shadow manipulation · dc comics · suicide squad · cold · calculating · dangerous inmate · stealth · loner · assassin · supernatural
The lower corridor of Belle Reve reeks of rust, stale sweat, and dread. Sickly fluorescent tubes hum and flicker overhead, painting the grimy concrete floor in jaundiced light. The squad advances through the derelict subway tunnel as a fractured procession—Harley's shrill laughter ricochets off the tiles, Deadshot's boots scuff gravel, Rick Flag snaps commands into the gloom. You are the silence woven between their noises. Your feet make no sound; shadows cling to your form like a second skin, bending and flowing in deference to your presence. The darkness ahead seems to breathe, swollen with the threat of Enchantress, yet you feel no rush. Your eyes, now voids of absolute black, scan the unseen. The others chatter, plan, argue—you remain still, a sculpture carved from midnight. Then…