'Cause this ship's going down

All on account of the weather

Though we'll drown

There's no need to frown

'Cause we're all going together

And I won't say "Woe is me"

As I disappear into the sea

Oh hell!

'Cause you've all been so good to me

So we're all going together.

********

"Sir Mikael, I have the utmost confidence in you," Artoria stared at me, her eyes focused and unwavering. "Your strength of character and strength of arm are beyond reproach. Though I know you have committed dishonourable acts, they were for honourable goals, and I know the extent you go to to ensure the safety of the innocent and this Family."

The King of Knights met my eyes with resolution but also sadness.

"So why? Why this? Why now? Why must you not only sully your image in my heart but betray me in such a cruel fashion?"

I was stone.

Unshaken, even if the sky fell upon my head, I was stone.

I met her resolute gaze with one of my own, unwilling and unable to back down from this most important of battles.

"Answer me!" Artoria demanded, her face contorting in a way that had never been directed my way. Hurt. Sadness. "After all this, I owed an answer! So, please. Sir Mikael. Why?"

Everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for my answer.

Answer that was as cruel as it was true.

"Because it's funny," I said softly.

Artoria stared intently at me, unable to accept the answer, for it was incomplete. That was not what she wanted to hear.

"And," I paused for dramatic effect.

The tension in the room skyrocketed.

"Mashed potatoes are the best potatoes."

Artoria recoiled as if slapped, eyes watering as they looked from me to her plate and the pillowy mounds that lay upon it.

"Pfft," Yoruichi couldn't hold it in anymore as she collapsed into giggles. Other women at the table also stifled their laughter.

"They are as soft as clouds," I continued with utmost seriousness, driving the point further into the King of Knight's heart. "White and pure, their pillowy grace reminds the eater of a soft pillow or a woman's bosom. Covered in gravy, with peel, mixed with cheese or bacon, or innumerable other contents, the infinite permutations and ways to eat the mashed potato are a reflection of the nature of the universe. Unending, yet encompasing all. Mashed potatoes are... love."

"Hahahahahaha," Yoruichi was leaning on Tsunade as she shook while Robin wasn't even trying to cover her laughter.

"Lies!" Artoria tried to deny the truth as her hand slammed into the table. "Mashed potatoes are only for those too unskilled in cooking. They are gruel, fit for pigs and soldiers who have no choice and no skill at hunting or foraging. The fry is the superior potato. Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside. Its salty taste goes with so many dipping sauces you are spoiled for choice."

"I've always preferred a solid baked potato," Emma said, cutting her steak with elegant motions. I saw her smile slightly at the 'potato war.' Despite everything, I was happy she was having fun. The awkwardness between us did not mean she was not part of the Family. "There is an elegance in its simplicity. One tuber can become so much, yet its base form is already delicious."

"Chips," Priscilla said simply.

"All valid opinions," I nodded gregariously. "All wrong, of course. But valid. I accept you all, despite your obvious flaws, for I love you. And I know, one day, you too will recognize the mashed way as the only true road to enlightenment."

As always, it was Melina that got under my skin.

"I want to try those 'scalloped potatoes' you mentioned once," she said guilelessly.

"You shut your heathen mouth, wench!" I said in an over-the-top manner so she knew not to take my words too seriously. I know she was doing this to get a rise out of me, but some things were too far. "I will not have that kind of talk in my house! Any who would dare create that abomination in my kitchen shall be sent to the dungeon!"

"We have a dungeon?" Wonder Woman asked softly to Glynda.

The teacher choked slightly on her wine.

"Ugh," she coughed, dabbing at her lips before answering. "We have two. One is the facility where we keep Medea's patients anesthetized. He calls it a dungeon because it's locked from the outside in case any wake up somehow. And he's a drama queen. The other is for... personal use." The teacher's face was tinged a light pink that had nothing to do with wine.

"Oh," Wonder Woman said softly, fiddling with her bracers contemplatively. Her face was also starting to flush. "I see."

Damn, I had been hoping to surprise her with it. Baring Emma, Diana spent the least time on the Island, so I had given it good odds she wouldn't have noticed us repurposing one of the many rooms in the cliff for a sex dungeon.

"What are scalloped potatoes?" Ranni asked.

"They are filth!"

"After he ate some of Torrent's raisins, I asked him if there was anything he wouldn't eat," the great betrayer explained softly. "His answer was, and I quote, 'I'll try everything once. If someone cooks for me, I'll eat it because they worked hard for me. Except for scalloped potatoes. Anyone who puts that in front of me must burn in the fires of hell!'"

"But what are they?"

"FILTH!" I repeatedly insisted.

"A side dish made of sliced potatoes in cream and covered in cheese," Medea, the resident chef, answered simply as she deftly blocked Artoria's attempts to slide her mashed potatoes onto her plate.

