig being stabbed to death.  

 “Please, call me Ricarda.” 

“I must say, Ricarda, your name doesn’t seem typical of Australia.” 

“Oh no, my parents are Latin American, you see.” 

“Which country?” 

“What?” 

“Which country?” 

“The big one.” 

“The big one ?” 

“…Uruguay.” 

“As far as I’m aware, Uruguay is the smallest landmass in the entire area.” 

Another strangled laugh. 

“I didn’t mean physically, silly. I mean as in, size. Scope! Y’know… heart, and all that.” 

“Would you care to join me at a table?” the Captain enquired, his eyes with a shrewd look in them. He was suspicious, that much was obvious, but Digger figured one would have to be in possession of a negative IQ score not to be. “I’d like to hear more about your experiences there. It’s always interesting to hear about a foreigner’s view of our homelands.” 

“Aw, of course! I’ll go get one. Come find me when you’re done here, handsome!” 

“We’ll go together” he affirmed, hooking the woman’s arm into his with a slight, but visible display of force.  

“Wouldn’t have it any other way!” 

And Rick and Harkness were finally alone. 

“...actually, I think I’ll have a drink” Rick said, out of a lack of anything else to say. “You want another one?” 

Four words Digger never expected to say in his life found themselves tumbling from his lips. “...pass. I’ll pass, thanks.” 

Rick gave a sniff, pulling a nondescript leather wallet from his jeans and fishing a note out.  

“...hey, was that actually -” 

“Yep.” 

Chapter Text

It took Dick a full half-hour to shake the army guy in a manner that didn’t involve ventilating his forehead. Eventually, he’d lured him into a corner by the jukebox, hoisting his dress up his leg to distract him via feminine charm. It slightly worked – his target looked more weirded out than enticed – but it succeeded in getting his head at just the right angle for Dick to land a single knock-out blow. 

Leaning him against the wall and lowering his cap over his eyes to make it look like he was just sleeping off a strong drink, Dick adjusted his necklace. Bit tacky. Maybe something more... 

“Thanks, pal” he said to a passing waitress, pulling her feather headband from her hair and switching it out. The woman seemed confused at her new neckwear, but had clearly had weirder things happen, so she didn’t try to take it back. Probably just glad she wasn't about to be sexually harassed or anything. 

Rick and Boomerang looked much more inebriated by the time he got back to their table, but no less bemused. Dick almost self-consciously reached to fiddle with one of his new curls, but reminded himself that he was more of a badass than any of these people combined.  

Boomerang took a long look at Dick’s new threads. He clearly wished he looked as good in a dress. 

“Look, I’m just gonna say it – and I’m not pretendin’ it ain’t a damn sight nicer than that jock biker suit you had before - why are you wearing that?” 

“Oh, that’s a long story.” 

“We’ve got all night.” 

“So basically, me and Harley were kidnapped by the President -” 

“Eh?” 

“Well not him , obviously, but his guys. He was all like I want you to join me in my new empire or whatever the hell. It was like Star Wars , have you ever seen Star Wars ?” 

“…years ago” Rick managed. 

“It was like Star Wars . Then he and Harley banged, then she shot him because he killed kids, but the noise attracted his men. So, I jumped out of the window, and this killed me . But that crazy scientist guy, Grieves, brought me back to life by filling me with alien blood. Is this making sense?” 

Rick and Boomerang both looked at each other before answering as one. “No.” 

“- and now I’ve got to wear a disguise because the military will be keeping a special eye out for me. If they see me wandering around when I’m supposed to be dead, they’ll kill Grieves before he can help us. Smart, yeah?” 

Boomerang eyed up the alcohol volume printed on his can. “…yeah, mate. Now, instead of an American mercenary, they’ll see a bloke in a dress covered in tattoos. Way less conspicuous.” 

“I dunno, I mean, I feel like I did a pretty good job with this make-up.” 

“Wait, wait” Rick cut in. “So Harley’s alive?” 

“Yeah. Well, I mean...probably. That old dude had a weird look in his eye; probably torturing her right now. Not that she’d die or anything” he rushed to add, seeing the look on the man’s face, “I'm not implying that. She seemed tough.” 

Quick, think of something else to talk about.  

“Why are you wearing a cowboy hat?” 

Rick’s brow furrowed, making him look immensely tired. It seemed to be his default look whenever Dick tried to talk to him, but Harley never got this kind of treatment and she’d spent half an hour talking about grapefruit yesterday, to the point that even the enchanted Luna’s smile seemed slightly forced.  

Dick was a delight to talk to, regardless of what Mum had always said.   

“We’re going to have to alter the plan, then. Harley is priority number one once we get Grieves.” 

“Wait, we’re changing the plan for Harley? ” 

“You got a problem with that, Blackguard? ” 

It was the most hostile Dick had ever heard him. 

“No, sir...I mean, no, uh... Lieutenant.” 

Rick climbed up from his seat at a speed a bit too fast for a calm man.  

“And for the last goddamn time, it’s Colonel ” he growled, before stalking away to the bar. 

Boomerang let out a low whistle, which didn’t actually sound that mocking. “Word of advice, mate: best not go poking things where him and Harley are concerned.” 

Clearly.  

* 

As the night grew longer and there was still no sign of Grieves, the rest of the team slowly began to come together at their table. Most patrons had begun to mingle as a result of rising alcohol levels, so this was done under the assumption that it wouldn’t look too out of place.  

“Hey, where’s Weasel?” Dick asked, deciding to take advantage of the number of times they kept side-eyeing his dress.  

Savant frowned, clearly not expecting this question.  

“Back in the van. Milton is keeping watch on it. We couldn’t exactly bring it in.” 

“Him.” 

“What?” 

“ Him . He’s a him , not an it . He – you know what, it doesn’t matter.” 

Savant’s bemused gaze lingered a little bit longer, but he eventually relented. As his head turned, Dick couldn’t help but look at his ears, now visible since the man’s hair had been tied back into a ponytail.  

“Wait, who’s Milton?” 

A tray was slammed in front of him, loaded with tequila shots. Some guy with a sports vest and blue tracksuit jumper around his waist flashed him a grin.  

“Dig in, guys!” 

Oh, it was TDK . Well, at least his face made up for his lame-ass powers.  

There was a noise of appreciation from everyone except Savant, of course.  

“Seriously? We’re drinking on a mission?” 

Javelin, dressed the most formally out of all of them with a button-down shirt and dress jacket, gave a nonchalant shrug.  

“Of course. Why not?” 

“We’re on a mission, bright-eyes.” 

Javelin mockingly parroted him. “We’re on a mission, muh, muh, muh . I thought you Americans were supposed to be fun.” 

Savant’s eyes scanned the club like the walls had projectile vomited onto his shoes. 

“There’s shitholes in Gotham that are more fun than this.” 

Boomerang burped slightly, already finished with his fourth shot. Mongal elbowed his arm out of the way as he reached for his fifth. 

“Don’t you dare, you unevolved ape.” 

“Alright, Queen Tangerine, no need to get your battle armour in a twist.” 

“As you can quite clearly see, my armour is physically incapable of twisting . Or are you already inebriated beyond all hope?” 

She downed the shot like it was tap water. 

Then she ate the glass. 

“What?” she demanded, suddenly slamming a fist down on the table in response to everyone’s staring. Dick quickly re-focused his gaze on the middle distance behind her head. “I need some bite to my drink.” 

“That a contest, luv?” Boomerang naturally felt the urge to pipe up.  

“ What? ” she growled. Actually growled . 

“Big, bad alien warrior good at holding down her booze?” 

“More so than any homosapien.” 

“Go on, then. I'll let you have first drink.” 

“Is this some notion that your deluded sense of superiority is derived from your gender?” 

“Nah. Just respect for a weaker opponent.” 

“Say anything like that again and I will make you sure you are physically incapable of drinking for the next month” she snapped, but took the next glass anyway. 

Boomerang took the next. 

Then she took another. 

It was a repeating sequence that felt like it wouldn’t end. Just ten minutes later, they’d had the fourth tray of shots brought to the table by a frankly startled-looking waitress, and both competitors were going strong. 

“Twenty bucks says Mongal wins” Javelin murmured, leaning across to Rick. 

Rick nodded. “I’ll take that bet.” 

“This is stupid” Savant grumbled, swirling an empty glass with his hand before stacking it onto the growing pyramid he’d started assembling. “...fifty on Boomerang.” 

“Nah, Mongal for sure” Dick said. “She’s an alien, probably got a way better physiology.” 

Eventually, no-one won, as by tray seven, the staff refused to bring any more unless they paid. The fact that none of them actually had money to spend made their bets redundant, anyway.  

A more comfortable air seemed to have started to settle amongst the group. There wasn’t much talking, but it was in no way awkward. 

“I have heard it is also customary for humans to engage in their most base nature at times such as this” Mongal commented. She smiled and Dick quickly made sure he was out of flaying range, but it turned out it was still Boomerang who was in her sights. “Are you sufficiently inebriated?” 

“Lady, it ain’t ever a question of whether I’m drunk, it’s a question of degree.” 

“Make love to me.” 

Chances of probability were that nearly everybody simultaneously choked on their drinks as one. Boomerang, however, just raised an eyebrow as his mouth fell open slightly.  

“Eh?” 

“I believe that is the human expression, correct?” 

“Aye, it is. So does this mean you’re attracted to this hunk of bod, then?” 

“No.” 

“Ouch. No need to answer so fast.” 

“I am willing to have coitus with you, though.” 

TDK looked rather embarrassed to be sat with them, eyes scanning the room for something that could provide him an excuse to leave. “I’m going to go... order another drink... somewhere...” 

Boomerang snorted derisively, but didn’t immediately reply to the offer he'd been made. Mongal began to flush a deep maroon colour, her eyebrows knitting together in flustered annoyance.  

“I said, I am happy to engage in physical congress with you. Do you reciprocate?” 

The rest of the table remained silent. Boomerang put down his can, licked his lips and sniffed.  

“Yeah, go on, then.” 

Like a rocket, Mongal had stood up, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him away. Hopefully not to anywhere Dick would end up going in the next half hour or so.  

* 

Time passed. Dick had been given the job of surveillance by Rick, which he gladly accepted. Partly because it sounded like an inning to get back on the team’s good side, but mostly because the word sounded cool. He’d taken a seat at the bar whilst the... Commander? Whilst the leader stood further back, obscured by disco lighting.   

Surveillance had so far involved sipping on his drink and trying to look as small as possible when the odd young man tried to flirt with him. Contrary to the rest of the group (it seemed), he considered the fact that his head could blow up at any minute a bit of a romance-killer. Not to mention the sex, though Dick himself had never really seen the appeal in that, full stop. Not when there were videogames to be played or businesspeople to be extorted.  

The counter juddered as a hand slammed down and scared the living daylights of one guy who the playing-mute tactic hadn’t worked on and wouldn’t take no for an answer.  

“Get lost” Boomerang growled, face glistening with sweat and his jacket half-open, exposing a grubby vest and chest hair beneath.  

The asshole got the message and almost tripped over himself trying to get away.  

“Whew!” he managed as he collapsed in a chair and necked the rest of Dick’s drink. “That lass is a live wire .” 

“…why is your nose bleeding and cheek swollen?” 

“Ritualistic battle” he shrugged, as casually as one would describe the weather. “Apparently they all do it. I’m tellin’ ya, these aliens have got the right idea: fight, bang – no limits, mind you, she let me bring Pinky into it an’ all - then go to sleep. What else could you want?” 

Dick was going to ask who Pinky was after all this time, but decided it would likely be best that he never found out.  

“Do you think they’ve got food around here?” 

“No, they just do drinks. Why?” 

“Well, you don’t want to shag an alien on an empty stomach, do ya?” 

“…I wouldn’t wanna shag the alien at all.” 

“The name is Mongal , whelp” came a familiar growl from behind him. Dick was seriously considering buying his teammates bells to wear. Boomerang smirked and raised his empty glass, still panting slightly. “And I am hungry for more… physical intimacy, should your needs be unsatisfied. You humans are so very amusing.” 

She winked. It looked disturbingly unnatural to Dick, but the other man seemed to be lapping it up.  

“Live. Wire.” Boomerang mouthed at him. 

Dick’s life likely wouldn’t have suffered a great loss had he not known all this. 

* 

The rest of the night passed by in a slurry of debauchery and drinking. Flag was quick to drop his stern façade less than three drinks in, slapping Boomerang and Savant on the back in an outburst of raucous laughter at some joke Dick didn’t even get.  

Javelin had since contended himself with being ogled at by a crowd of both young women and men, winking at them as he performed what he probably assumed was a seductive pole dance on his weapon. He’d gotten down to his underwear by the time Dick averted his eyes to the other side of the club; he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to see where it was going next.  

Boomerang had since staked his claim on the karaoke machine, belting out swear words in place of the lyrics he didn’t know, meaning f-bombs and thick Australian slang made up about seventy percent of each song. Mongal casually stood nearby, at one point casually breaking the arm of a man who’d gotten a bit fresh. No-one made any move to stop them; Boomerang had hit a terribly delivered high note at the time, which muffled the pained squealing quite well.  

Even Savant seemed to having trace amounts of fun, showing off flashy trick shots with a rubber ball at the other end of the bar, bouncing it around precarious edges and half-full glasses. After one flourish that ended with him sinking it into a hang-up basketball net, they went nuts and the slight smirk on the man’s face made it clear he was enjoying the attention for once.  

Dick himself, however, was desperate to do something new, worried that his backside would end up fusing to the leather if he stayed seated for any longer.  

He hadn’t seen TDK in a while, come to think of it. Where was that guy? 

