#im a vanilla normie.... sigh

[meowburgerz]

what the hell. get petpat

[lex-munro]

[Suicide Squad Scrap] Princess pt. 16

self-indulgent batjokes-flavored SS/BvS/JL, installment 16.  this universe’s Ratcatcher is a sassy young Gotham native with the meta-human ability to speak to certain species of small mammal.

more references to past Constantine/King Shark (i can’t help that i find it hilarious).

the piece as a whole is rated Mature for pervasive language, varying degrees of violence, use of controlled substances, sexual references, questionable ethics, and themes of mental illness.  set from Flag’s POV, with references to Birds of Prey, but not compliant with The Suicide Squad.

***

“We got the north patrol,” says Ratcatcher.

“Didn’t see west patrol,” says Lawton, “but we got two of the sniper nests.”

Digger scampers into the alcove.  “Got the western patrol,” he reports.

They wait.

Nothing happens; nobody else joins them.

“Wha—where the hell’s Jones?”

“I, er…lost ‘im.”

“How do you ‘lose’ a six-foot-four lizardman with fangs?” Flag demands.

“Look, I ducked into an alley to have a quick piss, all right?”

“Fuckin’ idiot,” huffs Lawton.

“It’s all those damn energy drinks,” Flag grumbles.

“Oy!  At least it’s not lager anymore, yeah?  Intervention well received!”

“Heard you cried when King Shark read his letter to you,” Lawton says.

“Man’s got a poet’s soul.  ‘Me sad when you fall down like idiot instead of stabbing people’ hits deep when you’re hungover.  Said the only thing that ever made him sadder was when his boyfriend went to hell for like a month without a word; broke up with him over it, in fact.”

Flag tries to hail Croc on comms, but all he gets is static.

Lawton heaves a sigh.  “It’s gonna bug the shit outta me, tryna figure how they took a guy like Croc quietly.”

“Must be blowdarts, yeah?” Digger says, like that somehow makes sense.  “Saw this old guy once—four-foot-nothin’, made of pitch-black wrinkles, white hair, and spite—he could take down a kangaroo from fifty yards, completely silent.”

Flag shakes his head.  “Well, that pretty heavily implies an active enemy presence beyond guard posts, and one that might take prisoners if you look interesting enough.”

“Fuuuuck, I look so Muggle,” whines Ratcatcher.  “They’ll kill the fuck outta me.”

“What’s Muggle?” Joker asks.

“What’s—even my old ass knows what a fuckin’ Muggle is,” says Lawton.  “You ain’t seen or heard shit about Harry Potter in the last twenty years?”

“I don’t really follow celebrities outside the Gotham crowd.”

“Celebr—”

“That doesn’t matter!” Flag snaps.  “We got places to be.  And a Muggle is just a normal person.  Muggle, Normie, Vanilla.  This don’t change shit—we still stay low and quiet and assume they’re gonna try and kill us if we get spotted.”

“I mean, it changes a little,” says Ratcatcher.  “Now we gotta keep an eye out for the luggage while we’re poking around.”

“Heh, luggage,” chuckles Digger.

Joker leans around the edge of their hiding place.  “Mm.  Hm.  Hmhmhmmmmm.  Boomie, that door marked ‘maintenance’ should head down.  You verify the door to the compound.  Gun-Bunny, go get those last two snipers out of our business.  Snack-Pack, send some crunchies to verify the main servers.”

“I look like a fuckin’ Jell-O cup to you?” Ratcatcher gripes.  (“Tapioca,” Digger sasses, which earns him a boot to the shin.)  Nevertheless, as Digger wrestles with a heavy-duty cellar door, she sends two rats into a nearby vent.  (“No, I dunno what fuckin’ floor—just follow the wires.”)

Flag checks the intel tablet again.  Lawton should be able to get a line on the final sniper nest before Digger ever makes it to the compound’s entrance.  The hitman’s gone by the time Flag glances up.

Meanwhile, Ratcatcher is back in their little alcove (tying her shoe and complaining about being thirsty), and Joker is staring at the maintenance hatch while counting.

Ninety seconds later, Digger checks in on comms.

~Got a fuck-off big door here.~

“Two feet early,” says Joker, mostly to himself.  “Twins?”

~Locked up tight,~ says Digger.  ~Deffo the right way.  Bright side:  at least Satan’s got good intel.~

“Does it look computerized?” Flag asks him.

~Absolutely.  But no sign of an access panel on this end.~

Flag turns to Joker.  “If we get you to an access panel, can you hack it?”

“I look like a hacker?” Joker asks, confused.

“You hacked Harley’s nano-charge.”

Joker shrugs.  “Human factor.”

“What?”

“Found somebody who knew how and threatened ‘em until they did it for me.  It’s called ‘delegating,’ Flag.”

Ratcatcher sighs.  “Well, thanks to the jackhammer, I got a shot at it.  But drone recon said the access panel for the door is on the roof, totally separate from the server farm and all the central processing.”

~Take your time,~ Digger says.  ~Shut door ain’t goin’ nowhere, and I brought a Red Bull.~

“Blech.”

~Nah, it’s the peach kind, Arcee.~

“Huh.  Only one doesn’t taste like ass.”

“That’s not what ass tastes like,” Joker says authoritatively.

They all pause to either look at him askance or bleach their brains.

“So, the roof,” Flag says.  “The roof of this building.  In plain view of the lookout post halfway up that building,” he adds, pointing to the lone administrative office tower on the next block.  “Where there’s people with guns who shoot on sight.  While we’re trying to do a stealth job.”

“Gonna need a diversion, for sure,” Ratcatcher says.

Joker shrugs.  “Only four of ‘em up top, plus the four on the door of this place and whatever’s giving Gun Bunny trouble.”

~I heard that.  All snipers taken care of.  Two roofs away, on my way down so I can follow Arcee back up and give cover.~

Joker nods and shoves his coat at Flag.  “I’ll distract the lookouts.  Flag, you escort the little lady into the building.  Give a yell when you need me to make my move.”  And he just strolls his way across the street.

Irritated, Flag drapes the trench coat over a nearby hydrant to free up both hands.  “Furry friends first, then me.  Stay back until it’s clear.”

.End.