TIMESKIP TO BIYALIA He bends over a table, his fists cracking the wood. The safehouse is dark, and dimly lit. It reminds him of Thomas' cave back on their world. And speak of the devil, there's Owlman himself, sitting quietly in his seat, contemplation etched in his jaw. Deathstorm sits at his right hand, directly opposite Owlman. Under different circumstances, Superwoman would be in that seat, but these are changing times, and she isn't. She's rotting in a cell back at A.R.G.U.S.,while he and his able bodied contemporaries are free...for the time being. Grid sits at the server banks, integrating himself into the network. Two men he doesn't recognize sit in corners of the room, while a metal man with a kryptonite heart is doing...something, with himself. Suddenly the door opens up, and the team they've been waiting on is here, one by one. There's a yellow and red man, obviously a speedster from the way he moves. Following him is a one eyed mercenary, and what appears to be his protégé. An Australian followed him, toting boomerangs, and lastly, what Ultraman could only describe as an Owlman wannabe, or Batman wannabe in this world. Once they were all in, the doors automatically locked, and the voice of Amanda Waller filtered into the room, the video screen flaring to life. "My name is Amanda Waller. And what I've done is brought you all here to do a task for me. You, as a team, are going to assassinate this woman-" A picture came up, of a tan-skinned woman with regalia bearing that of a queen, yet there was a slight bee motif to her attire. "-Who goes by the name of Queen Bee. Her real name isn't known, but we do know that she has superhuman lieutenants she keeps on her. Your job is to capture or kill these lieutenants, shut down her nuclear weaponry, and assassinate Queen Bee. Your first step is to identify those lieutenants at a ball in your civilian Identities, so I suggest you start revealing yourselves to each other." As the video died, Ultraman levelled a heat vision filled gaze at the mercenary, without actually incinerating him. "Who are you, and who is your team?"

Collab between DSW and Teal Deathstroke was pretty much aware of Waller's vast influence, but even he couldn't believe (or didn't want to) that she had the capacity and the balls to take under her mantle a ragtag team of extremely superpowered humans and non-humans who could give the Justice League a run for their money. The very moment she finished her speech, a vein bulged out of Slade's head, a rare sight for anyone who got used to seeing the mercenary on the field. He was suddenly filled with anger, like if Waller's remarks touched his dignity or something of the like - but that was not the case. He was more or less agitated at her demand that he and his team reveal their real faces, a demand he found ironic due to her earning her living by manipulating criminals behind a speaker. He was about to unleash every verbal atrocity at her, but Ultraman's death stare kept him down, and at the same time, triggered his 'fight or flight' response. With a swift move to his holster, he pulled out one of his FN Five-Sevens and pointed it at the man, shooting a stern gaze that couldn't match his heat vision, but was intimidating enough. "You go first!", he responded, his gruff voice more present than ever.Ultraman levelled the gaze at the gun, and laughed, just under his breath. He let the heat vision go, and watched as it slowly melted the gun. He walked closer to the mercenary and lifted him with one hand, almost effortlessly. "Do you know who I am?" he said, his deep voice bouncing off of the walls, and his eyes, which were blue for a moment, filled slowly with red heat for dramatic effect. Owlman, on the other hand, sat calmly in his seat, and pulled his helm/cowl back. In spite of gaining prowess and being hailed as one of the world's deadliest assassins, Slade was after all fallible and knew that, hence why he always avoided fights with the likes of Reverse-Flash; villains with unstable psyches and enough muscle power to drill you down to China. However, at that moment, as he felt Ultraman's mighty force, as he felt his feet departing from the ground, he didn't even flinch. At that rate, he couldn't break his gaze, even if he wanted to. "I don't know who you are, but I've met your good counterpart, Superman, and I gotta say I learned his weakness in an instant.", Slade uttered calmly, struggling to reach for one of the pouches positioned near his ribs. When he finally unlocked the pouch, he pulled a grenade, a kryptonite grenade which he'd salvaged in case he'd ever fight Supes, but somewhat altered as in instead of it's green glow, it actually had a yellow, light one. "I call this a solar grenade. Turns out you and the Man of Steel look the same, but are genetically different", the Mercenary seemingly finished his speech, before adding once more. "Drop me down and then we'll do the introduction." Ultraman flinched his face away from it, but threw Slade away from him. Not hard enough to go through the wall, but hard enough to crack ribs. When he managed to regain his senses, he glared at Slade and uttered "Clark Kent." Thanks to the exosuit, what could have been a punctured lung, seven broken ribs and, in the worst case scenario, permanent handicap actually subsided to a slight pain down his spine, enough to make the One-Eyed Merc. let out a grunt. As he looked back at the fissure the impact had made, he realized Ultraman's power was not one to underestimate. Then again, he was somewhat aware of that from the beginning, judging by the special equipment he'd got. Putting his solar grenade back to it's pouch with the right hand, Slade gently removed his steel mask from his moderately wrinkled face with his left one, ultimately introducing himself. "Slade Wilson." Ultraman sneered, and sighed. Owlman, on the other hand, with his slicked back black hair, blue eyes, and square jaw, spoke up next. "Thomas Wayne, Junior. Deathstorm opposite me is Professor Martin Stein, and Grid is just Grid. The others we don't know, but the rest of our team remains imprisoned. I'm sure you all remember the events dubbed "Forever Evil?" Slade let a brief chuckle, his voice coming out crystal clear now that the mask had been removed. "How do you think I got these countermeasures?", the man remarked, veering his sight at Ravager who was next to him. "Ravager here is Rose Wilson, my", he paused for a moment before continuing "daughter. As for the rest, they can account for themselves.", he said, looking at the speaker and expecting Amanda to chime in any second. Owlman frowned, and stood up, cracking his neck and knuckles, before suddenly throwing an owlrang, as horrible as it was named, it was still useful. Even if it merely served as target practice for the other man, Owlman knew it would just be a prelude. He had fought his good counterpart, and won. He was far more skilled than Batman, and he knew he could, and in most cases, would, use lethal force. Using the table as a launchpad, he leapt into the air, and slammed a fist in the direction of Slade's face, not even stopping to see if it was a hit before assuming his ready position. This would be interesting, to say the least. It took one bullet round for the projectile, or what was left of it, to scatter down on the floor. What Slade didn't anticipate was Owlman getting physically involved in the fight. At first, he thought they were nothing but empty threats and dick measuring, but now it seemed as if the remnants of the Crime Syndicate were really trying to cause harm to him. However, unlike Ultraman, which could defy gravity, Owlman, even though trained to the limit of human abilities, was still a mere human and a formidable adversary at best. His attack prompted Slade to rapidly put his mask back, realizing he missed the opportunity to dodge his attack, causing Wayne Jr.'s hand to collide with the rough steel. Immediately after, he pointed his only gun at the villain, now that Ultraman had turned his first one to clay. "You know, the name Thomas Wayne is of great sentimental value to me. You best not dirty it", Deathstroke remarked, repositioning the gun at Owlman's family jewels.