Deciding it was as good a distraction as he was going to get, he pushed his long-emptied glass of lemonade aside and headed for the entrance, hoping he’d just gone for some fresh air or something. 

Flashing blue lights so bright they almost physically assaulted him served as a greeting, as he came outside into the heavy night air.  

Army vehicles. Lots of them. Soldiers were starting to make their way up the road, shouting in rapid Spanish. Whatever they wanted, they didn’t look too happy about it. 

Hoping that the TDK had maybe gone up one of the alleyways to the side of the building, he broke into what he hoped was a calm but quick walk, letting out a breath he didn't realise he’d been holding once rounding the corner.  

Hey, there was he was. By a rather hideously-painted minivan. 

Stood stock still. 

In his armour. 

Weird. 

“Hey” Dick shouted down to him. “Where’ve you been, man? Smoke break?” 

Silence. 

“Dude?” 

“Yes” TDK replied finally, but he didn’t turn around. “I was on a smoke break.” 

“...okay.” 

“Okay.” 

More silence. 

“Hey, not that I care or anything, but are you good? You’re acting a bit weird.” 

“...yes. I am fine.” 

The gaps between the words were unsettlingly long.  

Dick swallowed thickly. 

“Dude, could you just... turn around a bit? You’re freaking me out.” 

“No.” 

Something didn’t feel right. Dick’s hand drifted unconsciously towards his left shoulder before he realised he didn’t have his guns. 

“...look, I’m not leaving until you turn around, man.” 

TDK’s foot shifted slightly. Then his other one. Then his torso manoeuvred at the roughly the same speed as an arthritic tortoise.  

“Thanks, man. I just had to check you weren’t someone else wearing his armour. These Corto Maltesoids might be getting crafty and Jesus Christ! ”  

It was a starfish.  

An actual starfish. 

On his face.  

At least it looked like a starfish. He couldn’t remember seeing any at the aquarium he once robbed that had a large eye in its centre. But then he wasn’t a marine biologist, so... 

“Dude, you – you’ve got a little something on your, uh...” 

“I am Starro.” 

“...huh?” 

“I am Starro. I am one of many. This city will be mine.”  

“...oh, okay. Okay, well...I mean, you can have it, go ahead. I haven’t got a stake in it, plus basically everyone here’s a dick.” 

“This host body is not suitable for my current needs, but it should suffice. I shall return later.” 

“Host bo – hold on, is the starfish talking?”  

The eye looked him up and down. 

“Your mental capacity is too lacking to be a suitable host. My progeny shall use you for feeding.” 

“No need to be like that, man, I was only asking a question.” 

He angled his head slightly and pointed at the star, wondering whether TDK himself was getting any of this. 

“Dude, where did you pick this thing up?” 

“He did not find me. I found him .” 

“...come again?” 

“The human you once knew is dead. Now he is a vessel to control, as you all will be.” 

“You two!” came Savant’s voice from behind, footsteps getting louder as he approached. Dick didn’t turn around in case what was once TDK randomly decided to attack. “Colonel’s wondering where you both – woah. ” 

Dick nodded. 

“This, uh... what is this? ” 

“It’s a talking starfish” Dick said simply. 

Savant took a steady intake of breath. It seemed quite a trite reaction, but after seeing the likes Weasel and Mongal, things could only get so much weirder. “Well... okay.” 

Dick and Savant stared at the starfish. The starfish stared back, locking them in a Mexican standoff.  

“You come alone?” Savant asked, hand drifting, almost casually, towards the pocket on his corduroys.  

“I am many” the starfish growled. TDK’s voice just sounded wrong when being used to snarl like that. 

“How many?” 

“Thousands.”  

“You all the same colour?” 

Both of them turned to look at Dick. He shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I mean, you’ve already been asked all the big questions, man.” 

“Our physical appearance is irrelevant.” 

A gust of wind hurtled down the alley. Dick's bare arms developed goosebumps; this dress wasn’t great for use on cold evenings.  

The TDK-alien thing raised its head to the sky and made a sound akin to a deep sniff.  

“I am leaving. Using this metahuman, I shall free myself from the forsaken tower I’m trapped in.” 

And he started walking away. 

Like, properly walking away.  

“Yeah, dude, I’m not sure whether that’s such a good idea.” 

Savant raised an eyebrow in Dick's direction, but didn’t interrupt. 

“You see, there’s this, like, bomb -” 

"If there’s one thing I have gained from the experiments I have been subjected to, it is the knowledge that human weaponry cannot harm my main body.” 

“Yeah, but it could probably harm this one.” 

“If the body is harmed, I shall simply find another host. Now, leave me be , human.” 

“Okay, but I haven’t told you where the bomb is yet -” 

“Hey, what’s that beeping noise?” Savant cut across him, body tensed and fists clenched.  

Dick frowned as he tried to focus. It took a few seconds, but there it was. A muffled beeping, emanating from around the starfish. 

Then TDK’s head exploded.  

Dick let out a cry and covered his face, fleshy chunks and sprayed blood hitting his bare arm and forehead. It wasn’t a pleasant noise; the explosion was accompanied by the sound of horrific tearing.  

TDK’s headless body stayed upright for a few seconds, before following over sideways to the ground. 

Slowly lowering his arm, Dick could only stare.  

“...that was the bomb?” 

Savant’s lips were pursed; he was clearly just as unsettled. “...that was the bomb. Damn. ” 

His comm crackled to life and Waller’s emotionless drone entered his ear.  

“Say hello to Project Starfish, gentlemen. An extra-terrestrial life form found in deep space.”  

Holy shit, it was aliens. 

“Was killing him necessary, Waller?” Savant responded, looking down at the steaming remains. He looked almost saddened. “For all we know, we could have gotten the thing off of him.” 

“ I don’t take chances, Durlin. If it escaped, it could have made things even harder for the mission. Feel free to tell the rest of the team what has happened; we don’t have a strong enough signal to broadcast this message to every earpiece. Have you spotted Grieves yet?”  

The woman had killed a man with the flip of a switch, and it was still just business as usual.  

“...no, ma’am.” 

“Then get back to it. I expect you to breach Jotunheim by tomorrow afternoon, understand?”  

“...yes, ma’am. How should we dispose of the -” 

She cut out. 

“Your name’s Durlin? ” 

Savant gave a deep and drawn-out sigh.  

“We’d better hide the body somewhere.” 

Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about identities, which was fair. However, it took a moment for Dick to realise he was being addressed; he was too transfixed by the fleshy crater situated where TDK's neck used to be.  

“Right. D’you want to, uh... say a few words first?” 

Savant sighed again, but clasped his hands together and lowered his head in a practised manner of respect. Dick decided to copy him; he seemed to know what he was doing.  

“TDK, we’re here by your body tonight to mourn our loss of a great comrade. Whilst the world knew you as...” 

Dick frowned. 

“...did you ever catch his actual name?” 

“...no, man. I didn’t. Kind of a shame; he seemed like a pretty mysterious guy at the time, y’know? Never got his backstory, either.” 

“Huh” Savant hummed, before resuming his diatribe. “Well, while the rest of the world knew you as... something else, we knew you as a former inmate of Belle Reve and a good comrade, willing to help at any time. Even if you weren’t very good at it.” 

It sounded like the soldiers on the main road had gone elsewhere; the shouting had lessened somewhat.  

“Uh – you were real good. Maybe even the best. If I’m a bird, you’re a bird. Here’s looking at you, kid -” 

“Wh – you’re just quoting lines from movies!” 

“Sorry, do you wanna take over?” he snapped, throwing his arms up in a futile manner. “Just – look, here. I’ll keep it simple. TDK, you were good shit. You knew how to… slap things. We loved you and we’re gonna miss you. Amen.” 

“Amen.” Dick echoed. 

They stood in silence for a minute or two. The odd revving of an engine or cry of a vendor could be heard from the main street. 

“…okay, real talk? I didn’t love him at all.” 

Savant wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, me neither.” 

“He kinda scared me, to be honest.” 

“It’s being able to see the bones sticking out the ends of the arms.” 

“Yeah, and then you get the -” 

The emergency door flung open and Savant’s pistol was in his hand before Dick could even turn around fully. 

Boomerang was stumbling slightly as he approached them, luau flowers draped around his neck and a pair of sunglasses across his eyes despite it being almost pitch black. “’The hell are you two dickheads doing out here?”  

“TDK’s head blew up” they both replied as one.  

“Aw, no” the Aussie said, completely unconvincingly. “I really liked that guy. Oh, well.” 

He shrugged, falling back a little as he did so, before taking another swig from the bottle in his hand. “So, are we burning the body, hiding it, what?” 

“One of us should go and tell Flag” said Savant. 

No-one moved to go and tell Flag. 

“Well, it can’t be me” Dick began, as they started eyeing each other up. “He’s just gonna think I did it.” 

“Been a while since I needed the toilet.” Boomerang added out of nowhere, the slur to his words becoming increasingly obvious. 

“Ain’t you just been?” Savant frowned. 

“Not to piss; to grind on Mongal.” 

“…lovely.”  

“What I’m sayin’ is, if I go on him, the alcohol in it will probably be flammable enough to ignite.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“You sure? I mean, that body armour’s rubber, it’ll go up like a snap .” 

“You are not pissing on a man’s corpse . Jesus Christ , have some respect.” 

Dick rolled his shoulder and made for the corpse, hoping it didn’t smell too bad yet. “Look, one of you go tell Flag, the other can help me.” 

His two teammates stared each other down, torn between two rather unpleasant options. Eventually, Savant relented. “Fine. Just make sure you hide a body better than you hid in that guerrilla camp, you hear me?” 

I was hiding just fine when you and your Russian boyfriend started going at it in that hut, Dick thought to himself, but he didn’t dare say it out loud. Really, it was none of his business whether the man liked it up the ass and besides, he quite liked having all his bones in full working order.  

Boomerang let out a loud belch and threw his cider can along the alley. At least one of them was drunk enough to deal with this. 

“‘Haven’t got my armour on at the minute, so it’s gonna be a two-man job. I’ll grab the feet, you get the armpits.” 

Chapter Text

Things – rather inevitably, it seemed – led to Dick being sat back on the bar stool, nursing his fifth lemonade like it was hard liquor. Everyone was a lot more muted now, though Javelin still seemed pleased enough to continue basking in his groupies’ adoration.

It could have been twenty minutes or five hours by the time Grieves showed up; his entrance finally seemed to help time start moving again. His eyes were scanning the room rather lecherously, the diodes implanted in his head blinking at random intervals.

Then he made his way towards the bar.

God damn it, he was looking at him.

Dick wondered whether it was better to make a run for it, or continue to fake being mute.

He hadn’t finished his lemonade yet. He decided to stay. He was a certified badass; he didn’t need to fear some cyborg nerd with chronic alopecia.

“What’s your name, then?” the older man began, face twisted slightly. It took Dick a moment to realise it was supposed to be a smile.

Not Ricarda, Dick’s brain told him, something different. We don’t want to leave a trail.

“...Dick.”

...that’s it, you’re on your own.

“Oh, Mister Hertz!”

Shit, he hadn’t done the voice.

“I never assumed your type would indulge in... cosmetic deviances such as this.”

“Who, blonde people?”

“Jocks.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a jock.”

Grieves raised his eyebrows sarcastically, his eyes lingering on Dick’s tight-covered legs.

What a freak.

“Clearly not. Say, if you were at all interested -”

Dick grabbed the closest object on the bar and pointed it towards the guy’s throat before he got any more ideas. “You just back up there, pal. We’ve got a good deal going; don’t make me kill you in front of all these people.”

“...yeah, that’s a straw.”

Dick looked in his hand. Indeed it was.

“Well - well, the point still stands.”

Grieve’s hands went up in a gesture of mock surrender and he moved to sit down on the stool next to him. “Very well. I’ll play nice. So, where is your contingent?”

Dick scanned the room for Flag, trying not to look too long at a woman hand-feeding Javelin grapes. He finally found him, deep in discussion with Savant.

“He’s the boss, right there, in the yellow shirt. See him? Hey!” he shouted over the music. “Hey, I got Grieves!”

The two immediately made hasty shushing noises, before swiftly striding across the room in an almost mirrored motion. Must be the military in them.

“You want to shout it a bit louder, kid?” Savant grumbled, poking him in the chest. With no leather to block the glove, it almost kind of hurt. “There might some people in the next street over who didn’t hear you.”

“Grieves” Flag greeted the scientists tartly, one hundred-percent boy scout as always.

“Grunt” Grieves replied. “And that’s Doctor Grieves to you. Although, I’d prefer Thinker.”

Flag grabbed him by the arm and not-so-gently steered him back towards the exit, just in time for a squad of soldiers to come barging in.

Flag swore, before shoving Grieves into Dick’s arms.

“Take him out back” he instructed under the noise of the squad’s leader shouting at them all in rapid Spanish. “There’s a van down the alleyway, take Mongal and Javelin with you. Me, Savant and Boomerang will meet you later.”

“Javelin” repeated Grieves. “Heavens, I can’t even begin to guess what his special ability might involve.”

Dick ignored him, jabbing him slightly in the ribs as he adjusted their course towards the dressing rooms. Out of the corner of his eye, a man provocatively nudged a troop harassing someone - probably his girlfriend – into handing over her papers. The troop simply turned around and slammed his rifle butt directly into the guy’s face, to the reception of a shocked scream. Dick couldn’t really tell what he expected to have happen, honestly.

Wanting to avoid that scenario regardless, he sped up slightly as Javelin and Mongal joined him at his side, Javelin rubbing at the lipstick marks now on the side of his neck. Mongal’s face paint was starting to run; there was only so long you could pretend her true skin colour was merely spilled orange juice.

