Suicide SKWAD

Chapter 9: City Limits

Midway City had an incredible shopping district full of designer storefronts and five-star restaurants. It was one of the top shopping destinations in the country, and by proxy, one of the top robbery destinations. Four of Captain Boomerang's ninety-eight counts of Burglary were from events that occurred on the very street the team walked on. (It turns out, Tiffany & Co is pretty hard to get into) But now, there was no one shopping. Everything was abandoned, not a living person in sight. It only made sense that some of those criminal instincts would be kicking in again.

For example, Harley had stopped to admire one of the window displays. The display was covered in black and white graphics, which appeared to have been graffiti inspired. The baggy T-shirts on the mannequins all read "Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum." It was your typical ready-to-wear streetwear, trying to be edgy but not entirely succeeding. The overpriced shirts weren't what had Harley's attention though. Instead, she was focused on a metallic bag sitting in one of the mannequin's laps. It was just as shiny, attention-grabbing and gaudy as the rest of her wardrobe, which meant it must've belonged in her wardrobe. All it took was one swing of her bat to shatter the window, providing the satisfying sound of glass shards clinking against concrete.

The sudden noise on the otherwise silent street was more than enough to get the SEALs' attentions. The environment was already tense, and anything that sounded like an enemy was getting guns aimed at it. "What the hell is wrong with you people?" Flag shook his head angrily at Harley as he lowered his weapon. "You realize we're on a mission, right?"

Harley rolled her eyes, "We're bad guys, it's what we do!" She carefully draped the bag over her shoulder and smiled softly at the SEALs. "He said we're on a mission, that means go!"

The silence returned quickly as the troop started marching on again. There were whispers here and there, but nor really any conversations or enough talking to warrant it being a distraction. There was too much fear for anyone to speak up. The only person brave enough to speak was the one in charge: Colonel Rick Flag.

Flag and Deadshot had been leading the group side by side. They were in front of the pack, and there was a reason for that. "Hey, Deadshot, I've been thinking. If we don't start working together, no one is getting out of here alive." Flag was a real leader; he'd been doing it for a long time. He knew when things needed to change.

"And?" Deadshot, on the other hand, didn't buy into things so easily. He also had a problem with authority.

"These people respect you; you got influence." Flag knew this was going to be a hard sell, but he was going for it anyway. "You could really help bring all of us together."

Deadshot wasn't stupid; he didn't work for free. He wasn't going to be anyone's tool or stepping stone without getting something from it. "What's your play right now?"

"You're a man of your word, right?" Flag wasn't deterred. "I want my mission. You want your life and your kid back. You help me keep this Mardi Gras parade in line, and I'll hook you up."

"Waller is the puppet master," Deadshot scoffed at the offer, not believing it for a second. "You ain't got shit to hook me up with."

"I got plenty of my own strings to pull." Flag didn't miss a beat. He was a surprisingly smooth talker when necessary. "You just get me to the top of that target building and get my rescuee on that extraction helo."

"And you're gonna make sure I get paid?" Deadshot was still skeptical, rightfully so.

"And I make sure you get paid and get your fresh start." Flag nodded in confirmation, just in time for the target building to come into view. "SEALs, take a knee."