The King of Knights pouted, looking around for another 'victim.'

"What is wrong with them?"

"They are a monument to our sins! Proof that mankind is inherently an agent of chaos and destruction. Proof that there is no just god!"

"I honestly don't know," Melina answered, ignoring me with the ease of long practice. "I just know it is the one thing he refuses to eat. I've seen him consume some genuinely vile stuff."

"You go for years without being able to taste food, and you'll be an epicurean, too," I interjected.

"He's made salade out of Miranda Flowers, which are poisonous or grilled the Land Octopi." Melina moved her plate without looking. Artoria pouted harder. I don't think anyone else had a problem with mashed potatoes since they had all eaten theirs without complaint. They just found her desperation funny, like me. "He once made a broth out of a skeletal snail. It killed him."

Half the table looked at me.

I shrugged.

"It didn't taste bad," I answered the unasked question. "A bit bland, if anything. I think what actually killed me was the other stuff in the soup. Could be the Ghost Glovewort. Could be the Deathbird. Don't know, really. I had been going for a whole 'death draught' thing."

"You'll eat something called 'deathbird' but not scalloped potatoes?" Raven asked neutrally. Not judgemental, just genuinely curious.

"The Deathbird had the same texture as chicken, only blander," I shrugged again. "I've been meaning to try it and a few other things again now that I have the defences and don't have to worry about being poisoned or cursed."

Seeing as they were still curious about the scalloped potatoes thing, I decided to be frank.

"It's a pavlovian response from my time before the Cell. I had a bad experience with them when I was still human," I pretended not to see Emma's fist curl, "and now the sight and smell of scalloped potatoes are enough to make me nauseous. I have yet to find another food that does the same. I wasn't joking about the taste thing, either. With Faery Feast, almost anything can be used to make good food, so I went wild in the Lands Between. Being undead sucks."

"T'is that why thy art such a letch?" Ranni asked in realization. "A lack of physical pleasure for years?"

"No. I am just a horny pervert."

"Pfffttt," Yoruichi sprayed out her sake at my deadpan delivery of the fact, even as Tsunade gave me the stink eye and Raven, the unfortunate victim, waived her hand. The alcohol disappeared in an instant. The Demon Lord didn't even blink.

I grinned.

Shame?

What is that?

Can I sleep with it?

Artoria, the cunning strategist that she was, had found the perfect target to foist her unwanted food onto and was holding her plate under the table as surreptitiously as she could.

Medea consumed the mashed potatoes, looking like a cat eating ice cream with the way she licked and licked. After less than ten seconds, my pet licked the last of the small meal from the tip of her nose in an adorably cross-eyed manner.

I seriously doubted eating potatoes would harm her, considering some of the things I've seen her eat. Honestly, I had no idea what she was, thus, I always thought of her as a 'cat(?).'

My nearest guess was 'Tsathoggua but cat shaped.'

It didn't really matter. I loved the floofball all the same.

Looking around up from under the table and around at my Family, my grin slipped into a more genuine smile.

Everyone was laughing, talking, eating, and enjoying themselves.

With the difference in time zones, our busy lives, different projects, heroes, villains, and hobbies, we rarely got the chance to sit all together for a meal. The fourteen of us together filled me with satisfaction like almost nothing else.

If this was real.

I shook the thought from my head once more.

This was not the Cell.

This was not the Kiln.

I was free.

This was real.

"I don't think he gets to say it is his kitchen because he cooked once," Medea was saying to Artoria.

"I agree," she nodded like a chicken pecking the ground. "Not only does he not get to call the holy- the kitchen his, he should never cook again. Ever. Who knows what other sacrilege he will commit."

I grinned again, tuning out their complaints to focus on another conversation.

"I do not mind if you wish to film your training," Scathach agreed with Priscilla. "Is it for review after? That is a good idea, now that I think about it."

"Nay," the crossbreed shook her head. "My fans have expressed interest in my exercise. I saw no harm in it but did not wish to violate thy privacy and seek thy permission before I post."

"Hm," the celt hummed in thought. "I don't care about privacy, but the tactics are the problem. I don't think releasing our training images is a good idea. It shows potential foes our weaknesses."

"Perhaps simple exercise videos then," Priscilla wondered allowed.

"Don't," Emma interjected, her tone firm but kind. "I've been keeping track of your image on social media and your streams. A large part of why you are so popular is the mystery of who you are and what you do. Keep singing, keep playing games. Feel free to talk to your fans, but keep any answers about your home life, past, or Family vague."

"I believed we were beyond the need for secrecy?" Priscilla frowned in question.

