Outside
Washington, D.C.
The Citadel
The Office of the White Queen
24 Hours Ago
“I’ve got another demand.”
With a frustrated sigh, Amanda Waller removed the reading glasses from
her face and looked up at her uninvited guest. Greeting her
was the somber visage of Doctor Neal Emerson, the certifiable Doctor
Polaris. The man should have been gone already; on a plane
halfway to the Middle East to complete Amanda’s
errand. Instead, it seemed that Emerson was
delayed. Why? Because he lived to be a pain in the
White Queen’s ass. “What are you talking
about, Neal?” she asked. “I thought we
had already ironed out the details of our arrangement.”
“We did,” Emerson replied. He swept into
Amanda’s office, the cape of his uniform flowing behind him
with each step. Emerson sat in front of Waller, kicking up
his feet onto her desk. “But then I realized that
I’m doing you two favors here. One, I’m
pulling your fat out of the fire by going and rescuing the Suicide
Squad. The one that’s not supposed to exist, I
might add. Second, I’m saving your career by
keeping quiet about it. I think I deserve something more than
unfettered access to Magenta. In fact, you can keep the whore
if you agree to this.”
“Get your feet off my desk,” Waller
ordered. She stared silently at Emerson, her eyes shooting
daggers, waiting for him to obey. When he didn’t,
Waller added, “Now.”
Emerson rolled his eyes and put his feet down on the floor.
“Spoilsport.”
“What do you want, Emerson?” Waller finally
asked. “I’m busy here.”
“I want out.”
“Out of what?”
“What do you think, Waller?” Doctor Polaris
responded. “I want out of Task Force X.
You got me out of prison and I appreciate that, but I’ve done
my time here. I’ve followed every order
you’ve given me and I think it’s time to let me go
free like you promised me you would back in Metropolis.”
“No, can do. The team is undermanned as it
is. I need every warm body I can find.”
Emerson jumped up and slammed his fists on the desk.
“Then find some more! There are super-criminals everywhere
that are willing to play your games to get time off their
sentences.”
Waller leaned forward on her arms and stared straight into
Emerson’s eyes. “No,” she said
without hesitation. “For the things
you’ve done, your stay with Task Force X has barely
begun. I’d get comfortable.”
“Fine. Then I’m not going to
Qatar.”
Waller leaned back in her chair and sighed. “This
can go two ways, doctor. One, you can back out of our
arrangement and not go to Qatar. If you don’t,
however, realize that you’re going right back to solitary at
Blackgate. Your second option is to make good on your word,
in which case I will strongly consider taking major time off your
sentence. After all, I’m not an unreasonable
person. Like you said, you’re doing me two big
favors here.”
“Bitch,” Emerson muttered under his breath.
“So people say,” Waller continued.
“Also, let me make it clear that if you run, I will find
you. There’s a locator chip in your brain with
satellite GPS hook up. I’ll know where you are at
all times.”
Emerson sat back, his back arched, his eyes looking down at the
floor. “And if I expose you?”
“You go back to Blackgate,” Waller replied,
replacing the reading glasses on her face.
“At this point, it would be worth it.”
“Then let’s go one step further, shall
we?” Waller asked, rhetorically. “If you try
to expose me, I’ll kill you. The chip in your brain
is also a detonation device. Very messy. And
don’t think for a second that I’m bullshitting
you. Due to your well-known instability, I took the liberty
of having you drugged and the chip implanted while you slept.
I couldn’t have a loose cannon in the field without a Plan
B.”
Emerson rose to his feet and moved for the door.
“Go to hell, Amanda,” he said.
“Go to Qatar, Neal,” she replied.
“It’ll be easier for you if you do.”
Doctor Polaris exited without so much as another word.
Qatar
Now
Doctor Emerson stared out the window as his flight descended and
touched ground in the Middle East. It hadn’t been
his idea to fly, much less to fly coach, but Waller had
insisted. She wanted him to fly as far under the radar as
possible. One plane ticket purchased under a fake name later
and Emerson had arrived at his destination.
