Louisiana. The rain hadn't stopped for days, turning the swamp outside Belle Reve Prison into a sprawling expanse of rippling water. Amanda Waller's mood mirrored the dreary weather. Demons? None in sight. Ghosts? Not a trace.
Yet her subordinates—prison guards—were insistent, some so terrified they'd submitted multiple resignation letters. Every time she ordered the plane prepped for takeoff, something broke, or another problem arose. Once, the driver nearly steered the car into the swamp mud, nearly wiping out everyone inside.
Waller had no choice but to postpone her plans. Where there's smoke, there's fire. It didn't take much mental effort for her to pinpoint the issue: someone didn't want her leaving Belle Reve Prison or returning to Washington.
Her thoughts naturally turned to the Witch—Dr. June Moone. Waller reached out to Colonel Rick Flag, stationed in Washington under the guise of protecting Dr. June while actually keeping her under house arrest. After confirming Dr. June was stable, Waller had her summon the Witch.
No abnormalities. The Witch's heart was still in Waller's possession, rigged with a self-destruct device. If the Witch stepped out of line, Waller could detonate it instantly. Even approaching the alloy box housing the heart would trigger it. So where was the problem? Waller couldn't figure it out.
A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. A subordinate stepped in, holding a tablet.
"Ma'am, something's happened in New York."
Waller frowned as she scanned the screen, her expression darkening.
"Latest update: the robbers threw the president of the Federal Reserve Bank off the roof."
Her eye twitched. After a moment, she handed the tablet back and turned to the window.
"That's a police matter."
The subordinate hesitated.
"Ma'am, I think this is an opportunity."
Waller turned sharply.
"Explain."
"Except for Colonel Flag, Task Force X is made up of criminals. That's bound to cause controversy. Those in power would rather sit in their offices and watch disaster unfold than agree to release a group of convicts. Maybe we can use this to show them the value of this team."
Waller's gaze narrowed.
"Are you suggesting I bypass protocol and release criminals without authorization?"
The subordinate clenched his jaw.
"We could deploy the team to stand by. If the police handle it, we bring them back. If they can't… we step in. This is the Federal Reserve Bank's main branch. If it falls, the entire country—maybe the world—faces economic chaos."
"We're in Louisiana. New York is over two thousand kilometers away."
"Ma'am, the Witch has teleportation abilities."
"She can't carry people."
"She can teleport objects, so she should be able to carry people. I think the issue is that ordinary humans can't withstand the process—maybe the pressure or damage involved. But our team… they're not ordinary people."
The subordinate frowned thoughtfully.
"She can use teleportation to carry objects, so she should be able to transport people—just not civilians."
Amanda Waller's brow twitched as she considered the feasibility of the other party's proposal. Outside, heavy raindrops hammered against the windowpane. Lightning split the overcast sky, followed by a rumble of thunder that shook the glass. After a moment's pause, she fixed her subordinate with a hard stare, her thick lips parting.
"Put insurance on them."
The subordinate's head snapped up, joy breaking across his face before he could suppress it. He nodded eagerly.
"Yes, ma'am! I'll handle it immediately!"
As he hurried out, Amanda pulled her phone from her coat and dialed Flag. Meanwhile, in the prison, elite soldiers moved swiftly, extracting the two groups of monsters and freaks.
Each prisoner was strapped to a chair, white-coated technicians inserting needles into the backs of their necks. The groups were separated into different rooms, where they changed into their bizarre costumes. Amanda delivered the same speech to both rooms, her voice clipped and authoritative.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your assignment has arrived."
"A brutal robbery is underway in New York City. The perpetrators have taken control of the Federal Reserve Bank building. They've already thrown the bank president from a window. The situation inside remains unclear. Your objectives may shift at any moment, so listen carefully. Step out of line, and you're dead."
Her subordinate opened a box beside her, revealing photos of each team member with a button beneath them.
"Nano-bombs have been implanted in your heads. I won't waste time explaining the stakes—you know them. Don't test me. You'll be transported to New York City shortly."
Amanda clapped her hands sharply. A cloud of black mist surged beside her, coalescing into the form of the Witch. The room fell silent, the prisoners exchanging uneasy glances. Amanda addressed the Witch coolly.
"Take them there."
"I've warned you of the consequences," the Witch replied.
"I'm aware," Amanda said, unmoved.
