Issue #0: Go to Hell

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"I've got something to say~, I killed a baby today~ and it doesn't matter much to me as long as it's dead~." I sang as I waited in my cell at Arkham Asylum. I was supposed to be having a meeting with Dr. Isaac Long but I'm still yet to be taken to meet him. Such a shame, I thought we were really making a break through. I sat in boredom, carving out various skulls into the walls with a pen I had stolen from our last session. "Sweet lovely death, I have waited for your breath, sweet lovely death, one last-"

"(Y,N) (L,N)." I heard a voice unfamiliar to me say. I turned my head from the wall to see a woman as wide as a wall. She wore a purple suit, definitely not a member of Arkham staff.  Underneath her arm was a couple files. She also still had a Harvey Dent mayoral campaign button on her jacket. The election was doomed for him the second his slogan became "Put a Dent in Crime".

"...Caress." I finished my sentence. "You know, Harvey Dent lost the election quite a while ago."

"A reminder to myself that even the best of us can be corrupted by evil."

"Acid would do that to a person. So you're not Arkham Security. Whaddya want? I'm expecting a very important netting in about five minutes."

"Dr. Long resigned after your last session. That's what? The sixth doctor you've gotten to quit since your arrest last Halloween?"

"Fifth. Dr. Cruz killed himself."

"You're a sick bastard, (L,N)."

"Thank you miss...?"

"Waller. The state took pity on you knowing your story. One of Jonathan Crane's students turned into one of his victims once he became the Scarecrow. After the incident you distanced yourself from all your friends before getting an internship at Star Labs while still being an outcast among your piers. During an event you don't shed too much light on with the court or the public you gained the ability to morph yourself into smoke particles. With that and a magnetic retractable scythe that you created and hidden blades, you set up The Crimson Ghost persona, with a red skeleton mask and hoods and rags that resemble the grim reaper covering up bullet proof clothing. You found your way to Jonathan Crane's lair and stole his formula for fear gas before making your way to his cell here in Arkham and murdered him in cold blood but didn't just stop there. You then tried to kill the rest of those of your former friends who betrayed you before being stopped by The Batman and locked up here."

"Why thank you for the summary of my own life, not like I fucking lived it."

"I'd watch my tone if I were you (L,N). Your life is in serious danger and you don't even know it. You're already convincing Arkham staff you're a lost cause."

"So what? I get to live in this comfy room, turning my therapy sessions into my psychiatrist's therapy session and-"

"You aren't hearing me. You're being seen as a lost cause. The only other inmate to be given that treatment is The Joker. And when that happens, they put you on the list of inmates to execute. And I doubt you're as cunning or have the same amount of resources as the clown to keep escaping here over and over and over."

"...Surely you're joking."

"I don't joke." Waller coldly said. I studied her for a moment, but there was no indication that she was lying. Her eyes looked lifeless and cold like a shark. She was expressionless.

"...Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I can offer you a way out of this (L,N). Four homicide victims-"

"Three."

"Mr. Cruz was added to your list of victims. Four homicide victims, one count of attempted homicide, resisting arrest, and assault with a deadly weapon against Batman leaves you with three life sentences and another 47 and a half years in prison. I have a way for you to work off your debt to society. Torturing those poor scientists will be put to good use and not just your downfall. I've seen your tapes and I could use someone like you on a top secret assignment. A team called Task Force X." She slid the files over into my cell. I took a look through them, looking more at the pictures than reading. A jailhouse in the Louisiana Swamps, a military man, The Joker's girlfriend, a man throwing a javelin into a dictator's neck, a blown up military base, the guy who throws the boomerangs taking a selfie with a man who looked like his head was blown off... some sort of shark man? "The deal is you'll do secret black ops missions on behalf of the American government with other convicts. If you succeed in the mission, you'll have ten to fifty years erased off of your sentence, depending on how much of a role you play in the grand scheme of things. However if you fail to follow any of my or the team leader's directions, you'll have your head blown off by a bomb placed in your brain."

"Is that what happened to..." I said holding up the picture of the boomerang man taking a picture with the corpse.

"Kite Man? Yes. Or as he would put it: Hell Yeah." She answered.

"You told me I have three life sentences. How do those gets measured?"

"The average lifespan of an American male is 78 and a half years of age so we'll say your current sentence is a total of 281 years of a sentence to wipe off."

"And if I don't join then-"

"Then you won't make it to Christmas without being lit up like a tree." She simply said. This woman had no remorse or hesitation in her delivery of sentences. "I want someone like you who can both mentally destroy an enemy of the state and murder them as well if needed. Despite the obvious fractures in your sanity you're a brilliant mind and it'd be a shame to see all that potential go to waste."

"And what missions would I exactly go on?"

"Fighting demigods while the Justice League is away, fighting off terroristic regimes running countries in the Middle East, bombing enemy space stations, etcetera."

"These all sound like suicide."

"That's the name of the game (L,N). The question still remains...


Are you in or are you out?"

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