Jump 463: DC Extended Universe

Jump 463: DC Extended Universe
>Strength: Raw power. Delays and setbacks will be overcome.
>Age: 35
>Location: M̶e̶t̶r̶o̶p̶o̶l̶i̶s̶  Belle Reve Federal Penitentiary, Louisiana
What. WHAT? WHAT?!?
>Identity: Criminal
Man, I must have REALLY screwed up if I ended up HERE. Did I get on Lex Luthor's bad side because CruxCorp was doing well?
>Drawbacks: (+300) Suicidal Style
And why is there an explosive in my head that my precog says will go off if I disappear or try to escape? Isn't that overkill?
>Bringing Together A Team (1100)
Feh. If I'm going to be stuck in here, I'd better make some friends.
>Head Shot Dead Shot (Free, Criminal)
Well, if I'm going to be a criminal, I might as well be one with appropriate skill.
>Slipknot (900, Criminal)
Eh, at least I've got a way of getting out of these situations, but honestly this is borderline embarassing.
>Task Force J (300, Criminal)
Well, maybe not right NOW, but...
>Stylish Gear (Free, Criminal)
Yeah, right now my style is an orange suit.
>The Bad Guys (0, Criminal)
Well, might as well have my own criminal syndicate. It seems to be the in-style thing these days. Can I skip on the gaudy car though?

So... stuck in Belle Reve. That's not my idea of a good time. Using precognition was the first thing I did, and Path to Victory to remove the bomb the second time. And both of them confirmed that any attempt at escaping now would be a guaranteed death. I can live with that, though; it just means I'll have to get to know the people here. Inmates and guards alike.

A year in, the world changes; an alien invasion. There's still no way for me to get out without my head exploding, and I half consider it before I realize I can't see anything beyond my head exploding with precognition. Which means that is an indisputable game over. And so I sit in Belle Reve, all but powerless to stop the alien invasion that everyone's watching on television, and I see it live when Superman snaps Zod's neck.

It is at this point that I decide it's time to change the rules, as the rules outside have changed. I have one guard I've been using as a reliable go-between for things that can't be trusted for the mail, like the occasional burner phone or other bits. While I'm not pushing for special privileges, I have my men on the outside that I've been keeping tabs on, even if they've mostly been left to their own devices. After this, though... I'm doing more than that. Feelers being put out in the criminal underworld about folks with unusual abilities or powers. We're not Intergang, but screw those guys anyway, we've got more class than that.

A handful of months later, I get roused from my cell unexpectedly. The interview involves me sitting and having a brief chat with one Amanda Waller - it seems I made a list as a 'maybe', because I came from nowhere. I had a list of crimes a mile long that I was suspected of having involvement in at the very least. And what did they nail me with? Tax fraud, without being given a chance to defend myself, not that they could touch CruxCorp with it at least. And where did they put me? The deepest, darkest hole they could find.

>"So what I'm asking you, mister Cross, is why."
"Because I can do quite literally anything. Sometimes it takes a little time."
>"Anything, huh? You're still here."
"Escape isn't the issue - I could have walked out the third day I was here. Fifth day if I wanted to avoid incapacitating anyone. But the bomb in my skull is a novel design... I've seen the specs. Removing it without decapitating myself wouldn't be easy. Four to six weeks, likely, and I could. Though it would detonate on removal, rendering it a moot point."
>"What else can you do?"
"What do you want me to do? Master martial arts, become a marksman, run a quadrathalon? Take a floundering company and put it in the same circles as LexCorp and Wayne Enterprises? Run a national crime syndicate from the most secure prison in the United States? Keep up with current events, plan how to defend against alien invasions and fight cape-wearing vigilantes in the streets if everything went to pot? Figure out what sort of powers these people have, and give it to others that have been vetted and are confirmed to be trustworthy? Kill a Superman?"
>"Can you?"
"As I said, I can do anything. With the right information, a little time, access to some chemicals, and I could wrap my hands around his neck and choke the life out of him. Short of that? Tear gas, toxins, nerve agents - the question isn't whether it can be done, the question is acceptable collateral damage. You'd need a dead-on hit with a fifteen megaton warhead to stop him if you try to use brute force. Assuming you don't have more esoteric means at your disposal. Conventional weapons are beyond useless."
>"You're giving me more information than analysts who have spent months studying him."
"I saw him on television. I can run the numbers, and flying bricks are dangerous to everyone who is not a flying brick. I ran the syndicate because I got bored, Ms. Waller, but even I get caught by surprise once in a while. The federal marshals planned out what they did masterfully, and I salute them for it. Railroading the trial was probably the smartest move they could have pulled."
>"Here are the terms then. You do what I say when I say. You screw up, you try to run, your head explodes. You do the job, I take time off your sentence. Do a good enough job, we give you considerations."
"Ten years off of a hundred forty-three year sentence means I'd still be in here when the alien god comes to conquer the planet. I'll have to strive to impress you."

