He wants you to join the Legion...as his !

The Mind Mime grins at you, but his eyes smolder evily. How could the Legion possibly let this Marcel Marceau of Malice join their ranks?

Or did they? Could the Mime have taken control of all these superheroes at once? It wouldn't be the first time the Legion had fallen victim to mind control. There was that business with Jiggly the Intergalactic Jelly Fish a few years back. But that had been a vast alien menace. Surely the entire Legion couldn't be taken in my a fucking mime!

Still, it made more sense than him being reformed.

"Listen to me!" you cry out to the Legion, fighting the feeling that they won't be able to hear you through the box that isn't there. "The Mind Mime isn't reformed! He's controlling you!"

"That's just silly!" the Martian Millionaire protested. "I ASKED him to dominate me. I'm quite certain if I had said my safe word, he would have stopped."

"He dominated you too?" asked Hyperion. "Did he use the riding crop? I just love that! He shoved it up my ass and made me trot around the bedroom like a pony!"

"That's nothing!" Tiny Girl bragged. "He bent me over the head of his cock and then shot me off like a champagne cork! Hee-hee-hee-snrt! He made me his little bitch!"

"I'm his little bitch too!" the Crimson Clipper volunteered.

"I am no one's little bitch!" said Ms. Matahari in her thick accent, toying with the ring of the zipper of her skin-tight cat suit. "For me, it is only that I wish to show that I am strong enough to show weakness. That I am mighty enough to yield. That I am flexible enough to be sodomized. The Mime, he respects me enough to bend me over and give me the spanking I know I can endure!"

"This is insane!" you object. "He's fucking all of you? You're all letting him? Don't you see what that means?"

"That we're all a bunch of sluts?" Tiny Girl asks guilelessly.

The Mind Mime only grins. Then he begins swinging a lasso that isn't there, yet when he loops it around your wrist, it clamps down stronger than steel and pulls your arm out to fasten it to the wall of the invisible box he has placed in your head. He repeats the process three more times and you are spread-eagle in the invisible box, able only to thrash your head in impotent rage. The Mind Mime grins at you and strokes his swelling codpiece.

You look helplessly at the grinning superheroes that you realize must have all been in a similar situation recently.