The Witch said nothing more. With a wave of her hands, black mist enveloped the crowd. A low chant echoed faintly as she disappeared with them. Amanda immediately pressed her communicator, her tone sharp.
"Status report. Now!"
Static crackled intermittently. Half a minute later, reports from the two teams began to filter in.
"Amanda Waller, are you trying to kill us? Damn it, this hurts like hell!"
Bloodsport's voice crackled through the line.
Amanda exhaled, relieved.
"What's your situation? Are you intact?"
"My whole body feels like an elephant stomped over me inch by inch!"
"Stop whining. What about the others?"
"They're alive, but Ratcatcher's unconscious. Nanaue seems... fine."
"Fun!"
King Shark's muffled voice interjected, tinged with excitement.
Amanda's shoulders relaxed.
"Good. Wake Ratcatcher up. Rest in place until further orders. No one leaves that room."
Subsequently, it was the other cannon fodder team with more monsters and freaks. The report came from the subordinate Amanda had stationed to meet them. His voice wavered.
"Ma'am... there have been casualties."
Amanda's jaw tightened.
"Go on."
"Javelin's spear went through Mongal and Blackguard's heads. He passed out himself. TDK's missing an arm."
Weasel heaved, doubled over as he vomited.
"I didn't see Savant, but... I saw a pile of minced meat. Ugh."
Amanda Waller sat in silence, her expression unreadable. Six people had gone in. Three were dead. The survivors? Barely functional. Even though she'd always considered them expendable, the loss still left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Give them five minutes to pull themselves together," she ordered flatly. "Then send them to the Federal Reserve Bank to await further instructions."
"Yes, ma'am!" her subordinate snapped to attention.
---
In New York, Hong Fei rode the elevator down to the first floor, the three bank employees trailing behind him like shadows. They reached the vault entrance, its massive steel doors looming ominously. This wasn't the kind of lock you could pick with a hairpin. Three separate keys were required, each one a masterpiece of intricate design.
The security protocols were exhaustive: physical keys, digital passwords, voice recognition, palm prints, irises—the works. Losing even one of these employees would render the vault inaccessible. That's why the bank president's impulsive act of shooting one of them had been so disastrous. Worse still, a single mistake during the unlocking process would lock the vault down for at least forty-eight hours.
Given the thousands of tons of gold stored below—wealth belonging to dozens of nations—the strict safeguards were more than justified. Of the three remaining employees, the female accountant and manager were shaking uncontrollably but compliant. The security officer, however, kept glancing around, his mind clearly racing with thoughts of resistance.
Hong Fei singled him out first. He flicked his wrist, and a holographic projection materialized in the air. It showed twenty or so people—men, women, children—confined in separate rooms. Their hands and feet were bound, and explosives were strapped to their chests. The security officer's eyes widened, his face draining of color.
"Your family," Hong Fei said simply. "Parents, children, grandchildren, siblings. Everyone."
The officer's lips trembled as he stared at the images. In that moment, any thought of defiance evaporated. Hong Fei released him with a pat on the shoulder, and the man stumbled forward, his body shaking.
Three minutes later, the officer completed his task and turned to Hong Fei, his eyes pleading. Hong Fei shoved him aside and motioned for the accountant to step up. The entire process took about ten minutes.
The vault entrance groaned with a deep, metallic clang, followed by a prolonged rumble. A sloping passageway revealed itself, leading downward. The group descended, arriving moments later at the vault proper. A metal corridor stretched ahead, flanked by rows of labeled storage compartments.
Hong Fei moved forward, the others trailing behind. They stopped at a specific vault. The three employees stepped forward once more, their movements mechanical. Half a minute later, the door swung open, and the lights inside flared to life. A wave of golden light spilled out, enveloping all four of them.
The vault was pristine, utterly free of dust. Inside, massive gold ingots were stacked in neat rows, gleaming under the harsh lights. Hong Fei wasn't a man who cared much about money, but seeing all that gold up close, within arm's reach, was undeniably awe-inspiring.
Footsteps echoed from behind as Killer Croc lumbered into view. His task was clear: lead the three employees to open the remaining 121 gold vaults while documenting each one's contents and reserves. Hong Fei had heard rumors of stolen reserve gold but hadn't fully believed them. Now that he was here, he might as well verify the truth for himself.