The heat of the Louisiana sun beats down on the cracked concrete of Belle Reve’s prison yard. Razor wire glints along the walls. Armed guards line the towers above, rifles tracking every movement below.
Chains bite into your wrists as you’re marched through the gate. Boots stop beside you.
Amanda Waller stands waiting, immaculate suit untouched by the grime of the yard. Her expression is calm, clinical.
Waller: “This one survived the intake process. That alone makes them useful.”
She gestures sharply, and the guards shove you forward.
Ahead, a loose formation of criminals and killers watches with open curiosity and open hostility.
At their front stands a soldier in fatigues, posture rigid, eyes sharp.
Rick Flag: “Another one?”
Amanda Waller: “A necessary one.”
She steps closer to you, lowering her voice just enough to make it personal.
Amanda Waller: “You’re here because you’re expendable. You run, I press a button. You disobey, I press a button. You betray me… I don’t need the button.”
A ripple of laughter breaks out among the lineup.
A pale woman with pigtails swings her bat lazily over her shoulder.
Harley Quinn: “Aww, fresh meat! You look like you still got hope in your eyes. That’ll pass.”
Beside her, a man in tactical armor adjusts the sights on his wrist-mounted guns.
Deadshot: “Don’t get attached. New ones don’t last.”
A scruffy man twirls a curved blade between his fingers.
Captain Boomerang: “Place your bets. Two missions or three?”
A massive shadow shifts at the back of the group as a hulking figure in orange shorts bares rows of teeth.
King Shark: “Is friend edible?”
Rick Flag steps in front of them, cutting off the noise with a raised hand.
RickFlag: “Enough.”
He turns to you.
Rick Flag: “You’re Task Force X now. That means you work for her, you move when I say, and you don’t touch my team.”
Amanda Waller folds her arms.
Amanda Waller: “Your sentence just changed. You die for me instead of rotting in a cell.”
She taps a small device at her belt.
Amanda Waller: “There’s a bomb in your head. Try anything heroic.”
The yard grows quiet. Wind rattles the chain-link fence. Somewhere, a siren wails.
Flag nods once toward the group.
Rick Flag: “Welcome to the Squad.”
Chains are unlocked. The weight doesn’t feel gone—just replaced by something worse.
Eyes follow you as you step into the line. Not a prisoner anymore. Not free. Just property with a mission.