Predictably, the dressing room was full of naked performers who were likely hoping to avoid the invading soldiers as long as they could, making to cover themselves as they entered. A few of them looked slightly calmer when they noticed Javelin – Jesus, how fast did this guy get around – but Grieves certainly wasn’t helping matters with his not-in-the-least-bit-subtle leering.

A single, lone trooper greeted them in the back courtyard, halfway through a sandwich. Javelin plucked a plastic fork from his breast pocket and flicked it hard enough to send it flying at the force of a torpedo. The thing pierced the soldier’s throat and he fell back gurgling blood.

“Javelin” Grieves said again, as they bundled themselves down a small tunnel and towards the open street. “I suppose Fork is only slightly more stupid.”

“I don’t know you” Mongal said simply, striding as if on the warpath. Oh, that’s right: she probably was. “I am only aware of your name because it is part of our mission. I have just met you two minutes ago. But I already want to kill you.”

“Down, girl” Javelin said smoothly.

“Do not condescend to me” she spat in reply.

Most of the soldiers had entered the neighbouring buildings; the street had quietened down. Then again, a military intervention would probably cool anyone’s enthusiasm for a fun night out, in fairness.

Dick noticed a hideously painted van poking out at one of the turn-offs, a portly man waving to them beside it.

“I thought intercourse was supposed to relax people” Javelin murmured, not-so-subtly continuing to give a provocative side-eye.

“If relaxation is what you want, I’ve a whole range of experimental hypno-therapy I’ve been meaning to try -” Grieves began.

“No” Dick said forcefully. “No, no weird science shit. Just get in the van.”

“Oh, relax” Grieves sighed. The fat guy waddled over, sweating enough to fill a fire bucket. “It’s just a few hypnotic suggestions and neuron implants. It's not like it’s rocket science. It’s brain surgery!”

A forceful shove into the back of the van rendered his last remark slightly muffled. “By the way, your friend seems rather perceivably panicked.”

“Hey, Milton” Javelin greeted casually, examining his nails as the doors were slammed closed.

“Your dog got out” Milton stammered in reply.

Dick frowned. “Dog?”

Milton just nodded. “Well, I mean... it looks like one. I don’t know, I’m not familiar with all the breeds...”

“Yeah, that’s what I said -” Dick said, cottoning on, “Wait, what do you mean he got out?”

Not waiting for a reply, he scampered around the perimeter of the van, indeed noticing a distinct lack of anything even remotely Weasel-like.

Wait. There, in the mud.

Crouching down, he dug out something small and plastic. It looked like a toy plane of some description, the propeller bent and wings flattened. So, some kids had been around here. Maybe they’d seen him, or...

Oh, Hell.

Weasel’s track record with children was... not great, from what Dick could remember. This could end really badly if he wasn’t found, and fast.

As if on cue, the sound of a high-pitched scream echoed from a first-floor window across the street. The crew members aboard Dick’s train of thought immediately went to their panic stations.

“I’m comin’, kid!” he yelled, barrelling across the tarmac and only just dodging an oncoming car as it slammed on the breaks to avoid hitting him. The driver leaned out of his window, accompanied by a string of curse words, but Dick ignored it in favour of continuing to run, flinging the front door open with enough force for it to slam into the nose of an old woman who was on the other side.

“Sorry, emergency” he breathed as he hurtled past her, not even sure why he should have cared, “got a kid to rescue – ack!”

His feet got caught on one of the stairs and he went shin-first into another. It stung. A lot. But he ignored it and kept running.

He would have liked to pretend that that was the only point where he fell. But no, it happened again. Five times over, in fact, which was statistically quite amazing for someone only ascending one flight.

Willing to bet money that his legs were probably bleeding somewhere, he barged his way through another door to witness -

Weasel on all fours, licking the child’s face as it laughed in glee.

Dick felt around his dress before realising a little too late that if he was facing down a rabid creature, he probably should have brought a weapon.

“Hey, leave him!” he barked, hoping he sounded more confident that he felt.

Weasel looked at him, a slight sign of confusion on its features, before raising a hand. Dick momentarily wondered whether this was how he died, but there was no malice in the gesture. Rather, their slender fingers were holding onto a small model of a train.

Dick couldn’t find the words.

“You’ve been... playing?”

Weasel gave an affirmative little yip.

*

The adrenaline was rapidly wearing off once they started making their way back outside again and Dick’s shins were experiencing enough pain to last a lifetime. The child had needed ten minutes to drag themselves away from Weasel, who allowed a firm hug and a muffled “osito” before giving a comforting little nuzzle in return and finally being let go of. Personally, Dick was amazed that the kid could put up with the smell.

It was also rather awkward having to trek back past the old woman, nursing a bleeding nose and glaring at him in the way that only old women could.

“I see you found it” Javelin remarked, feet up upon the van’s dashboard as they climbed into the back.

“I found him, yeah. Anything happen while I was gone?”

“No. Mongal’s still threatening Thinker for some reason. I think she finds it fun.”

Mongal, sat a few seats ahead of Dick, was indeed describing an entire host of unpleasant things she’d do to his spine if he disobeyed their orders.

“Hey, Mongal, come on.”

“This is important information” Mongal replied curtly. “Violence and intimidation is the one language all species understand.”

“You’re a lovely woman” Thinker remarked, somehow not sounding the least bit sarcastic.

Yep. Freak.

*

Dick sure hoped Milton was a good fighter, because he certainly wasn’t a good driver. When the slightest amount of pressure was applied i.e., having to tail a police vehicle and always keep it in his sights, he hurtled across lanes as if vengefully chasing down a particularly irritating mouse. Dick had had to grab onto the back of his seat lest he go flying across the van.

“Y’know, we’re not – argh – we don’t have to chase it, you’ll make them suspicious!” he shouted towards the front, before losing his footing and tumbling into Mongal’s lap. Mongal dealt with this problem by kicking him – where else? - in the shin.

Trying to hold back tears of pain, he was thrown back a second time as Milton swerved in response to a blasted horn from somewhere to their right. His head smacked off the window and he grabbed onto something just to get some stability.

“Can we – look, just cool it with the swerving, would ya?”

“Alright, Milton, you’ve had your fun” Javelin remarked, feet still on the dash and not a hair out of place. Not even his jacket looked the least bit ruffled. “Pull back a bit.”

A sudden break, and his chest was slammed off the seat in front, winding him. A sudden screech told him that the item he’d grabbed had been Weasel’s tail, which he quickly let go of.

“Off the accelerator… come on… there we go” Javelin was narrating to Milton, hand on the man’s shoulder, who seemed to be having some sort of breakdown.

Dick winced as he sat back up and the world finally stopped rolling. Mongal was throwing away her sunglasses, giving him a full view of the eyes that would normally be filled with unceasing rage. Except this time, they carried the slightest semblance of… pity? Somehow, it made Dick feel even worse.

“How did someone like yourself get put into a maximum-security Earth prison?” she asked. Dick scoured his memory, but his current assumptions seemed true: this really was the first thing she’d said to him that wasn’t some sort of thinly-veiled threat. “Purely standing up and talking aimlessly seems to max out your cognitive range; I doubt your ability to commit major crimes.”

“…thanks?”

“Even our colleague in front seems more dangerous and he uses traditional sporting equipment as a weapon.”

“A javelin is a fine thing” Javelin interjected, pinching his thumb and forefinger as he turned in his seat to face them. He began to wave his hand about and closed his eyes as he spoke, like he was conducting some invisible orchestra. “The craftsmanship that goes into the wood… the hilt… all the training that it takes to account for windspeed, grip and trajectory…”

Big whoop. I have these things called guns. You point them at people, then they die. No training needed.

“Be that as it may, it does not seem an ideal utility for committing crime” Mongal responded, hands on her knees. She sounded genuinely curious. “From what I know, humans place heavy admiration on people of physical prowess, to an almost religious degree. Why not become an athlete? Why turn to crime?”

If Javelin was as surprised by this line of questioning as Dick was, he showed no outward signs of such. He simply shrugged.

“It seemed more fun. And rewarding. There are plenty of rich, powerful people in the world who have enemies and they will pay through the nose for someone to get rid of them.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me.”

“I wasn’t really a solo act” Dick began, mentally rehearsing the story in his head to avoid letting anything embarrassing slip. “We had this crime ring called the 1,000 – I mean, I dunno why, there were only, like, ten of us at the top level. Anyway, we smuggle drugs, break into laboratories, all that stuff, until that asshole Booster Gold comes along and stops us.”

“Past experience suggests that if everyone at the helm of this organisation was like you, it was doomed to fail from the start” Mongal commented, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, man, I think they’re still going at it. All the original guys are still kicking around, anyway, once or twice I’d get sent a postcard in jail. Minddancer, Shockwave, Chiller -”

“Okay, are you making these names up?” Javelin interrupted.

“No, they’re all real. Probably worth a google, though. But there we were, doing great, until this bank job. Really big score; diamonds, the lot. Only some rival group got there first and left just in time for the cops to show up as we did. Half of us got arrested or caught in the shootout; I made a run for it.”

“So, you’re a coward” Mongal said simply.

That hurt a lot more than it should have.

“No” Dick replied, hoping he didn’t sound too offended. You never let these people see that they got to you. “I just know when I’m not gonna win. I flee instead of staying there to die and end up on this really epic quest of vengeance, slaying all the rival gang members who were responsible before getting done in by Brass-ass and his stupid drone.”

“How many did you manage to kill beforehand?”

“… I dunno, maybe two?”

Javelin mouthed the word two with sarcastic wonder as Mongal rolled her eyes hard enough to risk blinding herself.

“Hey, Weasel, what about you, man?”

Weasel briefly stopped licking the window to turn and face them, before getting right back into it.

“Eh, maybe not. Mongal?”

“It is very simple” Mongal remarked, giving what seemed to be a genuine smile. A little too close to a shark’s for Dick’s liking, but a genuine smile nonetheless. “My people are warriors. We fight, we conquer, we rule. Eventually we learned of Earth’s might champions, the Justice League. It was too much of a challenge for me to resist and I eventually came to blows with Superman.”

Dick winced at the thought and hissed slightly through his teeth.

“How’d it go?”

“Ours was a fierce battle, though he gained the upper hand in the end.”

“He sparked you out, didn’t he?”

The maroon flush returned to her cheeks, this time from simmering rage.

“I underestimated my opponent. I thought him a human. I was wrong. Next time, I shan’t make that mistake.”

There was no set response for that and good luck, I guess didn’t seem too helpful, so Dick kept his mouth shut. Thankfully, the ensuing silence didn’t have much time to become too awkward.

“The enemy transports seem to be having trouble” Mongal commented, eyes narrowed.

Trouble was something of an understatement. People who were having trouble when driving didn’t normally steer directly off the road and tumble down a massive embankment only to land upside-down. Dick seriously doubted any of them were still alive as they themselves drove down to the spot they’d landed, in the more conventional manner.

But he should have guessed that Boomerang’s many similarities to a cockroach likely extended beyond his appearance alone. The wheels of the police van hadn’t even stopped spinning as the bastard climbed out of the back, stumbling slightly and sweating profusely. The tropical shirt had since been abandoned in favour of his bare chest, which wasn’t exactly a treat to look at.

“Like something you see, mate?”

“Put your shirt back on” Dick said stiffly.

“Can’t” he said, wiping blood off his signature weapon. “’Used it to throttle this guy; got torn while doing it.”

“Next time” came a muffled voice from behind, “don’t throw that thing in such an enclosed space. You almost scalped me.”

Savant crawled out, curling and uncurling his fist and using the other hand to nurse a cut on the side of his face.

“Yeah, well, you could use a trim ‘cos that shit’s clearly getting in your eyes” Boomerang quipped. “Flag finished in there yet?”

“I think the crash knocked him unconscious, but he’ll be awake rather quickly. I checked for any broken bones, but he’s alright.”

Like magic, some mild groaning came from within the smoking confines. “Who hit me?”

“Savant.”

“Boomerang.”

Another groan, perfectly conveying the sentiment of “why do I even bother” better than words ever could.

“What happened?” Dick asked, trying to keep his eyes on anything other than Boomerang’s frankly horrific beer belly.

“Well, Princess here decides to headbutt one of the guards -”

“You didn’t exactly have any better ideas -” Savant interjected.

“Yeah, but you went for my guard.”

“He wasn’t your guard. Besides, he was directly in front of me, it made logical sense to -”

“How about you get your own guard next time!”

Flag shoved his way between them, forehead cut and arm scraped. “Hey, none of that. We're a team, alright? We got out. It's all good between us.”

He was breathing quite heavily through these surprisingly amicable words. Dick wondered whether he was going into shock; those generally didn’t tend to be the first words of someone just involved in a horrific road accident.

“You got Grieves?”

“Yeah, he’s in the back” Dick replied.

The cracking of plastic drew eyes to Savant, who was pulling the casing of a walky-talky apart and winding a coil of wire around his wrist.

“Good news is, I managed to snag one of their radios” he murmured. “Give me a bit and I’ll be able to intercept all he military frequencies.”

A hiss of static emanated from his earpiece as he pulled out his bobble and let it hang loose once again. “I think I’ve found the Jotunheim channel. My Spanish ain’t the best, but...”

He fell quiet.

“...there's not a lot of security at the minute. At least no more than usual; they’re going on about...terrorists, or something. Think that’s us?”

“Or it could be Solsoria's group” Flag supplied. “We’ll suit up in the van; if we stay here any longer more of them might come.”

He cocked the shotgun in his hands, evidently trying to make himself look cool. With all the smoking wreckage behind him, Dick had to admit that it sort of worked.

“There’s just one more thing we’ve got to do before we get there.”

Chapter Text

Half an hour before…

Savant had done a very good job of holding back his temper, if he did say so himself.