As the plane began to empty, Emerson reached into his overhead
compartment and retrieved his carry-on item. It was a bag
given to him by Waller. He had checked out the contents on
the cab ride from the Citadel to Dulles. There was a gun with
a full clip, which Emerson refused to use. He had enough
power on his own. He didn’t need the false
confidence brought on by a handgun.
The bag also contained half-a-dozen small devices that resembled
bluetooths. Waller had told him they were psi-blockers,
designed to stave off Adnan Al-Ansari’s psychic
abilities. How Emerson had managed to get the bag through
security was beyond him. Waller had told him not to worry
about it.
Emerson disembarked, giving a nod to the cute ethnic flight attendant
he had been eyeing the duration of the flight. The aviators
on his face covered his eyes as he scanned the faces all around
him. He had learned long ago that when you were dealing with
a telepath, you had to be extra cautious.
“She sent you?”
Emerson turned to a pair of men that he had passed without
noticing. Like him, they knew how to blend into their
surroundings. The man that had spoken, a blonde man with a
superiority complex, shook his head in disbelief.
“The mission goes belly up and she sends Doctor Polaris as
the cavalry? Is she crazy?”
Without moving, Emerson activated his abilities, reaching into the
man’s body and seizing all the bits of iron in his
bloodstream he could manage. The face of Count Werner Vertigo
flashed with fear before taking on a pained expression.
Emerson only halted the iron flow for a moment before releasing Vertigo
from his hold. “Let’s get one thing
straight here, Werner. I’m not the
cavalry. I’m your fucking saving grace because you
idiots fucked up the operation. I’m here to correct
that.”
Vertigo stumbled back, dizzy from the ordeal. The second man
reached out and grasped Vertigo by the arms, keeping him upright.
“Do you
have a problem with me, Mardon?” Emerson asked the second
man. “Speak now if you do.”
“Nope,” Weather Wizard replied.
“I’m just glad to have some help. Half
our team has been compromised.”
Emerson began walking down the terminal toward the exit, Vertigo and
Mardon falling into step behind him. Vertigo was bitching
under his breath the entire time. “I’m
well aware of the state of the operation, Mardon,” Emerson
said. “We have two objectives to
complete. First, we have to find Deadshot and
Plastique.”
“And second?” Weather Wizard asked.
“What the hell do you think?” Emerson asked,
glaring at Mardon. “We pick up where you dumbshits
left off. We’re going to kill Adnan
Al-Ansari.”
XXX
 |
America's
Personal Meta-Team...
:Division
of
Checkmate
“SUICIDAL”
CONCLUSION
*This issue takes
place before SECRET SIX #1*
|
| Task Force X
#16 - March, Year Six |
by Matt
Hrubey
|
XXX
Neal Emerson lowered his sunglasses further down the bridge of his nose
and looked at his surroundings with naked eyes. The marketplace
was almost completely destroyed. What were once wooden stands
that proudly displayed the hard work of the citizens of Qatar was now
debris. The ground was still damp from the storm that had ripped
through the area only days ago. The only structure that still
appeared to be in near pristine condition was the royal palace.
“I take it this was your handiwork, Mardon?” Emerson asked,
his eyes turning to stare at the Weather Wizard.
He flashed a cheesy smile. “You guessed right, doc.”
Emerson rolled his eyes and replaced his sunglasses to their proper
placement on his face. “So neither of you have seen or
heard from Deadshot or Plastique since they got nabbed, right?”
Both men nodded in the affirmative.
Eyes searching the destroyed marketplace once more settled upon the
royal palace. Emerson began walking in that direction, Vertigo
and Mardon following close behind. “It’s probably a
safe assumption that the two of them and the target are inside that
building. At least, now we know where we’re going.”
“Wait,” Count Vertigo said, his eyes darting around
wildly. He grasped Emerson by the bicep. “Hold
up! Why on earth would we go in there? We’re going to
end up getting captured like the others.”
