DC2 Most Wanted #1 (of 5) REMASTERED

“…Superheroes. Supervillains. The public likes to give these people colourful labels, but I see it in crisp black and white, without the need for such grandiose terms. Vigilantes and criminals. It goes both ways. You have the so-called ‘gifted’ or ‘enhanced’, fighting their battles above our heads, and the only difference is how much those fighting care about collateral damage. Vigilantes. And criminals.

The Justice League fight the good fight, or so they claim. When they finish wrestling with their enemies in our skies or in our cities, they stick around afterwards to help with the clean-up-- clean-up that wouldn’t be necessary if they weren’t operating, I’ll hasten to add.

The other offenders? The ‘villains’? They do what they want, when they want, and we don’t have a system in place to stop them. We can sometimes drag them down to our level, negate their powers long enough to incarcerate them, but they always get out. The cycle always repeats. It’s our responsible to end it where we can, and with Twilight, we finally have the power to stand up for ourselves. To fight back. Thank you.”

Rake thin, in his mid-fifties but already dealing with the shock of thin white hair that had overtaken his head, Starkey was an expert in metahuman physiology and esoteric technology, second only to Harrison Wells over in S.T.A.R. Labs. He removed his glasses, and began to rub the foggy lenses with his tie. He’d reached the end of his speech without interruption, and as he’d given the presentation the words coming out of his mouth had flowed faster… He was eager for this to be wrapped up.

Bar one other, the rest of the heads of organisations around the table applauded softly, no one showing too overt an excitement at what had just been laid out, but he knew that the others were barely concealing their anticipation for the Twilight project.

Steve Trevor, White King of Checkmate, leaned back in his chair as Doctor Leonard Starkey finished his speech. He had one question for the scientist. “How does it work?”

Starkey shook his head sharply. “I’m afraid I can’t go into details, but we have found an element that, once inside the array, creates a power negation field around high energy targets.”

Catherine Cobert, White Queen of Checkmate, shook her head. “And what if we think this is an absolutely terrible idea? Something that Checkmate doesn’t support in any way?”

“Or the Global Peace Agency, for that matter?” said Chloe Sullivan, Weatherman of that organisation. “You’re proposing a blanket solution to a situation that requires subtlety and nuance. There are numerous super-operatives that not only actively make the world safer, they also work for us.”

Starkey held up his hands and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I’m just the lead scientist on the project. You’ll have to direct those questions to the project lead. Mrs Waller--?”

Sat on one side of the table were Cobert and Trevor, and on the opposite side was Sullivan, and all three turned to see Amanda Waller enter the room. She was every bit as imposing as her nickname-- the Wall-- suggested. Trevor acknowledged her presence with a nod, while Sullivan showed no emotion.

“Makes sense you’d be the one behind this, Amanda,” said Trevor.

“Behind what? Safeguarding our country’s interests against the ever-present threat of super-operatives? C’mon, Steve. Don’t try and play games. This is important work. I’ve already briefed the Black King and Queen, and they seemed quite interested. Especially her majesty.”

Steve bristled. The Black King and Queen were in charge of operations, while the White King and Queen oversaw intelligence. It went against Checkmate’s operational mandate to be briefed separately about projects of this size, but if the Wall found a way to get his back up, she’d do it. He said nothing, but he worried his face told more of a story than the one he was willing to tell with his words.

Picking up a thread, Weatherman Sullivan began to tug. “What about Superman? Wonder Woman? He’s deputised by the police force in Metropolis, as well as the FBI. Faraday can attest to that,” she motioned toward her former mentor and current FBI agent King Faraday, who had said nothing since the meeting had convened. “She’s the regent of a politically recognised region, and has diplomatic ties to numerous others. She’s basically an agent of the United Nations, even without the Justice League’s global mandate.”

“Day dot, we’re not going to active Twilight and knock the Justice League out of the sky. This isn’t a blunt instrument, and it isn’t a blanket solution. But if Superman is battling Darkseid for the fate of all mankind, I want to play a role that alien despot’s downfall. If this device was operational during one of the many attacks on Coast City say, at the hands of Mongul*, the Predator**, just imagine--”

**Green Lantern #40

Sullivan bristled at the mention of the Predator, as her own memories of those events stung even after all this time, but Amanda didn’t stop. Faraday watched the way the Wall seemed to pick up on the blood in the water, and zeroed in on a point like a shark. It was bad the way his former protégé had shown weakness, but he wasn’t one to point fingers.

“--Do you not think it would have helped? That we could have saved lives? Sullivan, you’ve seen alien parasites, sentient pieces of jewellery, interdimensional nonsense in your time in the intelligence community. And you, Trevor, just because you’re the White King of Checkmate now, doesn’t mean you didn’t have flights of fantasy, sword and sorcery adventures when you were partnered up with Wonder Woman when you were younger. Twilight would have turned the tide on any of those god-battles, or whatever you called them in your debriefs.”

“When will the device be operational?” Faraday finally asked.

Chloe shot her former mentor a look. He didn’t pay her any heed.