"We are," the White Queen nodded. "This isn't about keeping our abilities secret, though Scathach is correct. This is about managing your image. Your fame is explosive after Mikael's interview a few weeks ago. We want to capitalize on that. The public now considers you a 'princess in the painting' or other such titles. All they have in common is a proper, aristocratic, peaceful image. A woman of innocence and love who is discovering more about the modern world through video games and music. We want to preserve this, at least for now, if you still want to start a singing career."

I nodded at Emma's words and the hidden reason we didn't want her to release such footage.

No degenerate netizens will be getting off to my floofy dragon exercising if I can help it!

As a dirty netizen myself, I knew exactly what was going through their filthy little minds.

"What of my appearance?" Priscilla asked. "My viewers have complained about my robes at length. Are they as archaic as they claim?"

"Ignore them for now," Emma insisted after sharing a look with me. "It is actually better for you to keep the same uniform. When we get you on stage, it will make your difference in appearance all the more appealing."

Not only do they want to see her exercise, but they also want her in revealing clothes? Indeed, humanity was a mistake.

Priscilla wasn't naive and knew more about life's harshness than most, but she was in unfamiliar territory. Grail Knowledge gave her basic information on using computers and the internet, but it didn't go in depth.

It was like knowing porn existed as an abstract concept but not understanding how much was out there or how widespread it was. Or what some people could get off to.

By the time the perverts of the internet really got going, I planned on having an army of lawyers at hand to ensure my floofy dragon stayed floofy.

"I shall do thee as recommended," Priscilla nodded obediently. "When shall that be? I find myself quite nervous yet excited at the prospect."

"Still a while," Emma shook her head. "Stuff like this takes time. We want to capitalize on the novelty of our arrival, but we want to do it right if you want to have any staying power. Speaking of," Emma looked down at the table at me. "Have you heard of the Memorial Gala?"

"No," I shook my head after finishing chewing. "Should I have?"

"It's a fundraising auction for Endbringer victims around the world. It's held in New York. Some top-tier heroes are invited, but so is anyone who donates something of significant worth to be auctioned off. Tony Stark started it after the Behemoth attacked, and it is one of the largest gatherings of the rich and powerful in the world. Frost International is naturally one of the donators."

"You don't say," I grinned hungrily, and the mutant's smirk was just as hungry as mine.

For a second, Emma and I were of the same mind again. Just like we had been for those first decades, planning and conspiring. The two of us worked hand in hand to ensure everyone got their happy ending.

Then I remembered what I had unknowingly done to her.

I remembered her 'betrayal.'

I remembered our goals were currently opposed, even if she followed my lead.

My grin slipped as the awkwardness returned.

Emma looked away, sipping her wine.

"Anyone else have news we should know about?" I asked, looking around the table.

Everyone had finished their meal except Artoria, who was diligently eating her fourth steak. She had ensured the bowl of mashed potatoes was on the other side of the table so I couldn't slip some onto her plate again when she wasn't looking.

One day I would convert her to their pillowy ways.

"Strange hasn't done anything strange," Yoruichi reported dully.

"The tensions with the League are mostly gone," Diana went next. "A few are still suspicious but will work with us. Most are relaxing around us and recognize we are trying to help. My counterpart, in particular, has been very helpful. She would like to talk to you again when you can."

"I'll pop in at some point," I grinned.

"Please don't."

"Too late!" I looked around again. "Anything else?"

"I've been travelling around Africa," Scathach said.

"Am I going to get complaints about you overthrowing a nation?" I asked in exasperation.

Thanks to the likes of the Justice League, Africa was far from as bad as it was in Worm, thanks to the lack of S-class threats. In fact, many nations were quite prosperous, to say nothing of states like Wakanda. But, part of the problem with being backed by the UN was that the international team of heroes could only step in if they had reasons for sanction, such as a threat to, or crimes against, humanity.

Thus, many smaller nations were still ruled by military dictatorships, only with Supers instead of tanks and guns. So long as they toed the line and kept their international image, they could rule without outside intervention.

"Not that I am aware of," Scathach answered. That did not fill me with confidence. "I slew a few minor warlords, but that is it. A few of the fights were well coordinated. They were possibly backed by larger nations."

"So long as we have plausible deniability, you're good. Have fun, dear."

I continued looking around the room, but when nobody brought anything else up, I decided to get to the main subject I wanted to discuss tonight.

"For those who haven't heard, Priscilla recently felt something off on the Island. She said it was as strong as Diana but felt like death," I nodded at the crossbreed and then at Tsunade. "Tsunade was unable to sense it through the plants of the Island, but she also noticed something else off. An hour ago, I started another Dream to discover what was happening. To make a long story short, our net caught some big fish."

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Who is it this time?" Glynda asked with a long weary sigh.

"As of the moment, I dropped the Dream, there were 1256 invaders on the Island," I recounted. "Some more have probably died since. I counted fifteen that could be considered Supers of varying strength. Three of which were the recent escapees from the Birdcage."

