"Sir, Amanda Waller's Task Force X has arrived."
Arthur's voice buzzed in Hong Fei's earpiece. He turned, his gaze slicing past the hostages' trembling forms, through the delicate web of metal grenades, to settle on the police barricade. The flashing lights atop the squad cars painted the night in streaks of red and blue.
SWAT teams stood ready at the bank's entrance, their advanced gear marking them apart from the regular officers flanking both sides. Every gun was trained on the doorway. Caught between the police threat and the grenades' lethal promise, the hostages at the threshold looked ready to faint.
Behind the police lines, ambulances waited, their lights dark. News vans from the major networks jostled for position—legitimate outlets with the right connections never missed a scene like this. Fifty feet back, the crowd pressed against the cordon, eager for a glimpse of the action.
Some claimed people didn't enjoy watching chaos unfold, but those voices were idiots. The truth was, everyone loved a spectacle—even beings that weren't human. Amidst the heavily armed SWAT team, three figures stood out like huskies in a wolf pack. Their sharp attire and sharper expressions caught the eye like fireflies in a moonless sky.
"Sir, the NYPD Commissioner just got orders from above to let those three lead the charge." Arthur continued his briefing.
"But here's the thing—Amanda Waller already suspected Deadshot was inside. She's been planning this for a while. Three minutes ago, she got Washington's approval to officially activate Task Force X and take us down."
"The three up front are decoys. The real Task Force X—five of them—are already in position at the bank's rear left flank. Oh, and when Waller had the Witch teleport the cannon fodder team, things went sideways. Javelin accidentally took out Mongal and Blackguard. Savant ended up as... well, let's just say he's not in one piece anymore."
"Also, someone in Washington floated the idea of alerting Superman about the Federal Reserve heist."
Task Force X—one team was expendable, the other packed the punch. At that last bit of intel, Hong Fei couldn't help but chuckle.
"Amanda Waller—now there's a teammate."
He'd had Arthur prepare contingencies against Superman, but the safest play was keeping the Man of Steel blissfully unaware in Metropolis. Waller wouldn't want Superman involved either. Sure, he'd solve the problem fast, but she'd rather use this mess to cement her own power base.
Sure, some in Washington had suggested calling Superman, but if the government could handle this themselves, better to keep an unaffiliated powerhouse like him out of it. His involvement would be a blow to the government's credibility.
Those three decoys weren't just cannon fodder—even if they pulled off Waller's mission, they were walking dead men. Task Force X's very existence broke laws and public trust. If word got out, death was the only outcome.
No one would acknowledge their identities, nor would they acknowledge their mission. Otherwise, its nickname wouldn't be the "Suicide Squad."
"Sir, want me to take them out?"
Hong Fei considered for a moment, then shook his head.
"Sir, sorry to interrupt, but she looks like she's fading fast..."
Little George's voice piped up from the side.
Hong Fei turned to see the woman on the ground convulsing violently, her parents crying out in panic. He knelt beside her, his nano-armored hand shifting as the life-support system activated its medical functions. A dose of specialized medicine flowed into her veins.
The convulsions ceased almost immediately. Her breathing steadied, color flooding back into her skin at a remarkable rate. Nearby, Little George scrambled to his feet, bowing repeatedly.
"Thank you! Sir, thank you—" His gratitude was cut short as Hong Fei's fist slammed into his chest. The boy crumpled to the ground, gasping for air, pain etched across his face.
Heroism came at a cost—sometimes even the ultimate price. Hong Fei glanced at the girl. This incident would haunt her and her family for years to come. The Federation wouldn't hesitate to pry information from them, and who knew what other horrors might follow? Still, that wasn't his concern anymore.
He moved to the window, peering outside. His appearance sparked chaos among the onlookers. This was the first glimpse anyone had gotten of the so-called "robbers."
Voices erupted from the crowd.
"Damn it, he's wearing a mask!"
"Officer, look at his gear—it's a full suit!"
"What about those three clowns? Tell them to move it!"
The commanding officer snapped, "Don't let them linger around my men like circus acts. It's sickening!"
"Yes, sir!" came the swift reply. Finally, Javelin and his team stopped their theatrics. They exchanged glances, and Weasel took the lead. It dropped to the ground, its long tail raised, exposing itself in the most vulgar manner possible.
The officers recoiled, turning away in disgust. Weasel darted forward, its speed astonishing. As it neared the building, its hind legs propelled it upward, launching its slender frame toward the second floor. Claws dug into the wall, and it scurried upward toward the top-floor window.
At the sniper post, Deadshot tracked Weasel's every move through his scope. But orders held him back. Monitor. Do not fire without authorization. Meanwhile, TDK stood motionless, his shoulders rotating unnaturally. With a grotesque motion, his arms detached from his body, floating eerily toward the main entrance.
