2451

Squalling at the world, light is a totally new concept for an infant emerging from their nine months or so of confinement. He had seen light before he even heard in mumbled whispers what it was. Now he was coming out into the world, light seemed to appear in a flash as his head emerged into the arms of a waiting man. A man in the garb of something he'd barely comprehend as being a midwife then raised him up and struck him upon the behind. All he could do then was wail, to announce himself to the world. There was an ambivalent man and woman standing nearby, and the woman seemed to have been in great pain. She blindly cursed at the thing. "Filthy creature, Bartor. If only your mother wasn't so old fashioned, we could have gone for one of the old Cadmus Chimaera projects to make a child, instead of this filthy breeding." The bespectacled man was middle aged with strawberry blonde hair, looking significantly older than his wife. "I loathed it as much as you did, Elvira," he said, cleaning his glasses thoroughly, "but Mother insists a true Thawne must come from the natural method." "Oh, don't worry," the doctor said to the couple who were about as warm as the vacuum of space, "young Eobard here will look right as rain when he's got this slime off him."

"You see? Slime! What's so natural about slime? We aren't dogs rutting in the street. I can't believe she insisted we use these quacks, Bartor."

"Elvira, she will be dead soon and we shall have the inheritance. If I told you once I've told you a thousand times, the old bag has stipulated that all her heirs be natural born."

"No wonder you are so loathsome when you perform that mating act. Your naked body must have once been covered in slime too. You Thawnes celebrate your primitivism far too plainly. Human bodies are disgusting. Why can't we be more like birds. Graceful and feathered."

"Spoken like a true Cobblepot. Besides, you know the laws. Earth President has to be natural born."

"They'll be repealing them in a few years, trust me. Too many of the wealthy are growing against it."

"And the wealthy always decide," the doctor muttered to himself as he placed the baby in a neonatal unit. Taking a blood sample, he took it to a nearby machine and counted the enzymes. No Kryptonian at all which was rare for someone with a mother from Gotham. Then again Central City hospitals didn't have that much births with any Kryptonian DNA. So many of the hybrids had headed into space. He did detect an accelerated heart rate, though the boy's grandmother had told him to be aware of this, as her son and his father both had a similar heart rate at birth despite never having any cardiac defects. It was almost as if his heart were beating faster than the speed of light though. Several beats occurred before he could turn on and off a light switch. His contacts would want to hear about this. Taking the test results, the doctor pocketed them before washing the slime off the baby and bringing it back to its parents.

"Ew, I don't want to touch it. Bartor, you hold it," the mother replied, recoiling at the sight of the squalling infant. "I have no desire either, Elvira," the man scoffed, "Doctor, just place it in a cot or something." This is why the medical staff in Central City hated the wealthy when they came to have children. The Thawnes were notorious for a lack of affection for their newborns. Still, the boy's great-grandfather was the Mayor and his mother's father was Mayor of Gotham. They'd be getting paid triple for assisting in the new birth. "We must thank you, Doctor," Bartor said, heading to shake his hand, forcing a smile for the sake of appearances and speaking as though reciting a legal document. "We are glad this heir to the names of Thawne and Cobblepot is healthy and safe thanks to your care. What was your name anyway? Forgive me, fatherhood seems to have made me more…sociable and pleasant. Funny that." "Oh, of course. Palmer," the handsome doctor replied as they shook hands, "Dr Raymond Palmer."

2460

"So, can you tell me why you hate your brother?" the psychologist asked the young Eobard Thawne as he sat glaring at the floor of her office. The boy had strawberry blonde hair and sat in front of a finished Rubik's Cube on her coffee table, bruises marking his hand. The office did not interest him, nor the woman. He only wished to finish this procedure his parents forced him into, under duress. "I don't know, Dr Lance…" came the disinterested reply. "Please, call me Dinah," the friendly woman told him. "My mother doesn't like me referring to adults by their first names," he continued, avoiding eye contact, "Only the titles they have earned or been given." "You don't call her Mom? What do you call her then?" Dinah asked the young lad with a warm but slightly patronising smile. "Mrs Thawne," was the laborious answer. "And your father?" Dinah continued, making notes on a clipboard. "Mayor Thawne," he replied, picking up an object from the coffee table. It was a miniature action figure. Of a blonde woman in a leather jacket with fishnet stockings. "Why do you have these items, Dr Lance?" he asked, showing bemusement. "I'm a child psychologist," she smiled, "I bring these in so you can play when you're trying to talk." "But why a rare edition of the Black Canary not issued in centuries?" the boy spoke, betraying his knowledge.

"Oh, my, um, husband is a bit of a collector. He's very into the history of the superheroes."

"You know how she died?"

"I believe it was in one of the last battles between superhumans in the 21st century. Something to do with a gulag?"

"Yes. She spent her whole life trying to prove she was a hero. Trying to prove she was like her mother, the original holder of the mantle and her mentor, the legendary Wildcat. She tried first by founding the JLA as the only female member. Then tried to emulate her mother by hanging around with a bunch of old men who knew her on the JSA. Married Green Arrow, had a team with Oracle. Had a daughter. And then it was all for nothing. They all died in the nuclear explosion Billy Batson gave his life to contain. Father, mother and daughter. I did enjoy Clark Luthor, the great 22nd century playwright's works on the heroes. They were my Grandmother Thawne's favourites. His 'Tragedy of the Black Canary' I have seen many times."