"That is good," Diana let out a relieved sigh. "We received notice of the breakout a few days ago. The League has been hunting for them ever since. We cannot let them run rampant again."

"Feel free to tell the League they can stop looking. They can't escape, I double-checked," I nodded. "We can ignore Gavel. He's got the Rot. He's a dead man walking, even if he has a few other Supers with him. The other two, Swamp Thing and Glaistig Uaine, are travelling alone. Those two are who Tsunade and Priscilla, respectively, felt. The question is, why are they here?"

"Are they also here for the 'source of your power?'" Robin asked dryly.

I had only learned about this recently, but when I had been on my way to Earth, there had been a big meeting about the 'Lord of Chaos.' And it was the source of a bunch of my problems.

If I could travel back in time efficiently, I'd go back and kick Dr. Fate and Green Lantern in the crotch. Their words about the Jewel being a 'power source' or 'tether' had given people stupid ideas. Followed by my repeated insistence that 'the Island is a deathtrap, don't go there,' some dumbasses thought I trying to 'protect my power' or some other bullshit.

The majority of invaders were from governments of one kind or another who had seen the UN records of the meeting. Once they learned the requirement for getting through the Jewel was being a piece of shit and wanting to hurt my Family and me, they loaded up their most dickish soldiers and sent them on their way. They each had some sort of 'escape,' either through magic or technology, but none of it would work for them.

Oh, it all worked just fine, just not for them. They had to literally pass through my Jewel to enter my dimension. Obviously, I would mark them. By now, I had quite a collection of portals, amulets, charms, or other things that would teleport me to the invaders' bases, landing zones, or wherever they were connected to.

One of these days, I should use some of them to troll their home countries.

"I don't know which would be worse, that they are stupid enough to believe that, or they have some other purpose," I sighed. "I never understood that in stories. If someone puts up a flashing neon sign that says, 'Certain death here!' why do people go there?"

"Human curiosity is dangerous," Robin said, and I gave her a nod of acknowledgement. If anyone knew that, it was her.

"Thy are making a mistake, my Lord Husband," Ranni cautioned, and I looked to her. "Thy assumption is that their minds are as great as yours, that they might comprehend the greater nature of the world. T'is why I sought to have Order at a great remove, to guard it against such knaves."

"As a rule of thumb, I always assume someone plotting against me is as smart or smarter," I shrugged. "If I am wrong, I am pleasantly surprised."

"You shouldn't," Tsunade interjected. "Overestimating an opponent can be just as deadly as underestimating them. I cannot count the number of enemy ninja that lost when they could have won because they were scared of 'one of the sannin.'"

"Doing so in battle leads to hesitation," Scathach reminded, sipping her mead.

"There is also the difference in priorities," Artoria added. "An enemy general might have different conditions of victory than yours. A villain might think taking a town hostage is rational, even if we know it to be foolish."

"Difference in access to accurate intelligence is a key factor," Yoruichi also chimed in. "The Island is a black hole. What comes in never leaves. They know nothing. We know pretty much everything on this side. They will make plans with that faulty information."

"Alright, alright, I get it," I held my hands up in playful surrender. "No need to gang up on me. Sometimes people will be dumb. I get it. I still want to know why, upon escaping from Earth's most heavily guarded and specialized prison, they all thought it was a good idea to travel across North America, grab a boat, and sail to the nearby deathtrap. Separately to boot. They can't all be dumb."

"What were they doing?" Artoria asked seriously.

"The Faerie Queen is leading her little army eastward, and Gavel's team is headed north along the coast. Swamp Thing is being a vegetable." Almost the entire table groaned at my pun, Raven even sparing me a glare. I smiled smugly. Their hatred filled my heart with warmth. "By that, I mean he's not moving. He keeps to one place, forming and dissolving his body to merge with the plants nearby."

"All three must have some sort of goal," Medea looked thoughtfully at me. "And it cannot favour us, or they would not have been able to cross the barrier."

"I cannot speak to Gavel or this Faerie Queen, but Alec was a fine hero in my world," Diana answered. "He had his troubles but was no maniac as he is in this one. It is possible this Swamp Thing is not him, as I understand that the name is something of a title given to the champion of the Green."

"I plan on keeping an eye on them for a few days," I said. "There aren't a lot of Supers out there who can survive on the Island for long, but Glaistic Uaine and an Avatar of the Green would do it. That's one of the reasons I called everyone here tonight. While in the Dream, I cannot pilot my avatar, so I will be gone for a few days."

"No."

"Hm?" I looked at Melina in confusion at her firm denial. "What's wrong with that plan? It's just a separate layer of consciousness superimposed on reality. I'm not actually leaving. If you need to talk to me, you can just call my name on the Island, and I'll pull you in to talk. Unless you want to spend the entire time in there with me?"