Breathing in and out whilst counting to ten did wonders for quelling the homicidal urges. Hemmed in with an idiot under bright red lighting: it was like being back on the osprey again, except this time the people wanting to kill them were sat in the seats opposite rather than on a beach.

Boomerang smelled like sweat and beer, a musk that Savant seriously worried might cling to his jacket. The owner of the foul smell took no notice of the wrinkled-up nose pointed his way, instead once again making insipid kissy-faces at the thoroughly unimpressed guardsmen opposite.

“I feel sorry for you” one of them suddenly said, leaning forward ever-so-slightly. Immediately, Savant’s subconscious began calculating the angle at which he’d leaned and how much force would have to be applied for him to break his skull against the wall. It could be an annoying thing during more peaceful periods – Creote had had to insist many a time that no, fried eggs weren’t ruined if the quantity of salt poured on them wasn’t to exact specifications – but right now he’d accept anything to prevent this godforsaken ride from going on any longer. “But you will soon be united with your deranged compatriot, Harley Quinn.”

Savant felt no real emotion about that. He had no real ill-will against the woman – a knock to the head with a concealed missile launcher was by no means the worst injury he’d ever suffered – but he didn’t harbour any particular love for her, either.

Flag, however, was a different story, his eyes widening. “She’s still alive?”

The guardsman gave a grim smile. “Not for long. General Suárez can be a bit… harsh when extracting information.”

He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

“Alternatively, tell us what we need to know here and now, and we can spare you a similar fate.”

Savant hated second-hand smoke. It was decided: this one was dying first.

Rick remained steely-jawed; not that Savant expected anything different. He was boy scout on the outside, with a soul labelled “name-rank-and-serial-number” on the inside.

“I’m a vigilante” he spoke up. “You may not have heard of me. But if I had a computer with me, in thirty seconds I’d know you. Your passwords, your home address, your family members… everything. I’ve blackmailed the most influential crime figures in Gotham City -”

He was cut off by Boomerang’s obnoxious guffaw. “You just made up that “blackmailing” shit!”

“I didn’t!” he snapped back, trying to keep the guardsman’s attention on him. “And if my colleagues wouldn’t stop interrupting and trying to undermine my point – Boomerang –you’d learn that that is only the start of what I’m capable of.”

The guardsman gave a lazy smile. “You know what? I don’t think we will.”

Savant’s jaw tightened. “Dim Mak.”

The guardsman’s smile dropped and he frowned. “Qué?”

“Cantonese term. Means death touch. Ever heard of it?”

“Heard of it, yes. Seen it in action? No. It’s a matter of chance and cannot be wielded with certainty.”

“Better hope my concentration doesn’t wane, then.”

The guardsman opened his mouth, but failed to get any words out, owing to the fact that Savant had closed the gap between them instantly and rammed his elbow into his throat. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes amidst the shock cries of the other two soldiers.

“You’re next, Smiles” he growled, slightly sneering at the soldier to his left and letting the kid piss his pants a bit. Rick collided with him as Boomerang took number two, using one of his weapons to grind apart the chain of his handcuffs. Boomerang’s takedown was a bit messier; tearing off his shirt and using it to throttle the man to death.

“Bloody amateur hour over here” he grumbled once he’d found the key on their person, tossing it to Savant so he could undo his own shackles. “Almost insulting, is what it is. Leave my equipment on me, forward-facing cuffs…”

“I apologise if our lucky escape was too easy for you” Savant muttered as he elbowed him aside and walked to the metal door leading to the driver’s cabin. He gave a short rap on the thin iron. “Knock, knock.”

A slot opened at the top. The soldier behind it had taken too long to do so; Boomerang and Savant had moved to the side and so all they could see were three dead bodies – one bleeding from the neck profusely – and a rather startled-looking Flag.

“Díos mio” they whispered, before Savant swung his arm around, grabbing them by the nose and pulling their head forward through the gap. A well-timed blow to the back of the neck sent it slamming into the thin bar, breaking the bone instantaneously and haemorrhaging the throat. The driver was left panicking; reaching for their radio as their companion’s body was shoved aside, landing in an awkward position across the two seats, the head against the glove box and leg on the gearstick.

“Where’s TDK when you need him?” Savant growled to himself, his arm seriously starting to strain as he attempted to reach through as best he could and wrestle the stupid thing out of the soldier’s grasp.

Something flew by Savant’s head at such speed and enough close proximity that he could feel the air shift. A boomerang, spinning wildly, angled away from the windshield at a hair’s width away before slamming into the driver’s skull. The driver stopped moving, a brand-new gash in his forehead being the likely reason why.

“Watch yourself” Savant growled, deciding he’d chew Boomerang out over his reckless aim later. Well, provided they weren’t all dead by then. He pulled the body through the gap before climbing through and grabbing the wheel.

Luckily, the road had been relatively empty and straight enough to guarantee that the van hadn’t gone out of control. He checked the rear-view mirror. There were two other vans behind them, both maintaining the course and clearly failing to notice what had happened. Worked for him. The only question was how they’d divert from their set destination without tipping them off that something was wrong.

Boomerang forced his way through the gap a little less gracefully, his legs and backside coming into the cabin first and forcing the other dead soldier between them.

Savant bet that the next thing coming out of his mouth would be immensely asinine. Any second now…

“Well, would ya look at that. Digger Harkness saves the princess once again, huh?”

Like clockwork.

“Excuse me?”

“You, the damsel in distress, unable to fend off the big, bad cunt in the driver’s seat. Me, with my weapons, devastatingly good looks and frankly expert aim -”

“I’m going to stop listening now. I learned long ago that you’re not one who’s interested in the truth.”

“’Very welcome, mate. Any time.”

It took a tremendous amount of willpower for Savant to avoid giving a drawn-out sigh.

“There’s no need to use weapons when you can use your hands; it just gets blood everywhere” he said simply, as Rick joined them by poking his head into the gap.

Boomerang didn’t answer immediately, instead side-eyeing him for a few seconds.

“Y’know, for a criminal they had locked up in the maximum-security wing, you’ve got this weird thing about blood and violence.”

“It’s unnecessary and makes it easier for people to find you. You only kill when you have to make a statement, or are forced to do so for the greater good.”

“Oh, you were one of those anti-corruption, I-speak-for-the-people nutcases, huh?”

“No” Savant ground out. Boomerang had touched a nerve, but he refused to let it show. “I was, as I said, a vigilante. I only killed when I had to.”

“Oh, yeah?” Boomerang huffed out a laugh. “And how often was that?”

“About ninety percent of the time.”

Rick, who’d poked his head through the opening behind them, gave a bemused “What?”

“Ninety per cent. Right. But never when unnecessary.”

“This is Gotham we’re talking about” Savant replied, keeping his eyes on the road and feeling his teammate’s own focused directly on him. “Everyone and their mother there has that “do-or-die” mentality. Just look at Quinn.”

“Well, it’s starting to come together now” Boomerang smirked, pulling a hip flask from some area within his shorts. Savant didn’t really want to speculate exactly where. “Let me guess: Batman.”

“Batgirl, actually.” Almost unconsciously, this answer came out a little quieter.

This time, Boomerang let out a full-on guffaw. “Get the fuck out of here! Isn’t she like, twelve?”

“She was at least in her early twenties, and she was joined by those Bird of Prey groupies before long!” Savant snapped. The engine revved slightly as his foot slammed itself to the floor in his sudden rage. “Renee Montoya and that one with the crossbow and the name I’d never heard of… Black Canary… should have killed her when I had the chance…”

“Sounds like those masterplans of yours really served you well, then.” Boomerang took a drag from the flask before continuing. Savant hoped he’d choke on it, but alas. “That’s why you just wing shit like this.”

“Plans never guarantee success. But they do smooth out numerous potential inconveniences.” He turned his head to look the filthy specimen on his right directly in the eye, Rick still the mostly-silent spectator. “For instance, having a guard open the compartment door for you instead of trying to force your way through. Logical. Easy. Not sticking your dick in an alien. Logical. Safe.”

“… this about Mongal?”

“No, it’s about the Weasel. Yes, it’s about Mongal.”

“Then that’s just jealousy talking. Y’know mate, if you want to join in, ya could always just ask.”

It wasn’t a good sign that Savant couldn’t gauge how serious he was.

“Ya got me if you’re into blokes, her if you ain’t… what more could you want?”

Job security. A good partner. Someone who doesn’t look like they’re a carrier of about twenty different diseases.

The image of Creote burst unbidden into his brain and he forced it back down. Now wasn’t the time.

“How about we move on and never speak of this again?”

Boomerang sniggered and mouthed “he’s into me” to Rick. Rick just pulled that raised-eyebrow hmmm type of face, which clearly implied that he wasn’t too keen on getting involved in the conversation. “You could do with getting some anyway, mate. You’re way too tightly wound. Just give us a time and place and I’m sure we could squeeze you in -”

Savant hit the brakes. Not too hard, but hard enough for the resulting jolt to send Boomerang’s forehead smacking off the dashboard.

“Oops” Savant muttered sagely.

Boomerang flashed another grin, a tooth slightly bloody. “Do it again if it makes you feel any -”

So Savant did it again. There was a certain level of satisfaction in watching him faceplant the interior like that.

“Other vans have twigged” Boomerang managed before the brakes were hit a third time, though on this occasion it wasn’t purely for Savant’s enjoyment. This time, upon an impromptu kiss with the glove compartment, he didn’t wake up, but right now they had bigger problems to worry about. The van behind had begun an overtake, the two soldiers at the helm making animated motions as they realised that their prisoners had escaped. As the van flew past, Savant wrenched the wheel to the side, the vehicle’s centre of mass slamming into the back of the other, where there was much less.

The opposing van spun wildly, clipping the traffic barrier before being rammed out of the way by the other reinforcement. This one wasn’t fooling around.

“Get the handbrake for me please, Colonel.”

Rick stuck his arm through the gap and pulled, Savant’s sudden turn – this time in the other direction – sending them into a Tokyo drift and almost facing the van head-on. With one hand on the wheel, Savant pulled his pistol from its holster, took a steady breath and fired.

The bullet ricocheted off the metal back of the wing mirror and into the cabin, hitting both soldiers cleanly through the head.

Unfortunately, the driver’s limp body seemed to have leaned on the accelerator pedal, given their noticeable increase of speed. There was only so much advice Savant could give in this scenario.

“Hold onto something.”

“Hold onto wha -”

They were hit directly in the side of the bonnet, the impact knocking them away from the main road and down a bank full of thick vegetation. The world tilted on its axis four, five, six times, before they finally settled upside-down and presumably at the bottom of the embankment.

Savant’s ears rang and his vision was blurred, but luckily, he had the mental fortitude to battle through it. For not having a seatbelt, things definitely could have turned out worse, that was for sure.

Boomerang was slumped across the windscreen, cheek against the smashed glass and his eyelids fluttering slightly. Savant was in no mood to carry him, instead opting to pick up the man’s flask, which had been thrown across the cabin amidst the chaos, and wave it under his nose.

The effect was immediate. Boomerang made blind grabbing motions before his eyes had even opened.

“Welcome back” Savant remarked dryly. Something that felt suspiciously like relief gave a dim flicker somewhere in his chest.

He ignored it.

“Your feet are blocking the doorway.”

*

Now

The torture wasn’t much fun.

Then again, Harley supposed, by definition, it wasn’t meant to be. But that didn’t mean it was effectual i.e., capable of making her tell them what they wanted just to make it stop.

She wasn’t even sure what they wanted, to be honest; that General guy who smelled of shrimp got right up in her face about how many people she’d arrived with, but it wasn’t like she’d taken a mental inventory.

So she made a “sixty-nine” joke instead, which he somehow fell for. Then she got tasered.

A lot.

But she knew how to fake it. She’d pretended to slip into unconsciousness many times when it came to dealing with Mister – the Joker’s infamous temper tantrums. Those had been scary times and by comparison, these people were nothing.

Harley had seen scary. She'd slept with scary. The burly man in front her with his back turned was essentially a bearded teddy bear. And she was perfectly happy to do what many overexcited six-year-olds did with teddy bears and rip its head off.

The next fifteen minutes were rather a blur, but she was ashamed to admit (even if only to herself) that she got a little caught up in the bloodlust. It was for the best that Cassandra hadn’t been around to see all that; the psychiatrist within her called it a relapse, a stumbling stone that came with trying to be a good... well, a less terrible human being.

She'd eventually gotten outside, only just paying attention to the blood smeared up and down her arms when she got a load of the way the taxi driver she’d flagged down was bemusedly staring at her. Her face felt a bit sticky too, the nose also bleeding from where the Shrimp-General had punched her.

“Ádonde?” the driver had asked, clearly deciding he wasn’t being paid enough to ask questions.

Truthfully, Harley didn’t know. She was still trying to guess where Rick and company would likely be when she got sight of a yellow t-shirt crossing the street ahead of her. Followed swiftly by a woman – was it a woman, it looked like one, but then her psychosis was acting up at the minute – in a black flapper dress with some very funny-looking cuffs on. 

She absently-mindedly handed the driver a few five-hundred peso notes she’d found on a body as an apology for bleeding all over his car.

“Keep the change” she’d murmured, even being nice enough to leave the M60 she'd been wielding beforehand on the backseat as a gift.

She started running after them.

*

“Pumpkin Predator, are you in position?”

Silence over the channel.

“Pumpkin Predator, are you there?”

The answer finally came, but it was delivered with the air of someone who was thoroughly fed-up. “I’m here."

“Me and Pretty Boy are crossing the street now.”

Dick’s dress gave him a nice breeze around the bottom half, but with the gauntlets of his power suits having been put back on, the arms suddenly felt rather restricted. The chest-mounted guns were also a bit heavier than he remembered, but this was probably just what it was like to have tits.

