Chapter Text
Len watches as Mick buys a beer at the bar and waits for him to notice that he is already here and waiting. He’s seems surprised that Len actually showed up, even says so, and looks nervous and uncomfortable as he joins Len at the table. After a minute or two of watching the pyromaniac painfully trying to express emotions, Len just tells him to spit the words out.
“You’re the best guy I ever knew,” Mick rumbles, “You may not think you’re a hero but you’re a hero to me…you got that?”
“Yeah, I got it.” Len responds softly, blue eyes fixed on his partners face.
“See ya around.” Mick shoulders hunched, visibly distressed, turns and leaves the bar.
Brows furrowed, Len watches Mick walk out of the club. What the hell was that about? He looks like hell. He’s got to be on something stronger than beer. He tosses some money down on the table and saunters out to the parking lot. He pulls up his motorcycle goggles over his face and retrieves his helmet, snaps it on firmly and reaches for his bike.
There is a flash of red lightning and tall blond man in a yellow tight leather outfit appears out of thin air five feet away, staring at him, a predatory grin on his face. One of those Star Lab freaks. What did I do to piss HIM off? Len reaches for his gun and before he can pull it from the holster under his coat, the man is on him, gripping him roughly at the waist, hoisting him up over his leather clad shoulder.
Len clamps his lips tight as a dizzying kaleidoscope of light and sound assaults his senses, tamping his mewling fear down into the small box where he keeps his childhood. He is grateful that the goggles hide the panic in his wide eyes.
Suddenly, it ends and Len finds himself standing motionless and alone in the middle of what appears to be a swamp, the moist soil clinging to his polished boots.
“Welcome to the Hall of Doom, Mr. Snart.” A cultured, friendly baritone calls out from behind him.
The thief turns and swallows his surprise under a layer of cool calm. Schooling his features, he examines the large black dome resting on the swamps surface. A long ramp leads from the ground behind him to an open doorway in its face.
He unfastens his helmet, “Good to see you, Malcom Merlyn.” He flings it into the swamp.
“What an incredible smell you’ve discovered.” Len drawls sarcastically as he pulls off the goggles and stuffing them in his jacket pocket.
“We need to talk.” Merlyn smiles cheekily, arms wide as he walks down the extended walkway. “We’d like to offer you a new line of work, something quite a bit more profitable than robbing banks and stealing from museums.”
“Not interested… I’m into it for the adrenaline, the thrill of the chase.” Len shrugs his shoulders. “I love this game and I’m very good at it.”
“Oh I think we can provide plenty of thrills. How would you like to expand your reach to the entire world and beyond?” The assassin turns and gestures up the ramp.
+++++
A few minutes later, Len finds himself in a large domed room at the top of the structure. The room is empty except for a large curved meeting table surrounded by high-backed chairs. At its apex is a podium.
“Go on, make your pitch.” Len crosses his arms, eyes fixed on the other man, “I can see you’re dying to.”
Merlyn leans against the end of the table, “My companions and I are each masters in our own disciplines but individually, we began run into complications as so-called heroes began to rise against us, exploiting weaknesses in our reach, influence and skills. They work together, shoring up their own gaps through collaboration and information sharing. We need to as well if we want to remain competitive.”
“Who’s we?” Len raises an eyebrow, “I don’t just jump into a new crew with my eyes closed.”
The door to the right slides open and two men enter. One is the mysterious yellow speedster and the other is a tall, pale man with snow white hair.
Merlyn waves a hand towards the pair, “Eobard Thawne, the fastest man alive… at least for the next couple of months.”
Thawne glares at him then shrugs. “I think we’ll fix his little red wagon soon enough.”
“Damien Darhk, businessman and master of the occult.”
Darhk grins and nods, “Don’t forget my army of VERY loyal mercenaries.”
“Snart, you can continue to plague Central City until the Flash puts you behind bars for good or join us and stay at the top of your game, pulling off scores you could only dream of before.”
“I don’t know who this Flash is that you’re talking about….” Len begins.
The speedster interrupts, slapping his own forehead. “I forgot to mention…” He grins. “I can travel through time. Remember that Star Labs explosion? Right now a young man is lying in a coma and when he wakes in less than a year, he will be able to run as fast as me. He will make it his life’s mission to protect Central City from the likes of you.”
Merlyn stands and joins the others. “We have unlimited resources and access to advanced technology, magic and time itself. What we need is a criminal whose specialties include intelligence gathering, planning operations, and recruiting and training independent operatives. Someone who is accomplished in forming merry bands of Rogues to further the aims of our collective.”
“Rogues…cute.” Len huffs then cocks his head. Things have been getting a little too easy... boring... hm... maybe it is time for me to step up my game. He drops his hands to his hips and purses his delicate lips. “Alright, I’m in with one proviso, I have final say on all of my teams and operations. If I deem the risk too high, I will not waste valuable personnel for little to no gain.”
Merlyn looks at the other two, they nod and shrug, then turns back to him. “You have a deal. Welcome to the Legion of Doom.”