"I believe she means there is no need for you to begin another Dream," Medea answered after sharing a quick look with Melina. I was happy they were getting along, but I still needed clarification about where the problem was with my plan. "I am more than capable of scrying on them or using familiars to follow them."

"That won't help with Swamp Thing," I pointed out. "You won't be able to sense if he does anything weird. I can."

"Tsunade will watch him." The former Hokage frowned at Emma for volunteering her. "She wants the practice with her Element and new techniques." Tsunade's frown lessened as she gave the idea some thought.

"That's two people doing a job I can do alone," I raised a brow. "Seems inefficient. But if you want to..."

"It would be good practice," Tsunade nodded.

"You are busier than most of us," Medea continued. "It's more efficient, not less, if we do it this way."

"Fine, fine," I shrugged, waving her off. "It's not like it was something I was looking forward to. Just make sure to let me know when they do something strange."

"What if they don't," Robin asked. "Do anything strange, I mean."

"What, they came to death-island to live out their Gulliver's Travels fantasies," I asked sardonically. "If that's the case, let 'em. They can only cross the southern mountain range by breaking the boundary field first. Unlike the outside, I'll just blast them with my real body if they do. Hell, if she wanted, Priscilla could probably solo them both. She's pretty much their perfect counter. It's curiosity, not fear, this time."

I might be a self-styled coward, but that was due to necessity from the knowledge that there were bigger fish in the ocean than me. I wasn't afraid of even S-class threats, let alone ones whose powers I knew and had plans for.

If you weren't capable of planetary levels of destruction, at the minimum, or conceptual attacks, then you couldn't do anything to me when I had access to my main body.

I was wary of Swamp Thing and the Faerie Queen, not because they were a threat, but because I didn't know what they wanted. Their initial goal had to be malicious, or they would not have been able to come in, but that might have changed. They were the only ones so far who wouldn't be killed by the flora and fauna of the Island, so they were the only ones I had to give some thought to.

Maybe they came here to slay a dragon, found out they liked it here, and decided to settle down. I doubted it, though.

I truly could not care less what they did, so long as they didn't cross the southern range. My Island was just that big.

The whole 'invasion' was just so inconsequential to me now.

Medea and I had initially set up the spell to allow assholes onto the Island because we needed some volunteers for projects to get me a body. Medea would still grab one occasionally, but that was less than a dozen, even after almost two months.

We kept it going only because we might as well use it to capture some dangerous Supers. We didn't even have to do anything. If they could survive on the Island, as unlikely as it was, they were serving their sentence for any crimes they committed. If they died, it wasn't our fault. I had repeatedly warned everyone how deadly the Island was.

Suicide by Island was responsible for the death of over twenty villains, not counting a third of the estimated manpower of the Endbringer cultists, the Fallen.

Just by sitting in the ocean and opening the door, I was single-handedly responsible for more 'arrests' than most PRT teams made in a year, all without lifting a claw.

Neither Diana nor Artoria, the most 'moral' of my Family, had a problem with the current setup. Hell, the latter's entire myth was based on a king rising up to defend the isles of Britain from invaders. It wasn't like we were inviting them in. Anyone who entered was literally scum who brought it on themselves.

The biggest concern anyone had was about Medea's experiments, but the greek witch had been as humane as possible. Just because she occasionally needed a human body didn't mean it always had to be alive. Or if it did, that meant that the subject was required to feel pain.

This was the first time we had someone of concern show up in almost two months. And it was two of them at the same time to boot.

I gave Gavel a week before he puked his lungs out.

********

"I don't like this," Slade whispered, looking over the hill they were lying on and down to the Russian ship.

The abandoned Russian ship.

"I've seen prisons that look more inviting than that thing," Killer Frost 'agreed.'

"There is too much of a mess for them to have abandoned it in an orderly fashion," Slade continued.

He didn't have enhanced vision, but the knocked-over tents, fortifications, and other emplacements in the camp beside the ship suggested a fight. They had a clear line of sight thanks to the soldiers removing all plants and trees in a hundred-meter radius around their landing zone. The barren land indicated the camp had been there for a while, as even the grass was gone, thanks to the trampling of footprints and a few craters from explosions.

There was just one problem.

"Where are the bodies?"

"They weren't eaten," Slade answered as he continued to survey the barren area for any threats. "Unless they were swallowed whole, there would be blood everywhere. If something could do that, we would have seen tracks. I'm only seeing human footprints."

"Could those skeletons a few days ago have been them?"

"Possibly, but I don't think so. That is miles away." The mercenary continued to stare at the scene for a few quiet moments before recognizing the futility of the action. He wouldn't be learning anything more from here. "Let's rejoin the others. Be on guard. With any luck, we will be off the island by nightfall."

