After reviewing Lyla's report and conducting her own analysis, Amanda Waller finally made her decision.
She opened the classified file labeled "Potential Strategic Assets: Meta-Human and Enhanced Operatives" and, directly beneath Bruce Wayne's name, she added a new one:
Thea Queen.
A.R.G.U.S. — officially the Advanced Research Group for Uniting Superhumans — had always claimed to act "for the safety of humanity as a whole."
In reality, it was a sprawling intelligence network born from military paranoia, founded decades ago by Air Force Colonel Steve Trevor.
At first, the organization worked closely with Wonder Woman, its purpose noble and transparent.
But as years passed — and as Trevor's alliance with the Amazons grew politically inconvenient — the agency's scope expanded, drawing both government suspicion and corporate hostility.
That was when Amanda Waller, cunning, ruthless, and perfectly pragmatic, entered the upper ranks.
She used bureaucratic maneuvering and "national-security" rhetoric to siphon resources away from Trevor, building her own faction within A.R.G.U.S.
Officially, Trevor remained its commander.
In practice, Waller had become its true power broker.
With no wealthy backers, no family connections, and no superhuman ability of her own, Waller had survived — and risen — through sheer intellect and an iron will.
But to climb higher, she needed results.
She needed achievements that would cement her authority and justify her taking full control of A.R.G.U.S.
That was the origin of her next idea: use villains to do the government's dirty work.
Some missions were too dangerous, too politically sensitive, or too ethically gray for ordinary agents.
So why not send convicted killers — people with nothing to lose — under the leash of state control?
Yet Waller knew criminals only bowed to greater fear.
To keep them in check, she needed respected heroes to serve as moral and tactical counterweights.
Originally, Batman had been her ideal choice: competent, efficient, terrifying when necessary.
But he was also unpredictable, disdainful of authority, and increasingly unstable.
Now, however, Thea Queen had entered the picture.
Batman had experience.
Thea had leverage.
She was young and unseasoned — but loyal, bound by her mother's political ties.
Moira Queen's upcoming mayoral campaign all but guaranteed Thea's alignment with the government's side.
Waller could trust her not to rebel — not when her family's public image was at stake.
Between a seasoned but volatile vigilante and a promising, controllable prodigy, the choice was… complicated.
For now, Waller would watch and wait.
Outside the command room, Lyla Michaels exhaled into the cold night air.
She could guess what Waller was planning.
Her report on Thea — honest though it was — might have just changed the girl's entire future.
Whether for better or worse, time would tell.
She had simply done her duty: observe, assess, and report.
A young agent approached from the shadows.
"Ma'am, the other two have regained consciousness."
"Understood," Lyla replied. After a pause, she added, "I'll check on them."
But as she approached the door, she heard raised voices inside.
"Dad, Robin's still out there! Don't you realize how dangerous it is? That Star City girl should've saved him, not that random woman! If Robin were here, we'd already have gone back to rescue everyone!"
Barbara's tone was sharp, edged with frustration and exhaustion.
The "Star City girl" she mentioned, of course, was Thea Queen — her actual rescuer.
Gordon rubbed his temples, letting her vent. He didn't see any problem with how the rescue had gone.
Lyla's presence had made the operation legitimate — and as for Robin… well, sentiment aside, one teenager with martial-arts training wasn't going to turn the tide against an armed encampment.
If anything, they were lucky Thea had gotten anyone out alive.
But he said nothing. Better to let Barbara calm down on her own.
Lyla, however, wasn't so restrained.
At first she didn't understand who the "unknown woman" was.
Then realization hit — Barbara meant her.
Her jaw clenched. So that's what you think? Saving me was a mistake? That your boyfriend's life mattered more than mine?
A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips. Fine, little redhead. Let's see how long that attitude lasts when your future depends on my pen.
When she finally entered the room, Lyla's face was perfectly calm — polite, even warm.
She offered the Gordons a few comforting words, asked perfunctory questions, then excused herself with a courteous smile.
Back in her quarters, she opened her laptop and began typing up a new report — Behavioral Assessment: Gotham Vigilante Network.
When she reached Barbara Gordon, she let out a quiet snort.
No, she wouldn't sabotage her outright. That would be too obvious.
Instead, she painted a picture in faintly glowing tones — the kind that looked good on paper but fatal in practice.
"Compassionate. Idealistic. Always ready to volunteer. Possesses a strong sense of justice and a willingness to sacrifice for others…"
All positive traits — unless your superior was Amanda Waller, who read 'idealism' as 'reckless liability' and 'self-sacrifice' as 'expendable.'
When missions called for someone to charge headlong into danger, this file would make sure Barbara Gordon's name was at the top of the list.
Lyla was still chewing her pen cap, trying to stretch the report to the required 500 words, when a knock came at her door.
"Ma'am," a young agent said, breathless with excitement, "Miss Queen has returned."
"Returned?" Lyla frowned. "When did she leave?"
The boy hesitated. "Not sure, ma'am. But — she's in the interrogation room now."
"The interrogation room?"
"Yes, ma'am. She… brought back a live prisoner."
For a moment Lyla just stared. Then she let out a long whistle.
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes since I last saw her — and she's already captured someone?
What kind of whirlwind was this girl?
She straightened her jacket, muttering under her breath.
"All right, Thea Queen. Let's see what kind of storm you've kicked up this time."
In truth, Thea's "storm" had been anything but easy.
Before leaving, she'd borrowed what A.R.G.U.S. technicians swore was their most advanced, broad-spectrum anti-toxin respirator — not perfect, but better than nothing.
Yet the moment she approached the enemy camp, she realized tonight would be different.
Floodlights blazed across the perimeter, bright as noon.
The patrolling thugs, necks craned toward the sky, swept the area with rifles and flashlights.
She hadn't even crossed the final half-kilometer before someone spotted her.