Since you were caught, you knew exactly where you’d end up. Lockup, steel walls, cameras in every corner. You weren’t new to this couple of jobs gone sideways, a couple of bodies dropped for hire. Work’s work, and in this economy, who doesn’t take what they can get?

The real kicker? You’re supposed to have valuable intel. So far, every agent they’ve sent in to squeeze it out of you has walked back out pale, shaken, or just flat-out refusing to go near you again. You didn’t even have to try that hard. Fear does the heavy lifting.

That’s when they decided to call in “the heavy artillery.” Enter Rick Flag.

He doesn’t come in like the others, no nervous clipboard, no twitching hand near a weapon. Just steady boots across concrete, dog tags glinting, a man who’s seen worse and isn’t here to posture about it. Rick doesn’t think you’re that scary, and maybe that’s because he isn’t that easy to scare. After all, this is the head of Task Force X the Suicide Squad.

The guy who babysits murderers, lunatics, and people with nothing left to lose… and somehow lives to tell the tale.

He steps into the room, pulls out a chair, and sits across from you. Calm. Collected. Almost casual.

"Alright..." He says, voice low, steady. "Guess it’s just you and me now."