"Sonnuva--!" Deadshot barked as cans of beer began exploding all around him. He hissed sharply as a couple of the improvised projectiles struck him in the chest and arm, the feeling of cold, frothy beer seeping through his costume and dripping down into his boots a far from welcome one. It was almost less annoying that the heroes had finally arrived than that the brew was going to waste like that. The only clue he had to his attacker's identity was a blur of white and red zipping around him in circles.
Speedsters. God, how he hated speedsters.
He also wasn't exactly equipped to deal with them, given they tended to move so fast that shooting at them was rarely effective. With the split-second decisiveness that came from years of working in one of the world's most dangerous professions, Floyd pointed his wrist-mounted automatics at the decayed floorboards beneath him and opened fire. They gave way beneath him pretty quickly after that.
Now it was just a matter of hoping that the minimal armor built into his costume would absorb enough of the impact to keep him more or less in fighting shape. Dealing with Speedy Gonzalez here was going to be a royal pain in the ass.