Emerson sneered, his head tilted so he could look at the arm being held
by Vertigo. “Don’t touch me,” he said. He
grabbed hold of metal components inside Vertigo’s body and forced
the man back a few feet, never once raising his hand to fight
back. The look of anger on Vertigo’s face made Emerson
smirk.
Arms raised in a gesture of surrender, the Weather Wizard spoke.
“Vertigo does ask a good question, doc. Why would we go
into the palace? From what you said, Al-Ansari has telepathy that
we never knew about. We’d be puppets in his hands.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Emerson responded, reaching into
the duffel bag strung across his shoulder. He pulled out three of
the psi-dampeners, handed over two, and stuck the third in his
ear. Following the example set, Vertigo and Mardon stuck their
devices into their ears too. “Problem solved,”
Emerson added.
“How is a Bluetooth going to help us?” Mardon asked.
Vertigo rolled his eyes. Emerson slapped the Weather Wizard
upside his head.
“What?” Mardon asked, wincing in pain.
“It’s a device designed to shield your mind from
telepaths,” Emerson responded. “That means that as
long as you have it in your ear, you won’t have to worry about
your mind being tampered with.”
“Cool,” Mardon replied. Weather Wizard was going to
say more, but he never got the chance.
That was when the first explosion went off.
Bette San Souci licked her lips seductively as she set off the bombs
she had placed strategically around the marketplace. They went
off in succession, with barely a moment in between to consider what was
happening. Those unlucky enough to be in the marketplace at the
wrong time were caught in the blasts.
“Good work,” the man kneeling at her side, Floyd Lawton,
said.
Lawton and San Souci, the villains Deadshot and Plastique, kept their
eyes focused on the two men they had been ordered to kill. Adnan
Al-Ansari, their master, had wanted the two infidels tracked down and
murdered. It was easy to predict that they would head back to the
proverbial scene of the crime, in this case the marketplace and palace,
to rescue their poor, captured teammates. Plastique had laughed
at the idea of being considered a damsel in distress.
When the explosions ended, their vision was obscured by a large cloud
of dust.
“What now?” Plastique asked, rising up to her full stature.
Deadshot did the same. “We sift through the bodies.
Master wants proof that Count Vertigo and Weather Wizard are
dead.”
When the explosions finally ended, Count Vertigo raised his head
cautiously. He was kneeling on the ground; his body tucked
tightly into a ball in an attempt to minimize the amount of body mass
exposed to flying debris and shrapnel. This wasn’t the
first time he had found himself smack dab in the middle of certain
death. Of course, just like every other time, he had cheated
death and found himself relatively unharmed.
Vertigo scanned his immediate surroundings and found Weather Wizard
lying chest upon the ground, his arms up over his head. It
didn’t appear that he had realized yet that the onslaught was
over. Mardon’s body was visibly shaking. Vertigo
almost laughed. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Mardon
pissed himself too.
Looking around for Emerson, Vertigo found him standing upright.
His eyes started at the feet and traveled upward, taking in the whole
body of Doctor Polaris. The man had never attempted to take
cover, showing that he had no fear whatsoever of being hurt.
“You two are a pair of pussies, you know that right? As
long as I’m around, you don’t have to worry about being cut
down by bombs and shrapnel. I control metal, remember?”
“It’s called survival instincts,” Vertigo
retorted. He stood up. “Sue me.”
Rising to his feet, Mardon stared out at the mutilated
marketplace. “What the hell was that?”
“Plastique,” Emerson answered. “This has her
fingerprints all over it.” His head swiveled back and
forth. “She’s around here somewhere. Lawton
too.”
“Where?” Vertigo asked. His response was a gunshot
that startled all three. Vertigo let out a gasp and looked down
to see blood pouring from a wound in his stomach. His jaw dropped
and his face turned white. “Holy shit!” he
exclaimed. “That son of a bitch shot me!”
“Vertigo, fall back,” Emerson ordered. “Mardon,
watch your back. Be ready for anything.”