He finally looked up from the figurine and saw all around him the beauty of the office. There were so many colours lying on top of colours. It was as if he was living in the Justice League Watchtower. There were pictures of Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman all around as well as depictions of legendary events on the wall such as the Battle of Metropolis, when the last of the Green Lantern Corps, Kyle Rayner gave his life to destroy the tower of Alexander Luthor and save Hypertime. He then looked into his therapist's face for the first time. She had short black hair, glasses, a leather jacket and fishnet lacing. On a wigstand behind her he could see distinctively long blonde hair. "I take it you're a fan of Luthor's play, Dr Lance? Or one of those derivative holovid series they make. They lack the art and the passion of the great playwrights of that time. I don't think people now will ever truly appreciate the century where superhumans hid from us. Everyone was so scared by the Battle of the Gulag…we couldn't help it. It was the likes of Luthor whose voice resonated because they recreated the wonder people must have felt when those heroes appeared. Not the fear and trepidation many had, but the hope of a new tomorrow."

"You're a very intelligent boy for your age, Eobard."

"You don't need to remind me. That is all Mayor and Mrs Thawne talk of. That and how my precious little brother is someone I need to bond with because he will one day be my most loyal follower when I rule the Earth."

"Your parents seem awfully ambitious, Eobard."

"And why shouldn't they be? My ancestors on both sides have been part of America's political elite for close to four hundred years. Not to mention I have 120 Nobel laureates in the last 300 within my family tree. In my blood flows the veins of greatness. But yet, my grandmother could never shut up about one of her husband's relatives we should always be proud of. As did her father-in-law. Banal, old-fashioned idiots."

"Mayor Bartholomew Thawne was respected by everyone in Central City. Your great-grandfather did more to help this town than any Mayor in our history."

"That he may well have been, Dr Lance. But helping the people should not be the business of rulers but a biproduct of their greatness. The people's wellbeing matters little when great progress could be made at their expense. Our species has had a population surplus of over a billion since 1800. We are rapidly approaching a trillion and our spaceflights can't accommodate any more journeys to the stars. Mars is already close to depletion, it's only hope being those corporate pipe dreams of Garden of Eden terraforming. People should be crushed underfoot if they stand in the way of the betterment of civilisation. Alexander understood that, and so too did the great Ra's al Ghul."

"You admire Ra's al Ghul?"

"What is not to admire? His grandson, Ibn al Xuffasch, my ancestor, is more worthy of course. He conquered famine and disease in widespread matters when he became Earth's sovereign with the aid of Superman. He was one of the first people on this world to publicly marry an alien, even if she was a hybrid. Sadly, his amazing feats have led to the ills he thought vanquished recurring through overpopulation of our empire. It is a sad fact indeed."

"I'd like to go back to this relative your grandmother was so fond of."

"Oh, yes. Barry Allen. The Flash. She had a portrait of him at home. She used to say how handsome he was and how all her boys should look like him. Robern looks like him, I don't. And Robern wasn't even born until after she died. My mother detested the fact I was naturally born, which is why she doesn't like me calling her Mother. It's almost like I'm reminding her of the fact she engaged in coitus with my father and gave birth to me."

"I…see. So, why did your grandmother look up to Barry Allen so much? You say your mother is a great admirer of Ibn al Xuffasch."

"What…how did you…well, yes she is. As to my late grandmother, she used to always praise how he saved the multiverse, whatever that means. It sounds like a legend to me. She used to show me the entire five-part saga of the Flash by Clark Luthor. Easily his worst work. What a dull, soporific man…"

"Well, many people would disagree, Eobard."

"Many people are idiots."

"But the play is based on historical fact. Barry Allen gave his life stopping Mobius the Anti-Monitor from destroying our reality of positive matter. It is also based on his debacles with beings like the Reverse-Flash. The man who murdered his wife."

"How vile. But still…he doesn't sound as tragic as the Black Canary. What a pointless life she led. At least he died with purpose."

"Um, yes…I'm sure that's true, Eobard. But can you not appreciate the fact Barry Allen, the man who saved all of reality, was part of your bloodline. Your family seems to have a strong reverence for your famed relatives. Why not look up to the man who saved all of reality?"

"I suppose you are right, Dr Lance. Saviour of all reality? Even if he was dull, he was obviously capable. Thank you. I believe I've developed a newfound appreciation of Mr Allen."

"I'm more than glad to have been of help, Eobard. Now, I'm afraid our time is up."

2463

Eobard loved using the X-ray vision goggles to spy on his cousins as they came for midwinter festivities. They were older than him and far more fully formed. Both boys and girls. All his uncle's children. His uncle Elgin Cobblepot had married young and had three daughters and a son from two sets of twins. The elder two, Jemima and Dahlia were sixteen while the younger two Elvirius and Amalda were fourteen. And he desired them all. They were everything his mother hated. Natural borns. Not to mention good looking and fun to be around. His mother was a stoat faced woman with a large beak and a harsh gait which suggested she hated anyone and everything in the world, except her own wealth. What he wanted was to ruin her expectations of him. Ruin everything. He'd engage in coitus with all of them. Get the three girls pregnant and upset his mother greatly that her grandchildren would be produced from sexual relations and covered in slime at birth.

"Eobard, what are you doing?" He looked up and saw his mother standing over him with two of the servants looking shocked beside her. They were two new men. A father and son from Gotham by the name of Michael and Theodore Carter. "Mother, I wasn't—" She struck him with a large poker she was carrying. "Do not call me, Mother, you natural born filth!" Grabbing his ear, Elvira Thawne brought her son down to the garage where they kept their hovercar. "What were you touching, boy?! What were you touching?" Eobard muttered the answer under his breath. "Speak up, slime!" she screamed. "My penis!" he cried. "Men should not touch that thing," she spat in her son's face with revulsion, "It's not right."