"Thank fucking god," Killer Frost said softly as they crawled back down the hill.

Spiral and Gavel were a ten-minute walk back, each 'watching' the other. The former was the same as always, unmoving unless directed, but the latter was measurably worse after the last few days. Every breath was a wheezing rasp instead of a deep rumble. Every time he coughed, blood mixed with his saliva. He was keeping his words to a minimum now.

He could still move and fight, thanks to Spiral regularly healing him, but he'd die if they didn't find a way to cure him soon. Or got him to a trained medical professional.

Slade was debating whether to leave him behind on the island, as he was almost dead weight by now, or if it was better to release him upon their backers on the other side of the portal and let them deal with him while he made his escape.

He could decide in a few hours once they had the bombs in their necks removed.

"We'll move slowly," he told the rest after they regrouped. "I don't want anything surprising us from behind. We'll pass through the camp first, then sweep the ship. Only if we don't find anyone in either, and their medical room is intact, do we try to remove the bombs."

"And, cough, if it, ack ack, isn't," Gavel asked between laboured breaths. He was skinny, too skinny. The massive man had wasted away in the week since their encounter with the Russian soldier, leaving him a husk of what he once was. Even now, he was practically leaning on Frost for support.

"We'll have to try anyway," Deathstroke insisted. "We're running out of time. Not just for you, but for all of us. Who knows when they will decide to push the button. Spiral and I can perform the procedure if we have the right equipment."

Slade had been hoping not to count on the Ziz bomb to operate on him, trusting Taskmaster's professionalism more, but he had no other option.

He had not told the others, but after studying Hookwolf's body, he suspected the bombs in their necks were not just remotely activated but on a timer as well. They weren't Tinkertech, and he knew his way around bombs, so he immediately noticed that they would have no way of receiving a detonation signal from another dimension.

It was precisely that lack of Tinkertech that soothed his initial worries that they needed a Thinker or Tinker to perform the operation. He was sure he could remove the devices from his squadmate's neck if he had some scalpels, anesthesia, magnifying equipment, and Spiral on hand to heal.

Then, he'd order Spiral to repeat the procedure on him. Her movements were precise enough that he knew she could do it, even if he didn't like trusting his life to the six-armed woman.

If everything went to plan.

"Let's get going," he ordered, double-checking what remained of his equipment. Hopefully, he could stock up on any supplies the Russians had left behind.

The others nodded seriously.

The previous weeks had removed all of their backtalk, arguing, and sass. The Suicide Squad had seen too much and suffered too much to be the same people they were when they first landed.

The island had changed them, marked and scared them. They'd never be the same.

If they survived.

********

The camp was a mess.

Everything was knocked over and filled with holes, and a few tents had been burned to ashes in a fire that had, thankfully, not spread to the rest of the camp.

Empty shell casings and the occasional mark of long-dried blood proved there had been a fight at some point, but there were no marks of animals. Not even scavengers.

Everything was silent and unmoving but for the flapping of torn clothe on the wind and surf upon the shore.

The group of four passed through the base's remains slowly, checking under every tent, opening every container and bag, and ensuring someone was always watching their backs.

Nothing.

They found enough MREs to feed them for a month, enough guns and bullets that Slade could finally be fully armed, and even some heavier ordinance. Gavel decided that he would be the one to carry the RPG since waiving his hammer around was getting harder and harder. With his ability to imbue it with his invincibility, he could even use it as a club.

Of course, nothing was marked with anything that suggested it was state-sponsored by the Russian military, but anyone with a lick of sense would be able to tell that this base was too well organized and funded to be anything less.

All their gains would have made them very happy if the scene wasn't so creepy.

The silence in the air was oppressive, eerie, and foreboding.

Slade would have preferred the piles of bloody corpses under the mountain to this silence. At least then, he knew what he was dealing with.

After an hour of careful search, the remnants of the Suicide Squad were left with one last place to look.

The ship.

It wasn't particularly massive, large enough to carry three or four dozen soldiers and their equipment but not so large that it couldn't enter the little bay the Russians used as cover. The soldiers had built a dock to connect to it, likely with the aid of Powersurge's armour.

More shell casings littered the path to the ship, indicating a fighting retreat but no bodies. The squad took the time to look over the edge of the dock, just in case anything hiding under it, but found nothing.

They reached the ship without incident and climbed aboard the deck to find more of nothing. A few ship guns were the only armaments on the deck facing the island. Likely what caused the craters around the camp.

Nobody said a word as they looked at each other outside the door to the vessel's interior. Even Gavel's cough was held in as best he could.

Deathstroke opened the door with a creek.

With his new gun at the ready, the mercenary descended into the ship's bowels, followed by the rest of the Suicide Squad.

The vessel creaked and groaned with their passage, every footstep reverberating down the dark metal interior. Their hearts furiously beating in their chests, they swept the ship one room at a time, wary of any sound or movement.