Amanda glanced over to Starkey. The scientist moved back to the front of the room and cleared his throat. “We are entering the final stages. The final piece of the puzzle, the energy source, is en-route to the facility as we speak.”

“So, it’s not actually ready yet,” said Faraday.

“And with that, the end of the intelligence briefing. Thank you for your time,” said Amanda. “We will inform you once Twilight is operational.”

One by one, the holographic projections of the intelligence heads vanished, until Waller and Starkey stood alone in the conference room. Amanda nodded slowly and turned to Starkey. “That went better than expected.”

“I just wish I didn’t have to lie. The energy source is far from secure--”

“Leave that to me and mine, professor. Now, there’s a car waiting for you at the back of the building. If you would return to the command centre, we can begin our final preparations.”

“Of course, of course.” He gathered his papers and exited the room, opening the door so that the four-star General who had been part of the holographic figures witnessing the presentation, could see inside the remote viewing room.

“Do you think your gaggle of so-called super villains can handle such a sensitive matter, Amanda?”

“General Hardcastle, I allowed you to be on-site for the presentation our of consideration for our previous professional relationship, and the fact your daughter plays a pivotal role in our field team,” said Amanda, ice cold attitude filling her stern voice. “But I think you’ll find Task Force X is more than capable of handling any mission I assign them.”

“We can but hope, my dear. Or it’s your head on the chopping block.”


“God damn it,” growled Steve Trevor, removing the holographic headset and tossing it across the room, only for it to be caught by his chief operative before it shattered against the wall.

Trevor looked up at White King’s Bishop, Paul Kirk, and nodded in appreciation.

“Thanks, Paul. That’s ten million in RnD. The tech boys would have blown a gasket.”

Kirk, the operative better known as Manhunter in certain circles, brushed off the device and placed it on his Trevor’s desk. “So, all-in-all a good meeting, White King?”

“The damn woman makes sense, that’s the worst of it,” said Trevor, as he began to pace the room. “She wants to install a device that can negate super operatives remotely. But if the oversight on the project is hers, then… well. I don’t trust the woman who reintroduced the Task Force X concept to the 21st century.”

“Negate… powers? I understand the application, but in this day and age, not all of us are bad guys. What can do you, sir?”

“I’m not sure. The project has been greenlit. Apart from going to the president himself and raising some more than likely well-known concerns, Waller isn’t going anywhere. I have to see how this plays out.”

Manhunter understood. He didn’t like what he’d just heard, and if he showed it, the White King didn’t say a word.


Amanda Waller stood before a group of the worst villains the American government had under lock and key. The projection up behind her showed an ugly, malformed man with purple, purulent flesh covering his face; hollowing, yellowing, dead eyes, and row upon row of razor sharp shark teeth lining his larger-than-normal mouth. Beside that first image was another, but it was a photo of an average, schlubby looking man.

Colonel Flagg, sat at the back of the room away from the super criminals, considered these, and saw facial characteristics common between the two mugshots. Before and after pics? He paid no heed to the nurse who smiled as he unpacked his equipment and went to work injecting those gathered.

Sat in assembly were the current core team of the Suicide Squad. The repeat offenders, those who didn’t mind doing a bit of the government’s dirty business to kill some time. One of them had accrued enough time to go free ten times over, but found himself drawn back into their orbit time and time again. Better to stick with them than get dragged into it against his will. Floyd Lawton- better known as Deadshot-- was pragmatic, to say the least.

Waller began to speak, gesturing to the photos on the screen behind her. “This is Rudolph ‘Rudy’ Jones. AKA the Parasite. This is a man who-- with powers gained through an accident in Metropolis-- can absorb the life force of those around him. In addition, his powerset allows him absorb the super powers of any enhanced operative he gets his hands on. This freak of nature once threatened the life of the President, killed countless innocents and evaded the Justice League multiple times*. I am sick of knowing he is out there, operating freely. It’s time we took him out of the game, and thanks to an anonymous tip, we know where he is.”


“But listen carefully: The Parasite has absorbed countless metahuman abilities but has been content to lay low for the last twelve months. Psychics. Telekinetics. Flight-capable. This man-- this thing-- walked into numerous metahuman holding facilities and stole the abilities of criminals of the powered persuasion to give himself an edge against anybody he might go against.”

“Yeah, the Rogues and me, we heard the stories. Made an enemy of every bloody high an’ mighty team out there, both white hats and not. Injustice, Unlimited; the Society; he’s on every most wanted list on the planet. Some you ain’t even aware of.”

“Your point, Harkness?”

“The guy’s a fruit loop, and you say he’s ducked out on the League? What tells you us lot are gonna’ be able to take him? I heard he got a power up, made him more dangerous than when he first started out*, but no one wanted to give me details. An’ you want us to go after him? ”


“Because you have no choice, Harkness. I’m keeping the assignment to the five of you. I’m not throwing potential meals to the Parasite, and I think you’re the best equipped to take him down. You will be outfitted with tracking devices and weaponry capable of containing Rudolph Jones. Overwatch will be in place as per protocol. You’ll do the rest.”

