The Villain's IQ

Jack had worked with Mardon a few times before on petty robberies—mugging pedestrians and hitting convenience stores. But when the Mardon brothers got the idea to rob a bank, Jack thought they'd lost their minds. Why not just live a simple thug life? He had backed out, and as it turned out, he was right. The Mardon brothers were rumored to be dead. 

He never expected to see Clyde Mardon alive, let alone with an arm missing.

"Mardon, what are you doing here? I ain't up for hitting banks with you," Jack said with a wary glance, his eyes betraying his unease. Then, with a yawn, he curled up on his bed, shaking intermittently as he lay down.

He contemplated ratting Mardon out to the cops for some 'food' but then remembered Mardon's ruthless streak. Life was precious, after all. He shivered on his bed, abandoning all other thoughts. Right now, all he wanted was to sleep through the night, maybe rob a few passersby in the morning for some cash to buy his 'food.'

"Jack, you're more pathetic than ever," Mardon sneered, looking down on him. If it weren't for the fact that he needed someone expendable, he wouldn't have bothered with a junkie too scared to rob a bank.

"OK, Mardon, you're real successful, what with one hand and all," Jack mumbled from under the covers, eyes still closed.

The mention of his missing hand was a sore spot for Mardon. His fist clenched so hard his nails dug into his palm, and his face twisted with hatred. The pain from his bandaged stump fueled his anger, and his eyes burned with vengeful fury, red blood seeping through the fabric.

Mardon picked up a black duffel bag from the floor and hurled it at Jack on the bed.

The bag hit Jack hard, jolting him awake and igniting his temper. He sat up, cursing, "F--k you, what do you think—"

But the sight of green bills spilling from the bag silenced his rage. He was staring at more money than he'd ever seen in his life, and his eyes began to shine with greed.

Mardon's voice was cold and threatening, "Follow my orders, and you can have anything you want. Otherwise, you die."

Jack was startled, "What do you want me to do?"

Mardon pulled out a phone from his coat pocket, showing Jack a photo. "Kidnap this cop," he ordered.

Jack leaned in to look at the phone and gasped, "It's him."

"You know him?" Mardon asked, eyebrow raised.

Nodding, Jack hugged the money tighter. "A few nights ago, he approached me..."

He hesitated, then clutched the cash to his chest. "He told me if I had any information about you, to let him know, and I'd get a handsome reward."

Mardon laughed bitterly, "Stupid cop, you're asking for it."

"Listen, Mardon, I ain't helping you kill a cop. I'm not crazy. I'm doing fine, no need to sign my own death warrant," Jack said, trembling at Mardon's condition.

Mardon scoffed, "Doing fine? Like this? You just need to lure that cop out and buy me a lightning rod. The rest of the money will let you live well."

Jack's eyes lit up, "You mean it?"

If it was true, he wouldn't have to do much. Make a call about a Mardon sighting, tip off the cops, then leave. Whatever Mardon did after that wouldn't be his problem. And a lightning rod wouldn't cost much out of the nearly half a million dollars in the bag—enough to squander for a lifetime.

Greed and addiction took over Jack's mind, and he believed Mardon's promise.

Mardon didn't care about the money. With his powers, cash was easy to come by. A few bank heists and no one could stop him. He could even rule the city if he wanted. No one could stop him except for that electricity-wielding man, the one who scared him, made him flee, made his insides tremble. In this world, he just needed to become a god. Everyone else could drop dead.

Unable to find Elon, Mardon knew the red-suited speedster was anxious about this cop, and the electric man cared for Barry. In Mardon's mind, the equation was simple: Cop = Red Suit = Electric Man.

His plan to draw them out was straightforward, hence why he needed Jack. The police were on the lookout for him, and he needed Jack to buy the lightning rod and set everything up. It was time to eliminate the obstacles in his path.

The villain was setting his trap.

Meanwhile, the heroes, led by The Flash, were still putting out fires across the city, with Cisco coordinating Barry's moves and Caitlin monitoring his vitals, wondering how she had so naturally become part of their team.

Days passed, and Joe had laid several traps for Mardon with no success, except for a farmhand desperate for money and Mardon's ex-girlfriend, who claimed to have seen him. Both leads went nowhere, and the farmhand was left with a swollen face after a scuffle with Elon.

Sitting at his desk in the Central City Police Department, Joe was finishing a report when his phone rang—a number he didn't recognize.

"Detective West, this is Jack. I've got a lead on Mardon. You might want to check it out."

Joe vaguely remembered Jack—a junkie with disheveled stubble and dark circles under his eyes. After two fruitless attempts, he didn't immediately trust Jack's tip, warning him, "Jack, I know you. Others have tried to get a reward out of me before. If this isn't accurate, you might find yourself in a rehab facility."

After hanging up, Joe didn't call Elon right away. The tip was about a location in the southern woods. He decided to scout it out first; if it was legit, he'd call Elon to handle Mardon. Or maybe he wouldn't need Elon at all—flesh and blood can't stop bullets, after all.

As time passed, the memory of Mardon's powers began to fade from his mind.

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