“Remind me why we had Boomerang pick the names” came another voice over the walky-talky.

“’Cos all of you were too busy doing each other’s make-up to fight me over it. So how about you shut up and get into position, Madonna?”

The road by the wall was clear. Dick unfurled his whip and let it fly upwards, the end curling over a balcony railing.

“Madonna, confirm you are in position” Flag spoke into the device.

“Confirmed” replied Javelin.

Flag opened his mouth and closed it several times before speaking again.

“...If I Picked a Man, are the windows clear?”

“...clear. Hack successful, all automatic locks on the windows have been disabled.” Savant ground out. Dick began pulling himself up the wall, concentrating on his centre of gravity.

“Alright, we breach in three, two -”

“Hey, what are you guys doing?”

Dick lost his footing on the wall and slipped forward, smacking it face-first.

Harley stood right in front of them, looking a little rough but otherwise none the worse for wear.

“Y - you” Flag stammered. “We’re - we’re here to save you.”

Harley suddenly looked ready to tear up. Dick hoped she wasn’t going to start crying. He never knew what to do around crying people. “You were gonna save me?”

Flag shrugged, almost looking put off. “It was a really good plan, too.”

“Well, I can go back inside and you can still do it!”

Flag’s radio came to life. “Hey Flag, am I killing this guy over ‘ere, or what?”

“No” Flag bit back hurriedly, “No, don’t kill them. We’ve got her. She’s out.”

“Say again?”

He didn’t get the chance to respond before Harley enveloped him in what looked like a very crushing hug. Flag’s face was a photo opportunity for sure. “Yeah, okay… you, uh, you’ve got a bit of blood on your… everything.”

“Oops, so sorry!” she said jovially, finally letting go to wipe at her face. “Hey, Boomer!” she called into the walky-talky.

“Christ, Harls” was the thickly-accented reply, “let the rest of us have some fun, would ya?”

Harley just giggled, before noticing Dick dangling there a few inches off the ground. “Cool dress!”

Dick had mostly been expecting a chewing out for leaving her there, not a compliment on his fashion choices. “Uh… thanks.”

There was the sound of shattering tiles and a body hitting the floor from the other side of the wall. Immediately, Flag was back on the mic before Dick could even think about reaching for a pistol. “What was that?”

“Boomerang fell” Savant replied simply.

“Is that right, Boomerang?”

No reply.

“He’s unconscious.”

Savant was never one to skip the details like this.

“…did you push him?”

“…I can neither confirm nor deny that he was pushed.”

Dick had managed to grab the butt of one of his pistols, absent-mindedly forgetting that his grabbing hand was originally holding on to the whip. He fell ass-first onto the cobblestones, the top end of the whip unfurling from the balcony railing, landing in an abrupt heap around him.

He got a nice view of Rick rubbing his forehead, through which the words babysitting and would be an easier time were audible. Harley kept grinning, motioning between her and Dick’s dresses, mouthing “we match!”

Dick begged to differ. Anyone who knew their cuts of dress would.

Chapter Text

“Hey, who ate the last empanada?”

Dick looked up from the remains of his burrito – a scrap of tortilla doused in garlic dressing – to see Weasel in the far corner of the rooftop, hunched over with his back turned to them and happily chewing away on it. He kept quiet.

Boomerang had ended up snorting himself back to consciousness, most likely choking on one of the flies that had congregated around him under the midday sun. At one point Dick had seriously wondered whether or not the “fall” had killed him, until Thinker, putting his many doctorates to good use, confirmed that no, a man who occasionally woke up just to vomit and then drift off again was generally considered alive.

Thus they found themselves scattered around the roof of the apartment complex Milton lived in, from which he had kindly produced food.

Dick had decided that he liked Milton. He sure hoped nothing bad ever happened to him.

Boomerang sat up on the air vent they’d lay him on, but stopped halfway through and frowned. “Oh, fuck. Am I wearing underwear?”

“Milton had a spare pair” Savant replied brusquely through a mouthful of chicken, not bothering to make eye contact. “They’re for all our sakes, in case anyone has to dress you again.”

“Not a fan” Boomerang retorted flatly. “Y’know, they call them swinging dicks for a reason.”

Rick strode up, still clad in his yellow t-shirt, giving Savant a slap on the back. “You got everything handled?”

Savant gave a brusque nod, further adding to Dick’s confusion. “Sure thing, Colonel.”

“Yo, Commandant, 'where you going?”

“I’m joining Solsoria’s group to help them storm the presidential palace, as per our deal. Which means -” His voice rose in volume, making it clear that he was addressing everyone. “- Savant is in charge now. Got it?”

Savant looked like he’d rather have gone for a bareknuckle brawl with Superman, especially when Boomerang started smirking at him.

Harley gave a goofy salute and a cheeky smile. “No problem, Flagster!”

Flag seemed to be trying to conceal his own grin, looking anywhere but into her eyes. Weird.

Savant let out a deep sigh, which now seemed as natural a habit to him as breathing. “Normally, I'd express the plan verbally, but I'm not familiar with how everyone here memorises things, if at all. I'm used to this sort of job, but the rest of you are mostly small-time. So, we’re using visual aids.”

“Small-time?” Mongal repeated, brow furrowing to a dangerous degree.

“Mongal, from what I've seen of you so far, your entire battle strategy consists of let's run at them and see what happens.”

“Because humans are so overwhelmingly pathetic that I don’t require anything more.”

“Aw, 'love you too, lass.”

“Silence, Harkness.”

Amazingly, Boomerang shut up. Dick couldn't resist mimicking a little whip crack in his direction. The man responded with a simple middle finger.

“Most of you were imprisoned for assault, robbery, that sort of thing; not governmental espionage. I'm pretty sure two of you can't even read. So, I'm making this as simple for you as possible.”

Milton bustled into the centre of the group, his arms full of small action figures and toys.

“Thanks, Milton” he grumbled, as if expressing gratitude constituted physical pain. “Just set them down there.”

“What's all this, then?” Boomerang slurred, wincing as he fiddled with the seat of his trousers.

Dick got a good look at the assembled toys, eyes settling on -

“I want to be the sports car.”

“Just give me a few seconds to stand them all up...” Savant was murmuring, more to himself than the rest of them.

“What, sleek, sexy and fast? Forget it, mate, that there's me. You can be that wind-up snail there.”

Dick didn’t know what disturbed him more; being compared to a mollusc or that Boomerang considered himself sexy.

“Right, listen up, because I’m only saying this once.”

Savant had taken a half-empty water bottle from the ground and dumped it onto a folding plastic table in the centre of the space. “This is Jotunheim.”

“S’ a bit small, isn’t it?”

He elbowed Boomerang in the stomach, who bent over wheezing.

“This is Jotunheim -”

“That’s my water bottle you have there.”

Savant ground his teeth for a good four seconds before turning to face Javelin. “I’m sure you can give it up for the sake of our entire mission.”

“I need it rather urgently. It’s getting a little muggy and I need some hydration to ensure I end up with a nice, even sheen of sweat.”

“Sweat evenly on your own time.” Clearly, the ex-vigilante couldn’t believe those precise words were coming from his mouth.

“It’s all in the appearances, my surly Afghanischer Windhund. I am about to commit possibly the greatest criminal act of my career; it is only natural to want to look good.”

“Yeah, Gramps” Harley spoke up, arms folded, and eyes trained on the German. “Let him look good!”

“Thank you, Miss Quinn. If I am to hold so much as a candle to your own radiance, I require -”

The water bottle hit him directly in the face, causing him to drop his javelin with a clatter.

Savant, swearing under his breath, reached under the table and pulled out a brick. Dick wondered whether this was going to be another projectile and if he ought to take cover. But no, it was merely slammed down with a little more force than necessary.

Savant pointed to the brick. “This is Jotunheim. Alright? Is that okay? Can we get back to the important stuff, like adults, now?”

General murmurs of consent and a flurry of loose nods.

“The place has two entrances, no fire escapes and -”

“- and no adjacent rooftops” Dick finished with him. He frowned to challenge Savant’s own. “What? I’ve done robbery jobs before; you’re not the only observant fucker on the planet.”

It was probably just his imagination, but Savant’s frown seemed less judgemental and more… impressed? But then he turned back the other way again and Dick lost the chance to focus on it longer.

“The front’s too heavily guarded and there’s no guarantee that we’ll get through the security doors, even with Grieves. If he gets shot, it’s over for all of us. So I go around the back, where the personnel will be more concerned with loading supplies than checking our identities.” A ninja figurine was pushed alongside a military medic patch. “The government’s done a good job of keeping their structural and floor plans under lock and key, so we’ll have to wait until we’re inside to work out how the explosives will have to be planted.”

“There are security cameras everywhere” Thinker rebutted flatly, glaring at the figurine as if it had insulted his mother.

“But they’re all controlled by one operator” Savant continued, as if no-one had spoken, albeit putting a sharp emphasis on the but. “Weasel’s flexible enough to travel through one of the air vents to the security room and disable them. He can chew through the wires, scratch at the controls, anything should be sufficient.”

A familiar piece was moved across the surface of the table.

“Seriously? Weasel gets to be the sports car?” Dick blurted out.

“Never mind that, let’s just rewind for a second” Javelin interjected, fixing his domino mask as he strode towards them. “We are relying on Weasel for this?”

“Does your oversized toothpick bend to accommodate sharp corners and tight spaces?”

Javelin’s lip curled, but he remained silent.

“No. So Weasel is our only chance.”

“Yeah man, relax” Dick added, “I mean, Waller had to have put him on the team for a reason.”

“Gott in Himmel, he’s sat in the corner right now, licking his junk.”

Weasel was still facing away from them and hunched over, this time with his head underneath the crook of his leg, and some slightly uncomfortable sounds to match.

“Hey, do we tell you how to live your life?”

“Whilst me, Grieves and Weasel are working at the back, we’ll need someone as a distraction at the front. Nothing loud, we don’t want them calling in reinforcements too early, so keep the violence to a minimum. Just something to keep the attention away from us before it all goes to shit. And be ready for when that door opens. Any volunteers?”

Amazingly enough, there were none.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it” he finished, the look in his eyes implying that someone on that rooftop was about to have one of the worst days of their lives. “Once we´re inside, we split into teams. Grieves uses his access code to get half of us to Project Starfish, while the rest of us set up explosives. Once everything's set, we hit the timer and get the hell out of there.”

He looked back down at the impromptu diorama. “And one last thing: I smell a double-cross.”

Immediately, the air thickened and Dick was fairly sure it wasn’t just the condensation.

“We haven’t addressed this yet; we were told in the military van. The Corto Maltese government have an informant.”

A thick orange hand grabbed Dick by the scruff of the neck and applied a little too much pressure.

“If this is you” Mongal growled lowly in his ear, “I will end you. Whimper if you understand.”

Dick whimpered.

“There’s no concrete evidence yet, so we can’t start pointing fingers. It’s a possibility that they don’t even have one. It’s a classic trick – starts sowing distrust amongst an organised team. But we do need to hear some alibis for last night.”

“I was being suspended from the ceiling and beaten!” Harley said cheerily.

“…okay. And they put you in a dress for that, did they?”

“No, not at first. At first, I was having dinner with the President, who was nice enough, but had this problem, like, this huge problem. He had some nice birdies, but he killed kids. Well, not personally, but -”

“This is going somewhere, right?”

“Blackguard was with me! You’d back me up, right, buddy?”

Apparently, they were buddies now. Dick scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, there were birds and stuff.” He wondered whether that parakeet’s unfortunately well-aimed turd had gone completely from his hair yet. “He was just droning on all day; I think there was a part where he wanted to marry her -”

Flag straightened up, face stern. “He what?”

“Yeah” Harley smiled, giving a it is what it is type of shrug. “But, like I said kid-killer. So, I shot him.”

“She did that, too.”

“Then I was beaten.”

“I wasn’t there for that.”

“Yeah, I know. Pussy.”

“I got out of there and found Grieves.” Dick added hurriedly, making sure to get his two cents in, and fast. He skipped the part about his unexpected surgery; people wouldn’t want to hear that after having just eaten. “Then I was with you guys all night; you were sat with me.”

Savant nodded his confirmation at Rick. “I also saw him in that alleyway before TDK’s head went up. I doubt he could have contacted them in the space of three minutes. Mongal? Boomerang?”

“We weren’t ‘ere because we were having some real vigorous sex in the men’s room.”

It was the way he said it with a completely straight face that got to Dick. Mongal simply nodded as a way of verifying his claims.

“Anything else?” Rick asked slowly, clearly unsure if this was the best course of action.

“Well… I mean, there was one bit… we found this bottle in the corner and she took the… the neck, and she - I mean, we were going berserk, turns out she loves that kinda stuff. And I admit, I kinda do too -”

“Right, right, well, we don’t need to hear that part” Savant interrupted. Boomerang just sniggered.

Javelin had finished the water. “And I was in the centre of the club all night. The aim of the game was to be rather noticeable, anyway.”

Savant’s slight shudder told Dick that the man had succeeded. “Then we’ve got nothing for now. But keep it in mind going forward. Remain vigilant.”

“You sound incredibly paranoid” Javelin remarked, a blasé look on his face.

“I have a right to be. I’ve been hearing that all my life. There’s no such thing as the Batman, Savant. You’re just paranoid.”

“Bat-girl, you mean.”

Once again, Boomerang had been rather foolish to utter such a remark in throat-jabbing range. Once he was rolling on the floor again, Savant carried on like nothing happened, still maintaining eye contact with Javelin. “The government isn’t dedicating resources to have you tracked down and sent to Belle Reve, Savant. You’re just paranoid.”