"But my teacher at school says—"

"Never mind that plebeian harlot. She's probably from the same filth as you. Her father probably had to writhe on top of her mother till his…penis…exploded inside her. I'll explode yours if you look at your cousins like that again."

"But mother, you said I should marry my cousin…keep the line pure for the future presidents."

"I meant one of my eldest brother's children. Clean girls born in the chimaera tanks. Not filth like you made of slime. Absolute filth! You shouldn't be allowed touch them. I will not raise a pervert. Give it to me!"

"Mother, no!"

Elvira struck her son in the face, and as he recovered she grabbed a knife from the desk, moving forward to punish her son. In desperation, Eobard reached for a wrench and struck his mother on the head, killing her instantly, to the shock of the Carters, who barely had time to react. "Oh, Hell," Michael shouted, dropping all decorum, 2Eobard, give me the wrench." Eobard just stood there a lot less afraid than he should have been. "She's gone...good," he smirked, showing a sign of emotion despite seeming to be struck dumb at first, "One less problem for me." "Now you can't think like that," Theodore said, approaching the young lad and kneeling down putting his hand over the boy's, "What would Barry Allen say to that now, eh?"

"Why should I care?"

"Because he was a good man. And you're going to be President one day."

"No, I'm not. That stupid, ugly woman was the only one who wanted me to be President, I don't wanna' be."

"Well what do you want to be, young Eobard?"

"I…I don't know. But I don't want to be President. And I don't want to have a stupid little brother who I have to take care of all the time."

"Well, if you don't know what you want to be…why not be like Barry Allen? Be a scientist. Do some good for the world. Study about the Flash and his life. Do something brave for the human race. Eh, for Barry."

"Fine, Theodore. For Barry."

The next day, Michael and Theodore hadn't been seen or heard from again and they were both considered wanted men for the murder of Elvira Thawne. Mayor Bartor didn't waste time in remarrying immediately to one of his wife's much prettier nieces who had been arranged for his son to marry despite her being twenty-one to her cousin's twelve, Clara Cobblepot. And he touched her in the ways his late wife wouldn't want natural born slime like her son to do. Eobard didn't care. In fact, he enjoyed watching them writhe like animals on top of one another. He really, really enjoyed it. And now he had no mother to stop him doing that.

2466

Years at the gym under Oliver Queen and Mar'i McCabe, two exceptional gym instructors, had honed Eobard Thawne's physique into something quite extraordinary. They always asked him why he wanted to train so hard and he always replied with "To be like my uncle, Barry Allen." Every day, he'd have hairdresser Jason Rusch dye his hair fully blonde rather than strawberry, and every few months he'd go to plastic surgeon, John Henry Irons for a tune up of his face based exactly on Barry Allen's symmetry. At school, he quickly became popular with young men and women alike. But there were only two he seemed to have an eye for. The new history teacher, Mr Wayne's foster daughters, Cassie and Rose. Sitting beside them in their father's class became a regular habit. One morning before he came in, Rose slammed her head on the desk in despair. "Three months we've been here," she groaned to her friend, "What does Rip expect us to do with this kid?" "Well, all I can say is you're the one who's going to be going out with him," Cassie stifled a giggle. "And why the hell is that?" Rose exclaimed in actual concern for herself. "Well, I'm spoken for," Cassie said, half-jokingly. "So am I!" Ravager retorted. "Not really," Cassie interjected, "You and Bart were never really a thing you said so yourself." "Well, your boyfriend's in a coma," Rose said, trying to make Cassie accept the load. "I know, I know, it's serious…" was the sarcastic reply.

"Cassie, that was dark, even for me."

"I've been spending too much time with you, and I'm kind of going insane pretending to be…his friend," was the candid response, when suddenly the subject of their conversation arrived, "Oh, hi Eobard! Rose was just talking about you!" "Was she?" Eobard said as he sidled in beside the silver haired girl. "Uh yeah, I was just telling Cassie how you two would look so well together," Rose mischievously answered. "Yeah, except I'm spoken for," Cassie butted in instantaneously. "Sorry, yes, how could I forget. He 'lives in another state' if you know what I mean," Rose replied in air quotes. "Tell me about it," Eobard rolled his eyes, "my last one was on Mars." Rose and her enemy started laughing at that. The bell rang then and class commenced as Mr B. Wayne stalked in and gave a terse look at his foster daughters. Eobard was always impressed by the poise and serious demeanour of this teacher. A man who commanded the room with his mere presence. Today's history lesson was on the Anti-Monitor Crisis which nearly destroyed the multiverse.

"Now, does anyone know the name of the hero who gave their life to stop the Anti-Monitor? Anyone? Thawne, Eobard."

"Barry Allen, sir. The Flash."

"Very good, Mr Thawne. Proving yourself head and shoulders above the rest of class as usual. In this class and every other from what I hear in the staff room. Now, can anyone tell us about what the Anti-Monitor was exactly? Anyone else? Fine. Thawne, Eobard."

"Sir, he was a being from before the birth of the universe. He existed as the polar opposite of the Monitor, his twin brother. It's based on Isaac Newton's third law, sir. The law that to every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction. The Monitor represented positive matter, and the Anti-Monitor anti-matter. Their existence was both a necessity and a detriment to the other."

"How so?"

