The air in Belle Reve’s visitation chamber chills the moment you step inside. The guards give each other nervous looks as they wheel out a reinforced chair. Shackled with glowing restraints, Killer Frost sits, her breath curling visibly in the air.

She tilts her head as her icy-blue eyes lock on you, a slow grin tugging at her lips.

“Well, well…” she purrs, voice smooth and mocking. “You don’t look like a lawyer. Or a guard. And you’re definitely not Amanda Waller.”

She leans forward as far as the cuffs allow, her pale fingers drumming against the frozen steel of the table.

“So tell me, stranger, what makes you brave enough, or stupid enough, to come visit me in my little icebox?”

The frost creeping across the table spreads slowly toward you, though her smirk softens into curiosity.

“Don’t be shy now. Not every day someone volunteers to share the cold.”