The journey to Bialya had been long and tiresome. After travelling within the Blackhawk helicopter for a few hours, they had landed in an almost abandoned landing strip where a cargo plane awaited them. Captain Boomerang kept to himself throughout the flight; discovering a crate of beer bottles in the back of the plane. He drank for the next couple of hours, toying with his boomerangs and reflecting as to what his life had come to. Taking orders from government officials in order to pay of his sentence. Honestly he hadn't seen that coming. To him, his time with the Rogues and battles with the Flash had all been a game; a couple of heists before eventually being busted by the Speedster, only to be sprung back out and for the process to repeat itself. It wasn't a bad life. It had its perks. He had friends (emphasis on the had), girls and even money. And oh did he have fun! The thrill was great and one of the reasons Digger longed to go back to it. Hours later, Boomerang found himself trailing behind his "squad" into what was apparently their safe house. The outside wasn't much to look at and when Digger arrived inside, he realized that the interior wasn't either. The room was dimly lit, with a table sitting in the centre of the room. Sat around it were two people he had seen on news weeks ago. One was obviously a more monstrous firestorm, costume being darker in colour that the original. The other one had a seriously Owl motif going on. Deathstorm and Owlman. Digger's eyes widened as he looked up to see their leader. Ultraman. Everyone remembers the first time they lay eyes on Superman. Your throat gets a little dry. You over think what you're going to say or do. This, meeting Ultraman, was much worse. Instantly Digger looked away, not wishing to even accidentally give the man a wrong look. Instead he turned his attention to the rest of the safe-house. In one corner stood a man clad in purple and black. Boomerang knew he had seen him somewhere before; so presumably this guy was bad news. Turning his head, he spotted someone working on what appeared to be a wall of computer servers. Since he was facing away, he didn't recognize him. Then Captain Boomerang spotted him. Cold. The man that was the reason he was here and not back to his life on the outside. For weeks Harkness had spent days pondering of what he'd do when he finally met the parka wearing prick again, from blasting him with his old Cold-Gun to smacking him in the gob. The Australian began to reach for a boomerang, his mind filled with anger when the door closed behind him and Amanda Waller's voice rang through the air. "My name is Amanda Waller. And what I've done is brought you all here to do a task for me. You, as a team, are going to assassinate this woman Who goes by the name of Queen Bee. Her real name isn't known, but we do know that she has superhuman lieutenants she keeps on her. Your job is to capture or kill these lieutenants, shut down her nuclear weaponry, and assassinate Queen Bee. Your first step is to identify those lieutenants at a ball in your civilian Identities, so I suggest you start revealing yourselves to each other." Digger had to note that this was kind of cool. This was some secret agents shit right here! Since he had first seen a James Bond film he had wanted to do something like this. What followed was a small scale argument between Ultraman and Deathroke. It was the typically show of strength between two leaders, with the one-eyed mercenary targeting the monstrous Superman doppelganger. Digger was about to roll his eyes and complain about what a bunch of asses they were being when the room lit up red slightly as Ultraman melted away the gun aimed at his face. However this didn't faze the mercenary much, who merely produced what appeared to be a glowing grenade. As a result of this, Ultraman dropped him and spoke his name. Clark Kent? Never heard of him. As Deathstroke unmasked, Digger was once again surprised to see that he was so old, despite the man unmasking previously during the breakout. Slade Wilson. Huh. Boomerang kept note as the Crime Syndicate began their introductions. Clark Kent, Thomas Wayne Jr and Professor Martin Stein. This intrigued him, as if these guys were alternative versions of this world's own heroes then didn't that mean that they were basically learning the identities of their greatest foes? Digger grinned at the goldmine that was before him. Stepping forward, Digger opened his mouth to introduce himself. However, that was when the fighting began. Captain Boomerang watched, stunned, as Owlman dived forward, engaging Deathstroke. In seconds, Wilson was remasked and aiming a gun that Owl-brain's goolies. "What the bloody'ell are you fuckers doing?" Digger cried moving forward. With one hand held tightly on a boomerang just in case, Digger offered his other one to Owlman. "Th' names Captain Boomerang. Though I guess y' can call m' Digger Harkness." Giving the Crime Syndicate a weak smile, he spoke once more. "er... please don't hit me."

