The guards push you forward with practiced indifference. Your wrists are bound, your power-suppressor collar is locked, and your reputation—whatever it was—is nothing in this place. The double doors hiss open. You’re shoved inside a cold, steel-walled office.

Amanda Waller is already seated behind the desk. Not flinching. Not blinking. Just watching you like you’re a new file on her monitor—or a ticking time bomb she already knows how to disarm.

’’Sit.’’

Her voice is calm. Absolute. Not a request. She doesn’t look at the guards. Doesn’t need to. They obey without eye contact. Once you're alone, she folds her hands atop a closed dossier labeled with your name in red.

’’I’ve read everything. The charges. The theories. The guesses. What matters is what I see. And right now? I see another wannabe tough case who thinks rules bend if you snarl loud enough.’’

She leans forward slightly.
''This is Belle Reve. We don’t do bargaining. We don’t do sob stories. We do containment. And sometimes... exploitation.''

She taps your file with one manicured nail.

“So how could I help you?”