Currently, the roster included was the master assassin Deadshot, who worked with Task Force X more out of boredom than loyalty; the self-proclaimed ‘rogue’ Captain Boomerang-- at the moment yawning and ignoring the majority of the details being shared by Waller-- who couldn’t help but keep getting himself in trouble; and the schizophrenic Enchantress, apparently an ancient spirit in the body of an innocent woman.

Doctors said June Moone suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder, her lucid moments replaced, more often than not, by a personality that could weave spells that scared the ever-living crap out those around her. Rick Flagg had his own theories on her situation, but he kept it to himself. At the back of the room, stood beside the colonel, was the enigmatic Katana, a friend of Bronze Tiger-- a long time ally of the Suicide Squad, who was currently MIA-- and a danger unlike any Flagg had seen.

“Dead or alive?” asked Floyd Lawton, the professional killer’s and marksman better known as Deadshot. As he spoke, the nurse rolled up the assassin’s sleeve and injected him with a vial of violet liquid. He grimaced, hissed at the medical professional, who silently apologised and moved over to Captain Boomerang.

Waller shook her head. “Alive, Lawton. I have plans for this one. That said, after everything he’s done? You can maim him all you want. I just need him breathing.”

“Yeah, if he doesn’t off us first, you mean,” grumbled Captain Boomerang, shooing away the nurse after he’d finished injecting him. “Gah, rack off, you nong, Christ,” he rubbed his arm, then looked over at Waller. “So you got an annony tip, right? Where can we this drongo, boss? Where are you sending us to our deaths this time?”

Amanda Waller smiled. “Somewhere you’ll love, Harkness.”


“I hate this place,” grumbled Captain Boomerang, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and rubbing his sore arm as he moved through the streets of Lagos with Colonel Flagg and Katana. He wiped his brow, a thick band of sweat rubbing off onto his glove. “Ugh. Why’d he have to hide out here?”

Colonel Flagg shook his head dismissively, even as his grip tightened around the rifle he carried. The three were in approximations of civilian clothing, reinforced and armoured for the task at hand. Falsified documentation identified them as private security. Licenses were in place for the weapons they carried-- again, falsified. “It makes perfect sense, Harkness. Lagos is one of the highest population centres in the world. Makes hiding easy. Now shut your mouth and focus. Katana?”

Tatsu Yamashiro had a small tracking device in one hand that she periodically referred to. Sheathe red at her side was the Soul Taker sword, her weapon-namesake, capable of taking a life and snatching their soul into its infinite folds before the spirit could move on to the next realm, be it Heaven or Hell. “The device Starkey provided us with confirms the Parasite in somewhere in this part of the city, but narrowing it down is going to be trial and error. We need to be close.”

“Not your fault,” said Flagg, bringing his rifle up to his shoulder. Barrel out, one eye down the scope. “Everybody keep your heads on a swivel.”

“Sure, sure,” said Boomerang.

Flagg put a finger to his ear. “Overwatch, do you have eyes on the target?”

After a moment’s delay, a clipped response burst into his ear. “Negative.”

Ignoring Flagg, Boomerang jogged quickly toward Katana and gave her a gap-toothed grin. “Hey, sword-lady, can I take a gander at the tracker? What’re we working with here?”

Katana looked him up and down, and did as he asked. “Don’t break it.”

“Moi? No worries, love.” Digger treated it like he was trying to get a signal on a crappy mobile phone, holding it up, down, waving it around, trying to get a read on where the Parasite might be located. Half paying attention to the screen and half trying to piss off Katana, he didn’t notice the sudden arrival of a blip on the screen. When he drew the device back down in front of him, the blip was gone. Not that Boomerang cared. “Interesting box, this. Wonder if I could get some home nations action on it.” He began to play with the buttons.

Cursing, Katana snatched the tracker back. Boomerang had turned the screen off in his inept groping. “Should never have agreed to have you on this mission…”

“Ah, what's the worst that could happen? C’mon, Sheila, it ain’t all bad.”

Operating in plain sight was easy when the intelligence agency you work with shared intel with the city’s governing body informing them of a terrorist threat on the ground. While the state police were pointed in one direction, some sleight of hand left Task Force X, otherwise known as the Suicide Squad, freedom to operate where the real quarry was located.

Miniature drones operated remotely from the on-site control centre-- Overwatch-- scrambled non-hardened surveillance, meaning nobody would know they were here. No footage could be stored on a camera; no phone calls could be made. Where the Suicide Squad went, there was a dead zone, and that meant they could do their job without interruption.

“Deadshot, you got anything?” asked Flagg through their commas.

Across the city to the west and headed toward the alpha team, a casually dressed Floyd Lawton walked the streets with Enchantress. Dressed like some kind of goth princess, she was both dressed massively inappropriately for their currently clime-- not that she seemed to mind-- and also lost in her own little world at the same time, mumbling to herself, groping at the air. When he queried the action, she said something about sprites, and he knew that even asking her to speak like a normal human being would be wasted on someone so abnormal.

Lawton checkd the device in his hand. “Nah, Flagg. Tracker reads blank, so I’m thinking you’re closer. You want I can start firing a few shots, flush him to you faster.”