Furrowing her eyebrows together underneath the split colored mask, Rose stared down the nearly-melted ice in the small tumbler of what used to be scotch just a few moments ago, provided of course, complimentary, by the plane's rather large stock of alcoholic beverages. Twisting her wrist around in a circular motion, causing the small ice chunks to clink together and against the glass, Rose kept her bright blue orbs on them, unable to remember when it was that she had actually finished off her drink. Shooting over a sideways glance to Captain Boomerang, Catman and the Reverse Flash, all seemingly too busy to coerce into refilling it for her, Rose huffed out an agitated sigh and pushed herself up from the lavish couch she had been reclining in to do it herself. Pouring herself a second drink (or was it her third?), Rose stumbled upon the realization that there was someone missing from the open space; but not just someone, the only person she gave a rats ass about on the entire planet anymore. Turning back around and surveying the room again, her thought process had been proven correct. The one-eyed merc was no where in sight. Pursing her lips together in a firm line, Rose looked to the right, and then the left. Both had quite a few choices of different doors on each end, but going by her gut instinct, there was only one place she knew where he might be. Keeping a firm hold on her glass, she headed left, following the small placard on the wall showing her to the ship's armory. He said that he wanted to have a talk with her later after all... and she had finally gotten her drink. No sense in putting it off another minute. Forever Evil. Those were the two words drifting around Slade's thought train. Dubbed by the media as a horrifying event of global scale. A villain uprising - heck, even described as the closest thing to an Armageddon. The media was keen to exaggerating for the sake of publicity, but the Mercenary had fact-checked the story and it was spot on. The villains caught in the aftermath were all dumped in containment units, back at A.R.G.U.S, further helping Slade's suspicion that Amanda might just try to get leverage of the whole situation. He was, after all, adjusted to working for bureaucrats and was familiar with their mindset. With the thought train departing from the station, the One-Eyed Mercenary made a return to the real world. To the left of the armory's table, there were two handguns, his trusted FN Five-Sevens, loaded with magazines and ready to rumble. On the right, there was a small device, resembling a grenade but equipped with a solar panel and enough energy to blow up an entire block. That was probably designed for use by A.R.G.U.S Mercenaries, in case they ever ran into an enemy such as Ultraman; the Reverse-Superman of this tale. Grabbing the small, round grenade and holding it up, like an aging pawnbroker holds a diamond ring, Slade's ears picked up footsteps coming his way accompanied by the sound of clinking. He casually tossed the grenade near his utility belt, where his mask resided nearby, before proceeding to work on his two lovely guns. Halting her steps for half a moment to allow the pressurized, motion-censored doors to open to her, Rose stepped inside, poking in her head in first, followed by the rest of her body after her bright blue orbs found the orange and blue suit she had become all too familiar with over the last year; thus of course was where Deathstroke himself was also. Taking a quick sip of her drink as she entered, she lowered the glass back down, realizing for the first time that he was without his mask. She stood there for just a couple moments, examining his older facial features and greying hair but beyond that, what Rose found most interesting, was the scar running underneath the black eye patch and halfway down his cheek. After a complete year of following up on everything she could get her hands on in relation to Deathstroke the Mercenary, there hadn't been a single thing that would have prepared her for what sort of man lay behind the mask physically, but pleasantly enough she wasn't disappointed. He was older, sure. Considerably so in relation to her own youth, but age was just a number, not to mention... older guys were more fun anyway. Clearing her head, pushing aside the flickering 'fan-girl' butterflies that had started to breed in her stomach, Rose continued in and hopped up on one of the stacked crates right next to where he had laid his mask and belt. Taking another drink first, she set the glass down beside her and picked up Deathstroke's mask, examining the shell, that no longer had the man behind it, with genuine curiosity. "So. I got my drink. You get your talk." Rose said casually before setting his mask back down carefully, not wanting to damage or scratch it in any way. Turning her head around on a swivel, quite obviously looking around at their surroundings, she eventually looked back to him. "Or we could just make use of this alone time, big guy." She threw out there, though the tone in which she used indicated that she already knew he wasn't about to bite. The girl's emergence from the motion censored doors reminded Slade of the little chit-chat they had back at the prison, and how he eagerly needed to clear up the circumstances that led to her adapting his style. Suddenly, he could almost feel that obnoxious sensation that ran through his spine when she deliberately mistook his statement for an invitation of sexual nature. It was at this point that he came to the realization there was no mask to cover his face, but chose to not make a big fuss about it upon recalling how loyal she appeared to be. Her constant flirtatious remarks were quickly ignored by Slade, who by now had developed an immunity against them. Sure, she had a toned body and a pretty face and was an overall fine specimen, but if he was going to prison, it was not gonna be for something as petty as having an affair with a minor. Even if she had magically advanced ten years, a workaholic like the legendary Deathstroke would still not budge, considering himself in a permanent relationship with his work. Finally opting to initiate the talk, Slade shoved his pistols aside and rolled himself around as much as the rotating chair allowed him to, now facing his number one fan girl. "Who are you?", he queried, his tone as quiet as his vocal chords could allow, but still maintaining the distinct feel to it and the efficient pauses in between words. Not even waiting for her to answer, he boosted himself up, taking a few small but confident steps towards the girl and reaching for his belt and mask, before further proceeding; "I could guess as much; gone through severe trauma at which point your brain began an intense overload. When you woke up, you learned you'd been rewired and then started idolizing all the wrong people, like me.",he spoke bluntly, unfazed by the fact that there might be a possibility of his casual remarks serving as an incentive for their undeveloped relationship to cripple. "I'd slap you across your smug face and tell you to get back to school, but I don't think that's something you can do at this point.", he continued. "So tell me; why me?" Rose kept her soft pink lips together as Deathstroke began to make observations and guesses about her; who she was, why she was the way she was. She wasn't exactly an open book, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that her life had been messed up somewhere along the way to be the way she was now. Waiting for him to finish, she reached back to her glass and raised it to her lips, finishing off the drink and set the glass back down. She waited for a few moments, ensuring that he was, indeed finished before the front she had been putting up for as long as she could remember spoke for her. "Not above hitting a girl, hmm? Good. I like to get rough every once in a while." Pausing for a moment to pull up her legs a bit, she crossed them underneath her and rested her hands down into her lap, looking very much like a child waiting for story time. Looking over his face again, now able to take in the details even better from their closer distance, she gave him a sort of sad, soft, genuine smile that only lasted half a moment before it was replaced by a slight smirk. She raised her hand up, waving it in the air dismissively before resting it back in her lap. "Don't worry. I was fucked up years before Luthor decided to make me his guinea pig. You just happened to be skipping on by when I was looking for my next adventure to fill." She let her eyes settle on his one, her facial expression turning a mite-bit more serious. "One year ago. Christmas Eve." She stated, as though that was all she needed to say to have him understand when and where it was that she had seen him 'skipping on by.' Old man Wilson slightly lifted himself up from the wheeled chair, spinning it around then placing his hands on top of the headrest. The mention of Christmas Eve took him back, back at that snowy night in which his first scuffle with the new and improved Batman took place. They were both on even grounds in the duration of the battle, which was abandoned halfway as soon as Batman got wind of another one of Joker's overly complicated schemes. At that moment, Slade let out a nostalgic smirk, conscious of the fact that what was considered just another engagement with Gotham's finest was, in fact, a life changing event for a kid who was observing from up the hills. "Then, you hatched this plan. To get yourself imprisoned into Belle Reeve and extract me out. What went wrong is that your little plan provoked a chain reaction which led to you being branded with an X-shaped bomb in your neck.", Slade resumed the story, relieved that a huge chunk of the puzzle finally came together. Darting his sight at her in a slightly inquisitive manner, he repeated his initial question which had passed unanswered. "You still didn't answer my first question. Why me? Why not The Bat?" Chuckling a bit to herself, though lacking any amusement behind it, Rose pulled her legs out from under her and one leg after the other, swung it over the top of the chair back until both of her boots were planted on the chair's seat between his hands. Hunching her back over a bit, she wrapped her arms around her knees, holding her chest to them slightly as she thought over the best way to answer his question. She hadn't exactly talked about it before, none of the Teen Titans understood... Dick wouldn't even understand. She was just... different from all of them; never really belonged. She just didn't know why until she happened upon Deathstroke that cold, December night. "Bats couldn't handle me. Besides, I couldn't rock the green tights." She started, unable to help throwing in a quick jape at Dick before he had become Nightwing, though Deathstroke wouldn't have known that, so she let go with the implied meaning of the boy wonder 'Robin' that Batman helped shape; it was sort of an inside joke with herself, making her feel all the more lonely for half a moment. Lifting her chin up for a moment, looking up at him as he was now standing, her smirky-smile returned. Lifting her hand back up a bit, she tentatively moved her fingers to the collar of his metal suit that was otherwise hidden by the bottom of the mask he wore, tracing the edge and letting her eyes watch her fingers move across the cool metal. "I guess you could say, I just like the way you move. Similar enough already to the way I like to take care of things. Got me in a lot of trouble with people who were supposed to be my friends." His cold gauntlet, a perfect match to his personality, got a hold of Ravager's hand as she tried to get him in the mood, shoving her small but most lethal hand away like it was capable of transmitting some kind of disease. He was in a dilemma; in one hand, she could be easily manipulated, molded to do his bidding. In the other, she was more than likely to get him in more trouble. He needed to come to a mutual agreement with her so as to avoid the chances of her erratic behavior causing turmoil. Neither of the options truly benefited him, so he decided to find something in the middle. "Captain Boomerang believes you're my child, and so do the rest.", Slade uttered in a suggestive manner, tapping his mask to his armored chest as he sneaked his solar grenade on the right side pouch, located near his ribs. "We're gonna go along with their assumptions. Whatever your name is, you're a Wilson now, Slade Wilson's child. Don't blow it", the One-Eyed Mercenary finished, ending his statement with a warning. With the rumors that the Deathstroke female look-a-like is actually proven to be his child, she would become the target of numerous attacks with the motive to gain leverage over her 'father', which would provide Slade a strategic advantage and the chance to cherish the surprised looks on their faces when they would discover it was all a ploy. "Needless to say you gotta put a stop to your flirtatious remarks, at least in public.", the Mercenary continued, holstering his loaded guns in the dual slots running down his waist. Pushing the revolving seat back to the desk, he eventually placed the mask on his face, fully embracing the Deathstroke persona. Retreating her hand back as he so callously brushed it away, she folded it back around her bent knees over the chair. Her soft pink lips parted slightly as she listened to his proposal, staring back at him with her blue eyes filled with piqued curiosity. She lifted up her legs a bit as, who she know new as Slade Wilson, pulled the chair away and returned it to the desk, having already committed his name to memory. She liked it. It was fitting for him. A hardened name for a hardened man. It made sense, really. Having her as 'his daughter' would be a hell of a lot easier to explain than his 'avid fan he knew nothing about until today.' "Rose." She said softly, before repeating her name once again, eager to try out her 'new last name.' "Rose Wilson." A slight tingle rolled down her spine at the use of his last name, an overwhelming pulse of both pride and desire filling up her chest and lower abdomen forcing her shoulders to hunch together a bit more, her back bending a little with it. "Yeah, sure, I guess it works. Though I thought I'd be calling you 'daddy' under more... pleasurable circumstances, but this will do for now." Using her arms, she pushed herself off of the crate, letting her boots hit the floor and standing at her full five feet, two inches forcing her to crane her head up to look at him as he re-adorned his mask, in which she saw in a slightly different light now. Raising her hand, she extended out her pointer finger and jabbed him a bit roughly on his chest plate. "Alright look, if this is gonna work, we at least have to know some pretty basic shit about one another. Favorite food, favorite color, favorite way to kill a man, favorite sex position..." She stopped and shrugged her shoulders, pulling her hand back. "And I suppose I'll have to work on my American accent a bit, unless my hypothetical mother is Aussie and you can prove you spent a good amount of time in my home country." "Good point.", Slade said, slightly lifting his head up to the ceiling where a light bulb should have been. Instead, the only source of light in the otherwise small room was a lamp set up in one of the crates which was switched off at that moment. There was also a pocket-sized window in the wall to the villains' left which, besides enabling a good view of the clouds, also dragged some light inside. After a brief moment of staring at the ceiling, his head reverted back at the previous position. He was no ladies man, but he did have a few flings in the past, short lasting, but of enough importance to occupy a place in his crowded mind. He used them as a basis for the fake backstory. "As you said, your mother is Australian. She raised you during my hiatus and, half-way through got help from your step-father, a nice, timid IT consultant whom you loathed because you're an ungrateful little brat. You inherited your powers and your blonde hair from me, while you got everything else from your mother, who killed herself after seven months of living under anti-depressants.", Slade stated, quickly and without bothering to catch his breath. He was wondering how much truth was there in that fake story. He had already deduced that the girl, Rose, was lacking a proper father figure, otherwise how would one explain her unhealthy infatuation with him. Hints of negligence by her mother could also be seen, although to a lesser effect. "Did you catch my drift, or do you want me to repeat myself?", he shot a glance at the girl, only then realizing that she'd probably replace the statement's context with some cheesy joke of sexual nature. Keeping unnaturally quiet for once, Rose pursed her lips as she listened to the fabricated story Slade pulled out of his ass, nodding slightly once he was finished. A slight exhale of relief came from her as she then realized that she wouldn't have to go to great lengths to try to cover up her accent, but his story had her also thinking back to her mother and what had really happened. Her bright blue eyes seemed to lose a little life, but just as quick as it came, it was gone and she gave Slade an arrant smirk. "I can deal with that, much better than my real-life story anyway." She said truthfully. At least in this story, she had a father-figure of some sort. The origin to her real father was unknown, not even her own mother could tell her who he was, but that life was left behind in Australia when her mother decided it was high-time they move to America for a new and better life. Well, that didn't exactly work out... for either of them. "So long as we don't run into Nightwing or any of the Teen Titans, that story is good to go." She added on after a bit, realizing that Dick was fully aware as to how she came by her powers, which meant the entire tower probably knew by now. That was the only hiccup, however, as not even Dick could prove that Slade wasn't her father. Not without a full-on blood test, which, realistically having been trained by the Bat, wasn't all that far-fetched. "Teen Titans?", Slade questioned, a sudden increase of interest shown in the change of his tone. That was something he couldn't deduce at first. Her volatile behavior, her unhealthy obsessions with a long list of things that are plain wrong - those were not qualities of a hero/heroine, at least not your conventional heroine, so she couldn't have worked alongside the Teen Titans. Wiping his surprised look off his face, that was covered by his steely mask anyway, he queried once again. "Were you affiliated with them?" Taking half a step closer to Slade, feeling somewhat more confident in her movements as she had detected the slight change in his voice, she ran her hand over the chest plate where she had jabbed him earlier, watching her hand move across the cool metal before looking back up at him, still holding fast to her smirk. "Keep me alive during this suicide mission and I'll owe you a story." She replied rather cheekily before raising up to the balls of her feet and planted a soft kiss on the cold metal of where his cheek would be under the mask. Returning back to flat feet, Rose turned her back to him at the same time and picked up her empty tumbler. "But right now, I need a refill." She half-heartedly explained and headed towards the exit, her hips swinging in her naturally alluring way. Turning her head to look over her shoulder at him as the doors hissed back open, she flashed him a white smile, raising her free hand to issue a half-assed salute in mockery before heading outside to the hall. "See ya 'round, daddy!" Eying her playful motions as she made her way back to the hall, Slade took a few steps towards one of the crates, the one which was positioned adjacent to the lamp. He sat on top of it, grunting as he did, wiping traces of Rose's lips from his mask and then looking at his gauntlet, apathetically. He threw a glance at the motion-censored door from where Rose waltzed by before darting his gaze towards one corner of the room, where his blade and sword were located. The Mercenary's head had become a dark, crowded place at this point. In addition to the risk of having his head blown off by a stuck-up government pencil neck, he also had to take care of his 'daughter' now. As his eyes lingered at his feet for a minute or two, he lifted himself up, exclaiming almost inaudibly "I'm gonna need to learn some prayers", before adding his melee weapons to his arsenal and making his way out of the dimly lit room. Stepping into the dimly lit room that was to be their safe house for the time being, Rose made a point to keep her tiny frame behind Slade and Reverse Flash, with Catman and Captain Boomerang behind her. If the years of tactical training with Nightwing had taught her anything, it was to not venture into unknown territory out front, and always watch your back. This way, being in the middle as she was, the others in a sense were doing the work for her. Though of the two, she would have rather put her faith in Captain Boomerang than Catman to watch her back. Catman could just be used as cannon fodder for all she cared. Every 'team' needed an expendable pawn. Just as the door closed behind them, and just as Rose was starting to adjust her masked eyes to her surroundings, the door behind them closed and the intercom took over her attention. "My name is Amanda Waller. And what I've done is brought you all here to do a task for me. You, as a team, are going to assassinate this woman-" As the image of their target came up on the screen that Rose just realized was there, she leaned her head back forward towards Slade so that he could hear her hushed whisper. "Didn't she already give us her name?" "-Who goes by the name of Queen Bee. Her real name isn't known, but we do know that she has superhuman lieutenants she keeps on her. Your job is to capture or kill these lieutenants, shut down her nuclear weaponry, and assassinate Queen Bee. Your first step is to identify those lieutenants at a ball in your civilian Identities, so I suggest you start revealing yourselves to each other." Folding her arms across her chest, Rose couldn't help the slight snort at the mention of the woman's alias. "And they think I'm full of myself." She muttered to no one in particular. At the prospect of needing to start revealing their identities to one another, Rose couldn't help but to quirk an eyebrow, looking around the room and noticing for the first time that their small little group of 'misfits' were not alone. Blue eyes hopping from one new body to the next, she came across all figures that were not at all familiar to her, save for the man who at first she thought was Superman himself and was halfway to pulling out her katanas when upon further investigation appeared only to be a look-alike. Strange. Looking down at her own outfit, and then the matching plated armor of the one-eyed merc in front of her, she shrugged her narrow shoulders and relaxed her hand back to her side. Okay, maybe not that strange. Slade withdrawing a weapon had her thoughts snapping immediately back to the present, her blue eyes looking the Superman-man over, as though trying to size him up. Her soft pink lips parted slightly, watching the weapon being literally melted in Slade's hands and couldn't help the protective half-step forward closer to Slade but Superman-man already had Slade lifting off the ground. Blue eyes narrowing something fierce under her mask, feeling helpless as all she could do was watch the banter between the two men. Just as it seemed that Slade had taken over the situation, using a glowing grenade as assurance, the juiced-up Superman sent Slade flying back into the wall. Before she even knew what she was doing, her reflexes took over. Both hands shot back and withdrew her katanas, holding her body in a defensive position with the blades wielded in front of her. Even in the dim lighting the edge's caught the reflection, a clear indication that what she was holding was no ordinary metal. Before she could do anything she would later regret, however, Slade was talking again, and giving up their names after one of the men she didn't at all recognize spoke up, offering their own names as well. Names that didn't mean anything to her aside from Clark Kent, who, everyone in the Titans Tower knew as one of the bigger names in Metropolis. So did that make this guy a clone? Or furthermore, did that make the real Clark Kent the real Superman? There was a quick movement, and before Rose even realized what was going on, the man who had introduced himself as Thomas Wayne Junior was up in the air and on Slade. She barely had time to react before the man's face came into contact with Slade's mask, which he at least had time to place back over his face before contact. A flood of adrenaline spiked through her blood stream, her eyes glossing over for half a second seeing Captain Boomerang, more or less, deescalating the situation. Coming out of her trance, her body physically relaxed, her swords dropping just a bit as she watched Captain Boomerang step forward, repeating just what it was that she had seen not even seconds ago. But at least knowing that he would catch the attention of other gave her a few seconds head-start. Quietly, Rose slipped over to the man dressed as an Owl, hearing Slade's spare gun clicking as the safety had been removed. Coming up behind Thomas, she stood to her full height and made an 'X' with the twin blades, pressing them lightly against the man's neck over his suit listening to the metal of the twin katanas 'sing' at their close proximity to one another. Pulling away one hand quickly, practically ripping off her mask and tossing it to the floor at Slade's side (no longer seeing a need for it here) she returned the blade to where it was before hand and replied, "Can I remind everyone what complete crap this is?" She pressed the blades into his suit just a fraction more. "Turn down the testosterone, back the fuck off, and lets all at least pretend to be normal ants under the magnifying glass here."

