Suicide Squad: Regan's Induction

March 15, 2017:

Regan awakes from being captured to be given a better offer than decades in prison.

Terrebone Perrish, Belle Reve Pen., Louisiana


NPCs: Amanda Waller



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…


Terrebone Perrish, Belle Reve Pen., Louisiana

"Regan Wyngarde aka Lady Mastermind. Wanted on several counts of grand theft, terrorism, blackmail of public and government officials, tax evasion, murder suspect, the list goes on. You're just nasty aren't you, Miss Wyngarde?" A woman's voice, flat, matter of a fact. Regan should be coming to now. The bag that was used in transport here taken off of her head and she will find herself in a room that almost looks like a classroom, a small run of benches along one wall, a center desk and behind that a whitewash board, every other wall bare and there are bars windows including the slot of the doorway leading out. The only doorway. Included is a very large wall spanning TV screen and a squat, darkskinned woman in a power suit.
Beside her is a much taller individual in a black turtleneck, slacks and shoes. A gun strapped at his shoulder. A white skullmask covering his features, a man of some reknown among the right circles, the Taskmaster. Though much less theatre to his outfit right now. They're at his home away from home. It isn't necessary for a lot of show.


It all begins with a bowed head of recently unkempt blonde hair. Blurry as it is, Regan's world opens to a shade of orange blanketing her chest and shoulders, and the familiar feel of her precious locket missing from around her neck. Even through the slowly dawning realization, she sucks in a slow breath and strains her shoulders; the same kind of stretching everyone does when waking from a slumber, intended or not.

Eyelashes flutter. Blue eyes sharpen. Regan gets a slow sweep of the room with her eyes before she looks over her shoulder. She looks to the man's skullmask, then his gun, then lets out a little sigh. Yes, Regan, you /have/ been arrested.

"Nasty? No…" Regan slowly shakes her head and tries to arch her back, trying to sit in a pose that will establish some flow of dominance. Tall back. Tall shoulders. "…what's nasty is that Halloweentown back there's wearing a turtleneck. Seriously. Who does, anymore?" A beat. "Lawyer. Now."


"Military thermal mock turtleneck. It serves purpose." Taskmaster says defensively. "You're not in any position to be a critic, lady."
"Enough, Taskmaster." Amanda Waller says, "You're also a metahuman aren't you, Miss Wyngarde or do you prefer Lady Mastermind? Classified a mutant." A quick shuffle through a file folder and the dark woman smiles, no teeth. Just the pull of lipstick coated lips, "Why don't you tell me what you're capable of. Tell only. If you try to show me… " She taps the side of her phone, "There is an app on my phone. An app that controls the trigger commands of a very special implant, an explosive one that is hidden on your body somewhere. It could be an arm, it could be a leg, stomach, possibly neck. I'm not sure honestly, I let my surgical team have fun with it this time. Are we understood?"

"I watched what those nanobombs have done to other inmates, it isn't pretty. Really sucks to be the clean up crew." Taskmaster adds in.


Regan Wyngarde stares at Amanda Waller during the wind-up. The young, tiny blonde makes for an interesting few minutes of body language with the way she bends, tilts her head, rolls her eyes, and does every bit her best to show that she's taking none of it too seriously. Three times, her lips pull back and she mouths 'law-yer' to the woman while she's talking. Her cheek dimples with a smirk and…

…the smirk falters mid-swing. There's nothing quite like mention of implanted bombs to kill the boring principal routine. With the twitch of a once-carefully manicured brow, Regan uprights her head to stare downwind to Amanda with her best, cold blue glint.

"Say that you're bluffing." Regan starts slowly. "Say that what I do is happening right now and you're imagining all of this, that we're not sitting here having this conversation and you're not weakly threatening me with some kind of bomb scare." Regan smiles softly. "Say I'm in your head right now and all it would take is a little black magic and Taskmaster here will draw that pistol, shoot you in the head, and I'll walk out of here while the two of you drool?"

Regan smiles, darkly.

"But you have my attention." Regan adds with a dip of her head.


"Good but so we are both on the same foot here and I don't have to threaten you again I want you to know I have some understanding of what you're capable and you will find Belle Reve, where you are now isn't exactly hospitable to extranormal powers. It is hard to track exactly what the mutant powers of psionists but, I am anything if prepared. Always. Your bluff to match my own. I am not the woman you want to fuck with." Waller stares, no smiles, no joking, no humor. Just that promising gaze of a woman who means business.

"There is a reason I call her Satan." Taskmaster says quietly, his arms folding over his chest.

"Psi-Dampners are very last year. I make sure we stay ahead of the curve here. We're a maximum security prison meant to keep your kind locked up and never seen again. If you think to test it… we can conclude business now, without wasting my time and I will find another with talents similar to yours to flesh out my team."