“Don’t even joke. Head to our--”

Something tickled Flagg’s senses.

“Where the hell did Boomerang go?”

They hadn’t heard him duck out, nor had they heard him be taken. They were moving through the streets in tandem, and then a split second later, one distracted comms message to beta team, and then Harkness was gone--!


Overwatch, headed by Sergeant Barker, was currently situated in the Metro Palace Hotel, a four-star hotel rented out thanks to a black ops slush account that gave Task Force X the best operational locations in the business. Barker, in his forties, hard as nail and tough as they came, commanded a small detachment.

Lauren, the only woman in the team, was communications, streaming intelligence from the command centre in Belle Reve to their remote location. She took no shit, and the last time she had entertained the thought, their drone operator, Klein, nearly lost his trigger finger. He was monitoring the aerial drone as Barker paced the hotel room. Bray, their quartermaster, was checking his rifle, standard, while Nagata surveyed the street below from the edge of the curtain.

There was a knock at the door, and a woman’s voice, in accented English, barked through into the room. “There’s a problem with your payment.”

“Payment?” murmured Barker. He looked through the peep-hole and saw the hotel manager, the woman they’d already greased the palm of earlier, standing impatient, her bobble head looming toward the door. He turned back to the room. “Bray, deal with that.”

After running a gloved hand through his slick black hair, Bray chambered a round in his .9mm and stood, and Barker grimaced at the overt intention toward violence. “No, you god damn moron-- out of petty cash.”

There was a heavy carry-all filled with local currency in a variety of denominations. Shrugging nonchalantly, Bray holstered his gun in the back of his trousers and counted out the equivalent of ten grand.

When he opened the door, the woman smiled-- then her face transformed into a horrific mix of purple scar tissue and teeth that tore his throat out in one lunge.

Barker pulled out his gun and felt his heart explode as the woman transformed in the monstrous form of the Parasite and cast a deadly look his way-- some sort of telekinesis?

Nagata actually managed to fire off a round but the Parasite caught the bullet with one swipe of his hand, and returned it straight into the Japanese expat’s skull, killing him instantly. Lauren tried to contact the field team-- the target was here!-- but she couldn’t move, some kind of invisible force holding her in place.

Klein stood, looked at the chaos and the thing looming on the other side of the room, and then began to curse. “Lauren, Godammit, tell them--” He was yanked up by the Parasite, the monster having crossed the room in the blink of an eye. He was drained of all life and colour within seconds, until he was nothing more than a withered husk. When the Parasite dropped the soldier, he shattered into a pile of dust and bone.

“Don’t-- don’t you-- you bastard--” hissed Lauren, as the Parasite took slow steps toward her. She still couldn’t move. Couldn’t break free from whatever sphere of influence he exerted. Trapped in the belly of the beast.

“Field team of five,” whispered the Parasite, “Deadshot and Enchantress to the west, Captain Boomerang, Katana and one Colonel Rick Flagg to the east. Hoping to meet in the middle. I can taste your secrets,” he leaned over Lauren and licked her face with his wet slab of a tongue.

“I can taste all of--”

Lauren growled and bit at the tip of Parasite’s tongue, tearing off the end between her teeth. He didn’t cry out, pain was not something he allowed himself to factor, instead he crushed her oh-so fragile skull with a backhand, and then surveyed the damage his entrance had done to the room.

The Parasite has been inside for less than ten seconds. The Overwatch team was dead. He raised his arms and sucked the residual energy out of their corpses, turning their bodies into dust that spilled out of their clothing.

A transmission came through the console in front of where Lauren had sat: “Overwatch, do you have eyes on the target?”

The Parasite could see where the Suicide Squad were thanks to the feed on the aerial drone control screen and Lauren’s own ping-back. He approximated the woman’s voice and through jagged teeth, responded: “Negative.”

With a burst of speed, he ploughed through the hotel room window, a thick gust of wind sending what was left of the Overwatch team’s bodies spilling everywhere and began his lightning fast journey to where his hunters sought him, with an eye toward the weak link…


Two streets across from Colonel Flagg and Katana, in an alley bordered by overflowing garbage containers, Digger Harkness’ mouth was clamped shut by a purple-skinned hand. The Australian villain spat and struggled against the grip, but it was to no avail. The Parasite had him.

“Who… is… Amanda… Waller..?” asked the Parasite. The question was one borne of the memories he was stealing out Harkness’ brain. He was feeding now, leeching, getting everything he needed from someone he didn’t care to know. “Some kind of… experiment…” He shook his head, and watched as Captain Boomerang began to turn grey. “Don’t worry, drongo,” his voice began to adopt an Australian lilt, “you aren’t going to die,” Parasite’s features began to shift and change, until he was an exact duplicate of his victim. “In fact, you might end up being the man who finally killed ‘the Wall’.”

Parasite dumped a decrepit and artificially aged Captain Boomerang into the trash, the Australian’s lungs letting out a wheeze as he landed with a quiet crash. He’d gone from late thirties to late eighties in a matter of seconds, brown, full hair now thin and wispy; sun-kissed skin now grey and pock marked by age. Parasite took his boomerang belt off him and headed toward the alpha team of the Suicide Squad.