The crowd erupted in horrified gasps. On the other side, Javelin locked onto Hong Fei's position. He stepped back, gripping his weapon, arms spreading wide in a throwing stance. Three quick steps, and the Javelin hurtled through the air, aimed directly at the window where Hong Fei stood.
All three acted in unison. Even the Director, repulsed as he was, couldn't help but watch with bated breath. Thud! The Javelin shattered the bulletproof glass.
Its sharp tip broke through all the way. Although the Javelin's momentum finally stopped, the tip had still passed through the bulletproof glass and arrived right in front of Hong Fei. It was only a few centimeters from his glabella. But Hong Fei did not move a step at all. In the distance, Javelin saw this and beat his chest and stomped his feet in regret.
The group of police officers sighed in unison, their disappointment palpable. Hong Fei gave them a quick glance before turning to head upstairs. Just as Javelin and the others began their move, on the dimly lit rooftop of a building to the bank's rear left, Bloodsport and his team sprang into action. Bloodsport pulled on his full-face helmet—its upper half mirrored black, the lower molded into a haunting skull.
His suit was sleek and black, adorned with an array of equipment strapped to his chest and belt. He extended his arm toward the bank building. A mechanism on his forearm clicked, launching a grappling hook attached to a high-tensile rope. It soared through the air, anchoring itself firmly to the bank's rooftop.
With practiced precision, he secured the rope underfoot and gestured for his team to follow. One by one, they slid across, their movements smooth and deliberate. The entire scene unfolded like a blockbuster movie, observed by Hong Fei, Deadshot, and the others with rapt attention. Deadshot, Killer Croc, and Captain Boomerang exchanged uneasy glances as they watched.
When King Shark Nanaue stepped onto the rope, his massive weight caused it to sag dramatically. The grappling hooks on both ends strained under the tension. Nanaue, unfazed, grinned broadly, his shark-like face lighting up with an almost childish excitement.
He slid across effortlessly, landing on the other side with surprising grace. Deadshot and the others exhaled in unison, relieved. The elevator doors opened, and Hong Fei's vision blurred momentarily. Two sharp claws lunged at his face. He sidestepped Weasel's frontal assault, but its tail coiled around his ankle with lightning speed.
Weasel yanked hard, trying to pull Hong Fei off balance. It tugged once, twice, and kept pulling, but Hong Fei stood unmoved, watching its futile efforts. Weasel twisted its head around, its bulging eyes and jagged teeth giving it the appearance of a creature straight out of a horror film.
Their eyes locked. In the next moment, Hong Fei lifted his foot and stomped down, pinning Weasel's tail firmly to the ground. He twisted his foot deliberately, grinding it into the floor. Weasel's eyes bulged even further, and its mouth opened in a shrill, ear-piercing scream. Strings of mucus flew from its jagged teeth.
Hong Fei recoiled, almost smelling the creature's foul stench from the sight alone. Without hesitation, he gripped Weasel's throat, cutting off its air. The creature's screams ceased abruptly. Its front paws flailed wildly, while its hind legs scraped against the floor, producing a grating sound. Hong Fei stepped out of the elevator, dragging Weasel with him.
Every time Weasel tried to claw at his arm, Hong Fei tightened his grip around its neck. After a few repetitions, the creature stopped resisting. Its limbs and tail hung limply as Hong Fei carried it forward. Its pupils were pinpricks, its tongue lolling grotesquely from the side of its mouth—a mix of disgusting and absurd.
On the rooftop, Bloodsport and his team moved silently under the cover of darkness. They opened a hidden passageway, entering the top floor with Bloodsport leading and Peacemaker bringing up the rear. The group crouched low, creeping forward with practiced stealth. Suddenly, Bloodsport froze as he rounded a corner.
The four people behind him waited. Moments passed, and Ratcatcher, trailing closely, tensed as she sensed something wrong. Before she could speak, a loud voice broke the silence.
"Why'd you stop? If they spot us, just squeak."
The four people behind were waiting. A moment later, seeing that he still wasn't moving, Ratcatcher, who was following closely, had her expression tighten; she had clearly discovered the problem. However, a loud voice suddenly rang out in the quiet room.
"Why did you suddenly stop moving? If you get discovered, just squeak."
Immediately, Bloodsport, Ratcatcher, Polka-Dot Man, and Nanaue all turned to look. Their attention snapped to something unseen, their bodies tense and alert.
Peacemaker blinked, glancing between them.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice edged with confusion.
Bloodsport's helmet masked his expression, but his posture shifted. He straightened abruptly, exhaling a deep sigh that carried the weight of resignation. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat, almost bored.
"Squeak."