(Untitled)

[wrist_magnum]

"I'm getting tired of shooting your dealers. What do I have to do to work my way up the food chain, Marcus? Do I have to turn your head into a canoe?"

The barrels of the guns at Floyd's wrists whir, cartridges of armor-peircing bullets snapping into place."What, you don't think I will, is that it? Has word gotten around that I've gotten soft,

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[jla_extras]

"Floyd, man...d-don't."

Marcus recoils as Deadshot steps closer, turning his head away in blind panic, eyes squeezing tightly shut.

[wrist_magnum]

"Then how about you start making some sense, Marcus?"

Deadshot drops onto the flatbed next to him, pulling the mask up far enough to reveal his mouth, and sticks a cigarette between his lips.

"Oh, and my name's Deadshot when I'm in the suit."

Deadshot turns the other barrel, slotting in a clip of normal .44 bullets, and points that gun at Marcus's tennis-shoe clad foot.

"Call me Floyd again, and you'll spend months in physical therapy, trying to learn how to walk without toes."

[jla_extras]

"L-look, man...all I know is, word's come down that Penguin's looking to hire outside talent to take you out, because you're disruptin' business...that's all I know, really!!"

[wrist_magnum]

"I'm not hearing names, kid..."

Floyd pulls a kitchen match from the belt of his costume, and scratches it to life against Marcus's stubbly cheek.

"Don't make me send you home to your ma in a box, Marcus. I don't wanna do that."