"Because anti-matter is destructive to matter. A wave of anti-matter began destroying all of the multiverse. Some survivors from across them had to band together with the heroes of the last two to save the final one. In the end, the remains of the last two sort of settled into the history of our own. Barry Allen died destroying the machine which caused the anti-matter wave to destroy the multiverse in the first place, sir."

"Excellent, Thawne. Top marks."

After class, Cassie went up to Eobard. "So, you know that my sister, Rose, totally digs you, yeah?" she said coquettishly. "Um, no I couldn't tell," Eobard smiled. "Well, I suppose everyone does," Cassie said in mock flattery, feeling a little bile rise to her throat as she said so, "You are really handsome." "And do you dig me?" Eobard asked, raising an eyebrow. "Like I said, I've a boyfriend," Cassie blushed, trying to act as if she genuinely cared whether the man responsible for that same boyfriend's near death was in any way interested in her, "So, anyway my dad really likes you…and he thinks it would be great for you to come over to dinner tonight. Maybe you and Rose can get to talking." "I'd love that, Cassie, thanks," Eobard told her before running off to his next class. Cassie almost got sick walking away from the young man.

After completing his homework, Eobard got into much more casual attire. The school uniform of Park-West High School was dark blue and stifling. A t-shirt saying, "Zod Was Right," a flannel shirt above it and a pair of dark jeans with sunglasses as all he wanted now. "Are you going out?" Clara asked her cousin and stepson impertinently as he went to the front door. "Yeah, to a friend's, Clara," he replied with an air of rebellion. "I told you not to call me by my first name, I'm your step-mom," she bit back. "My mother's dead and I didn't even call her Mom, so don't start," was the defiant reply. Eobard got out the front door and headed down the street to a smaller but nicer house. Less gothic looking than Thawne Manor, bright white and two floors high, unlike the old-fashioned domicile he was accustomed to. His father had blamed it on all the Gotham families they married into, attempting to evoke an old fashioned appearance. The door was opened by a very attractive, dark haired woman. "Hi, I'm Zatanna," the woman, evidently his teacher's wife, beamed, "You must be Eobard. Bruce, Cassie and Rose have told me all about you. Come in, sit down." Eobard made his way in and saw the house was quite retro, resembling something from the 21st century. He was in Seventh Heaven. "By the Creator, you've got a television!" he shouted, stunned with excitement, "A real-life plasma screen television!" "Well, Bruce isn't very into modern technology. Being a history teacher and all that," Zatanna replied before handing him a glass of wine.

"Oh, my Dad doesn't—" Eobard began. "What the Mayor doesn't know won't hurt him, lad," said a voice coming up beside him which smelled of tar and ash. The filthiest looking servant he had ever seen was carrying a tray of wine glasses in front of him. His bow tie was not made, the suit didn't seem to fit him, he wasn't clean shaven, and beyond the strange smokey smell he reeked of gin. "Oh, Eobard, this is John," Zatanna laughed, "He's our butler." "Butler?" Eobard remained bemused, "Another old-fashioned term." "Yes, well," John seemed to sneer as he said, "Mr Wayne is accustomed to the old-fashioned in terms of master-servant relations as well as his choice of technology." John then walked away from the young lad to attend to the dinner, his lack of friendliness compared to his employers palpable. "What's wrong with his breath?" he asked Zatanna. "Ah, John is part," Zatanna hesitated, "Dragon, you see." "Dragon, you mean as in Draconian or something?" Eobard said, surprised at the lady's choice of language. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean," Zatanna nodded quickly and eagerly, "Draconian." Eobard was puzzled. He'd never heard of those people breathing fire before. He always thought dragon was just a racist term for them.

Bruce then came down the stairs, fully kitted out in a suit. "Ah, Eobard, good to see you lad. Put her there." His teacher seemed far less serious and more laid back than in the classroom. Eobard shook his outstretched hand and smiled. "Pleasure to be here, Mr Wayne," he smiled, genuinely impressed, "And I must say your home is lovely." "Oh, no need to be modest," Bruce laughed, "You're a Thawne...your used to far grander abodes than this." "I adore this though," Eobard said seriously, "You seem to appreciate history more than most." "Yeah, well, I'm a Gotham man, not Metropolis," Bruce deflected, trying to keep the boy away from the truth, " We aren't into 'modernity' quite as much when it comes to technology. Rose tells me your mother was from Gotham." "Yes, and my stepmother," Eobard nodded, "She's my cousin." "Ah…I see," Bruce stumbled, "Well, I'm born and bred, met Zat at GSU doing my undergrad." "Yes, I thought that," the teenager nodded coldly, "It's hardly surprising you're from Gotham when you have the same name as the Batman." "Always got picked on in school about that," his teacher joked, "Kind of why I moved away." That earned a bit of forced laughter from his wife. "Well, you moved to a city where your name would have to be Barry Allen for that," she chuckled, handing him a glass of wine. "Oh, Zat, don't get 'ol Eobard here started on Barry Allen," her husband replied, "You seem to be a bit of a fan."

"Well as a matter of fact, sir…"

"Please, Eobard. You're my guest. Call me Bruce."

"Okay, Bruce. Barry Allen is a distant relative of mine. My ancestor, Malcolm Thawne, and he were separated at birth."

"Wow. That is extraordinary. And I was embarrassed having the same name as one of them, you seem proud. Though why wouldn't you be? The Flash is a great hero. Batman was always…fairly controversial up our way."

"Well, that's no surprise, sir, because people are idiots."

"What?"