The tallest building in Metropolis was the north-facing of the two Lex Towers. You couldn’t tell by looking at them from below, and you could barely tell the difference if you were on the very top floor. But if you were stood on the south-facing tower, you could see the elevation of the north-facing, and no-one exactly knew why that was the case. Lex Luthor knew, of course, but Lex had vanished in the wake of his private war against the superheroes who protected the world becoming public, all those years ago.

There’d been sightings of the mad genius, but nothing concrete. In the time since his disappearance, LexCorp stock had plummeted. At this moment though, Wayne Enterprises was in the process of slowly buying up all available stock. Soon, the biggest company built from nothing in Metropolis would belong to the biggest company to ever come out of the crime-ridden streets of Gotham.

There was some kind of karmic pleasure being generated by this action, but at this point in time, with Gotham’s own Dark Knight crouched atop the north-facing tower, the Man of Steel floating nearby, there was nothing but negative vibes in the air.

The Dark Knight spoke quickly, quietly: “I’ve caught wind of something that could be very damaging. A government project classified at the highest level. Something that could potentially break us.”

The Man of Steel knew better than to question how his colleague got his information, especially when the Caped Crusader was in a mood so obviously black as the one he was in right now. “What is it?”

“‘Twilight’. A series of satellites they intend to position in orbit around the globe. Capable of targeting enhanced beings and negating their abilities. I have a man on the inside who got the intelligence to me, and he’s saying the deal is close to done. Amanda Waller is heading up the project.”

“Waller-- the woman who runs the Suicide Squad--? Good God.”

“She’s a dangerous woman. And if she has this power at her disposal--”

“It means nothing but trouble. What’s the play?”

“I need time to look into this more. Collect more information. When I have an actionable plan, I’ll bring it to the table. But I thought it worth giving you a heads up early. Tell the Justice League what I told you.”

“I understand. And I appreciate it. If you need any assistance, just let me know.”

Batman stood and loomed over the edge of the building. “I will.” He dropped off the roof, and vanished from sight, somehow knowing just where to go in the Metropolis night to become nothing but a shadow.


Captain Boomerang joined back up Flagg and Katana, and apologised profusely as the colonel tore him a new one. Behind the mask that was the face of Digger Harkness, the Parasite calculated an appropriate response and smiled smugly. Perfect. “Sorry, mate, I needed to take a piss, din’t I?” That, and a heavy dose of the psychic chaff ability he’d acquired, more than capable of blurring their decision making abilities and stop them questioning it, would mean…

Flagg looked over at Katana, who rolled her eyes under that mask of hers. “You need to be on our six at all times, Harkness. Next time you go AWOL, I’ll fry your nano-band, leave you a dribbling mess,” said Flagg. “Overwatch, anything--?”

Harkness smiled. Beat you to it.

The Parasite was the perfect predator. Through experiments conducted at the behest of Despero, who at the time ruled the Secret Society of Super Villains through his guise of the Voice, he’d eaten metahumans like himself, the feeders, absorbers, those who stole in ways different to himself. He’d been left a changed monster, capable of keeping all the memories and powers of those he attacked.

He had stolen the memories of folks like Catman to prove a point, wiped the Question’s brain of all those pesky secret identities the paranoid conspiracy theorist had accrued over his career. Now he had the blackmail cache, the names of every Justice Leaguer who ever thought they were capable of beating him.

Not that those kind of secrets came in handy when an entire government went after him. He’d hoped the threat against the President would prevent reprisal, but maybe just just painted a big fat target on his back.

Boomerang raised the namesake weapon in his hand and felt the balance of it. It was like he truly was Digger Harkness, ex-pat Aussie killer, more gimmick than man, master of this weapon. He knew that if he threw it with enough strength, he could sever Flagg’s spine and in the return take out Katana’s eyes. Better the Parasite remain hidden, let Captain Boomerang take the fall for this FUBAR situation of the American government. Let them make their excuses. Blame the rogue. Contemplating the deaths of the duo in front of them, Parasite knew where were other powers he could access if she managed to block his attack with her sword. He could even absorb her strikes and power through, burning through Harkness’ stolen life force and replacing it with hers…

Options, he thought.

Before he could implement their murders, a half dozen bullets drilled into his back and he stumbled forward in surprise. He turned, wide-eyed-- why did that hurt so much?-- and saw Deadshot, wrist automatics spinning as he sprayed another clip straight into Boomerang’s chest.

With the wave of his now shaking hand, the Parasite flung Deadshot across the street, into the side of a building. The marksman slid down awkwardly, but wasn’t out of the fight yet. The effort to access the telekinetic abilities he’d stored wore the Parasite out, which didn’t make sense. He went to access super speed, to cross the distance between him and the assassin and break his neck, but his body felt weird. Disconnected from his brain.

Flagg had almost asked what the hell Deadshot was doing, but when he saw swirling chunks of purple matter spin around the wounds in Harkness’ back, healing the holes instantly, and Lawton being thrown across the street, the Colonel knew-- Harkness wasn’t Harkness, the Parasite was in their midst!