Anything turned out to be a small metal globe the size of a marble
rolling across the dusty earth in their direction. The constant
red blinking on its side was almost mesmerizing. That is, until
the men remembered who they were dealing with. Emerson reached
out his hand, grasped the metal of the globe, and launched it back in
the direction it had come from. They could hear the explosion off
in the distance. The dust continued to obscure their sight.
“Mardon, I can’t see anything,” Emerson said.
He was spinning around, trying futilely to discern the direction from
which the next attack would come. “Can you whip up
something to clear the area?”
“Gotcha covered, doc,” Weather Wizard replied. The
end of Mardon’s Weather Rod began to spark as its power came to
life. The wind began to pick up faster and faster until the dust
cloud fluttered south. When the area was cleared, the wind died
down as if nothing had happened.
Standing revealed between the trio of super-villains and the royal
palace were Deadshot and Plastique. The mind-controlled Suicide
Squad members snared and broke into a run. Deadshot was firing
bullets with every step.
Emerson shook his head at the waste of artillery. He was
subsequently catching each bullet as it was fired, sapping its kinetic
energy, and letting it fall to the ground like a puppet with its
strings cut.
“These bitches are mine,” Vertigo said, stepping in front
of Emerson and Mardon. He was nursing his stomach wound, which
was still bleeding, but he still managed to remain standing. He
outstretched his right hand and the vertigo effect at his disposal went
to work.
Plastique and Deadshot tried to dodge the attack they knew was coming,
but Vertigo expanded the affected area, capturing them both within his
grasp. They crumbled to their knees as the world began to
spin. Lawton tried to fire off a shot, but since he didn’t
know which way was which, the bullet shot off toward no one and nowhere.
“Hold them there,” Emerson said as he reached into his bag
for the last two psi-dampeners. He held them in his palm for a
moment before they levitated into the air as if under their own
power. Emerson sent the devices careening toward Lawton and San
Souci, who were both now lying on the ground, praying for their lives
to end. The psi-dampeners hooked into their ears and the battle
was over. “Let them go, Werner. It’s
over.”
Vertigo nodded. “Good. I’m going to go pass out
now.”
“I’m going to murder that asshole,” Plastique said a
few minutes later after the Suicide Squad had taken cover in an
abandoned hut. After the Weather Wizard’s storm and the
recent explosions, most of the citizens of Qatar living in the area had
opted to evacuate their homes in fear for their lives.
“Calm down, Bette,” Deadshot told her.
“Don’t tell me to calm down, you son of a bitch!”
Plastique yelled. “You saw the things he made me do.
I tried to stop myself but I couldn’t control my actions.
He violated me and now I’m going to cut his balls off and feed
them to him.”
“Well, at least we’re all on the same page here,”
Doctor Polaris said. “We all agree that Adnan Al-Ansari has
to die. The question now is how we’re going to do it.”
“The old plan worked out pretty well,” Weather Wizard said.
“Except for the part where half the squad was captured,”
Deadshot retorted. Under his breath, he added,
“Moron.”
Polaris shook his head. “No, we’re abandoning the old
plan. We’re going to go with simpler tactics.”
“Care to elaborate?” Plastique asked.
“Think king of the mountain.”
Eyebrow cocked, Plastique responded. “Come again?”
“We’re going to rush him, rip him off his high horse, and
murder the asshole before he has time to think,” Emerson
clarified. “With the psi-dampeners in place, he can’t
fuck with our heads. We’re going to tear down this
mountain.”
Plastique rolled her eyes. “Nice metaphor.”
“I’m surprised you even know what a metaphor is,”
Emerson shot back, prompting Plastique to flip him the bird.
“What are you doing?” Mardon asked.
Emerson looked up from his work. For the duration of the
conversation, Emerson had been using a lighter to heat up the blade of
a pocket knife. He had been watching the flame like a man
possessed, never once looking to his compatriots as he spoke to
them. Emerson motioned to the unconscious Vertigo lying
nearby. “He’s going to die if he doesn’t get
help soon. That’s what I’m doing.”
“What are you planning on doing with that?” Mardon asked,
pointing at the knife.