She left, and that was the end of it for a little while. Guards came in, and I was trussed up and secured better than anyone had any right to be. From there? Flown to an airport, with the others. I stayed silent throughout; it was a rehash of what I was already told, and Deadshot reacting to the "motivational" speech was amusing. If only because the only reason he could talk back was that he was of more use alive than dead. I stuck out like a sore thumb, considering I donned a proper business suit while it was anyone's guess what sort of bin most of them got their outfits from.

From there... well, things went a bit south. Helicopter crash? That's a thing that KILLS PEOPLE. Like Katana. Slipknot and Captain Idiot tried to make a run for it in the confusion, and... well, both their heads exploded. Still, we got in, Waller shot some feds, we got to the roof, and Harley promptly deserted for the sake of running away with the Joker in their hijacked helicopter. Stations of canon, as they say. The mission was a wash, we ended up in a bar, everyone had a nice long chat. And as the man that can do anything, they asked if I could make a plan to walk in there, stop the end of the world. I shrugged, told them I had the path to victory, and was just waiting for them to be willing to walk it.

They didn't actually believe the hype until we walked in and handed the Enchantress' ass to her, which went way more smoothly than it had any right to. June Moon lost her mojo, but kept her sanity, and when she lost her mojo, everyone that had been killed or turned into a monster was returned with amnesia. Waller offered to give everyone ten years off their sentences, up to the point that I started negotiating with her. She wants disposable assets? That's fine, as long as they're getting the right kind of benefits. I can take the whole project off the books - there's precedent after all, in a manner of speaking - and bring my own assets to the table. Private army? Bah, taking over and running things would be too much paperwork and who has time for that? But squads of troubleshooters? That could actually be entertaining.

>"So I get everything I want. You get everything you want. Why are you doing this?"
"Because I'm bored, Ms. Waller, and my lawyers would have gotten me out in three weeks anyway. Oh, and when you see Bruce, tell him I said hello."

As far as the government is aware, Task Force X is shut down. Suicide Squad's a go, though, and everyone gets to relax on a desert island in between missions. Beats the hell out of prison. And having been put in charge, this means I can pass along hypercompetence to everyone under my command, and though Waller's suspicious that I have some sort of precognition she was willing to sign it over to me because you simply can't argue with results. Eventually I even got Waller to agree to right of refusal, as long as I could make a reasoned explanation. For instance, we wouldn't take political assassinations. Still, there wasn't much within reason we wouldn't do; we liquidated Lex Luthor's little legion of doom, we rooted Intergang out of Metropolis, and so on.

As time progressed, I used the Suicide Squad (an ironic name for a group that never saw another death) to try to give redemption to people. There were some I rejected outright as candidates, like Scarecrow or Bloodsport, but things really didn't go as badly as would have been expected. Especially considering that I bolstered their ranks with some of the syndicate's more exceptional members, meta and mundane.

Near the end of my stay, there was a full blown alien invasion. While the Justice League dealt with fighting off the big names, we dealt with the fighting in the streets. Honor among thieves, sure, but alien invaders and parademons? Best to put them down.