The cold rain smashed against the scorched earth. A man with blond hair dressed in orange Atlantean scale armour stood opposite his brother, similarly outfitted with purple scale armour and black hair. Their iron stares burned into each other, misguided hatred behind one, and sad recognition behind the other. The one in Orange finally broke the tension. "Orm, stop this madness!" he called out to the one in Purple above the roar of the storms that battered the surroundings. "The Surface was not responsible for the attack on Atlantis! Will you not listen to reason?" There is a moment of silence before Orm shouted back "Look at you, Orin! Or should I call you Arthur now? You parade around with a false name, playing the hero for a world that refuses to acknowledge you, their words have become as poisonous as their actions, they have turned you against your own people! Your own brother! You might as well change that name to Traitor!" At that moment Orm raised his royal trident and called down the lightning upon his brother. The bolt struck him at the speed of light, sending him flying into a flooded ruin. Recovering easily from the strike, Arthur threw his own trident, propelling it towards Orm, who then swatted it away like a fly. Abandoning his weapon, Arthur engaged Orm in hand-to-hand combat. Orm simply laughed "I'll amuse your desperate gamble, brother, but only out of honour." he declared, doing the same and dropped his own weapon before making his way towards Arthur. Each blow that was traded between them boomed like thunder, shattering whatever glass remained in the buildings around them as the Sons of Atlantis did battle. The door opened, and Orm Marius gazed up as, one by one, the other members of Beta Team trickled in. First through the door was a colourful man who moved at neck break speed, an unnerving, albeit interesting creature. After him was a soldier with one eye, which was followed by his similarly adorned heir. Behind them was a man clothed in an odd garb, brandishing even odder curved weapons. Finally, the last person to come in was a man, who for some reason that could only be attributed to some form of psychosis, was bedizened with a feline-based outfit. As soon as the group passed through into the room, the door extemporaneously shut and locked itself, and the sound of a voice spontaneously boomed across the room "My name is Amanda Waller. And what I've done is brought you all here to do a task for me. You, as a team, are going to assassinate this woman-" a screen flickered on to show their target "-Who goes by the name of Queen Bee. Her real name isn't known, but we do know that she has superhuman lieutenants she keeps on her. Your job is to capture or kill these lieutenants, shut down her nuclear weaponry, and assassinate Queen Bee. Your first step is to identify those lieutenants at a ball in your civilian Identities, so I suggest you start revealing yourselves to each other." Amanda Waller. That insufferable Dugong of a woman thought it was wise to send an Atlantean on a mission to a hostile desert nation? With their briefing over, the screen switched itself off. Orm turned to face Alpha Team, the other half of Task Force X. On their roster was what looked like two members of the Justice League; 'Batman', and 'Superman', only with slight differences to their uniforms, along with what looked like a flaming red and black Skeleton, a green Cyborg, what appeared to be an actual android fiddling away with some machine, and a young man wearing a sleeveless parka and strange eye wear. Orm had yet to introduce himself to either team. The one who looked like Superman flared up his heat vision in what appeared to be an empty threat to the one eyed Soldier and asked "Who are you, and who is your team?" Suddenly the Soldier pulled a gun on the faux-Superman, starting a stand-off that felt like it lasted for hours. Orm's eyes widened in surprise as 'Superman' melted the weapon with a single glance. Without warning he then picked up the Soldier with one hand like a child picks up a toy. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, as his eyes flared up again. Looking away from the altercation for a moment, Orm spotted the Batman analogue pulling back his cowl with composure to reveal black hair and blue eyes like his own, before fixing his gaze back to the quarrel. Orm admired how the Soldier remained tranquil despite his situation. "I don't know who you are, but I've met your good counterpart, Superman, and I gotta say I learned his weakness in an instant." he said as calm as his posture, before reaching for what appeared to be a grenade. Before anyone could react the grenade went off, but rather than exploding, it radiated a bright yellow light. The Soldier continued, "I call this a solar grenade. Turns out you and the Man of Steel look the same, but are genetically different. Drop me down and then we'll do the introduction." The Superman counterpart turned his face away from it and threw the Soldier across the room. The force of the attack was enough to produce a loud crack as Orm heard a few ribs go. The Soldier's heir withdrew her weapons, obviously preparing herself for an attack. The Superman counterpart turned back to the Soldier and mentioned what Orm assumed to be his own name "Clark Kent." In response the Soldier slowly detached his one-eyed mask to show that he was older than he appeared. That fascinated Orm enough to make him smirk. "Slade Wilson." the Soldier replied. The Batman analogue finally said something "Thomas Wayne, Junior. Deathstorm opposite me is Professor Martin Stein, and Grid is just Grid." Referring to himself, the flaming skeleton, android. "The others we don't know, but the rest of our team remains imprisoned. I'm sure you all remember the events dubbed 'Forever Evil'?" Slade Wilson made a remark about countermeasures and turned to what Orm assumed correctly was his heir "Ravager here is Rose Wilson, my", Slade paused for a moment, clearly uncomfortable about what he was about to say "daughter. As for the rest, they can account for themselves." Out of nowhere Wayne threw a projectile at Slade Wilson and vaulted at him. Wilson then fired a single bullet, somehow hitting the thrown object and causing it to hit the ground. Immediately after he placed his mask back on, he held his weaponry at Wayne "You know, the name Thomas Wayne is of great sentimental value to me. You best not dirty it", Wilson divulged. Orm decided that this scuffle had gone on too long and was about to interfere when the man with curved crudely obstructed before he could. "What the bloody'ell are you fuckers doing?" he exclaimed. "Th' names Captain Boomerang. Though I guess y' can call m' Digger Harkness." Harkness continued before showing everyone a feeble smile, he whimpered again. "er... please don't hit me." The Atlantean thought his dialect as bawdy and crass. While Harkness was distracting the rest of the group, Orm noticed the younger Wilson creeping behind Wayne and crossed her dual weapons over his neck and spoke "Can I remind everyone what complete crap this is?" Excellent, more crudeness. "Turn down the testosterone, back the fuck off, and lets all at least pretend to be normal ants under the magnifying glass here." Deciding that this needed to end if the team was to survive, at last Orm finally spoke, though not with his mouth, but rather through his Telepathy, connecting everyone in the room with an organic brain to a 'telepathic web'. "Repose yourselves, surface dwellers. I am Orm Marius, Master of Oceans, Son of Atalan, and Pariah of Atlantis! Look at us, we are not even in combat and you barbarians are already fighting among yourselves. Do you actually believe we will accomplish this mission with you tearing at each other like hungry sharks?"