It was Deadshot that answered the question. “He’s
going to cauterize the wound.”
Emerson nodded. “Once I extract the bullet, Vertigo is
going to bleed out unless I cauterize the entry wound. It’s
gonna hurt like a bitch, but he’ll thank me later when he’s
still breathing.”
“Do you need help?” Mardon asked.
“Yeah, I need you to shut the hell up,” Emerson responded
as he went to work.
Adnan Al-Ansari knew he was in trouble. It had been about an hour
since he had lost his telepathic connection with the two
Americans. The strange thing—the thing that frightened
Adnan—was that their minds had disappeared altogether. He
couldn’t reach Deadshot or Plastique at all. It was as if
they had ceased to exist.
That meant that the Americans’ cavalry had probably arrived and
they were on their way to the palace for round two. Once more
Adnan would be forced to fight for his life. He felt that was all
he did anymore. Adnan had originally usurped the throne of Qatar
with benevolent intentions. But like so many great rulers before
him, he had submitted to the thrill of power that the title of king
brought with it.
He had given in to weakness.
Adnan could hear thunder in the distance and rubbed the bridge of his
nose. It was happening again. The sky had been clear all
day long. This was no ordinary storm.
Adnan strode over to the window and pulled back the curtain. He
was careful to envelop himself in a telekinetic sheath to protect
himself from…well, from whatever his enemies tried to throw at
him this time. The assassination attempts had failed thus
far. They would fail today too.
Eyes peering outside, Adnan immediately spotted the two men flying in
his direction. Adnan frowned. The brazen nature of these
infidels! They thought they could attack him head on without
interference! Adnan prepared to swat them out of the sky with his
telekinesis. However, he quickly found himself distracted by the
lightning bolt that tore from the sky, shattered the window Adnan stood
before, and slammed into the self-proclaimed monarch. Adnan flew
across the office and slammed hard into the wall.
When Adnan finally worked up the will to open his eyes, he thanked
Allah that he had been smart enough to erect a telekinetic field around
himself. His praying stopped when he found that he was no longer
alone. The two men—one he knew to be the Weather
Wizard—stood before him wearing their ridiculous western costumes.
“How?” Adnan asked in terrible English.
“Can’t…read your…thoughts…”
“It’s a feat of modern technology,” Emerson replied,
taking a step forward. “It’s time to die now.”
“No!”
Mardon felt his Weather Rod yanked from his hand as he and Emerson were
thrown backward by the force of Adnan’s mind. When they
landed behind the desk, their ability to move was restored.
“We’ve gotta finish this fast!” Emerson roared.
He stood and glared at Adnan.
His telepathy of no use, Adnan chose to rely on his telekinesis.
Already, the various items in his office were spiraling around Adnan
like a protective cocoon. In response, Emerson reached out and
grasped the iron and other metallic components in the monarch’s
blood and halted the blood flow to the vital parts of his body.
The effect was immediate.
Adnan’s eyes widened and he collapsed to the floor, the shock to
his system nearly causing him to lose consciousness.
Unfortunately for Adnan, that meant he was awake when Deadshot kicked
in the office door and fired a bullet into his stomach.
“That was for Vertigo, you son of a bitch,” Deadshot
muttered.
Entering behind Deadshot was Vertigo, who had his arm around
Plastique’s shoulder for support. The woman looked less
than thrilled at playing the part of Vertigo’s crutch.
However, when her eyes landed on Adnan, her disdain for Vertigo was
forgotten. The hatred that she felt for Adnan Al-Ansari at that
moment consumed her very being.
Adnan tried unsuccessfully to crawl away. He knew his end had
come. He had done bad things and now he was going to pay for them.
Plastique stepped forward, her hips sashaying with each step. She
extracted a small, metallic object from her cleavage and stuck it down
the monarch’s pants. Adnan tried to fight her off but a
kick to the face ended his resistance. “Your mistake was
touching me in the first place,” Plastique said to him, not
particularly sure that he understood her words. “You
manipulated me and forced me to…just remember that karma is a
bitch. And so am I.”