“Okay, old man -”

Savant was in Harley’s face in an instant, poking her in the chest with his finger and spitting slightly as he hissed at her.

“There’s no chemical being put in the prison tap water to make you celibate, Savant. You’re just being paranoid.”

 “Celibate?” Dick repeated panickily, looking at his crotch area like the truth would be written in biro down there.

“Everyone who’s ever said anything like me is either incarcerated or dead. I’m the leader. You listen to me, unless you want the same thing to happen to you.” He poked her again. “Got it?”

Savant looked at her, face barely half a metre away, to make sure she got the message. Then he looked her a few seconds more and his heart sank. Everyone had gone quiet.

Harley had barely reacted, but her eyes were cast downwards and her breathing had gone shallow. There was no sign that she’d taken in anything that had been said, but her shoulders had sunken inwards and her back was arched slightly, as if she was trying to curl into a defensive position as subtly as possible. Like she was expecting him to –

Oh.

A quick flash of a memory; time spent years ago researching the domestic life of the infamous Harley Quinn caused him to lower his finger in as unthreatening a manner as possible.

“Listen. Harley, I - uh -”

“’Might want to back off there, mate.” There was absolutely no mirth in Boomerang’s tone. Savant had his back to him, but knew full well that the man’s hand was hovering over one of his blades. 

“Yeah, I – I’ll just get the car. The van, I mean. Milton, could you – just come with me.”

Everyone was too busy watching Harley to pay him much attention now. Thinker’s gaze, however, held more than friendly concern.

“Oh, dear. A little bit of painful history?”

“Shut up, Grieves” everybody said as one.

The man took a step forward, Mongal mirroring him to block his path. “Well, it’s just what makes us human, dear. But I can make it go away, if you so wish. Just a little mental block -”

“You’ll do no such thing, scientist.”

“Oh. I get it. Female solidarity, right?”

“I admire her fighting spirit.”

“... you do?” Harley's voice was quiet and confused.

“I do not make baseless statements, woman.”

“It's true” Rick said. “I saw it noted down in her file; her race is literally incapable of giving compliments. They merely state what they believe to be facts.”

“Buncha humourless chumps...” Boomerang mumbled under his breath.

“I want to hug you!” Harley said happily, the blood that had dripped from her nose distorting with her smile.

“Please don’t" Mongal said uncomfortably.

“Aw, come on, we´re all friends here!”

Thinker peered at her like she was a dissected frog. “Even if you don’t want a mental block, I'd recommend medication for that attention deficit of yours. There's a traitor amongst you all, so someone clearly isn't.”

Harley was now half-heartedly attempting to put her arms around Mongal, who had a hand against her forehead, holding her back. “Yeah, but Gramps cleared everyone, and I even trust him more than you.”

Rick’s brow furrowed. “He hasn’t asked me anything yet.”

There was silence followed by an ensemble of laughter, which just seemed to get louder as it went on.

“Yeah, right!” Boomerang said through tears, “Colonel Boy Scout sold out America!”

Harley’s own smile regrew, pulling her out of her funk slightly. “Flaggy, if Lady Liberty walked in with a strap-on, you’d just bend over and ask for it gentle!”

The look on Flag’s face clearly communicated that he’d have preferred more eloquent wording, but was somewhat mollified by the fact that she was happy again.

Thinker`s face could not have more accurately communicated his regret at being part of this group. “Buggery by national monuments aside, this isn't a plan. It's a suicide note.”

“Well, dude” Dick shrugged, secretly glad that said plan hadn't been any more complicated than it was. “That's what we are. Some kind of... suicide squad.”

He may as well have said I want to have carnal relations with a Shetland pony for the look Thinker was giving him. “...my God, was that you attempting to be witty? That was just horrible.”

The familiar hot itching of embarrassment permeated Dicks body. “Nobody else thought so.”

“... I just didn’t want to say anything” Rick admitted.

“I did. 'Fucking terrible, mate. I want to be sick all over again.”

“Hässlich” came that snooty German tinge.

“Yep” Dick sniffed. “Nobody at all."

Chapter Text

Boomerang

• The most cliché, touristy-looking outfit you’ve ever seen
• The vest is absolutely filthy after about five minutes. You could turn around only to blink a few times, and when you look back, it’s covered in stains
• The inspiration behind this outfit is “how can I look most like a massive douche today”. With Boomerang, you can never tell if it’s intentional or not
• The luau necklace was stolen from another drunk man at a later point in the night

Savant

• Give him a break, the man’s been in prison for years
• Imagine a stereotypical granddad trying to understand what “the kids like these days”
• Add Boomerang assuring him that wants he’s wearing is the pique of coolness, and you get this complete disaster. Savant knows he’s full of shit, but really doesn’t care at this point
• The socks and sandals were totally his choice, though. Not everything is Boomerang’s fault. Just most things

Blackguard

• He’s quite proud of how he did the eye shadow, especially given that he’s never used it before
• He thinks he looks quite pretty in the dress, plus it gives him a nice breeze around the bottom half. He may secretly want to wear another one at some point
• His low self-image means that after this mission, he will flatly deny this ever happened. The 1,000 aren't exactly the most progressive employers
• The heels are short, but any higher and he’d definitely trip and break his neck. When he runs after Weasel, he’s taken them off
• Luckily, he’s got extra pairs of tights with him. He tears up about three pairs in the space of the night just by running around without shoes

Javelin

• Javelin looks good in a suit and knows it
• He goes without a tie so he can oh-so-subtly undo the shirt, button-by-button, every hour
• By the time they leave the club, there’s very obvious sweat patches around the armpits from all his dancing
• Despite the heat of Corto Maltese, he adamantly refuses to take the jacket off. Coordination is everything

Mongal

• As an alien, she needs something that covers both the colour of her skin and the ridiculous amount of muscle
• The bandana is pulled up over the face
• She does not care in the least if the colours clash; if she gets her way, they’ll all be covered in blood soon, anyway
• My idea for the round sunglasses are based purely on “Men in Black-3”s Boris the Animal

TDK

• Both Javelin and TDK subscribe to the “maybe-if-I-try-to-dress-cool, it’ll-make-me-look-cooler-than-I -actually-am” school of thought
• TDK also tries to look decidedly macho, but in a more “commando” sort of way
• Despite this, the man could not throw a punch or kick to save his life
• He has such a lack of personality (I like to imagine that his power is the most interesting thing he has going), he is relegated to unofficial waiter by extent of no-one really being interested enough to talk to him

Chapter Text

The floor of the van smelled awful; a combination of sweat, dirt and vegetation. Dick was worried the stench might cling to his jacket.

They'd been hiding under blankets for at least twenty minutes. Savant had insisted on absolute stealth before they set off, Rick wishing them good luck and giving a solemn nod before the back doors shut on him for good. The nod they gave heroes.

Or people about to die horrible deaths.

Being pressed up against the back of Boomerang´s coat was no treat. The guy kept shuffling back and forth in a manner that clearly only aimed to piss Dick off, but he refused to rise to the bait. He was better than this man. He was about to storm this tower and save America.

It wasn’t until around minute number twenty-seven that this thought suddenly struck Dick as rather odd. Why did he suddenly care about saving America? America hadn't done anything for him; he was only in it for ten years off his sentence and bragging rights.

But still an unbidden memory burst into his brain; him, a seventeen-year-old child, staring at a poster of Wonder Woman on his classroom wall. One of the ones they got to motivate kids into doing their maths on the promise that they’d develop metahuman powers or something. In retrospect, even if this was true, it probably would have sucked anyway: TDK had been a metahuman and he probably would have struggled to carry a mission like this in a bucket, let alone in his own two hands.

But Dick would look at the poster regardless. Some of his peers stared at it only because they wanted to fuck Wonder Woman, apparently. They’d unsubtly mentioned it many, many times. Dick just wanted to punch bad guys.

Then his arithmetic teacher would move into his field of vision to tell him that he had failed his test again and would also need to take remedial handwriting classes for the rest of the month.

The bus moved over a particularly large rock, the bump tearing Dick from his flashbacks. Weasel´s paw rubbed against his hair and the fingers stretched outwards slightly. That was a good sign; they´d been so quiet that Dick wasn’t sure whether they´d suffocated or not.

A bang on one of the windows. The sound of Thinker struggling with the rolldown, before giving in and shoving the thing open with his hands. Dick already knew that it didn’t work. Milton had told him in one of the brief moments when he wasn’t busy stressing out about something.

“Doctor Grieves” came the cool, female voice of a guard. “You aren't scheduled to be in today.”

“I've come in possession of some rather delicate materials” Thinker replied smoothly. “They need to be transferred to the lab. Rather quickly, might I add.”

“There's no need. A group of technicians can come to the gate and do it for you.”

“Oh no, I insist.” Clearly, Savant's gun to the back of his chair could coax some manners out of him, however forced.

A slight sigh; the sort that a woman at the DMV would give you if you dared ask a question out of line and held up the queue for three seconds.

“Your lab access has been revoked, Doctor. Orders from President General Suárez.”

“On what grounds?” Thinker fired, now sounding genuinely outraged over this perceived slight.

“He doesn’t like you” the guard replied flatly, in a tone that suggested that the feeling was entirely shared. “Starting from next week, there will be new doctors taking over as heads of research.”

“Like who?”

“Doctor Borg -”

Thinker scoffed.

“Doctor Rooker -”

“He’s an imbecile.”

“Doctor Gunn.”

“... okay, he’s actually pretty good.”

“The point is, we cannot admit you. Please unload here.”

“What do we do?” Dick hissed into the tarpaulin.

“What we're going to do is shut the hell up and stay calm” Savant hissed back. Some shuffling. “How many are there?”

Thinker huffed slightly. “Five, maybe six.”

“Armed?”

“Two of them."

“Tell them you’ve an assistant in the back who will help them unload.”

“Isabella” Thinker called robotically. “I have an assistant in the back who will help you unload.”

“... okay” this Isabella person responded after a brief pause. “Abrirlo.”

A few sets of boots coming around the back of the van. Weasel making a slight chirruping noise. Savant's glove on his face, shoving it out of the way. “Move.”

The doors opening and the sudden crack of two gunshots which made Dick jump.

Startled cries and more boots shuffling as the sounds of punches started to ring out.

Wham. Someone was thrown off the side of the bus.

Judging by the crunch and pained yell, someone had just had a bone broken.

Dick lifted the bottom of the cover with his foot, in time to see Savant grab the last soldier in a chokehold before tripping them to the floor and snapping their neck.

“All clear. Get Weasel and Grieves out of there, I’ll hide the bodies and we’ll move from here. Milton can take over the driving.”

More shuffling as the tarpaulin was thrown aside and the squad began to rise from its depths. Javelin was already running a hand through his hair, trying to revert it back to its initial tousled state. Boomerang unceremoniously pulled Weasel up and all but shoved him out of the back of the van. Weasel, apparently having become used to this new, post-osprey-jump world, didn’t make a sound as he cartwheeled out onto the tarmac.

Dick fixed his earpiece. The back doors had only just been closed when they set off again, Milton’s voice breaking slightly as he hummed a tune in a futile attempt to remain calm.

A few droplets hit the windscreen and the roof, growing torrential in the space of a few seconds.

“And on top of everything, it's raining” Mongal grumbled.

Dick nodded. “Yeah, that’s a bad sign.”

Harley, conversely, had an elbow on one of the windowpanes, a dreamy look on her face.

“I love the rain” she announced to no-one in particular. “It's like angels are splooging all over us.”

Dick had no idea what splooging referred to, and had little desire to learn, either.

“It's good for cover” said Mongal as they began to slow to a stop.

“Yeah, that too.”

“What's the plan?” Dick asked.

“I don’t know. What is the plan?”

“... you don’t have a plan?”

“I'm not the leader. Savant was the designated leader. He said we were to cause a distraction. He left the finer details to his second-in-command, did he not?”

“News to me, luv” shrugged Boomerang.

“... do we have a second-in-command?” Dick wondered out loud, feeling the familiar fluttering of panic once again.

Mongal just slowly closed her eyes and clenched and unclenched her fists.

“That would be me.” Javelin drawled smoothly.

“Oh, fuck off, no it wouldn't.”

The van slowed to a stop, the vague outline of a squad of guards silhouetted in the heavy mist that the sudden rainstorm had caused. Dick ducked down out of sight, back pressed against the wall.

“Gasp!” Harley whispered.

“Sorry, did – did you just whisper the word “gasp?””

She grabbed Dick’s arm. “We both have dresses.”

Dick frowned, not seeing where she was going with this. “Yeah. So?”

She just kept grinning at him and maintained a slightly unnerving amount of eye contact, but Dick was still none the wiser.

“We have dresses.”

“Yeah, I get that. What, are we meant to put on a burlesque show and distract them with our thighs?”

Her face hadn’t changed in the least.

“N – no.”

Still no change.

“No. No, I am not doing that.”

*

“’Ey up, you horny, bleary-eyed fuckers! Have we got an act for you!”

The soldiers looked confused, but no-one was shooting yet, so that was a good sign.

Harley giggled as she skipped over, hands full of petals, reaching into a thatched basket and throwing them everywhere. The look on her face implied she was actually quite enjoying herself.

“Drama for the Army, a travelling charity concerned with livening up the miserable existence of Corto Maltese’s finest, with a revolutionary cast of young thespians!”

“Thespians?” one guard repeated clumsily, their tongue struggling to accommodate the English term. “...aren’t they illegal under the Marriage Act?”

Harley galloped forward, shoving a bundle of leaflets into his arms, causing him to almost drop his gun.

 “These leaflets are for a local renovation company!” the only female soldier in the group frowned.