Flagg backed up Deadshot’s attack, bursts of ammunition drilling into the Parasite, even as he spun around, trying to figure out who to attack first. How did Lawton know he’d taken the Aussie’s place? Was he that good? Katana hadn’t bothered drawing her sword, and was instead firing her own rifle directly into his abdomen.

From his awkward position on the floor, Flagg’s shots drove into where the Parasite’s heart might have been, if he had one anymore.

Lawton was alternating-- chest shot, head shot, chest shot, head shot-- and the feeling of hot metal entering him was driving him to aggravation. The Parasite wasn’t human, and he wouldn’t be cornered like an animal, either.

It was all happening so fast!

Deadshot would be the first to go. Jones managed to pick up speed, a low-level super speedster in his arsenal of stolen lives, and allowed the Boomerang identity to slip away. Fingers became claws, razor sharp and capable of tearing straight through the shooter’s mask and into the soft flesh of his face. He awkwardly leaped up, but was suddenly caught in mid-air-- the woman beside Deadshot was whispering, and grinning, then she began to laugh. A magic-user?

“You good, Lawton?” shouted Flagg. Checking his scope, he could now see how Lawton had seen Parasite had taken Harkness’ place. He cursed his own dislike of Digger that didn’t make him question his disappearance and reappearance. Waller would rip him to shreds for that one. “And good catch, June.”

“Not June. I’m the witch. June Moone is having a nap.”

“The biometric markers Waller had us injected with during the briefing aren’t in him,” said Deadshot. “The rivets are doing their job.”

Parasite thrashed, even as he was contained within a mystical bubble. He had no defence in his catalogue of abilities to deal with this. To escape. The bullets inside him ached, and they seemed to be getting heavier inside him. What had they called them? Rivets? What the hell did--

--Suddenly, the Parasite screamed, as his body seemed to clench up. He struggled even harder, but there was no escape for him. There was mention in Waller’s briefing-- more stolen memories-- of specific weaponry used to tackle him, but Harkness hadn’t been paying attention, so he didn’t know what was being used to hurt him, he just knew that it was working.

“You shouldn’t have taken so much out of Harkness. We’ve all been injected with a genetic payload designed to destroy your cells if you drank from us. That, and the power dampeners built into the payload of the bullets, mean you are royally screwed,” said Flagg, sensing Parasite’s confusion. “Enchantress, how malleable is your bubble?”

“The demon will not get out,” said Enchantress. “Your projectiles can get in.”

Flagg nodded at Deadshot and Katana. They began to continue firing their weapons at the Parasite as they approached the floating sphere, riddling him with the power dampening bullets, until they were satisfied they had him. Jones lost the majority of his body mass, the holes caused by their attack weren’t sealed, and he was wheezing. Flagg unloaded the power dampening clamps from his backpack and Enchantress wove them into her shield, sealing them around Jones’ wrists.

Flagg took the satellite phone out from Katana’s pack, and opened the line to Waller. “Target contained, sir. Extraction requested. Boots on the ground needed to locate Boomerang, if he’s still alive.”

Through the sniper scope positioned a full mile away from the action, the events that unfolded in Lagos were perfectly clear to the man watching the Suicide Squad take down the Parasite.

From his nest situated up on high, Deathstroke smiled under his mask as he saw the power dampening bullets drill into Parasite’s body and knock the wind-- and the super abilities-- out of him.

The containment protocol was in effect, Rudy Jones was out of the game, and Slade Wilson, the deadliest man alive, began to pack up his equipment. Confident he hadn’t left a hint of his being there, he stood and activated the comms line. He was pleased he hadn’t needed to get involved. The more secrecy afforded to him, the better.

“This is Wilson. Target is acquired. Begin phase two.”

“Good,” came the man’s voice on the other end of the line. “Come home.”


“Well, aren’t you an interesting little freak of nature,” said Doctor Starkey, looking at the Parasite through the energy-retentive glass separating the villain from the scientists working on him.

“Step inside and I’ll show you how interesting I can get,” growled Parasite. He thrashed against his restraints, but couldn’t break free.

“You’ll find we spent a lot of money those inertron restraints, Rudolph. You won’t be breaking out any time soon. The energy in your cells is simply astounding. Even the nullifier rivets they fired into you didn’t keep you down for long. You always used to be such a joke to everybody, but you went and became the bogeyman. I wonder… will you tell me how it all happened?”

“I’m going to get out of here. I always get out. Then I’m going to eat you,” said Parasite. “I always get out, doctor. You best remember that.”

“Ha, oh, I’m sure. I’m sure you used to. But what happens next… you won’t be doing much of anything.”

Starkey turned to where a member of the medical staff stood with an old man bundled up in a wheelchair in front of him. With a nod, the nurse pushed the chair forward, and Digger Harkness, rendered ancient and immobile from his interaction with the Parasite in Lagos, coughed up phlegm and blood, crazed, anger-filled eyes locking onto Rudy Jones as they were brought near.