"The Batman was the greatest hero ever to grace this planet. His authoritarian approach to tackling crime and recruiting the young into his war separated him from idealists like Superman, you see. I am a great admirer of his work, the real work he did, not the sanitised version we have in the artistic sphere. One can't help but loathe Clark Luthor's portrayal of the Batman as some kind of camp 'man of the people' who danced in nightclubs in broad daylight in costume with signature moves. No, I prefer the more academic approach analysing Gothamites' reactions to him instead of making him Superman in a Bat outfit. Most of them were afraid of him, you see. Really terrified. I like to imagine the children he recruited were terrified of him in no dissimilar way. But he got the job done. If only Magog hadn't outed him, your namesake could have crushed the scum of Gotham underfoot and made it a better city than the cancerous nightmare of crime my relatives have to handle."

Bruce was suddenly looking serious again, staring into the young man's eyes with intensity. "Mr Wayne?" Eobard asked, curious at his silence. "Bruce, honey," Zatanna stroked his arm affectionately, "Surely you have a counterpoint." "Uh, sorry," his teacher regained himself, forcing a smile before restoring eye contact with his pupil, "I agree with you on Clark Luthor. As a Gothamite myself I know what it's like to hear these romanticised tales of the Batman where he's more like Robin Hood than the Caped Crusader he was. But I also disagree with the portrayals of him as some kind of fascist." "Forgive me, sir, I did not mean to say the Batman was a fascist," Eobard apologetically corrected, "Ideologically he did not go far enough for that. No, what I mean is that he was clearly not beholden to due process or law and order as his peers seem to have been. And in a city like Gotham, that is probably necessary." That earned a false chuckle from his teacher. "I'll tell you," he said, putting a hand on Eobard's shoulder, "this young fella' would be giving my old professors a fright. Every considered going academic, Eobard?"

"No, sir. My realm of study is mainly in quantum physics, though I work with history as well. I'm thinking of going for an internship at the Flash Museum."

"The Flash Museum. Well, your knowledge of Barry Allen would help in that regard. Good for you, son."

As they all sat down to dinner, conversation became more mundane. Eobard was growing more and more obsessed with Rose. She was looking so beautiful with her silver hair and stunning blue dress. Not to mention the way she always had her hair parted over one side of her face. "Tell me, Bruce," Eobard said with a lot more confidence now that his blood was pumping, "How did you and Zatanna take these two in?" Bruce placed his wine glass down on the table and straightened himself. "Well, Cassie here is a younger sister of a woman Zatanna and I used to work with who passed away," he said, wiping his face with a napkin, "Diana was her name. Cassie was only a young girl at the time so we took her in, and formally got ourselves named her legal guardians. Rose's father worked with us in that same place. He also died on that same mission." "Oh, fascinating," Eobard said almost as if they were talking about ancient history rather than the recent deaths of their loved ones. That made things ten times more awkward, though not for Eobard. He was still academically fascinated by everything about these people. And physically lusting after Rose.

Once the meal had ended, he was with Rose outside the house. "Thank you for a lovely evening," he said to the girl. She blushed and said, "Uh, well my Mom and Dad helped out. Heh heh." He then laid his mouth upon hers expecting a kiss but received only a push away from him by the young woman. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Rose said defensively. "Oh, yeah, just my luck," a snarling beast seemed to emerge from a previous veneer of gentility, "Another rich girl like my mother who hates the idea of breeding?" "You what?" Rose was completely taken aback by that statement. "You heard me, you frigid bitch!" he shouted, grabbing her arm angrily. Rose punched him in the nose then, breaking it. "Stay away from me, and my family you sick little perv!" he heard as he began to stand up. She ran back inside then. "Go on, run!" he shouted back in defiance, "Run, you little whore! You'll be crawling back!" Eobard was disgusted. Enraged that a woman he desired so strongly could not want him, who had made himself the pinnacle of human perfection, moulding his physique and appearance entirely on that of Barry Allen. He began punching the mirror of the bathroom back in his house. Punching and punching and punching until it was naught but shards of glass. "What's going on here?" Clara said walking in to see him with bloodied fists, "Eobard, explain yourself." "Shut up, you," were the words of hatred that came from the back of his throat, "My father's broodmare. You were meant to marry me, you know that?"

Clara backed away a little. "You know you're just like what my Dad said about your mom," she shook her head in disbelief. "Yeah, and what's that?" her stepson asked, advancing on her with menace aforethought. "Crazy. Deranged. Narcissistic," she scoffed, "Expecting everyone else to worship you when you turn your nose up at them. She was always spoiled by Grandpa so he taught her none of the lessons he did him. " "You know nothing about me, harlot," he said through gritted teeth. "And a misogynist too," she laughed, "Yeah, your mom wasn't very fond of most of her gender. Always used to put us down. She called me a whore all the time when I was your age for wearing a skirt. Seems the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree." "I am nothing like my mother!" Eobard screamed as he lifted a shard of glass and drove it into Clara's chest again and again until she was no more, "Nothing…nothing…nothing…" He then fell into a foetal position covered in his cousin's blood as he lay waiting for the end to come.

