[b]Belle Reve Federal Penitentiary
Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana[/b]


"Who are the new guys?" Rick Flag asked Amanda Waller. The two sat in Waller's office at Belle Reve. The entire far wall behind Waller's desk was one massive screen sectioned off into eighteen smaller monitors. Flag's eyes were on the image of two guards leading two shackled prisoners through the halls of Belle Reve's basement. One was tall and skinny with a large collar on his neck, the other was short and balding with a stomach that his tight fitting clothes could barely contain.

Waller turned swiveled in her chair and looked at the screen over her reading glasses.

"Ah. The skinny one is John Nichols aka Baxter Timmons. Timmons was a graduate assistant of a Neal Emerson, professor at NYU. Emerson and Timmons were working on an experiment with magnets when they got fried by some kind of magnetic field. Emerson died, but Timmons was given some kind of magnetic powers. Naturally he turned to a life of crime. Calls himself Dr. Polaris. We've got a collar on him that neutralizes his powers. We'll take it off when it comes time for a mission."

"And the little guy?" Flag asked.

"Name's Issac Bowin, he was a concert violinist and talented. Two and a half years ago, he was in a car wreck and busted his leg up. Bowin got addicted to pain pills and his addiction ruined his career. A few months ago, he killed a drug dealer because he wouldn't give him some pills."

"So what can he do?"

"Nothing yet," Waller said, turning away from the monitor. She stood and motioned towards a violin case on a table by the door. Flag stood and walked over to it with her behind him.

"Tell me, Flag, what do you know about the superhero boom in the 30's and 40's?"

"Not much," Flag said with a shrug. "I know about the Justice Society, but that's really it."

"Well, there was a hero from the midwest had super speed, kind of like the Flash... I think he was called the Flash too but I can't remember. Point is he used to lock horns with some fool called the Fiddler. He had this violin that could do all kinds of crazy things. The Fiddler died in a fight with the speedster and the government managed to recover his violin. This is it."

Waller popped open the case and carefully removed a dull brown violin. She gingerly held it up for Flag to see. He was no music expert, but as far as he could tell it was a boring run of the mill music instrument.

"Government has tried for years to get people to play it and use it like Fiddler did, none of them could do it. Before he got the monkey on his back, Bowin was arguably one of the best violin player in the world. If anyone can get it to work, it's him."

"Speaking of working," said Flag. "When's our next mission?"

"Working on it," Waller said. "You know how intelligence work is. Rome wasn't built in a day, Commander..."

"We've been down for a month now, Waller."

"It's coming soon," Waller said with a placating pat on Flag's shoulder. "CIA is gathering intel for me. Once they have something concrete, we'll get a mission plan drafted and ready to go."

"The CIA works for you. Tell me, Mrs. Waller...what exactly is your role in the intelligence community?"

"It's simple, son," Waller said with a smirk. "I am the United States intelligence community."

While Flag and Waller talked, two levels below two men wrestled on a blue mat. The tall, muscular white man tried his best to hit the smaller and skinnier black man, but he was too slow and received a sharp kick to the sides.

"Too slow," Ben Turner, Bronze Tiger, said as he danced away from his opponent.

"I know," William Heller, White Dragon, said with a not too friendly smile. "But your type was built for speed, wasn't it? Bred for it, really."

"You keep talking that racist bullshit and I'll have to take it up a notch."

"Bring it on, boy..."

Turner pushed his anger down. Heller's shtick was to get him riled up and unfocused. Turner had no special powers like Heller or the others on the team. If he got too sloppy with Heller the man could crush him like a bug. He had no doubt Heller would do it if given the chance. After all, he was already in the Suicide Squad, what was the worst Waller could do him?

Turner moved quickly and with purpose. Heller's superior strength was neutralized by Turner's quickness. It was like watching a jackrabbit dart around an ox. Turner slapped Heller in three quick pressure points, sending shockwaves of pain ripping through the bigger man's body. His skin was nigh invulnerable, but his nerve endings were just as susceptible as anyone else's. 

"Goddamn," Heller screamed as he collapsed to his knees. "You fucking--"

"It's not about how hard you hit," Turner said softly. "It's about where you hit. That lesson is for free... [i]boy[/i]."

Heller's legs spasmed in pain and left him unable to move while Turner quietly turned away and walked off the mat.


-----


[b]48 Hours Later
Over The Atlantic[/b]


The cargo plane bounced around from turbulence. Inside the hold, leaning against a crate of canned peaches, was Flag. He was dozing, his M4 in his lap. To his right, Heller was swaying on the floor of the plane with a cigarette in his mouth. Dr. Polaris held on to a crate away from the others. He had a sick look on his face as the plane rocked. Nightshade lay on the only cot set up inside the cargo hold, her eyes closed and her breathing slow and steady.

"You awake, Flag?" The voice of Amanda Waller chirped in his ear.

"I'm here," Flag said, not opening his eyes as he spoke. "I trust you finally have a briefing ready?"

"Just basics. The finer details are above your pay grade."

"Why am I not shocked? Go ahead. I guess something is better than nothing."

"Take what you can get," Waller said. Flag heard the shuffling of papers on her end before she started. "For the past eight months, we've had an undercover intelligence officer placed inside the terrorist organization known as Kobra. He's been delivering us top-grade intel. Thirty-six hours ago, the undercover agent went into red alert mode. He was under the belief that he had been made, his identity had been compromised. He bolted from Kobra's HQ in Egypt and took a plane of South Africa. He's in Cape Town as we speak, awaiting evac. He's your mission. Get him stateside safely."

"What's the tradecraft for meeting him?" Flag asked with a glance towards the sleeping Nightshade.

"I'm getting that information from his handlers as we speak. Soon as I know it, I'll relay it to you."

"One more thing...," Flag said, his eyes drifting over to Polaris and then the resting Heller. "Why Polaris and White Dragon? Why not Ben or Vertigo?"

"Turner's not feeling well. Despite his protests, him going on this mission is the last thing we need. Sick men make mistakes. Vertigo is useless until he fixes his eyepiece. That fool in Pakistan blew it apart and it'll take some time to fix. Anything else, Commander?"

"No, ma'am."

"Good. Your plane should land in Cape Town in about five hours. One last thing, this man is of the highest priority to US intelligence. He has been deeper inside a terrorist organization than any undercover to date. His knowledge is priceless. So, you either come back with our undercover...or you don't come home at all. Waller out."

With that, the line went dead. Flag shook his head and laid down. He curled up on the floor of the cargo plane with the assault rifle firmly in his hands.