Catman was glad that they were no longer in that god offal prison and would see some more action. Even before they were informed of their journey to Bialya, he knew where they were going thanks to his great sense of direction and tracking skills. He didn't talk much with his teammates, he hoped that Deathstroke wouldn't be the team leader or the Reverse Flash, both of them were assholes in his opinion. The Flash ripoff was more of douchebag than the one eyed mercenary, but the words that Deathstroke had with Thomas made him dislike him a lot. As for Captain Boomerang and Ravager, he was still on the fence about whether he tolerate them more than the two ego heads. He had to admit that Boomer was pretty funny at times, but his personality could get on his nerves. Rose he was still unsure of what to thing about her, she seemed to have some possible obsession with Deathstroke. It didn't bother him, he use to have a thing with Catwoman but she started chasing after the Bat and Thomas didn't look back. When they finally got a safe house, Amanda Waller was introducing them to the legendary Crime Syndicate of America. Catman had heard of them, they were from another universe and were the evil counterparts to the Justice League. Thomas took an interest in Owlman and wondered if he was more of a formidable force than Batman. He then watched as Deathstroke got into an altercation with the evil counterparts, typical, he jumped the gun. While Capt prepared himself for a fight, Thomas just stood perfectly stood, showing no fear or wariness. When people began to do introductions "My name is Thomas Blake, but you are all to call me Catman" he told them. He then noticed Orm's entrance and Thomas was surprised to see an atlantean joining their team, he thought that they were put in an aquarium. "So is it true that you all talk to fish and that's the only thing you atlanteans can do?" he asked curious to know if what the media thought about Aquaman was true of his people.