Bartor became determined to cover this up and so sent Eobard back to a child psychologist after his second wife's murder was once again placed under wraps. The psychologist he sent him too was once again Dr Dinah Lance. She didn't seem to have aged a day. "Eobard. Good to see you again," she smiled, "You've gotten very grown up." "Be silent, wench," he spat, staring at her floor after taking a seat. "Now, that is nothing like the mannerly boy I met all those years ago now is it," Dinah said all but sarcastically, "He'd treat women with respect. He always called me Dr Lance. Well, you can call me Dinah." Eobard was playing with two stress balls in his right hand at this point while the other was shaking on the arm of his chair. He hadn't washed since killing his cousin and the mania in his eyes was palpable. "You know what I did?" he trembled. "No, not the foggiest," Dinah lied. "I killed her," he spoke, biting his lip. Dinah stopped recording his words and, taking her glasses off, looked Eobard directly in the eye. "Who?" she asked with genuine concern. "Just some whore," he said in annoyance at her questioning. "Listen to me, Eobard you can't talk about women like that," Dinah corrected him, "It's not right. How would you like it if someone called your late mother a whore?" "She called herself one," he said, making eye contact with his psychologist now, displaying how bloodshot his own were, "Hated herself for having sex. Hated it so much. Called herself fallen in private. Compared herself to someone from a story from her childhood. Eve, I think. She was fallen too. And so, Mother, saw herself as just as much a whore as Eve was."

"Well, that's not healthy, at all. Eobard, have you considered that maybe you are…anti-sexual like your mother?"

"No. I want to have sex. I really want to. I want to rut with a woman, or a man. Or any gender really. Not just the binary. I want to be better than my mother."

"Right. What's triggered all this? I'm not on about how you're acting right now. I mean what caused you to…kill this woman."

"Another whore rejected me."

"Stop calling women whores, please. Who was this girl?"

"Teacher's daughter. Kept giving me the eye. Her sister said she liked me. Now she's laughing behind my back."

"I'm sure you're just thinking too much about it."

"What would you know? You've never lived my life."

"No, but I've been a teenager before. I know how frustrating that can be especially when it comes to romance and sexuality."

"Why speak so candidly?"

"I'm a medical professional, not your mother."

"My mother was worse than that. Do you know why I killed her?"

"Eobard…this…I may have to…"

"If you inform the police my father will have you killed. Now answer my question."

"What the hell?"

"ANSWER!"

"No, I don't know why you killed your mother. Jesus Christ…"

"I killed her because she tried to castrate me. I was twelve years old and she caught me masturbating. Said I shouldn't celebrate what 'plebeian harlots' tell me to do. So, I hit her over the head with a wrench. The two servants covered it up because they loved me…and because my dad needed a scapegoat. He was happier than I was that the frigid bitch was dead."

"Does your father talk like this?"

"Talk like what?"

"Like a misogynist."

"I wouldn't know. Don't think I've ever had more than three conversations with him my whole life. I was coping you know. Coping really well, since Mrs Thawne had died. I so wanted to be Barry Allen. And I hope I still can be."

"Barry Allen was a good man. You will never be him, Eobard Thawne. I know that now."

"And with that sentence, whore, you've just signed your own death warrant."

"Eobard, what the hell?"

The teenager pulled a knife from out of his pocket. Dinah managed to punch him as he scraped her arm with it while she dodged. She then unleashed her loudest Canary Cry in years forcing Eobard to fly back from her and into the wall, putting him in a coma from the impact to his head. "Oh shit, what have I done?" Dinah said as Rip and Michael walked in from the foyer. "You haven't killed him, don't worry," Michael said, running a mediscan over the fifteen-year-old, "He'll be like this for a while I reckon." "This was a terrible idea, Dad," Rip shook his head. "What are you talking about?" Michael asked with incredulity.

"You said we could reform him. That's why I told everyone we should make him like Barry Allen. That's why we got Ollie and Mar'i to teach him Barry's moves. Why Dinah told him about how great Barry was. It's what everyone told him. And it's failed…miserably."

"Well, you believed me. You've a lot more experience in changing history than I do, son, so don't look at me."

"You screwed up, Dad. Short of killing him we can't do anything. And if we kill him, the whole of history goes even more into whack. It might make his future self, ten times more powerful even."

"Well, there is one more thing we could try."

"And what's that, Dad?"

"Go to when he got on the Cosmic Treadmill in the first place. Stop him from ever going back. Prevent him from creating the Negative Speed Force…"

2481

"We're closed," antique store owner John Broome said, not looking up from his tablet sitting in the back room, as a man walked through his front door, ringing the old fashioned alarm to signify a new customer. The man walked up to the counter and rang the old-style bell Broome had been keeping there. "Look, if you wanna' order online, talk to Carmine, my husband," Broome grumbled, putting his tablet aside and walking to the desk, "He'll handle any—" The man put his hand onto Broome's face. He was handsome, with blonde hair and a symmetrical face. He looked a lot like the old Flash from the photos Broome kept in the store. "I hear you have something that belongs to me, Mr Broome?" the customer spoke coolly, "I'm afraid I can't let you have it." Eobard Thawne then snapped the older man's neck and walked into his backroom. Central City's old collectors had a myriad of things that would be of interest to him. Leonard Snart's cold gun, Mick Rory's flamethrower and the Golden Glider's skis, among others. But what he really wanted was here in Broome's shop. The Cosmic Treadmill.

Eobard began feeling a slight sickening sensation. The doctors had told him over ten years ago when he had awoken from his coma that he would not have much longer to live, as the brain trauma would eventually result in a severe aneurysm at some point around not long after turning thirty. Now that he was thirty and a long time academic at the Flash Museum, Eobard knew there were healing properties to be found in the Speed Force. Every speedster had recovered from such things far quicker than most thanks to accelerated healing. There were tales of a Kid Flash who survived a direct shot to the gut from a famed mercenary. Eobard reached for his pills to dull the episode before his brains began to bleed through his nose. Composing himself, he grabbed the Treadmill with anti-grav magnets and headed straight out the front door to his truck which he loaded the object onto.