As the Suicide Squad stepped away triumphant, Plastique’s device
exploded taking half of Adnan Al-Ansari with it.
Later
“I’m sick and tired of this fucking country,”
Plastique said as the Suicide Squad climbed the hill. “Can
we please leave right now? I’ve got a hot bath and a bottle
of wine with my name on it.”
“Transport is en route, Bette,” Deadshot responded.
“Now will you shut the hell up? You’ve been
complaining since we left the palace. I thought blowing the balls
off a telepathic dictator would have put you in a good mood.”
“You want me to be quiet?” Plastique asked.
“Make me.” She winked.
Deadshot, sans mask, rolled his eyes. “Put some ice on it,
Bette. Your advances are getting pathetic. It’s no
fun if you just give it up like a whore.”
Plastique frowned. “Dick.”
Behind San Souci and Lawton, Mardon strode, his arm wrapped around
Vertigo, supporting the wounded monarch as they reached the
hilltop. “That was intense,” Mardon said. His
eyes were wide with shock and awe.
“Please stop talking,” Vertigo responded, softly. He
was wavering in and out of consciousness with each step.
“As a Rogue, I’ve seen some crazy, mind-blowing
stuff—”
“Stop talking.”
“—but she stuck a bomb on his balls! At least in Keystone
we have certain standards we follow.”
“Stop. Talking.”
“You would never see that kind of stuff in Key—”
“Shut the hell up!” Vertigo exclaimed. He pushed
Mardon away and began to hobble along on his own. “I
can’t take your voice anymore. I swear to god if you say
another word to me, I’m going to stick your stupid Weather Rod
straight up your ass.”
At the rear of the group, Doctor Polaris said nothing. His brow
was furrowed as he concentrated his abilities. For what he was
trying to accomplish, the smallest slip up would be fatal. He
could feel it lodged inside his cranium. It was small, but if
what Waller had said was true, its size meant nothing of its capacity
for destruction.
He gritted his teeth. The fact that that crazy bitch had put an
explosive device inside his head to insure his compliance made him want
to rip out her throat. And he would make sure he got his
chance. All he had to do what get this damn thing out of his head!
Emerson started. He could feel the device begin to move.
The sensation was strange. It didn’t hurt so much as
tickle. After a few moments, the episode was over. The
device slid out of Emerson’s nose and landed on his open
palm. He sniffled as he studied the explosive. It was tiny;
smaller than a marble.
“What the fuck just happened?”
Emerson looked up and found the other Suicide Squad members gathered
around him in a half-circle. Emerson hadn’t realized he had
stopped moving, but the group was standing immobile. Their
expressions were a mixture of shock and disgust.
Plastique took a step toward him. “What is that
thing?”
“Will you do me a favor, Bette?” Emerson asked, letting the
device roll from his hand onto the ground. “Tell Waller
that she can go fuck herself. Will you tell her that for
me?”
“Are you okay, doc?” Mardon asked.
Emerson nodded. “I am now.”
A moment later, Deadshot asked, “Why can’t I move?”
“Because I’m not letting you,” Emerson
answered. “Goodbye all. I hope I never have to see
any of you ever again.” He began to levitate higher and
higher into the air. A chorus of screams followed in his wake,
but he ignored them.
“What is going on?”
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!”
“I swear I’m going to kill you, Emerson!”
By the time the transport arrived to take the Suicide Squad back to the
United States, Doctor Polaris had long since disappeared and the
remaining four Suicide Squaders had regained their ability to
move. The duration of the plane ride home was spent in
silence. Each and every member of the Suicide Squad found
themselves preoccupied; dreading the inevitability of having to tell
Amanda Waller that one of her agents went AWOL.
XXX
NEXT
ISSUE: Amanda Waller yells
at people, Sergeant Steel schemes, and Task Force X finds themselves
face to face with the Strong Arm of Humanity!
Story
© 2009 Matt
Hrubey
and may not be reproduced without
permission.