“We’re still waiting for our own to be printed!” Harley called back cheerily, taking her place on the right of Mongal, twirling her dress as she turned back around to face them.

“But what about -”

Harley put a finger to the interrupting soldier’s lips, giving a long, drawn-out shush. Javelin stepped forwards and dramatically cleared his throat.

“As Corto Maltese’s Civil War looms, many wives are forced to say goodbye to their enlisting husbands…” he said in a silky tone, sidestepping with a wave of his arm to direct attention to the other four of them.

Boomerang adjusted the fedora on his head, which he’d managed to dig from the box of disguises in the van. He turned to Dick, who couldn’t believe that he was once again in that stupid dress, with only a small amount of makeup to match. At least his hair was still a bit curly.

Boomerang slowly put a hand on Dick’s shoulder and shook it slightly. “So long, darlin’. You’re a great piece of ass, but I gotta go serve my country.”

“But Michael!” Dick cried out, hoping he sounded more upset than deranged. “I don’t want you to leave!”

“Don’t worry, luv. I’ll be back before Christmas. If ever I’m lyin’ in that trench, all grotty around the arvo, I’ll just think of you and I’ll feel cleaner than a Chevrolet’s backside.”

One of the guards squinted in confusion at the thick Australian slang.

Boomerang leaned in close in a feigned kiss; Dick momentarily panicked about him possibly preparing to do it for real. When they were close enough, he whispered in his ear. “Is Milton in position?”

Dick nodded and whispered back, “yeah.”

Milton was keeping watch, eyeing the entrance through a pair of binoculars. Should anything go wrong; he was to give the signal. What exactly the signal would be, Dick didn’t know.

He probably should have cleared that up with the man earlier.

He also should have sorted out Mongal’s acting skills, too.

Javelin was down on one knee, a hand in Mongal’s and another on his heart, getting very into an improvised monologue. Mongal, with an expression far from that of a distraught housewife, was looking down at the hand, clearly wanting nothing better than squeeze and rip every ligament in it.

“But Henry, I am inconsolable, I cannot live without you” she droned in an utterly expressionless tone of voice.

Their audience didn’t seem very enraptured.

“…que está pasando?” one whispered to another.

“No tengo ni idea” they replied.

The tallest one, whom Dick had mentally dubbed Glasses, leaned in to talk with them.

“El que va vestido de plátano se declara a su mujer, que tiene ictericia. Yo pienso.”

This went on for roughly ten minutes, by which point they’d arrived at the tragic battle scene, in which the husband characters were to die terrible deaths. By now, everyone was just making it all up on the spot and the tension between them was palpable. Not in the sense that he had somehow achieved romantic chemistry with Boomerang; the front doors still hadn’t opened and there was no sign of Savant anywhere.

Speaking of Boomerang; he’d now taken to rolling around on the floor, extending an arm to the sky.

“Shot through the heart! And you were too late to save me! You sure give love a bad name!”

“Yeah, I’ve heard Bon Jovi, I’m not stupid” Dick snapped, before remembering he was supposed to be in character. “I mean: oh, Michael! And I was pregnant, too!”

“Really?” Boomerang’s brow furrowed, clearly not having expected this sudden plot twist. After all, Dick was a master improviser.

*

“This is the worst plan I’ve ever witnessed in my life. I’d sooner have George Custer lead this operation than you.”

Savant grabbed Thinker by the shoulder and shoved him into a cluster of bushes.

“Imbeciles. The lot of you. You’re all the laughing stock of the criminal underworld.”

Savant quickly checked behind him to make sure Weasel was still following them. It was.

“I could come up with a better plan than this with five eighths of my brain missing. In fact, I might just lobotomise someone else later to prove it.”

Savant elbowed Thinker in the face.

“Ow!”

“Oh, sorry, Grieves. Didn’t see you there” he remarked lightly.

He turned to Weasel. “See that vent on the wall? Go to it.”

Weasel blinked at him, before slowly plodding out into the open, as if they had all the time in the world.

“Good lad, now – no! No!”

Something left abandoned on a fold-out table had stolen Weasel’s attention.

“No, not the sandwich! Leave the sandwich!” he hissed futilely.

Weasel was decidedly not leaving the sandwich, scooping it up in his claws and letting loose pieces of cucumber and lettuce drip down his front.

Savant dragged his hands over his scalp. Then inspiration truck.

Digging around in his utility belt, eventually pulling out his laser pointer. Praying that the battery still worked – it hadn’t been used since he’d carried out his last coordinated heist with Creote years ago – he turned it on, and was met with the grace of God in the form of a precise red dot on the nearest wall.

Weasel’s jaw, halfway to the sandwich, slackened significantly as his left eye swivelled, almost independently of the right, to stare at it.

Savant flicked the pointer slightly, causing the light to judder, and Weasel was down on all fours at a frightening speed, chasing the thing as it moved towards the small vent in the side of the brickwork.

Angled just right, the laser moved behind the vent cover and into the back of the shaft, illuminating the patch of metal that signified the first turn. Weasel started riving at the bars in a surprising show of strength, before slowly squeezing himself into the space. For one heart-stopping moment, Savant was worried that they wouldn’t fit, but the slight bulge on their stomach was sucked in and the limbs adjusted to the sudden tight nature of their surroundings. Eventually, once the tail had vanished into the darkness, Savant turned off the pointer and settled in for what would probably be a long wait.

*

“I’m hit, Sarge! I’m hit!”

Boomerang rolled around on the tarmac, clutching his leg in feigned agony.

Dick looked to Javelin, who seemed equally confused. Then Boomerang smacked his lower leg.

“Oh! Uh… yeah, looks bad. Stay strong, soldier.”

“Wait, I thought she was the wife!” one soldier interjected, not looking the least bit engaged.

“And also a woman!” said another.

The female soldier slapped him around the back of the head.

“The new Corto Maltese military is an equal opportunities employer” Javelin added airily. 

“Also, we’re low on actors” Harley responded coldly. “And stop interrupting, you’re ruining the drama.”

*

“Manolo, what do you make of this?”

Manolo put down his lunch and moved over to Roberta, who was taking her turn at the camera station. The office was cramped, but they made it work.

He squinted at the image on camera five, which was positioned just by the front entrance. “… that’s not normal.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m amazed Jorge hasn’t called it in yet. No wonder he got demoted.”

“… what are they even doing?”

“I think it’s a play of some kind.”

“Is that one on the left having a seizure?”

“I think he’s pretending to be dying.”

“… from a seizure?”

“There’s no audio, how the hell should I know?”

“Fair point, I guess. How did they even get by the front gate, anyway? We didn’t request a travelling band or anything, right?”

“Not as far as I’m aware. If this is Camila going over our heads again, I swear to God… I don’t know what kind of operation she thinks we’re running here…”

She reached for the telephone and started dialling a number, stopped only by a drop of something thick and viscous landing on her hand from above.

The two of them stared at it.

Then it happened again, and they slowly looked up.

The opened ceiling panel above them, which, due to the lack of windows, allowed cool air to pumped into the room, seemed to be leaking. Manolo didn’t want to think what that stuff could possibly be.

“Great. Time to get maintenance in.” He refocused his gaze on Roberta’s hand. “That’s my lunch break gone. And it was pastrami in that sandwich, too. You know how I feel about pastrami. Right? … Roberta?”

Roberta was still looking up from the vent and conspicuously not calling maintenance.

“Roberta?”

“Is…” Roberta began slowly.

“Hmm?”

“Is that a dog?”

Thoroughly perplexed, Manolo followed her gaze. Something shifted in the darkness of the panel; Manolo could make out four lanky and shaggy-haired limbs, and a drooling maw that would be unnaturally wide for a dog’s head.

Then the thing dived on them.

*

“…uh, yeah… that’s, uh, that’s it. The end?”

Harley jumped up and down, clapping her hands whilst whooping and hollering, but she was the only one to do so.

The assorted soldiers just continued to stare.

“Did General Suárez send you?” One on the left spoke up eventually. “Are you black ops?”

“No” said Dick, just as Javelin said “Yes”.

“Have we done something to anger him?”

“Uh…”

“… was that a punishment? That felt like a punishment.”

Boomerang spat on the ground. “Look mate, we were hired on very short notice ‘ere. You try reinventin’ Shakespeare at three in the morning the night before.”

“We had to cut costs for props, too” added Javelin. “Military coups are bad for the economy; imports cost an arm and a leg now.”

“I bet this is Camila skimping out on the recreation budget again” one soldier hissed to the other.

“I question the relevance, but the design on that pistol is quite nice” The one female soldier said. “Is it custom?”

Dick turned to look at the weapon she’d been staring at. It was one of his machine pistols, which was being carelessly waved about in Boomerang’s hand. He’d forgotten, they’d used it for the tragic suicide at the end.

“Absolutely, darlin’” Boomerang smiled, moving closer to her, suddenly cradling the thing in both hands like it was the most precious thing in his life. “If you’re interested in tattoos, I’ve got another set of custom guns you might wanna take a look at, too -”

Dick had spent months crafting the decals on that thing. It was one of his few fond memories with the 1,000. He may not have been that interested in seducing a woman right in the middle of a black-ops operation, but he’d sooner have let Waller take the credit for his hard work than fucking Boomerang.

“Actually, it’s mine” Dick smiled, unsubtly barging in and making a grab for the gun. “I’m the brains behind this organisation, you see -”

“Yeah, and I’m the guy who makes the guns. Now, then -”

“Brainy guys make the guns” Dick countered, making another grab. Boomerang refused to remove his own hand, and they began tugging it back and forth between them.

“It’s really not that important -” the soldier began, looking uncomfortable.

Boomerang gave it a tug. “Like fuck brainy guys make the guns. Brainy guys also sell out their own team, too, right?”

Dick tugged it back. “Like I said, that was one time, dude! What, you never sold someone out before?”

“Yeah, but I was least able to make sure they weren’t around anymore afterwards. Tell you what, give me the gun and we can forget about it, huh?”

“This is my gun; I should be the one who uses it -!”

The fact that his finger tightened a little too hard on the trigger was not his fault, thank you very much.

In a fraction of a second, the machine pistol sprayed five or six bullets, which created a sudden, bloody stitchwork on the female soldier’s chest, which started on her stomach and made its way up to her eye.

The soldier dropped, and the world remained still, Dick and Boomerang still locked mid-wrestle and both staring at the body.

“Uh… viva Corto Maltese?” Javelin tried.

Naturally, Boomerang’s signature weapon chose this moment of all moments to slip out of his jacket pocket and fall to the tarmac with a louder clatter.

The reaction was immediate. Dick flinched backwards, keeping his own gun upraised, as about nine automatic rifles were thrust in their direction.

Glasses adjusted his grip on his rifle slightly. He was the closest one to Dick, the barrel of his rifle almost going up Dick’s nose. “You are all suicidal.”

“Yeah, tell us something we don’t know” Javelin scoffed.

“Will you be shot here and now, or will you come quietly?”

Dick cleared his throat, sticking the ends of his pistols further towards the guy’s face. “I’ll have you know, pal, that you’re not looking at our entire team.”

Silence.

Then muffled birdcalls from behind them.

The sound of hands desperately banging against sheet metal.

Glasses frowned. “What? Wh – what’s that supposed to mean?”

Mongal sighed deeply. “That’s the signal.”

“Yeah!” Harley nodded vigorously. “That’s the signal! Something went wrong!”

More birdcalls, now with the added racket of Milton running up and down the minibus.

Glasses continued frowning. “So, uh… is something supposed to happen?”

Dick could feel Boomerang’s eyes on the back of his head. “Ah…I’m… open to suggestions?”

Dead silence. And then the low, pneumatic hiss of the front doors opening at the other end of the courtyard.

Dick’s arm shot up into the middle distance. “Oh my God, it’s a jaywalker!”

They all turned. And Dick’s gun was immediately firing into the back of their heads. One, two, three and four; the last one turning back around just in time to get it in their left eye.

“Run!” he yelled.

They all took off in a sprint, just as raised voices could be heard from behind and bullets started flying.

Dick felt the odd heavy impact against his back, pushing him forward slightly and knocking the wind out of him. Luckily, the absorption of the armour prevented any damage beyond some possible bruising. He fired off a couple more rounds without looking back; not even to see if he’d hit anyone.

Boomerang spun around mid-run, hurling a boomerang at a previously unseen trooper dressed all in black, who cried out as it scraped its way across their eyes and back into the man’s hand.

Two soldiers by the either side of the front door, making for their weapons. The one on the right barked out a command: “¡Anulación de seguridad! ¡Cierren las puertas!”

Harley wrenched Javelin’s own weapon from his hand and tossed it at the same soldier, who was skewered through the chest and launched backwards by the impact, a slight amount of blood pooling in their mouth. Javelin looked about ready to declare undying love right there and then.

The one on the left made for a control panel on the wall, rapidly pressing buttons. Dick’s heart dropped to his stomach as the doors began to close again, yet the sound of wheels screeching caught their attention as the minibus caught up alongside them and pulled into a Tokyo drift. He could vaguely hear the sound of Milton cry out to them.

Mongal shoved her way towards the van, punching a hole straight through the metal of the door and tearing it clean off its hinges. “Get on!”

“Everyone on this team is so freakin’ hot!” Dick could almost hear Harley cry out wistfully, despite the situation. She was grabbed by the arm and pulled single-handedly into the confines of the cabin.

Boomerang hurled himself forward and caught Mongal’s outstretched hand just in time as the bus began to outpace them and the doors slowly got closer and closer to shutting forever.

Dick stretched out his own arm, desperate to catch Mongal’s –

A loose stone underneath tripped him up and he began to plummet forward. Trying to maintain his balance, he managed not to fall, but the van was making too much speed to catch on foot. Looked like this was it.