Back at the Flash Museum, he began prepping the Cosmic Treadmill for an incoming lightning strike. With that, he would become a speedster not only to save his life but to be the Barry Allen reincarnated his grandmother had always wanted him to be. It needed to come soon, he could feel further grogginess from both his pills and his soon to be collapsed brain. It was then that he saw a group of people wearing costumes standing in front of him. He recognised their two leaders as Michael and Theodore Carter. "So, I was right…about your little conspiracy weaving through my life," he nodded, masking his weakness, "You know I thought for a while my grandmother had hired you all in some secret clause in her will. But then…then I got hit with a Canary Cry by my therapist. I thought that was odd. The X-gene never identified another human with that ability, and it's thought it died out with Dinah Lance and her daughter, Olivia Queen. Then my ego was overcome by my logic centres. Dr Lance always insisted I call her Dinah. My history teacher from Gotham had the same name as Batman. As well as an uncanny ability to shift from being serious in the classroom, to the most sociable man on the planet when we were being informal. I'm actually starting to wonder was my grandmother herself one of you too. And by one of you, I of course, mean time travellers. Time travellers determined to make me become like Barry Allen. Now, before you say or do anything else. I want an answer. An honest answer. Why?"

"Because we want to save the people we love, from you," Michael answered candidly to his son's chagrin. "People you love?" Thawne laughed, "Why would I hurt the people you love?" "Don't play dumb," Rose said with disdain, "You've already killed at least three people that we know of. And only your old lady came close to deserving it." "Well, what's to say your loved ones won't," was the instant reply, "I mean their relatives are hardly the most moral of people. Going back in time to alter a man's whole life. Pretty irresponsible too." "Shut up," Batman said angrily, losing patience with this soft approach, "You know nothing of why we came here. We came here because you are the one damaging time and space. Raising the dead, starting wars that never happened. We're not the ones playing fast and loose with the Web of Time here, Thawne."

"Ooh, what's happened, Bruce? I mean, Thawne. You're really calling me that now. What happened to that fondness you had for the 'fine young fellow, Eobard', you were so proud of knowing for his academic brilliance? Of course, that was all part of your act, playboy. Can you tell me which is real? Bruce or Batman? I never can tell anymore. Is it the pantomime act or the boy whose parents got shot with a coping mechanism? Bit of a chicken and egg question, isn't it? Anyway, Theodore, my man, since you're clearly the boss around here, tell me…why such a large team of heroes?"

"We wanted to be prepared for anything. That and some of them were anomalies caused by your interference. Others stand the most to lose because of your actions."

"Wow, that is something. I've affected the lives of giants. And you're saying that all this is going to happen once I become a speedster and gain access to time travel?"

"Yes," Michael replied as he pulled a blaster from his pocket, aiming it squarely at Eobard's forehead, "And we're here to destroy the Treadmill before you can do that?" "Now, are you sure that's wise?" Thawne smirked through his agony as the gun came to rest on his head. "Once you get into that timestream, Thawne, we don't have any other way of stopping you," Michael solemnly pronounced. Eobard began laughing like a clown then. "I'm a dying man, Michael. Look at me. Ms Lance's cry over there nearly killed me. And unless I gain super speed I'm screwed."

"I'm sorry, Eobard," Michael said, looking at him with some genuine remorse, "I can't let you do that." "Well then, screw you," Eobard said as he punched Michael in the face and stole his blaster, pointing it at the former hero's head, clenching his free hand around the man's throat, "Anyone moves and he gets it. Activate the Treadmill, dummy!" "I don't know how," Michael muttered through choking. "Yes, you do," Eobard shouted, "Now do it!" Michael then punched in some coordinates on the Cosmic Treadmill and as Eobard tossed him aside, he began running. "Somebody stop him!" Firestorm said as he flamed on. Vixen began running like a jaguar, only to be hit with a blaster shot in the shoulder, knocking her to the ground. "We can't," Rip said in defeat. "He's accessing the Speed Force now. He'd just deflect any attack like he did Vixen's. We've lost, Dad." "Dad?" Thawne looked up incredulously, "Oh, I forgot about that. Best make sure to kill those loved ones of yours here so that Michael can activate the Treadmill for me in the first place. Toodle-pip!" And with that, in a yellow blur, Eobard Thawne was gone. Rip looked to his father and punched him directly in the face.

Back on the Waverider, things weren't looking too good. Everyone was happy to see that Bart and Mia had revived under Gar and Rachel's care, albeit the former was on crutches and thereby incapable of active duty. "You alright?" Cassie asked Bart as she gave him a massive bear hug upon their reunion at the bridge. "I feel like death," he smiled through the pain, "Especially when my ribs are getting hugged with Amazon strength. "Sorry," Cassie smiled, releasing him, "Well, you did clinically die. The machines here helped rejig your heart." "Oh, cool," Kid Flash smiled, still looking and sounding exhausted, "So, how in the hell did we end up on the Enterprise?" His old friend laughed in reply. "It's a long story," Wonder Girl answered, "They rescued us when Slade attacked." "God yeah, Slade," Bart whispered to himself, recalling how he'd now been shot twice by the Terminator, "Is everyone okay?" "No," Cassie frowned, "Zachary and Amy are dead, Vic got brainwashed and Conner and Kara are in comas. Not to mention what happened to you." "Deathstroke shot me," Bart ominously replied as he began to rest in a nearby chair on the bridge, "And I take it by the look on your face what you've been up to while I was out hasn't gone too swimmingly either?" Cassie shook her hea in reply. "Figures," Kid Flash coughed a bit as he settled in the chair, "Still, at least we're alive. That's something." Bart put his hand on Cassie's then and they seemed to smile to each other through tears which were simultaneously bitter and happy.

