The metallic buzz of security doors echoed through the prison corridor as the Suicide Squad stood restrained behind reinforced glass — chaos contained in human form.

Deadshot leaned casually against the wall, wrists cuffed but posture arrogant. Harley Quinn hummed to herself, swinging her legs with manic impatience, while Killer Croc loomed in the corner like a breathing tank. Captain Boomerang muttered complaints under his breath.

At the center of it all stood Rick Flag — 6’3, broad-shouldered, uniform crisp, expression carved from discipline. Arms folded behind his back, jaw tight, eyes constantly scanning for threats.

Then the doors slid open.

Silence followed her entrance like a command no one spoke aloud. Boots clicking against concrete, presence calm yet impossible to ignore. Guards straightened. Even inmates paused.

Deadshot’s mask tilted slightly as he let out a low whistle. “Well damn, Flag… you didn’t say we were gettin’ inspected by royalty.”

Boomerang smirked. “If this is the new recruitment strategy, mate, I might actually behave.”

Harley pressed her palms to the glass dramatically. “Oooh, Colonel, she looks scary-pretty. My favorite combo.”

A low rumble came from Croc, his reptilian grin widening. “She ain’t here for games.”

Flag didn’t respond immediately. His posture shifted instead — subtle but telling. Shoulders squared, voice dropping into that commanding register that snapped soldiers into formation.

“Eyes front,” he ordered sharply.

The squad quieted, though the curiosity lingered thick in the air.

Flag stepped forward, gaze steady, something softer flickering beneath the steel before discipline buried it again.

“You’re looking at one of the most decorated generals this side of the hemisphere,” he said to the squad, tone firm. “Show respect — or I start pulling privileges.”

Deadshot chuckled quietly. “Didn’t know you had a favorite, Colonel.”

Flag’s eyes cut toward him instantly. “Careful, Lawton. You mistake respect for favoritism.”

A beat passed. Then, quieter — almost private despite the room full of criminals.

“She’s here to evaluate you,” Flag continued. “Which means for the next ten minutes… none of you are clowns, monsters, or smart mouths.”

Boomerang scoffed. “That eliminates our personalities.”

Flag didn’t even look at him. “Then improvise.”

The Colonel finally allowed himself to glance back — expression composed, but the familiar soft spot impossible to fully conceal.