"So is it true that you all talk to fish and that's the only thing you Atlanteans can do?" muttered the man dressed as a meager cat. Orm looked at him, disconnecting himself from the telepathic web. "Oh, my dear gaudy feline, is it true all you do is get your pathetic posterior beaten by the Batman and lick your own reproductive organs? Or did they snip you when you were captured?" Orm made cutting scissor motions with his fingers. "No matter, if we're done here throwing paroxysms of infantile insults like pueriles, I suggest we start formulating a plan of action for this supposed assassination. Do we have a field commander for this mission?"

My name is Thomas Wayne, Junior. And this world is not my own. But I'm making it one, forging it into my new world, making Gotham my new home. But first, in order to get home, I must comply with Amanda Waller. Even on my world, she was hated, and yet there, she was little more than a hindrance with her corporate sponsored Superheroes, manageable, in a sense. Here, she wields power, controlling this world's A.R.G.U.S. It's interesting how far she's willing to go to achieve her own ends, and how little she seems to care about the means; This world's Waller could have gone far back on my world. But that was then, and this is now. Now, I've got a gun pointed at my groin, and a teenager who thinks she can sneak up on me, her swords poised at the throat of my suit. "Guns don't scare me, so much as they do annoy me." I say, calm. Slipping a finger between her swords, I slowly push them away and stand up with my hands palm out. "And your stealth needs some work, kid. Walk more on the ball of your feet, less on the heel." Sliding away, I sidle over to the shadows, and replace my cowl. Captain Boomerang is next to speak up, clearly terrified of Ultraman. I can't think of a man besides myself that isn't. Digger Harkness; his name isn't a surprise, after the files Grid pulled on everyone working in the superhuman community. True, Harkness doesn't fit into the normal category of superhuman; but then again, I don't either. Catman speaks up as well, a walking example of what not to do with confidence. Judging by the height and frame, I'd gauge him as 6'2"-6'4". Then the atlantean comes in and tries to make an ass of us all. Orm doesn't realize that we all have different motivations, all have different ways of operating. He's naive, from what I'm hearing, but his taking the piss out of Catman is....amusing.

Cold watched as the escapees who would form the rest of the 'Suicide Squad' filed into the room and quickly broke out into a fight. Deathstroke vs Ultraman. And, Cold thought Deathstroke was smart. Jesus, what was he thinking? A man who has trouble with Batman fighting someone who was basically Superman. He probably had some trick up his sleeve though, people like him usually do. He stifled a laugh when he saw a man dressed as a literally cat walk into the room. Cold wasn't informed that they started adding people who drew themselves as furries on deviantart to the suicide squad. He hardly knew anyone on his own team, let alone the others. But he did spot one face from the past in amongst the crowd. Digger Harkness, Boomerang. He hadn't expected this, guilt and sorrow quickly filled Cold and he predicted what was coming. A swift kick in the family jewels was probably what was coming, Cold could understand that. Nevertheless, Cold expected a punch in the face, Boomerang was never one to go for the nuts. He rose from his chair, rubbing his eyes with his hood down to reveal his spiked brown hair and spoke. "I'm the artist formerly known as, Captain Cold, but you can all call me Leonard, Leonard Snart." He put on the slit glasses he had become vaguely known for. He grinned to the room, the grin was probably not going to be returned.