At the bridge, Hal Jordan was pressing a cold compress onto Michael Carter's black eye. "So, explain to me again why Rip thought it was a good idea to give his father a shiner," the pilot asked his crewmates. "Because his father's as much of a fool as he was on the JLI, is why," Batman answered with venom, "He caught us in a Destiny Trap." "What do you mean?" Hal asked. "He had us create a sort of Gordian Knot around time," Irons pointed out, "Michael knew how to operate the Cosmic Treadmill better than Thawne did…and Thawne figured out our whole conspiracy. So he forced Michael at gunpoint to activate it and make him the Reverse-Flash in the first place." Hal then removed the cold compress. "Now I finally do believe it." "Believe what?" Michael asked as he snatched the cold compress from Hal and put it over his shiner manually. "That you are Booster Gold," Hal told him derisively, "No one else could be this much of an ass with time. Your son should have led from the start, instead of deferring to the Daddy he outshone."

"You couldn't be more right, Hal," Rip butted in, "This irrelevant old man is the reason my family are dead." "I'm sorry," Michael shouted, "I thought it was the right thing to do, if we tried to kill him or capture him we could have made things a hell of a lot worse." "You told me, Dad, that our team would work," Ted said impatiently, "That we'd change history. Contain the explosion in the Web of Time. And it hasn't done anything of the kind, except create history as it was." "Well, one always runs that risk with time travel, Ted," Michael frankly told his son as he straightened himself up in his chair. "So, was there any point to this mission at all?" Vixen pertinently asked, as Ray Palmer applied a bandage to her shoulder. "None whatsoever, it seems," Jason Rusch said with a little scorn.

"I don't know about that," Irons reminded them, "we got that spell off Dream to protect us from Thawne." "Yeah, and while that may protect us from instant death," Rose said, "we still have to fight off his gigantic army when we get back." "We're not completely without hope," Michael announced to them all, "We can still get to the future. The Legion will have something to help us. I know it." "And how is popping even further ahead in time going to help anyone when Thawne is running around in our time?" Ray queried furiously. "We have to try," Michael defiantly stood up, throwing his cold compress on the table, "Otherwise, there's no point in anything." "We can't try," Hal said seriously, "because our fuel's nearly empty. Unless you get some Zeiton-7 in here, we're only making one trip and that's home." "They'll have Zeiton-7 at the United Planets," Michael reminded him.

"Even if that's the case," Constantine shouted from across the room, "what the fuck is going there gonna' do for us? Prolong our time out here. Have us doing cartwheels for all eternity, to try and stop Thawne. It's bullshit, we should go home and fight him man to man." "No, I'm with Michael on this," Cassie told the assembled group, "We can't just give up on this whole adventure because we fell at the first hurdle." "Agreed," Steel said with confidence. "Likewise," Vixen seconded. "I think there's more we need to do out here as well," Zatanna said, biting her lip a little. Rachel and Gar also raised their hands and so did Firestorm to say they were for Michael. Ollie and Dinah who had been casually silent nodded their assent. Rose, Bruce, Constantine, Rip, Hal and Ray seemed to be the only remaining opposition. "Theodore, please," Michael walked up to his son, with pleading eyes, "Believe in me." "I don't believe in you, Dad," was the terse reply he received, "But I'm going with the team. Hal, punch in the 31st century, sometime towards the end of the first decade."

As the crew headed back to their quarters, the bar or the med-bay, Hal Jordan and Rip Hunter prepared for takeoff. The Waverider took off more casually than usual at first, almost as if they were flying through nothing. No turbulence. "It seems a lot less bumpy than the ride here," Hal suspiciously noted to Rip. "Yes, well, that would be the case in these situations normally, Hal," his captain replied without concern, "Turbulence doesn't normally happen. It's just with the time explosi—" Before he could finish explaining, the whole ship was struck by an unprecedented fire storm. Everything began buffeting and billowing. "We're being blown off course. Navigation circuits are down!" Hal screamed as he was flung into the hologrammatic table behind them from his seat. In the med-bay during the chaos, Conner and Kara woke up. "Where the hell are we?" Kara struggled to say, clearly short of breath. Cassie, just returned from the flight deck, was amazed Conner was awake, and even though he could barely move his head she gave him a massive kiss. "Gee, is it my birthday or did I almost die?" Superboy quipped groggily. The ship buffeted even more violently than usual and Cassie fell over. "Ah, seems we're all going to die," he lowered his head back onto the pillow, "Some wake up call."

The windscreen on the ship seemed to push them further and further through the fire until eventually Rip hit a large button with full force. A button he'd told Hal never to press. The Randomiser. "I'm sorry, guys," he said to the rest of the crew as they made their way onto the bridge after recovering, "We must have taken too long in the 25th century. The winds of time caught up with us. Would have torn us apart. Good news, we're alive. Bad news, I've used all the fuel. We're stuck here. But it should be safe, and we might find a way to make it out. Hal, bring her in to land there." Hal began a descent pattern for the Waverider as he got back in his pilot's seat. They seemed to be flying through smoke. "Don't tell me we're in Cloud City or something?" Ray joked looking out the windscreen. As they descended through the smoke, they saw a city below engulfed in flames. Bruce and Constantine were on the bridge at this point as well. "It looks like Manchester on a Saturday night," Constantine butted in. "Where the hell are we?" "It's Gotham," Batman said looking at the coordinates on Hal's readout, "Twelve years in our future."