It was a dreary and silent night. The dull glow of the streetlamps helped illuminate the dark streets of Gotham, along with the moon's melancholic dim light. The sky was bare of any stars, just the leaden sea of navy blue. Along a small alleyway, a door abruptly flung open - a man drunkenly stumbled outside, an empty beer bottle in his grasp. It was obvious he was wasted to the brim.
A gross burp escaped his lips and he guffawed wildly, before his legs brought him over to the pavement. His black hair was knotted and unkempt, and he donned a shabby olive green coat with a checkered shirt underneath. Black-rimmed glasses hung from the breast pocket of his coat, and his green eyes were empty. By his exterior, he seemed like a decent college student seduced by the trials of life. Lumbering past the closed shops, he was utterly oblivious towards his unfortune.
Amanda Waller had known of the incident long before the media recorded it on papers, tabloids, blogs, and various other outlets. The student had succumbed to his drunk state and passed out, dozing in front of a sullen-looking bakery. As he slept, his state sobered, and when he woke up he was terribly hungover. Autopsy results denied any assumptions that the man had rampaged drunk.
Yes, rampaged. When the man left his flat room to venture on to his campus, he had abruptly halted in his steps. He had fished into his bag a pocket knife, and he blindly began stabbing. Many had been wounded in that event, some even succumbed to their bleeding and died. But then there was one thing that bugged; whilst the act had been executed, somebody had pickpocketed wallets off of panicking passers. And when a body of the one victim was examined, he was stripped of all valuable belongings.
Amanda pushed the newspapers away and pulled her drawer open, and she rummaged through it before she found what she needed. Identity papers stored within cream-coloured file folders. She pulled it out, sifted through the papers until she found it. "Bingo," she muttered, and her eyes thoroughly scanned the paper.
On the paper, there was a photograph of a young woman donning a uniform prison orange jumpsuit. Her brown locks fell above her shoulders, and her bright blue eyes seemed sullen and murky as she unwillingly posed for the mug shots. Besides the picture, there laid printed the prisoner's information. Her whereabouts went swimming under dark when she had successfully escaped multiple prisons for being the master of unbelievably similar sudden rampages as what had happened with the college student. All victims were stripped of such possessions. Passers-by pickpocketed of their money and wallets.
'Maggie Harts,' the name column stated in printed text, in a monotonous format. Under it, read the words: 'Age: 19'. Former residence? Unknown. Amanda hummed, before she picked up her telephone. "Hello?" a voice from the other line was heard. Without wasting any breath or time, Amanda ordered,
"Round up a certain puppeteer for me."
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DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SUICIDE SQUAD OR ANYTHING CANONLY RELATED TO IT! I only own Maggie and my storyline, along with the stuff I made up.
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PUPPETEER | ✓
Fanfiction[COMPLETED. Wait for Book 2.] Maggie Harts is a metahuman - more exactly, a telepath. She is more commonly known as Puppeteer, as she utilizes her abilities to take over people's brains and control their exact movements. She used them to gain advant...