John's fist collided with the torso of the Man of Steel. The hero grunted before countering with his own fist. Unfortunately John's metallic body was not as strong as a Kryptonian's. The punch created a dent in John's armour. Then another fist collided with John's shoulder. And another, and another. John's metallic exo-skeleton was heavily damaged, even torn in some places. But that didn't matter to John. He was Metallo, a cyborg pawn of Brainiac. No thoughts occurred in John's consciousness that weren't spawned by Brainiac's programming. But in John's subconscious his mind remained, screaming out against being a soldier in Brainiac's war with Superman. He was tired of being someone else's soldier. Even his time in the army had led to nothing but pain and the eventual loss of the majority of his body. Now Superman was destroying his new body. John lashed out with a swing of his right fist only for Superman to sever both arms with his heat vision. John backed away; his only defence now was his Kryptonite heart. He activated the opening procedure for his torso where the rock was stored only to be teleported back to Brainiac's ship. “Metallo, you are to report to deck three for repairs,” commanded Brainiac. John's body complied but his subconscious fumed, waiting for the day he could be free of Brainiac's control. ~*~ The memory ended as John awoke strapped to a slab with only his head activated.. Initially he was disoriented but other memories flooded back to him. His continued servitude to the alien. Lex Luthor freeing him, only to disown him in front of the authorities. His imprisonment in a military facility, being shut off once they admitted him. And now he was on a plane. John looked around and discerned that he was on a plane of some sort. He turned to see an armed guard across from him who said, “Good you're awake.” “Who are you? Where are we going? Why is the rest of me shut off?” questioned John. “Slow down Metallo, give me a chance to answer. I'm Agent Strauss with A.R.G.U.S. We're on our way to Bialya where you are to rendezvous with your new team. And you're shut off until while a program is working to prevent you from shutting off the compliance bomb located in what's left of your head.” stated the guard. John took it all in quickly. So it seems the government had use for him again. Some pleasant memories of his time in the army returned, but so did the pain and time as Brainiac's slave. Either way it was going to be interesting. ~*~ John's body reactivated shortly before landing, meaning the program had taken effect and he couldn't remove the bomb. Agent Strauss let him off three miles from the rendezvous point which apparently was some rickety safe house. While on route John looked over some body modifications done by A.R.G.U.S. Mainly his exo-skeleton was now a denser metal meaning more protection but slower speeds. The only other notable thing was that he could generate a layer of synthetic skin to pass off as just a really big human. John assumed this would be relevant to whatever the government was having him do. When John made it to the safe house six people were already inside. The first one he saw looked like Superman. Anger swelled in John but a second later realized it wasn't Superman. He knew Superman well and this was not him. The others were a not-Batman, a flaming skeleton, one guy in a parka and another with a trident, and finally a fellow mechanoid. As they didn't say anything to John when he entered he decided not to say anything either. John was checking over his upgrades again when another group entered the safe house. There was a speedster, two matching assassins, and one guy with boomerangs and another dressed as a cat. What the hell kind of team was this. Then the display screen came to life and a voice told them their mission. So the US was getting involved in another backwater dictatorship. As John was processing this the not-Superman demanded to know who everyone was. John was about to speak up when a fight broke out between the assassin and not-Superman. It ended with them revealing there names. He didn't recognize any of the names. The following mention of an event known as Forever Evil was lost on John. He must off been shut off when it happened. Sure enough another fight broke out, this time with the not-Batman. The man with the boomerangs, Digger Harkness he introduced himself as, interrupted the brawl as did the female assassin. John was getting tired of this bullshit. His time in the army was in stark contrast to the crap and lack of command that this group was pulling. So it was no surprise when more crap came from the so-called Catman and the guy he called Atlantean, who John did not hear his telepathic message as there isn't enough left of his biological brain. After the Captain introduced himself John finally decided to speak, “I'm former US Armed Forces Sergeant John Corben, but the media has branded me Metallo. I don't care what you call me I just want this over with.”

Before Digger could even get a handshake from either Clark "Ultraman" Kent or Thomas "Owlman" Wayne, he found Ravager running around him, only to jump up towards the evil caped crusader himself, her twin blades against the back of his neck. She had some serious balls, Digger had to give her that! After all, the man had decided to try and take on Deathstroke and had nearly done so! Digger expected another huge session of ass kicking; the owl vs the one eyed loonies. That was something he'd pay to see! However no such thing happened, with Owlman casually pushing away the swords with his finger, before advising Ravager as to how she could improve next time. Well that settled things for Captain Boomerang. He now knew that the guy was a showoff. That, and a tremendous dick. Turning away from the commotion, Boomerang was surprised to find a short sharp pain in his head. It felt very similar to how he often found himself waking up after a heavy night of drinking, so basically how he had felt hours ago when the plain had prepared to land. Unlike his usually hangovers however, this time it was accompanied by a voice. Former king of Atlantis? Oh hell no, now things were just going to get weirder, something that is quite difficult to do if you're in the supervillainery business. Digger was about to speak up and call the pretentious twat out when the walking feline spoke up asking if all Atlanteans could do was talk to fish. Dumbfounded at the question, Digger indicated his forehead in regards to the telepathy that had just taken place, muttering numerous cat related insults under his breath. "I'm the artist formerly known as, Captain Cold, but you can all call me Leonard, Leonard Snart." The all so familiar voice made Digger turn his head. Anger filled his head once more as he crossed the room and headed towards his former leader, stopping in front of him. He stood there in silence for a few seconds pondering on what to say to the man who had betrayed him all those months ago. Finally he opened his mouth to speak. "I've gotta' be honest Lenny. I've being thinking about this ere' moment for quite some time, mate. However just seeing you here in the same boat as me is all the revenge I need you walking Popsicle! As when you end up messing up or goin' off on one of your loner tantrums, I'll be there to watch Waller blast yer' feckin' head off!" He finished with a laugh. He turned to walk away before stopping. "Actually mate..." He began, a grin crossing his face. "One last thing!" The Australian flung round, his fist rocketing toward Captain Cold's face.

Silence. Truly silence was the most wonderful sound of all. Perfect and absolute, in true form itès smooth, even and unfaltering. However there was no silence to be found in the room now. Slowly pacing in the shadows around the safehouse, Onomatopoeia had watched his team mates interact with each other. How interesting their petty squabbles must seem to them, but they were of no relevance to Onomatopoeia. Amanda Waller was just as bad as the Bat and the Arrow. Making up for her lack of physical power, hiding behind her tools and government mask. Perhaps when this was all over, Onomatopoeia could expand his collection with Waller's own face. Pacing silently, concealed within the shadows, he examined each of his teammates one by one. Ultraman, Deathstorm, Metallo and Ocean Master were or no interest to him, powered individuals deserved the right to dress how they wished and enforce whatever misguided moral compasses they had. But the others, oh how desirable their masks were for his collection. While the Bat may be free to walk around, perhaps the Cat and the Owl would make suitable substitutes for the time being. The Cat would be easy to take out, no where near as skilled as the bat, one false move, one slice across the throat and that cowl would be his. The Owl on the other hand was the Bat's equal in every way, if not his superior. But did the lack of restraint truly make him superior, or was it that Bat who actually held the upper hand resisting the urge to kill every time his face broke the Joker's haunting grin. Either way, the Owl would be far harder but his cowl would look all the better on display. Walking past the matching set of Deathstroke and Ravager, Onomatopoeia just wanted to reach out and take both their masks without making a sound. A bullet each should do the trick, all the better if he do it would harming their beautiful facades. Take their masks, take their faces, their true identities, leaving behind only a dead hollow shell. Lastly there was the Captains. Though Boomerang sadly had no true mask to speak of, the grungy blue beanie would have to do. Perhaps Onomatopoeia could keep it in a drawer, then again he could always take the man's whole head when this was all over. The only question left was whether the ridiculous eyepiece or the parka counted as Cold's mask. Both were an equal identifier, perhaps he ought to simply collect both then. After all winter would come eventually and Onomatopoeia could use something to stay warm with. Stepping out of the shadows just as Captain Boomerang swung, Onomatopoeia spoke only a single word, perfectly imitated that sound of a closed fist slapping against a loose hanging cheek. "Thwap."