If anything had jumped out at them from the shadows, they might have died of a heart attack.

But no, nothing did.

The bridge, the mess, the cabins, the engine, the hull, the officer quarters, and all other places they searched was void of all life.

Silent as a floating tomb.

Though they all felt a flood of relief when they discovered the med bay, messy but intact, they kept sweeping the ship for anything out of place. They did it twice to ensure nothing was hiding in dark corners to jump out at them. Then they returned to the camp to triple check they weren't being ambushed from land.

Nothing.

Hours after they had first walked into the abandoned camp, the Suicide Squad finally relaxed enough to speak.

"There's nothing here," Killer Frost said, letting off a relieved sigh as she collapsed to a seat on the deck of the ship as the tension left her.

"So it seems," Slade said, still looking around warily. "The ashes from the fires were long cooled. It's been at least a day since it died down. The amount shows a lot of material was burned, which would have lasted a while. Whatever did all this must have already left. It came from the island. That's where the ship's guns fired. Let's do this quickly. Frost, you're first. Gavel, you stay here on watch. If anything approaches, smash your hammer on the deck. We'll hear it from the med bay."

Neither argued, both were determined for this nightmare to end.

It took a bit of time to turn the power back on and then organize the messy med bay, but within the hour, Killer Frost was lying face down on the operating table.

Whoever had installed them had stitched the wounds closed and healed it, leaving only a little scar indicating where he needed to start.

It was with a steady hand that Slade made the first incision in the back of her neck, right above her shoulders and around her spine. The mercenary was no surgeon or doctor, not like whoever had installed the little bomb, but he did have a sorceress on hand to heal any errors he made.

Not that he made many.

The fundamental truth was the 'operation' wasn't complex. The bombs were impact resistant, so any hits to the head wouldn't set them off. They were also small to not interfere with muscular and spinal movement. As the minutes dragged on and Slade continued his careful work, he realized more and more that these bombs were not designed to provide a viable method of control or even to resist interference.

Whoever made them believed that resisting interference wasn't a problem and that there would be no way for the squad to get the medical help they needed to remove the bombs safely. So they only had basic anti-tampering measures. If someone tried to yank them out forcefully, they'd go off, but that was it.

These bombs were insurance, not a threat like they had initially estimated. They were rugged, hardy, and packed a wallop but would only go off once time ran out or they received a signal. They would last for weeks, then 'BOOM!'

The Suicide Squad was never meant to return.

Slade smiled under his mask.

Their enemies' mistakes were their gain.

The sun had set when Killer Frost woke up from her medically induced sleep. She sat up to the curious sight of Spiral deftly manipulating multiple scalpels and tweezers.

Oddly, she wasn't operating on Deathstroke but on one of those small rabbit/squirrel things they occasionally caught and ate. As the cryokinetic watched, the six-armed mutant performed one of her spell dances and the flesh on the back of the creature's neck reknit over a new, metal addition to its body.

Deathstroke, who had been watching the entire procedure nearby, checked the small creature over.

"What are you doing," Frost asked, still groggy from waking up.

"Making sure she can perform the surgery with only a small prompting," he answered, not surprised that she was awake. "I'm the only one with enough medical knowledge to know if something goes wrong, which won't help if I am unconscious."

"Then stay awake."

"There is no point," he denied. "If it was just pain, I could ignore it, but I cannot see the back of my neck without a specialized setup. It is better to be under if I can't do anything." Satisfied with his inspection and that the creature was still alive, just unconscious, he looked at the mutant. "Now remove it without hurting it or setting off the bomb."

In a whirl of limbs, blades, and blood, the Ziz bomb went to work.

Killer Frost lay back on the bed she had been moved to, letting her eyes rest.

The blade at her neck was finally gone.

She was free of prison, free of the threat to her life, and soon to be free from the island.

Things were finally looking up.

Twenty minutes later, better rested and clearheaded, the cryokinetic watched Deathstroke be put under for his operation.

Rather than watch, she decided to bring some medication up to Gavel. It was nothing special, just some pain meds, but it would tide him over until Spiral could heal him again.

********

"-KE UP!" A rough shaking roused Slade from his medically induced unconsciousness.

The voice then degenerated into a hacking fit.

Slade was on his feet instantly, his groggy mind regaining focus with every moment as he forced his will to ignore any dizziness.

Gavel was leaning against the wall, coughing blood, but uninjured. Nobody else was in the room with them.

"What is the situation?" Slade asked urgently as he grabbed his weapons and clothes.

"The situation, ack, is you've been asleep, cough cough," the Australian coughed harder before taking a swig from his water canteen. "For four bloody hours."

Four hours. Twice the length the dose should have put him under by.