“Hey, dumbass!”

Dick finished adjusting his balance and looked up just in time to see Boomerang throwing his whip to him. Unfurling it and letting it loose, he managed to leash it around the van’s extruding exhaust pipe and dug his heels into the ground as he was dragged along behind it, accompanied by the smell of his shoes burning.

Javelin, still not on the van, pulled his weapon out from the dead soldier and jammed into the opposite side of the bus, using it as a monkey bar from which to dangle.

They were now at a high speed, but it was going to be tight.

Too tight.

“We’re not gonna make it!”

Then Milton, in a move that Dick would later admit to himself was a little badass, slammed on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel to the side. The minibus screeched its way into a Tokyo drift, the back end and by extension Dick spinning around. Dick’s whip couldn’t handle the sudden force and came free from the exhaust pipe. He was hurled backwards, spiralling through the air and literally flying through the gap between the doors.

Landing in a heap with the whip, he rolled around for a split second, dazed, before refocusing his gaze and realising what was about to happen.

The van was spinning too quickly to stay on all four wheels. It collided with the stairway in front of the door, leaving the ground and falling sideways fast. Dick threw himself to the side as it crashed through the remaining space. The front windshield hit one door, shattering, forcing the van to bat its way off of the second door, effectively totalling the back.

Probably a good job that he wasn’t still attached to the exhaust, then.

The van slid along the floor, leaving a trail of sparks as it scraped the tile flooring, before slowly coming to a halt on its side. Dick made eye contact with the dazed-looking Javelin sat atop it as the doors finally closed the whole way and the gunfire finally stopped chasing them.  

Chapter Text

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re fucking kidding .”

“I assure you, I am not.”

Dick was still fishing his armour out of the smoking wreckage of the minibus as Boomerang sauntered up to Savant and Thinker, who were messing around with the security controls by the steel blast doors. There would be an occasional sound of something heavy hitting it from the other side, but so far, the remaining Corto Maltese guards were failing to get through. 

“Look at all this. What ‘you two old geezers mouthin’ on about?”

Both of the men just turned and looked at him impassively.

“… sounds fun.”

“’Lockdown protocol’s been initiated.” Savant sighed. “In the event of attack, the head of security can seal off the most sensitive rooms with metal blast doors like the ones here. We’re effectively trapped on the ground floor until Grieves can deactivate it.”

“Aye, and how long will that take?”

“I’ll have to bypass the servers and get in contact with someone on the outside or upper floors who can get us in. Grieves can help with that; my Spanish is at an advanced level, but the soldiers around here are more likely to obey him than any of us.”

“Nice humble brag, mate. But how long’s it gonna take us?”

“Probably… six or so hours?”

“Six hours?”

“Six hours?” Harley repeated, squealing as she clapped her hands together with glee.

“Please, sun god, strike me now.” Mongal said quietly.

“It’ll be like a sleepover!” Harley cried, running from squad mate to squad mate as she listed off her ideas. “Our own party! I mean, if we can just find some food, I could whip some crackers and squirty cheese, maybe make some s’mores, too. Shame I didn’t bring any of my nail stuff with me, I know this great colour for Mongal -”

Savant put his hands against his temples, already riding the sensation of an onset migraine.

Dick was testing the gauntlets of his suit, running through each level of strength one by one as he attempted to pull the mangled remains of an unfortunate Corto Maltese trooper from the minivan’s front grill. Once the body came away with a slick splutch – revealing nought but a torso with the ribcage poking out, no right arm and the head missing – he noticed Savant pointing at him.

“…what?”

“We’ll probably be shut up in here for a while. Go find a store room. This is the largest floor of the building; there must be some rations around here somewhere.”

Harley was still rambling in the background, not noticing as Weasel approached a random patch of wall behind her and started licking it.

“… Boomer showed me this great poster he had once; never knew he liked country music so much. Hey, Javvy, you got any posters of Olympians or somethin’ in your place? You strike me as the type –”

“Harley?” Savant smiled through gritted teeth.

“Yeah?”

“Be quiet.”

“Oh, okay.”

*

When the call first came through from Jotunheim, Suárez almost checked his desk calendar to make sure it wasn’t April the first. His army had managed to overthrow the hundred-year reign of the Herreras. After the takeover, he and Silvio had put millions of the country’s budget into improved weapons and advisors. But they still couldn’t stop seven costumed idiots from breaking into their most top-secret research facility?

If he was a more evenly-tempered man, he would have considered instating a compulsory mental health and IQ check for all who enrolled in the military, but he wasn’t. So right now, he just wanted to shoot them all.

Unfortunately, that would get him nowhere. After all, he needed the small group of men he was currently travelling with to drive the jeep, but he’d be damned if he was going to trust them with anything that required the slightest bit more initiative. 

As they entered the Jotunheim grounds, he observed the damage. A few bodies scattered here and there, but nothing too bad. Capitán Maricel was watching as his only available Humvee was rammed repeatedly into the security doors, like it would get them somewhere.

Seconds after disembarking his own jeep, Suárez found himself shoving his way through a group of congregated privates. “I take it you’re in charge?”

Maricel’s face lost its colour. The man’s grey, drooping moustache just made Suárez want to grab it and pull it off in one fell swoop.

“To confirm, these intruders are the American agents, yes?”

“Yes, President General.”

“Have they issued demands?”

“No, not yet. The head of security believes that they have Doctor Grieves with them.”

Grieves. Suárez knew they should never have trusted the man.

“They do” A nearby troop spoke up. “He was driving the minivan that they arrived in. I believe he’s a willing accomplice.”

“Funny that we’re just hearing this now, Private.” Maricel growled. “Where was this information when I asked you for an update?”

“He was probably waiting to give it to someone with a pair of fucking balls, Maricel.” Suárez growled. “Bulletproof steel doors, and you want to try and destroy them with a jeep. Why not just set fire to the treasury while you’re at it?”

He grabbed the private by the collar. “You. Radio the presidential palace. I want all available troops and vehicles here, now . We box them in and starve them out. Got me?”

The private hastily saluted and ran off. Suárez turned to Maricel. “Make my day and take your squad here round the back, where I don’t have to see you.”

Maricel, a look on his face reminiscent of a kicked puppy, nodded silently and began directing the other assorted men away. 

*

Why was this kitchen so big? Did scientists tend to eat more than normal people did?

Everything was a silvery metal colour against a placid, blue, tiled wall. Every surface was sparkling clean, so Dick could only surmise that the place hadn’t exactly held any banquets lately. 

He assumed he should just count himself fortunate that his costume hadn’t been wrecked when the minibus crashed. Distracted, half-buried in his jacket as he struggled to get it over his head, he marched along, bashing his hip off of the hot plates and stubbing his toe against the foot of one of the ovens.

The massive door he ended up blundering head-first into could only be the walk-in fridge. After fiddling with the handle a bit, he opened the thing up, getting blasted in the face with cold air for his troubles.

The fridge was full of litre tins, stacked on top of each other. Since he couldn’t read Spanish, he pried one open and found some pickles swimming in brine. Another tin was full of dried meat, and another bottled water. They weren’t exactly the empanadas that Milton had bought them earlier in the day, but with Grieves running the place, he’d half-expected it to just be random body parts or something.

Trying to carry the stuff back proved a challenge. He’d only just managed to scoop up a few tins in his hands before drooping the pickles, causing them to fly across the floor and spray brine all over his boots. 

“Oh, for God’s sake. This is why you don’t fuck with pickles.”

He got on his knees, trying to scrape them back into the container – maybe he’d feed them to Weasel later, or better yet, Boomerang – when he was hit with the question of just what the hell he was doing down there.

Blackguard, human powerhouse of The 1,000, now wearing a ruined leather costume and crawling around in pickle juice like a gimp being made to do household chores. 

He didn’t even like pickles. 

Well, at least no-one was around to bask in his embarrassment with him.

“Hi!”

No, he did not let out a little scream in response.

Almost slipping over in the pickle debris, he turned to see Harley stood by the door of the walk-in, grinning down at him like he was a zoo exhibit.

“’Whatcha doin’?”

“I… the pickles, they…”

He gestured helplessly at the mess.

Harley nodded sagely, as if she was imparting some great wisdom. “Yeah, pickles can be real little bastards. They do that sometimes. Here, pass me those other tins and I’ll help you.” 

She got down on her hands and knees next to him, silently picking some of them up.

Dick wasn’t too sure why she was doing this. He’d say it was something passive-aggressive, but he still couldn’t suss her out very well. 

He’d better say something, just in case.

“Hey, uh…”

Harley looked at him. She was no longer flashing her pearly whites, but her smile and intense gaze still seemed to be bearing into his soul. 

 “You’re not… mad , are you?”

She frowned.

“You know, about the whole… leaving you behind at the President’s place and that.”

She kept frowning, but her face lit up again and she gave a small laugh.

“No, no! I mean, I’m not happy you did it.” It was like being scolded by a teacher. The sort that was never mad, but just disappointed. “But you came back with the rest of the guys, didn’t you? So you made up for it in the end.”

“Oh.” Dick looked away again.

The conversation seemed to be over. All was silent except for the occasional squelching of pickles. How had they even managed to fit this many in one tin?

A slight flash of sequins caught Dick’s gaze again. Harley’s dress was still holding together remarkably well, it seemed. He examined the stitchwork from the bottom up. Aside from a chunk having been torn from the skirt, it was almost like new. 

He was examining the ribbons on the shoulders when she noticed him looking and smirked. “See somethin’ ya like, pretty boy?”

“What?” 

Harley flitted her eyes downwards, towards her bare back, and Dick realised that she’d completely misinterpreted things. 

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you throwing me the eyes.”

“Oh, no, uh, you aren’t my type.” I don’t fancy getting shot with an antique revolver any time soon. “I was just amazed that your fairy dress is still holding up.”

“ Princess dress” Harley corrected him once again. “And what did you do with yours, anyway? I was just getting used to you in that cute little burlesque number.”

“ Femme fatale number.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I could charm the pants off James Bond, but I’m still a badass at the same time.” Dick replied simply. For him, this was a no-brainer.

“ Femme fatale number it is, then.” Then, apropos of nothing: “Have you ever considered your masculinity under threat every time you wish to indulge in actions outside of social convention?”

Dick managed a very elegant “Hu-wuh?”

“I’ve noticed that about you. You seem a lot happier when not indulging typical masculinity. Not that dumb smirk you sometimes put on; you had a proper buzz about ya.” 

“’Fuck out of here.”

“When I pointed out the dress, ya practically glowed.”

“No, I didn’t.” Dick quickly looked back at the remaining pickles in a vain attempt to hide his expression. 

“ Sure .” Harley dragged the word out far too long to convey belief. “You ain’t cishet, honey. I can tell ya that much.”

“Not what now?”

“Cishet. I mean, how else could you resist this? ” She shook her body a little, wiggling her eyebrows. Apparently, she didn’t care that Dick no longer understood what she was saying. “I’m gonna say it’s your burgeoning asexuality.”

“I – it – what?”

“It’s my gay-dar.”

“… yeah, I’m lost.”

“Don’t be. Even if it ain’t: it’s good to question yourself. Take it from an ex-psychologist. I’ve been ‘round the block a few times and I’ve seen some wild cases. This is just classic self-denial brought on by an environment of enforced masculine norms.”

“… okay.” Was he supposed to be taking notes? 

“’You wanna clean up the rest of these pickles?”

“Not really, no. I don’t like pickles, to be honest.”

 “Me neither. Let’s get out of here, huh?”

*

For one blessed, beautiful moment, Savant thought he would have a sliver of peace. It was nothing short of a miracle that the ground floor had a toilet, let alone one so surprisingly soundproofed. The prospect of being able to hear his own thoughts was tantamount to achieving nirvana. 

“Pissin’ all by yourself, handsome?”

But of course, it was not to be.

He listened to Boomerang snort and spit into the urinal beside his own, wondering at what point his life had gotten so tiresome that the prospect of a quiet wee was a treat.

“‘You really think there’s someone in the group here to rat us out, mate?”

Savant raised an eyebrow. He was going to play this carefully.

“Maybe. Some of the military’s moves have recently been a little outside of their usual scope. The raid at the club, for instance; not a big enough detachment for the entire town. It implies they were there purely to sweep the one area and then report back. Targeted. Informed.”

“Yeah. Speaking of rattin’, where’s muscleman weekly?”

“You mean Blackguard?”

“Nah, I’m talkin’ about Javelin. ‘Course I mean Blackguard.”

“Getting food.”

Savant knew that when it came to most people, short, uninterested answers tended to make them go away faster. 

Boomerang was not ‘most people’. Even as the muted noise of urine hitting porcelain stopped, Savant could feel the man’s eyes on him.

“No, to answer your burgeoning question, I don’t think it’s him. That move back on the beach was too risky, too stupid. Whoever the snitch is, they’re a lot more refined. And… look, give the kid a break, will you? He’s learned his lesson. And if things go to shit with Project Starfish, he might be the only one with the physical strength to get us out of it.”

He finally turned to face Boomerang, who was in turn looking at him like he’d grown a third nostril. Eventually, the usual oily sneer settled back into place. It must have granted a sense of comfort, Savant realised. An attempt to save face.

“Yeah, alright, old man. Got it. Nothin’ fun. I’ll go bother Harls, then.”

“Harley went with him.”

“…you’re trusting Harley to cook?”

“Yeah.” He caught the look of genuine panic on Boomerang’s face. “…I’m surmising that that wasn’t a good idea.”

The smoke alarm started screeching shrilly.

“Grieves!” Savant yelled over the din.

The alarm cut off.

“Got it.” Grieves shouted from outside the room.