Deadshot Weapons Suicide Squad Novels & Stories

Azeasthrath. (Take your gun and shoot yourself. ) (I....I don’t... ) (Do it. ) The boy dropped his arms limply, eyes devoid of any will. He shuffled awkwardly to a corner and promptly shot himself through the head with his AK-47. The boy’s name was Suleiman, or Salim, whatever it was, it was fading fast from her mind. Trash like him doesn’t need remembering, she told herself. She closed her eyes and focused, searching for brainwaves she could detect.

“Pull the trigger. Prove you belong in this world.” Her hands shook. “If I don’t?” Dante smiled. The chair creaked as it tilted slightly toward the pit. Annabelle whimpered. Sienna’s vision blurred. This was it. The stain Damien warned her about. She walked to the crate. Picked up the gun. The man sobbed quietly. “I’m sorry,” Sienna whispered. She pulled the trigger. The sound cracked through the warehouse like a bone snapping. The man collapsed. Dead. Sienna stood frozen, gun still raised, ears ringing.

“Who else is left?” She smiled wider. “More than you can handle. And they already have people inside your precious new council. People who smiled at your wedding announcement today.” Leo’s blood ran cold. He pressed the barrel harder. “Names. Now.” Before she could answer, a final gunshot rang out from the darkness. The woman jerked once and slumped dead in Leo’s grip — shot by one of her own remaining loyalists from across the warehouse. That gunman was dropped instantly by Kai. Silence fell.

"I need you to die. Slowly. Painfully. While knowing that your precious little wife will follow you into the darkness." The warehouse exploded into chaos. Hardhik moved first, his chair crashing backward as he lunged for the nearest of Shaheen's men. His knife—always kept razor-sharp—found its mark in the man's throat before anyone could blink. Blood sprayed across the concrete as the thug dropped, gurgling his last breath.

He didn't even bat an eye. And, as if he wasn't content with that, Dionysus signaled his men and all of them fired their rifles towards the dead bodies of the three bulky men all at the same time, not showing any mercy at all. The firing noises weren't that loud because their rifles have silencers adhered to them. After those relentless killings, Dionysus walked outside the warehouse like no killings had happened. After that, Sebastian and all of his men had poured gasoline all over the place and it took nearly ten lazy minutes for them to finish that.

I said, staring into his fear-streaked face. "I guess that should be Queen Tessa, mother to Alpha Jake of Shadowclaw. Am I right?" I queried. "Ye...Yes," he nodded with fear. "That's good. So, you will ensure they are placed directly at the front, with full access to the body and the rear loading bay.” Mr. Smith’s face paled. “I…I’m sorry, but I think there must be some mis…” Before he could finish, Suarez pulled his coat aside just enough to reveal the black pistol tucked into his waistband.

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.

"Squad B, we are engaged at Sector 4! We need immediate—" A heavy caliber bullet tore through the windshield and pierced through Leo’s head, shattering the glass into a web of tiny cracks. From the shadows of the shipping containers lining the docks, dozens of men in dark, tactical gear emerged like ghosts, their weapons already flashing in the dark. It wasn't a standard mafia hit. The way they moved, the precision of their advancement, and the sheer volume of military-grade hardware they carried pointed to something far worse. They were professional killers, and they had the squad completely pinned against the sea.

"I promise." Aiden's team emerged from the darkness of the densely growing trees a few minutes later. They resembled a private army—or rather, a private commando squad. Ten people, all dressed in combat clothing and all heavily armed, swept the area and secured the assassins' bodies—yes, bodies. None of them survived the shooting. I vaguely heard that the fourth shooter got two bullets: one hit below his left shoulder, and the other went through his heart. One of those bullets was mine.

Victor’s calm words echoes through the warehouse, his confidence unnerved the Syndicate members. Victor’s men stood ready, their weapons drawn and their loyalty unshakable. “Drop your weapons,” barked one of the Syndicate leaders, moving forward. He was a tall, scarred man with cold eyes. “Or your entire team dies.” Victor gave a smirk, his eyes sharp. “Do you really think I came here unprepared?” Before the leader could respond, a sudden explosion rocked the warehouse, shattering windows and sending fragments flying. The Syndicate members ducked for cover as Victor’s men took advantage of the chaos, engaging in a fierce firefight.