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“There. I’ve finished,” said Eobard. Reaching across his desk, he removed the mnemonic archive from his computer console.
“Finished what?” said Malcolm testily. “Feel like cluing us in anytime soon, partner?”
Eobard gave Malcolm a haughty glare. “What I’ve just done is fix the problem you two idiots created when you let the Legendary Losers steal the medallion from you. Thanks to what I’ve just done, Captain Hunter won’t just know where the other pieces of the spear are, he will tell us willingly. Once we upload this to his brain, he’ll be my puppet. He’ll be the perfect weapon against those idiots…”
***
“Oh good, he’s stopped screaming,” Damien remarked offhandedly. Apparently memory restoration was not a pleasant process. It’s aftermath left Captain Hunter slumped forwards, with only his bonds keeping him sitting in the chair. “How long until he wakes up?”
“Should be any minute now,” Eobard replied. As if on cue, the man tied to the chair twitched spasmodically, and then lifted his head with a groan. He looked around the room, his eyes warily studying the faces of the three men watching him from the shadows, before opening his mouth.
“I have questions, but number one is this: what in the name of sanity have I got on my head?” he spat acidly.
“Oh good he’s British again. And you’ve fixed his horrendous fashion sense!” said Malcolm dryly. “How can we tell if it really worked?”
Thawne approached Captain Hunter, who was making himself cross-eyed whilst looking up at his own hair. “Do you understand what you’re here for?”
Hunter’s eye’s refocused on Thawne. “Yes. My purpose is to aid you in any way necessary to help you retrieve the fragments of the Spear of Destiny.”
“And are you willing to comply?” Eobard queried further.
“Yes. You have freed me from the pain of being a moralizing sap, who never got what he wanted. My loyalty is yours.”
“Excellent!” Thawne exclaimed. “Well then, are you ready to get started?”
“Of course Mr. Thawne. There’s just one thing I need to take care of first. Do you happen to have any shears handy? And perhaps some clippers? I seem to have a dead squirrel on my head and I would like to remove it.”
***
“This really is terrible, whatever was I thinking when I let it grow out this much…” The brainwashed Englishman muttered to himself as he leaned closer to the mirror and snipped a long lank of hair off.
As he watched from across the room, Eobard couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. His enemy had been abducted and tortured, but his brainwashing was so complete that the only thing he could bring himself to care about was the state of his hair! He really was a genius!
Thawne’s prideful reverie was interrupted by a sudden swear. “Bollocks! I’ve taken too much off the sides.” It was true. While he had attempted to return to his typical haircut, he had cut much to close to the scalp on the left side of his head for that style to be possible.
Not completely sure of why he was doing this Eobard spoke up. “Mr. Hunter, this is pointless. You can’t cut your own hair! Sit back down and I’ll take care of it.” Turning to address his fellow allies he said, “Now, what do you two think we should do with this mess?”
Less than amused, Damien sneered and said, “Just give him a buzz-cut, why are we fussing over him!”
Malcolm though, looked intrigued despite himself. “Hmmm. It’s still plenty long on top. I bet if you buzzed the sides and the back, like an undercut, it would look pretty nice.”
And with that, Eobard set to work. Over the sound of clippers buzzing, he said, “So how do you think we should lure the Legends out so we can retrieve your fragment of the spear?”
fin