Suicide Squad by Marv Wolfman

she’s her, when you’re gone, where do you go? Are you conscious? Do you know what’s happening?”
    June thought about that for a moment. “It’s like I see what she’s seeing,” she said. “I hear what she’s saying, but it’s also like I’m not there—even though I am.” She paused.
    “You okay?” Flag asked.
    “Rick, I don’t want to talk about her any more. I really don’t. I’m sorry. It hurts too much.” Standing at the apex of the stone bridge, she stared at the moon’s reflection rippling in the water below.
    “I came here because it lets me forget. I know it’s just for a little, but it’s enough. Having to talk about all this just brings me right back. I need a break.”
    * * *
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have waited for later.” He stared down at that same reflection, breathing in the cool air. She put her hand on his.
    For support? Or for something else?
    He didn’t know.
    “Please understand,” she said. He kept his hand there, under hers. For a long time they stood in silence, enjoying the brisk, clear night, knowing it would change very soon now.
    Then she turned to face him, tears filling her eyes.
    “When I become her I never know if I’ll be her forever. I don’t know what she’s going to have me do. I don’t know who I am, and it scares the hell out of me and I don’t know what that makes me.”
    “It doesn’t change you, I know at least that much,” he responded. “You’re not her. She’s just using you, and I’m going to be with you until we find some way, any way, to stop her.”
    He turned his hand and cupped hers with it. She didn’t move away. He felt nervous, the same kind of nervousness he’d had back in junior high school, with Marsha Lane. He laughed aloud, and she looked confused.
    “Is something wrong?” she asked.
    He looked at her and smiled. “Nothing’s wrong. We’re not even in the same neighborhood as wrong.”
    Then he kissed her.
    She kissed him back.
    No. This night wasn’t at all going to be anything like junior high.

EIGHTEEN
    The prison yard was on fire. Orange jumpsuits raced crazily in all directions. Guards no longer tried to keep order—they just wanted out.
    Another explosion erupted in the yard, spreading the fire even faster.
    Burning inmates were screaming in agony before they fell to the ground, charred and dead. Others ran in fear, in a mad, impossible attempt to outrace the flames. They all wanted to find a way out of this sudden hell.
    Almost all of them failed terribly.
    The prison fire department barely put out one fire when another explosion rocked the yard. Then two more. The destruction was everywhere and nobody was exempt. Not the firefighters. Not the guards. Not the prisoners.
    Diablo stood in the center of the inferno, arms outstretched in victory. A king’s fiery crown rested on his head, a look of pleasure on his face as the flames danced over him.
    Two guards ran toward a truck already crowded with inmates. He let the duo reach it and clamber aboard. Once they were safely inside, and the truck began to move toward the steel gates, Diablo unleashed a series of fireballs. Mercifully, there was no time for any of them to scream.
    “This is my hell,” he shouted over the chaos, “and nobody’s gettin’ out.”
    Diablo was on his own here in the center of the inferno.
    * * *
    Some of the guards and prisoners were still writhing in the fires as Flag lowered the tablet, horrified by the violence. He stared at Diablo, sitting alone in his pressure chamber.
    “You did this,” he said. “You killed them all. You burned them, and stood there while they were screaming in agony.”
    “I know. I didn’t need to see it again. I’ll never forget.”
    Flag turned to Waller. “Why the hell wasn’t he executed, and be done with? Why keep anything with that much goddamn power alive?”
    “I wanted him alive… as a precaution,” she replied.
    “For what? What could possibly be so bad you’d risk