FicWad

Desperation leaks from the streets, carrying the fears and doubts of a people who have long been forgotten. Rats scamper around in the gutters as a crowd begins to form in front of the falling apart ballroom. A few lights flicker around the marquee which bares the name of the band playing that night...'Suicide Squad'. As the wind begins to pick up rotting wood shutters bang against brick siding. The unrest of the crowd is tangible. Black leather blends together, individuals only distinguishable by colourful hair. To the north the riot squads begin to don their gear, anxious to prove that they’re in control. Dogs on chain leashes froth at the mouth, ready to rip into the rotting souls of those exiled to Desolation Row.

On the street the tattooed hand of a young girl flips a sign around. “Sold Out” is scribbled across it in sloppy handwriting. Anger ripples through the crowd. A mohawked man turns to the owner of the last ‘Suicide Squad’ ticket. Metal flies through the air making contact with soft flesh. All hell breaks loose. Fists and booted feet fly through the air. Someone falls and the cracking of bones can be heard. The fighting continues, blood mixing with the filth that fills the alleyway. The riot squads fly into action, batons and shields at the ready. The blue jackets storm the building, forcing dozens of people into the back of big black vans. Some try to fight back but are beaten or tazered on the spot. A gunshot goes off and people scatter, retreating into the blackness of the night.

Five men clad in black and red are drug out of the dingy ballroom, hands bound behind their backs. The one in the lead struggles against the police’s grip. His body is slammed against the cop car, head making a deafening crack on the metal. When he is pulled back into a standing position there is sticky red blood running down his face. Although his head is throbbing he hides the increasingly intense pain, knowing that’s all they want to see. The men are shoved into the back of the van. The tall blonde tries to kick one of the police in the face but the doors are shut, his foot hitting only thick metal. As the car jerks forward he is thrown backwards, head knocking against the metal bench. For him the world goes black. The others look on in concern, frustrated with the fact that there is absolutely nothing they can do for their brother.

Within a matter of minutes the riot squads have cleared the streets. In total seven have died. Their bodies are left in the alleyway to act as a warning: “Obey or die.”

On a roof across the street two sets of eyes watch the scene. Neither of them holds any emotion. To them death was a common occurrence. Although it is tragic they’ve become accustomed to it. Both hearts hardened to the cruelty of the world that they exist in.

“It looks like the heroes of our story have gotten themselves arrested…again.”

A blonde crosses her arms over her leather-clad chest. Blue eyes follow the black van as it travels up the street. As it hits the multiple holes in the asphalt the men inside bounce around. A few grumbles arise but no one dares to speak; not here.

A man clad in dark jeans steps out of the shadows to stand next to the girl. His eyes are covered with black pilot goggles despite the lack of light. Leather straps crisscross his bare torso. Two guns hang from the holsters, resting against his hips. “They can’t resist or they’d end up dead. tThen who would act as a voice for the forgotten?”

The blonde rolls her eyes into the back of her head so that only the whites show. Her hand finds the man’s as the blue reappears, “Shall we go and save them?”

The figures jump from roof to roof, quickly catching up with the van containing the five. Flying silently through the air the female lands on top of the vehicle. From inside the van the men hear a thud from above. Quizzical looks are exchanged but once again none of them dare say anything.

The police vehicle hits another pothole. The blonde loses her grip on the metal. For a second the road flashes before her eyes. Above a hand is offered to her. Tattooed fingers wrap around tanned flesh. For now our heroine is safe.

“You’re going to have to hold my feet.” The female gets down on her knees digging two pieces of metal out of the pocket of her patched jeans.

The goggled man grabs onto the blonde’s ankles through her combat boots. Within seconds the female is dangling down the back of the van, her fingers going to work on the door lock. The doors fly open, hitting against the back of the vehicle. Silently cursing the blonde quickly gets into the back of the box truck and begins to undo the cuffs that bind the hands of the men.

“Who are you?” the shortest of the five demands. He isn’t necessarily upset about being rescued but one should definitely know the identity of the rescuer.

The blonde lunges at the dark haired male, her hand slapping over his mouth. If the drivers hear any kind of noise the whole mission could be blown. Blue eyes glare into hazel ones. The short man sticks his tongue out, letting it make contact with the flesh of the blonde. She pushes him towards the open door.

Although he knows this is the only way out, he hesitates. It isn’t that he’s scared of dying…that would be a welcomed escape from the desperation of everyday life. The man has no idea where to go once he gets free of the police van.

Soon all the members of the Suicide Squad are freed and rubbing their sore wrists. The blonde moves towards the middle of the group. “There’s a bar on 54th street...the Beauty Parlor. We’ll meet you there.”

With that she scrambles back up onto the roof, watching the men jump from the van one by one. Although none of them are too thrilled to have part of their skin left on the gravel none are complaining about being rescued. All five disappear into the night each wondering who their mysterious rescuer could be.


Author's Note: Just an introduction. I will jump into POVs in the next chapter. I just wanted to set the scene. I'm super stoked about writing this so I hope all of you lovely people enjoy it :)