𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.

chapter 𝐨𝐧𝐞.

ˢⁱⁿᶠᵘˡ ⁱⁿᶠᵃᵗᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ

໒꒰ྀི'🐍‧｡⋆

[ an introduction ]

𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐧.

Her plan was always shrugged aside, put under the rug. It was insane. Allowing villains to run about under the name of the United States of America Government? She had some nerve.

Waller stepped out of the large black SUV, barely glancing at the men around the car and the restaurant who holstered sleek guns. 

The world changed when Superman flew across the sky. And then it changed again when he didn't.

Walking forward, she nodded in acknowledgement with a smile when a vendor lifted up a black shirt with Superman's S logo, before turning it and reading the single word.

"Remember."

And that is why I'm here.

The two guards opened the door for her, and she entered the restaurant, finding two men waiting in the room. There were a dozen tables, all neatly arranged for any visitors, however only one was occupied. 

Dexter Tolliver and Peter Olsen greeted the woman with nods and pulled out her chair, their meals immediately being brought to them in preparation. 

"We lose a national hero, but you sit there looking like the cat that the canary," Olsen said.

"I've eaten a lot of canaries," she smirked. "It's taken some work. But I finally have them. The worst of the worst."

She reached down into her black leather bag, painted fingers clasping around the familiar red and white binder. Placing it down on the table, Olsen nodded at it in recognition. 

"There's rumors, Amanda, that, uh, that some of them have abilities."

"Well, the rumors are right," she confirmed. "You know what the problem with a metahuman is? The human part. We got lucky with Superman. He shared our values. The next Superman might not."

"You're playing with fire, Amanda."

"I'm fighting fire with fire," she rebuked, taking a sip of the red wine in her glass.

"You're not going to pitch us that Task Force X project of yours again, are you?" Olsen questioned with a sigh.

"Yes. But this time, you're gonna listen." Reaching forward, she flipped the first page of the binder, revealing a first of many biographies the binder held. "Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot. He's the most wanted hitman in the world. Let's say he has an elite clientele."

"What?"

"Hey, Angelo," Floyd spoke into the phone from his spot on the roof building. "This is the exterminator you called for your rat problem. My account's looking a little thin."