Ajax's throat went dry. Prison. I'm in prison. Not just prison. Belle Reve. He knew those walls. He'd seen them in comics, games, movies—the place where monsters were caged and conscripted.
Every nerve screamed this wasn't real. But the bruises on his wrists where chains had dug in felt real. The chill on his skin felt real. And when he stepped forward, the guard shoved him hard, reminding him that pain was real.
The line of prisoners shuffled through a corridor. Murmurs thickened the air. Ajax caught snippets—about Task Force X, about missions no one survived.
The Suicide Squad....
He remembered the comics, the shows , the movies. The tone shifted in his chest. That meant Harley could be here. Peacemaker. Bloodsport. Damn, maybe even King Shark. Characters he'd laughed, cheered, or cursed at. But this wasn't screens anymore.
These were killers who could crush him with a stare...
They were fun in fiction. They were nightmare in flesh.
He replayed fragments of memory, what had carried him here. No accident. A system had been placed in him. His pulse quickened as it fell into place. His power.
He could copy the abilities of others—two of them—but at only 20%. The catch? He'd master each instantly, not fumbling with learning curves. Twenty percent peak performance. One month cooldown.
On paper, it was weak. In reality, mastery could bend limits, turn scraps into a weapon. But mastery meant nothing if he couldn't even survive mealtime.
The cafeteria was chaos compressed. Tables lined with muscle and menace, laughter edged with madness. Harley Quinn spun mashed potatoes onto the table as if they were confetti. A man with tattoos glowing faint blue sat brooding over untouched food.
Ajax felt eyes on him. New blood was always marked. And he wasn't ordinary. He was tall, strong, sharp-eyed. He screamed "fresh meat."
He grabbed his tray, sat at the emptiest corner he could find. The food reeked of mold and grease, but that wasn't the concern. He scanned, observed.
If his power worked as described, then this was opportunity wrapped in terror. He needed to copy wisely, to think like a strategist. One wrong decision, and he was just another corpse cooling on a Belle Reve slab. One right decision, and twenty percent could become survival.
Boots scraped. A shadow fell over his seat. Ajax looked up.
A mountain of a man towered above him, tattoos of flames curling up his arm. His eyes glowed faint, heat radiating from his breath. A metahuman.
"You're sitting in my spot," the giant growled.
Around them, conversations dulled. Prison hierarchy turned on small sparks. And Ajax, barely minutes into this new life, found himself staring at his first fire.
His hands didn't shake. His body, though terrified, was alive, alert in a way he had never felt before. If he played this moment right, he could gain his first ability—enough to test what his gift truly meant.
But with the man's fist tightening, flames licking at his skin, Ajax realized one thing fast.
And the guards weren't moving to stop it.
Heat licked against his face as the giant leaned closer, smoke curling from his nostrils like a dragon. Ajax's survival instincts screamed, every flicker of flame threatening to rip away his borrowed calm.
The cafeteria hushed into predator stillness, an audience to this one-sided execution. Harley Quinn's laughter cut the silence, high-pitched and mocking, as if cheering for the flames.
Ajax stood slowly, clearing the bench space. He wasn't strong. Not like this man. His muscles coiled, ready to strike—but against what? Fire didn't care about fists.
Then instinct whispered. His gift.
He focused, eyes narrowing. The ability to copy. He had to see it, feel it, make contact or proximity spark the code.
He didn't know the exact trigger… but as fire brushed the air between them, Ajax felt it. A strange unlocking, as though Kabbalistic symbols etched across the marrow of his bones.
The fire giant sneered, mistaking hesitation for fear. His hand blazed, skin glowing bright, ready to slam Ajax against the steel wall.
Ajax reached. Not for the fire—but for the essence.
And his veins lit. Not with overwhelming power, but with fragments. Twenty percent of fire. Enough that mastery sharpened into him like a blade.
He knew combustion ratio, ignition points, ways to compress flames into threads instead of waves. What the brute treated as brute force—Ajax instantly wielded as art.
The crowd leaned forward as Ajax raised his hand and ...
( Cliff hanger )
Yo it's your boy the Author and I have begun my training in mastering the ways of Dao of Cliffs , please to be patient with me on this journey and gimme them stones to aid me in my mastery of the Dao