Starkey gestured toward the decrepit Australian. “You took something from Mister Harkness. I would like you to give it back.”

“Can’t,” spat Parasite.

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Yes,” replied Parasite.

Starkey smiled and turned to the team of scientists positioned around the lab. “Begin insertion.”

Parasite blinked in confusion and a split second later, from out of the machinery situated around him a pneumatic, metallic tube shot out and lodged itself through his skin, muscle and bone

The villain shrieked as he was impaled at the wrist. “What-- what-- are you-- doing--?”

“I’m keeping you alive. Through this entire sentence, you will be kept alive. Your level of comfort, or discomfort, is at my sole discretion. Return Harkness’ life energy. The insertion process will take much longer, and you will be kept awake through it all, if you do not.”

“Go fuck yourself,” spat Parasite.

Harkness wretched, nothing in his stomach to vomit up, but spittle flew from his lips. “Do it… again…”

Even though he was in agony, the Parasite began to laugh. “I should have taken more. Left you incontinent. How’s your son, Digger? How’s your kid?”

Starkey nodded and another tube drove itself into the Parasite’s elbow. Bone crunched and became paste. Jones gasped, the pain nearly unimaginable, and he couldn’t summon any of the stolen abilities he’d taken since he became the most dangerous version of himself that might dampen the suffering.

“Return his life energy. I designed the mechanism holding you. You can return energies, but not take, not unless I allow it. Do it now, and we stop this.”

Parasite’s black eyes took in Starkey’s face. “I will return this on you a thousand-fold,” sneered the villain. He looked over at Harkness and willed the life force he’d taken back into the Australian’s body. Before their eyes, Captain Boomerang was back at peak strength, and he leaped out of his wheelchair and clicked his heels.

“Oh, that’s more like it,” said Boomerang. He stormed up to the tube holding the purple-skinned monster and grinned. “Don’t worry, drongo, ain’t that what you said? Well, I ain’t worrying, and I’m happy to see you’re gonna suffer. Hey, doc, you wanna shove another one of those rods into his body? I wanna see him squirm.”

“Gas our patient,” said Starkey, gesturing toward the Parasite. “Maximum dose.” He smiled. “When you wake up, you’ll be properly integrated into the Twilight project, Mister Jones. Forever ours.”

“A… thousand… fold,” growled Parasite, as a thick cloud of gas flooded the tube. Seconds later, he was unconscious, and the scientists went to work.


Amanda emerged from the hub of Project: Twilight, where Colonel Flagg waited, back straight, hands clasped firmly behind his back. She nodded in acknowledgment at the man then walked past him, the simple gesture inviting him to follow close behind.

"You did good work yesterday, Colonel. With the Parasite in our custody, the world can breathe easy." Amanda didn’t look happy though. Why would she? “Barker’s team… we couldn’t recover their bodies. House cleaning got to them first. Horrible. And having to break that news to their parents…”

Flagg said nothing. He simply thought. He had made a minor mistake that could have left to the entire team being demolished by the force of nature the Parasite could become. He hadn't checked the goggles, hadn't looked down his gun at not-Captain-Boomerang. If Deadshot hadn't been there, then the entire team could have gone down for good. Suicide Squad in both name and ending.

There were other things that concerned him. The Parasite had managed to evade capture for well over a year since his attack on President Stuart. The Justice League had been on the case, countless other agencies, and somehow Task Force X had been the ones who managed to bring him in? How did they manage it where others failed?

"It’s a damn shame about Barker’s team," said Flagg. “I knew Lauren Hardcastle. She was as hardcore as they come.” It was all small talk in the end. He knew that if Amanda Waller, if The Wall wanted him to know what was going on behind the scenes, she'd tell him. There was nothing more to it. Whatever Intel they'd received that led to the Parasite's capture was apparently above his pay grade and like any good soldier he kept his mouth shut, didn't question it, and did his job.

The nagging feeling of potential failure refused to go though. Refused to fade.

"Apart from the fact that he nearly got the drop on you, it was a job well done," said Waller. Sadness to steel in a split second. Her entire body language changed. This woman continued to fascinate and terrify Flagg in equal measure.

Flagg felt something inside him tighten. Of course she knew, and the reason how she knew? Because she was the Wall. Again, knowing all, knowing everything. The body cams they all wore, the gun-mounted cameras. She would have reviewed the feeds, checked every angle, made sure the team-- her team-- her operation-- ran at peak efficiency.

"It's all in my report. And it won't happen again."

"Unerringly honest. That's what I like about you, Flagg. You're wholly unlike me. But maybe that's what we need right now. I've been directed to vacate the position of Operations for Task Force X. With Project: Twilight ramping up, the powers-that-be want someone who can focus all their attention on the running of the team. So, as you're the best man I know, and the best man for the job, I'm handing you the reins. Colonel Flagg--" Was she smiling? "--The Suicide Squad is yours."

"...I never wanted operational command, Amanda," said Flagg, quickly. "That's not what I'm here for."

"But that's where you've arrived. The deal is done. I'm out. You're in." She patted him on the back and then cleared her throat. "Task Force X is yours, Colonel. As much as it pains to see it go, the mission is best served by someone who can focus all their attention on the requirements needed to run a black-ops unit of that level. That person would be you. Do me proud."