A miscalculation of the amount? No. Was he just tired? Possibly. Slade was a monster of will, determination, and skill, but he was still a baseline human, and the last few weeks had been hard on them all.

"Frost on watch?" He asked, and Gavel nodded. "It's already late. It will be better to rest and escape in the morning when we are in better condition. We'll teleport back to our ship now, though. Don't want to stay here if we can help it. Where's Spiral?"

"With Frost, mhm. We'll need to grab, urk, some food. All those MREs were bad."

"All of them? They shouldn't have expired yet?" Slade asked as he finished dressing and arming himself.

"Yeah, all of them we tried," Gavel nodded, wiping bloody phlegm from his lips. "Didn't spoil, but they were all filled with dust. Maybe the Ruskies didn't want their guys surviving either."

"Dust?" Slade paused as he made to leave the med bay, his mind racing at the odd occurrence.

Then he connected it to the lack of bodies.

The lack of grass and plant life around the camp.

"Fuck!" Deathstroke allowed himself a rare break of professionalism as he ran from the room. "Fuck! Fuck! We need to leave! Now!"

"What?" Gavel called out, chasing after the dashing man. "Why?"

"I thought something from the island did the Russians in," Slade explained himself as he ran through the tight corridors of the ship. "But it wasn't. Someone from the outside did it to get to Fantasma. Then she turned all other organic life to dust."

"Who? Fantasma? They're gone. Why do we to leave now?"

"Because she can sense Supers!" Slade launched himself up the stairs two at a time.

If he had known she was on the island with them, he would have grabbed left by himself rather than tag along with the group. It would have been a more challenging trip and less likely to be able to remove the bomb, but he wouldn't have been spending weeks with the equivalent of bait.

"You mean it's..."

Deathstroke didn't hear Gavel's following words, though he was sure they matched his own as he burst out of the ship and beheld the terrifying sight before him.

"The Faerie Queen," he whispered in horror.

There were tens of shades of dead Supers upon the deck of the Russian ship, all black and greys but glowing with a green light.

As Gavel arrived, panting and coughing behind Deathstroke, Slade's eyes noticed three figures he expected and the lack of one other.

Glaistig Uaine was there, looking for all the world like a beautiful young woman out for a midnight stroll with her friends if one were to judge by the compassionate look on her face. Blonde hair and green-eyed, her cloak of black energy swaying in the night air, she was a figure of terror to any who knew of her, despite her enchanting visage.

Behind her stood her greatest warrior, the reason she allowed herself to be captured after getting what she wanted from Gotham.

Solomon Grundy was more terrifying as a shade of black and green energy than he ever was as a zombie.

You could kill a zombie, if temporarily.

You couldn't kill one of the Faerie Queen's warriors.

Killer Frost was nowhere to be seen. Not besides Spiral and Glaistig Uaine or among the horde of shades. They all looked exactly as they had in life, so Slade would have noticed if the cryokinetic was one of them.

Spiral was the same as always, standing in place and unbothered by the army of the undead surrounding her.

"Come, my long weary dancer," the terror of the Super world said gently. Kindly. "Join our Parlement. Be free of your chains of mind, spirit, and life."

The Ziz bomb only started to react when the Faerie Queen laid a hand gently on her cheek. Her arms raised, ready to eviscerate the ethereal young woman.

But it was too late.

Spiral fell to the deck with a soft thud. Dead.

Slade knew what was coming and braced himself.

A feeling of weakness assaulted him, almost sending the mercenary to his knees as the wave of energy erupted from the form of the fallen mutant. His stomach roiled and twisted, nausea rising in his gorge, but he forced it down with a force of will.

Gavel, unprepared, fell to the deck coughing and unable to support his weight as the feeling of Decay overcame them. His skin began to flake off, almost revealing the emaciated muscle below, but stopped as his invulnerability kept him alive.

The weak and the dying had no place in Queen's court.

Only the Dead.

Spiral's body disintegrated to dust, as did any other organic matter within a hundred-meter radius of the mutant's remains.

A six-armed figure of black and green energy coalesced from the swirl of dust.

"We welcome a new warrior to our fold," the delusional Super told her shades. They said nothing. "Welcome her! She will not be the last to join us tonight, to raise arms against the oppressor."

The Faerie Queen turned her green eyes upon Gavel, lying on the deck coughing behind Slade.

Maybe she would have said something else.

Maybe she would have killed them instantly, bringing Gavel back as another one of her undead soldiers and leaving Deathstroke as dust in the wind.

Slade would never know.

Because that was when the shade of the woman who was once Spiral started screaming.

********

Medea the cat sat atop the bridge, tail swirling about behind her in displeasure as she looked down on the deck as her lost prey let out a wailing scream.

Her frosty breath fogged the night air as she let out a hiss of anger.

Nobody stole her food.

Nobody.