Deadshot Gun Suicide Squad Novels & Stories

Chapter Six I was worried. That day was the biggest day in the whole country and the world at large, yet there we were, lying on the soft beds while our parents were worried sick about us. Sam was already awake and with Koyala in his office discussing whatever it was they were discussing. I had gone to the room Maya was in to check on her. It is not everyday that you get to see who has been stabbed survive, far worse that was a sword. They said it was an alloy of some metals and steel. Steel was bad for their health as it poisoned their blood making it clot. The team doctors had worked tirelessly on her not to lose her. She was Koyala's favorite and everything had to be done to keep her aliv

In my past life, on the day I received the pistol my grandfather left me, I got a call from my future self. I followed her every instruction, and it led to the destruction of my family. This time, I thought I had made a completely different, safer choice. "Sienna, listen to me. Lorenzo is going to ask for the gun later. You must not give it to him. He just wants to use it to settle a debt." That chillingly familiar voice blasted through the phone. A shiver ran down my spine, and the Pinot Noir glass in my hand shattered on the floor.

Then Callum’s presence brushes the edge of my mind. Every ounce of strength he can spare flows into me. I gather all of it. The bond. The voices of the pack. The energy is threatening to tear me apart from the inside. I am about to release it when agony spears through my side. A suppressant dart. One of Savannah’s elites slips through the chaos and lands the shot. The energy beneath my skin sputters. Before I can even identify the shooter, Kieran is already on them. A second later, the threat is gone.

Moreau staggered back, shock cracking his composure. Aiden was already moving tackling Moreau to the ground, knee driving into his solar plexus. Air exploded from the older man’s lungs. Aiden wrenched the pistol from Moreau’s waistband, pressing it under his chin. Silas stood over them, MP5 trained on Moreau’s head. “It’s over.” Moreau laughed wet, broken. “You think killing me ends it? My syndicate is hydra. Cut one head—” Silas fired once clean through the forehead. Moreau’s body jerked, then stilled.

The summer afternoon sun was scorching, making me dizzy and disoriented. Before I knew it, I had arrived near the library, and my footsteps stopped as if guided by some unseen force. I stood at the library entrance and heard two security guards talking in low voices. "That shooter's aim was really accurate. It didn't seem like a random shot at all." "Exactly, I've watched the surveillance footage several times. It was like he specifically targeted that student." I felt my heart skip a beat. So, Alex's death wasn't an accidental injury—it was premeditated.

Xylo’s squad ripped through the gunnery station’s defenses as though it barely existed - their shardthrowers made short, efficient, violent work of it all. And when they completely dismantled it and actually got to the inside, found that the rest of the team had already shot more than half the actual gunners inside. Their bodies were slumped over their seats, or were thrown to the ground, or simply didn’t have a head. Regardless, their blood and their brain matter and bits of their skulls coated absolutely everything else. The gunners who valued their lives most had long since raised their hands up in defeat, or were on their knees begging not to be killed.

“I don’t need you to side with me today. I need you to open your eyes. And once you do, you’ll realise the Council has always been your true enemy.” Damian straightened, his gaze still locked on her. “And when that moment comes,” he said, his tone low, almost personal, “you’ll understand why you and I were never meant to be on opposite sides.” Sofia’s heart hammered, but she forced her face into calm indifference. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how much the file rattled her. “You can drug me, tie me to this chair, shove lies in front of my face,” she said evenly. “But I will not break. I am Death Squad. I am loyal.”

“Focus on not dying.” My stomach twisted, Alvez’s crew, no doubt. Some carried pistols, some rifles, one idiot even swung in with a shotgun, firing blasts that rattled the entire steel frame of the warehouse. Vector dropped him with a quick shot between the eyes. “That’s five down in the last two minutes.” Vector ducked as bullets sprayed across the crate. “How many more are we supposed to kill before they get tired?” “They don’t get tired.” I clenched my jaw, firing back, emptying another clip. “They get dead.”

Half the SUVs stuttered and died, alarms shrieking before cutting out. Chaos erupted. Suppressors coughed from the catwalk—short, sharp bursts that sent two gunmen sprawling. The ground team lobbed tangler rounds, sticky foam pinning legs to the wet asphalt. A flash-bang rolled under the second SUV and detonated in white silence, disorienting the squad scrambling for cover. Ethan advanced, pistol steady, his silhouette a ghost in the storm. “This is what happens when you step into my world, Kane.” The Clash

When lives were on the line, few would act so recklessly. One of the guards said sincerely, "Mr. Larkin, you must really love your wife." Jayson kept dialing Ariel without looking up. "Yes, I do." When they reached the target zone, the scene was even worse. Gunfire cracked constantly. Jayson stepped out. "Please split up and search. This is a photo of my wife. Her name is Ariel Walker." He sent the team a photo from his phone. "Yes, sir!" Jayson watched the black smoke fill the sky. His expression grew heavier as he moved deeper forward.