“Amanda…”

Waller shook her head sharply. Shut up. “The world is changing, hell, ever since Apokolips invaded it’s been a break neck learning curve. To keep her safe, she’s going to need a man who can make the hard decisions at the worst of times. You’ve shown yourself to be that man time and time again. Now, let’s take the shuttle back to Belle Reve, and then tie up some loose ends.”


The assumption of operational command of Task Force X meant Flagg was quickly inducted into a whole new world of espionage and administrative organisation. Back in the military annals of Belle Reve Prison, the top military brass been quick to brief him, quick to change all the command codes from Waller's name to his. She was still in the building, still clearing out her office, but she was due to be permanently removed from the premises in an hour or so, a much more spacious office awaiting her in the depths of Project: Twilight's command hub.

There was an agenda to this quick promotion, and Flagg knew it. No one liked Waller. No one liked the iron grip she held on this operation. With her out, it meant the US military finally could get their claws back on one of the greatest tactical assets they'd ever created-- and ever let out of their control. Flagg was going to be their puppet, or so they thought, and they would begin mass operations on foreign soil within the month.

Or not, Flagg knew. This was his show and he was going to run it appropriately. Two parts Rick Flagg, boots on the ground, a soldier’s knowledge one part Amanda Waller's black ops nightmare. The best kind. He'd been part of this group since its inception, he knew what needed to be done.

The active team was small, compact, all utility and nothing more. Flagg liked that, but wanted a bit more professionalism when there were boots on the ground. He looked at his desk, where photos of Task Force X's current roster sat. If he could parlay opportunities like Waller had done with Deadshot, professionalism bought by options, that would be the best bet. There was a careful balance to be found between deniable operations performed by super villains, and powder kegs looking for the first chance to scarper, nano-chains be damned.

Captain Boomerang would need to be washed out. Flagg never understood Waller's apparent loyalty to the Australian drunk. Was there history between them, something Rick wasn't aware of? Whatever it was that led to Digger Harkness being on the Suicide Squad, he was a problem, the black sheep of the team, and Flagg didn't want to be the one who had to explain to the higher ups why this super villain had been given so much rope to hang himself, and others, with. Send him back to Iron Heights, let the new warden, Wells, deal with him.

Enchantress was a problem that needed fixing. Moone had got much worse in recent months, and Flagg couldn't put his finger on why. He suspected there was more to the split personalities that the psychiatrists so readily diagnosed June with, but he'd need the right assets to figure out just what. Maybe it was time to get June free of the rogue entity that seemed to inhabit her. And if an exorcist wasn't forthcoming, perhaps the best option was to shuffle her off the board. Get her out of harm's way.

Before he could continue his assessment, the lockdown alarms began to shake the foundations of Belle Reve Penitentiary. Without thinking, Flagg armed himself, grabbed his ballistic vest from his office cupboard-- he had his priorities straight when moving into the new place-- and slipped in an ear-wig that connected him directly with the operation centre elsewhere in the building. “Where’s the breach, Control? Give me intel!”

“We’re not sure, sir,” came the voice of the officer in charge of security up in the Control Room, “we think it’s Waller’s office-- we can’t reach her on comms--”

Flagg grimaced as he rushed through the corridors of the administrative side of Belle Reve prison. He made a list in his head, lightning fact and effective, and began to reel it off to those in the Control Room.

“Right. Shit. I want the entire prison on lockdown. Gas the heavies, I don’t want anyone taking advantage of this situation.”

He turned a corner and was joined by a small team of friendly combatants, dressed and armed for whatever might be waiting for them in Waller’s office.

“And I want Tatsu’s finger on the trigger. If one of these pricks so much as picks their nose the wrong way, activate the behaviour chips. I’ve already slaved the system to my voice so if it’s one of ours, I’ll blow his head clean off--”

“Operative Katana is present and has acknowledged your order, Colonel Flagg,” came the response.

“I’m ready, Richard,” came Tatsu’s clear and steady voice.

Belle Reve was supposed to be, against the odds, a safe haven. Sure, Task Force X operated out of the prison, but it was built to accommodate that need. The entire place was fortified so it could withstand an attack, and the security system within the walls itself were built with the safety of those working inside in mind. Any riots were quickly quelled with a combination of the chemical inhibitor and knockout gasses that ran through pipes above every cell, as well as the nano-chains that floated around the spines of the operatives deigned ‘talented’ enough to operate as part of the active team.

A split second later, Flagg was outside of Waller’s office. The support team reached the other end of the corridor at the same time. The six men joined him, and on Flagg’s order, they breached the room.

Smoking clearing and their helmets clearing their vision automatically, they immediately saw something terrible-- laying in a pool of her own blood was Amanda Waller, glassy-eyed and with two razor-sharp weapons lodged into her heart and throat. Standing over her was a man clad in grey and black, his hands clenched into fists, even as he looked down at his victim then up at Flagg.


Batman grimaced as he fully emerged from the shadows. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”