"I bet it's in her leg." The permanent fix of Taskmaster's mask is grinning. Always.

"So, no more threats. I want you to be a part of something important, bigger than you or this asshole next to me. You will have a purpose. I want acknowledgement you're following me and not scheming." The leader of Taskforce X will wait to carry on.


"Well then I guess it's pretty good that I didn't test the Psi-Dampeners because if it's not in my leg and it's in the back of my head it would get member's club only brain matter all over this guy's tactical turtleneck COULD YOU SHUT UP?!?" Regan gets most of it out before she raises her voice and looks up, sharply, to Taskmaster. She bares her teeth to him and kicks one of her feet in a weak, defiant mote of frustration. Her cheeks puff out a blast of air towards her knee, mouthing the best, the most useful four-letter curse word, immediately thereafter.

"Lady, you wouldn't buy it even if I told you that I wouldn't scheme you," Regan lifts her eyes to Waller's, her mood turning petulant. "So let's pretend that you're asking nicely and that I'm not stupid, okay? Hrmm?" Regan adds with a curt upturn to her voice. "This is some kind of Guantanamo Black Ops thing? Lay it out. What's in it for me?"


Taskmaster releases a chuckle, "You sure pick 'em."

Ignoring Taskmaster Waller's tight smile remains, "Your freedom. I am in a unique position where I can pardon you from many of your crimes, you can walk the world causing mayhem of a comfortable scale and I make use of your special talents when I call on you." She motions at the prison wall. "This, doesn't have to be the only thing you look at every day and night for rest of your miserable life. You will serve the United States of America and be a hero no one will ever know about or give two shits about but you'll get some liberties every citizen should be afforded, even ones who give up on basic human rights. That is more than fair. This is perhaps the best offer you're ever going to receive."


Regan, for the first time, falls quiet. She's without makeup; her hair is a mess. Somewhere in the corners of her blue eyes is a silent menace, like the eyes of a sleeping serpent that simply isn't hungry yet. Her ears, however, are wide open, and in her silence she follows Waller's gesture towards the wall with her eyes. She looks to the walls, the screens, the benches, and down to Taskmaster's boots. The way she cases the room and does the mental mathematics is, if anything, overt.

Her eyes turn from Taskmaster to Waller. She studies the powered armor and the cell phone, the one that, presumably, could blow a hole in her wide enough to let the spoiled bitch out of her bloodstream.

"Mayhem for the USA. Oo-rah." Regan trails off, slinking back into her seat. In some ways, it's already her answer. "I don't care about being a hero and I don't really care about America?" It's not a question, but Regan words it like one, upturned shoulders and all. "You'd be amazed the worldwide contacts I have in certain places. There's this casino in Monte Carlo, not that anyone on a government salary could affort it, but really," Regan laughs arrogantly. "America isn't the best Earth has to offer."

And then it comes.

"But I don't want this." Regan nudges her head towards the wall. "So if you list out the crimes I'm getting a pardon for and sign on it…I'll kill for America. Sure. /Whatevs/. Let's get this bomb out of me and get to work."


"Your patriotic stance or lack of one isn't to question or concern here." It was just another selling point for Waller she rolls through in her recruitment process. "What is, is how well you listen and you understand what can be rewarded or taken away. I think you have a firm grasp of that now."
The short woman shakes her head slowly, "The implant remains. It stays until I want it out of you, you're going to get a cover identity and if you show up on any sort of radar, that includes speaking of this arrangement, me or Taskforce X we will deny you, we will end you and no one will ever know you made it across the Louisiana state line. You will simply disappear."

Taskmaster exhales, he is bored but he knows his place. "I'll bring her to her cell and give her the rest of the rules."

"Good." Waller puts the phone away, "It is late and I am at the end of my tolerance for any of you dirtbags."

"Love you too, Wally." Taskmaster remarks on his way out, "C'mon, noob."


Regan's shoulders slump at her failed attempt to mosey the conversation directly into taking the implant out of her. She pinches her fingers beside her lips, zips her fingers across them, then twists them to lock the secrets away, safe and sound. Now that her deal is set, she finally looks over her orange shirt, plucks at it, and makes a grossed-out, bug-eyed face as she stands.

"This was a good talk. I'm glad we had it and hey, that power armor?" Regan winks and points to Amanda while she turns to follow Taskmaster. "Slimming. Good call."

Shuffling behind Taskmaster, Regan's voice can be heard growing distant, striking up what is likely to be a seriously long walk down an even longer hallway.

"So…we're in Louisiana? How gross is that?" Regan can be heard asking her leader. "This place was probably built by buck-toothed frag-ugly Jaime Lannisters whose sisters do perms out of their trailers. You know, she was wearing armor in there and I paid taxes once, that they probably went to some skank-ass pen in Louisiana is bullsh-"

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