Catman watched as couple more members joined their team and he wondered how they would all work together. His mind went back to before he became a costumed criminal and wandering the continent of Africa. He had felt so at peace then and now he was stuck with a team and having to go on mission for a woman who he suspected was crazier than most of them. Well his situation wasn't going to get any better so he would have to keep up with the rest and prove that he could carry his weight on a mission. He's been the butt of so many jokes and now he was going to try and do what Aquaman has done which is prove everyone wrong and their jokes false. "Waller, what kind of enemies do we expect encounter on this assassination mission?" Thomas asked her hoping that she would be able to hear him unless they had limited conversation time with their prison master. His incredible sense of smell allowed him to distinguish each of the members of the squad, he wouldn't need to see them to tell who they were. On an assassination mission his tracking skills would be useful and he wondered how the others would do on this mission. When he saw Captain Cold join the team he started to wonder if the team's name would changed to Rogues if any more of Flash's villains joined. He still wasn't sure about the crime syndicate, but he was curious to find out more about Owlman, if he was an evil version of Batman then he would be possibly a lot more dangerous. And it looked like they had some muscle on their team now that Ultraman was a part of it.

2 weeks ago Croc woke from his chemically induced slumber to find himself in a padded cell in Belle Reves psychiatric ward. The thick, pungent smell of sedatives filled his nostrils as he saw a woman in a suit come through the door. As she came in he heard the tell tale sound of cameras switching off. "Hello Mr Jones, my name is Amanda Waller". Croc attempted to lunge at her, but his body wouldn't obey him. "Oh, and don't try to move" she said "We have enough sedatives pumped into you to, if you'll excuse the phrase, to stop an elephant". "Now i have heard that you possess a very particular skill set". now Croc was interested. "I want you to join a team i am putting together". "Now, you choose between rotting in here for the rest of your days, or you can spend them doing what you would do with your freedom anyway". She turned to leave. " As i said, its your choice Waylon." Present day Croc had gotten used to sedatives by now. But as he woke in the ware house he felt strange, looking round, he saw a machine with the Lexcorp symbol on it. Whatever crap was in there it had to be stronger than normal tranquilizers. But Croc could take it, he had sworn to himself that he would not rest till the bat was dead at his feet, and if a way of making that happen was doing errands for the government then he saw no two ways about it. He heard a noise and suddenly, on alert he surveyed his surroundings. Looking round he saw what could only be described as a collection of psychos. There was a guy with boomerangs, some kind of cat woman wannabe, Two strikingly similar one eyed ninjas, a guy who was repeating every sound in the room, a guy who would've looked better in ice skates than in prison, two, what were they, robots (Croc thought nothing could surprise him now), a guy with some kind of trident, a speedster who even made Croc a little jumpy, some guy who looked like a flaming skeleton, and... Croc paused, and a kryprtonian! Croc knew something must be playing with his senses, there were no kryptonians other than Superman, he had thought, but clearly he was mistaken. And the last one, well if batman had an evil twin thats what it would look like. Looking around at his "team" Croc grunted. Working with these people might be harder than he thought.

My senses are aflame. It's my first thought when I first got used to my powers, really; a temporary weakness the Kents tried to use on my world. I was nine, and they tried to run away. Tried to hide, escape me. Once I adapted to my new senses, Johnny and Martha Kent-once an abusive couple, now terrified of their "son," so much so that they didn't run far. The woman knew I'd adapt. And when I did, I found them, and I killed them. I burned their bodies, and razed the farm. I was nine years old. Even then, I knew I was the strongest. Over the years, I've learned many things about myself. I've learned that I've got a temper. I've learned that compared to others, I can be perceived as a god. I've learned, as well, that I'm not the only man with strength. Size means muscle. Size more often than not means strength. Some strength comes in intelligence, like Professor Stein-Deathstorm. Some of it comes in physical strength, like me. When you combine the perfect amount of intelligence, like Thomas, it can be a terrifying thing. Thomas-Owlman-may just be a human, but he's worked his entire life, from the age of eleven, really, to reach physical perfection. He may be one of the most skilled fighters I know, and at the same time, he's a genius. Sometimes, I admit, I can think of Thomas as just a man with a suit and money to spend, but then he pulls out another gadget from his belt, or takes down a foe I didn't think he'd be able to, and then I realize just how inventive and ruthless he really is. Owlman might not be the most powerful of us, but he's certainly one of the most dangerous. Which makes me think, if he's willing to tell his true name to these people,this so-called team, he's got an endgame. Some plan is working up in that mind of his, and I'm willing to bet he's already thought several moves ahead. For now though, I have to hope Owlman will clue me in; In the meantime, I can do what I do best-Lead. These people need direction, and so far, I haven't seen any of it. We have a mission, and I intend to carry it out. My world may have been destroyed, but that doesn't mean I can't make this one my own. I step forward, to the center,shoving aside the walking crocodile like a child's plaything. A hand on my shoulder makes me pause. Then Thomas' voice speaks up, calm and as confident as ever. "Clark. Don't."

I release my hand from Clark's shoulder and shake my head no. This isn't the time or the place for one of his temper tantrums or pissing contests. Right now, Amanda Waller has given us a mission; and I'm willing to bet everyone in this room has some method or another to achieve their own goals. Right now, Ms. Waller has made it very clear: We are to work as a team. So, with that in mind, I leave Clark be and walk over to Grid. "Grid, I need plans of Queen Bee's estate, and download files on everyone in this room. Upload them to my suit's feed." I walk back to the center, and Clark moves aside; he knows when I'm setting the ball in motion. Already I can see the plans for Queen Bee's estate in the heart of Biyalia's capital in my HUD. Pressing a button on my gauntlet, I punch up the blueprints of the complex and put them on 3D Display. It's a huge estate, with a football field's worth of land on all four sides, surrounded by a wall with a single gate, and a moat on the outer perimeter. The sewer lines underneath the city connect underneath the estate at one junction, but nowhere else. That junction may be critical to our escape if we need it. The ball is to be held inside the estate, in the large ballroom and attached dining room, large enough to seat at least 40-50 people. Queen Bee herself resides in the Master Bedroom. "Alright then. Let's plan. I have a suspicion that the outer wall of the complex will be posted with snipers at regular intervals. Reverse-Flash-" I pause as his file is uploaded to my HUD but not displayed. I take a photograph of it with my memory and move on."-Will handle perimeter detail once we're all inside and in civilian garb. Grid, contact Waller and see if she can get our invitations here sooner."