Queens, outside the Citibank branch.
A dozen cop cars and armored trucks blockaded every exit.
Over a hundred SWAT officers, geared up in body armor, had their rifles aimed at the glass doors.
Two choppers circled overhead, broadcasting the scene live.
Sniper teams on the surrounding rooftops were all in position.
The police negotiator was hiding behind an armored truck, yelling at the bank through a bullhorn.
A-Train ignored that bullshit. He slung the backpack on, buckled the strap across his chest, and slowly pushed open the glass door.
The cops were tense.
Not knowing if it was the robber or a hostage, they didn't shoot. They just stared, their eyes wide.
First, they saw a black hand. According to their intel, all the bank's employees were white.
The stupid motherfucker. He's coming out alone.
Just as the cops relaxed, ready to light him up, the figure blurred. The glass door slowly slid shut.
When A-Train runs, time slows down. The people and objects around him enter bullet time. In this state, it feels like the whole world belongs to him.
Where the fuck did he go?
While the cops were shitting themselves in confusion, A-Train had already moved behind a SWAT officer.
His right hand flashed out. A grenade, hooked to the officer's vest, was suddenly in his hand.
The officer froze, then quickly turned around.
There was no one there. But on the pavement... was a live grenade. The pin was pulled.
"HOLY SHIT!"
The officer screamed, but before he could even take a step, the grenade exploded.
BOOM!
A fireball erupted, blasting the officer into the air. He came down in a wet, bloody heap, his life signs gone.
The explosion shattered the tense atmosphere.
All the cops panicked, whipping their guns around, but there was no one. Not even a fucking footstep.
Seeing the cops' terrified faces, A-Train's expression was ecstatic. He was overjoyed.
Zipping around, he found a cop who was alone and pressed the shotgun to his back.
BOOM!
Another gunshot.
Even though the cop was wearing a vest, at point-blank range, the heavy-caliber buckshot tore right through him.
Blood splashed onto A-Train's face. He grinned, excited, and was gone again.
An entire SWAT team was being played by one goddamn robber. The Police Chief in command was furious.
He grabbed his radio, demanding a sitrep from the snipers.
From their high vantage point, the snipers could see everything. But A-Train was moving too fast. All they saw was a blur. They could only get a clear look when he stopped to kill.
"Sir, the suspect is fast. Inhumanly fast. He must be a supe."
Hearing this, the Chief felt a migraine coming on.
He'd thought the rumors of a supe were just panicked civilians... but it was real.
This was bad. A supe wasn't something a local precinct could handle. This was a goddamn S.H.I.E.L.D. problem.
But even if he called S.H.I.E.L.D. now, they wouldn't be here for at least half an hour. At this rate, his men would be slaughtered by then.
The Chief keyed his mic again. "Snipers, can you get a lock on him in that split-second he stops to kill?"
The sniper replied, "If we could predict his target, yes. But this guy's just killing at random. There's no way to know who's next."
"Don't worry," The Chief said. "I have a plan."
With that, he jumped onto the hood of a cruiser and fired his pistol in the air.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The shots got everyone's attention. Including A-Train's.
"COME ON OUT! YOU SON OF A BITCH! You got the balls, you come for me! Stop hiding and killing my men!"
The Chief was furious, his eyes scanning the area.
His cops all froze.
What the fuck is the Chief doing? Is he insane?
You don't taunt a fucking supe. Does he have a death wish?
A-Train was baffled, too. He had no idea what this cop was playing at.
Is this guy a hero, or just a fucking idiot?
But the snipers on the roof... they understood exactly what he was doing. They immediately swung their rifles, aiming at the space right next to their boss.
You can't catch a wolf unless you're willing to be the bait.
No wonder he's the goddamn Chief.
On live TV, the Chief's words hit the airwaves. Though no one understood his actions, most people felt a surge of respect. Few men have the balls to stare down death like that.
The TV anchor was gushing, "George Stacy... he's the most responsible, most courageous Police Chief I have ever seen! Truly, one of a kind!"
"WHAT? YOU SCARED?!" Chief Stacy said, his voice full of contempt. "I KNEW IT! A piece of shit lowlife like you... you're just a coward! You'll never be anything more than a common criminal, hiding in the shadows!"
That "piece of shit lowlife"... it broke A-Train's control. His rage exploded.
They all say it. Blacks have high crime rates. Blacks are lazy.
But when you're born in this fucking country, when your skin is black, your future is set in stone.
Those goddamn white motherfuckers always slam every door, then blame us for not getting ahead. When a black man tries to climb, they kick you back down. And if you're too stubborn, they just put a fucking bullet in you.
That's what it is to be a black person in this country! It's FUCKING HOPELESS!
"FUCK YOU!!!"
A-Train screamed, and in an instant, he was on the hood of the car, jamming the shotgun right against George's forehead.
For A-Train, it was all slow-motion. For George, it was a blur of wind, and suddenly this furious man was in his face.
A-Train's eyes were bloodshot. He roared, "DIE, YOU WHITE PIG!"
CRACK!
A high-velocity sniper bullet tore through A-Train's arm. The finger on the trigger went limp.
A-Train's face twisted in pain. He instinctively tried to enter bullet time, but it was too late. The bullet was already through.
He could only watch as his arm was severed, the part holding the shotgun just... falling to the ground.
A split second later, agonizing, bone-deep pain flooded his system.
A-Train's whole body trembled, sweat pouring down his face, his mind blacking out.
More shots were coming.
Driven by pure survival, he forced his body to move, twisting away. The bullets grazed his cheek and shoulder.
Forgetting all about the goddamn white pig, A-Train leaped off the car and ran for his life.
He didn't get far. His body felt weak... powerless... he collapsed, hard, on the pavement.
The wound was too severe. He couldn't use his powers.
Chief Stacy, spattered in A-Train's blood, just stared, wide-eyed. He was alive, but he felt like he'd just walked through hell and back.
The cops looked. A few hundred meters away, A-Train was in a pool of his own blood, struggling to get up. But with his arm gone, he was losing too much blood. He tried, and failed.
"Son of a bitch! I'll fucking kill you!" A cop yelled, raising his rifle to finish him.
George lunged, stopping him. "WAIT! HOLD YOUR FIRE!"
The cop snapped, "Chief! He killed seven of our men!"
George waved him down, his voice pained and helpless. "I know you're angry. I get it. But you have to understand... he is the only super-powered hostile the government has ever captured alive."
"If our scientists can study him... learn how to fight these fuckers... we could develop weapons, save countless police and military lives. Isn't that more valuable than you just blowing his brains out right now?"
Hearing that, the cops who wanted blood lowered their guns, pissed but understanding.
George nodded. "Give him a high-dose tranquilizer. S.H.I.E.L.D. will be here soon to take him."
"Roger!"
A cop walked over, pulling out a syringe.
Just then, a low roar filled the air. Like a jet engine.
Everyone looked up. The sniper teams raised their binoculars.
A moment later, the sniper's voice crackled over George's radio, shaking with terror.
"JASON! SHIT! IT'S JASON! JASON'S HERE!"
"What!"
George was horrified, his face draining of all color.
That goddamn Jason!
He doesn't show up, he doesn't show up... and he just has to show up the second we're about to win!
George was decisive. He roared into his mic: "PULL OUT! EVERYONE, PULL OUT! GET IN THE VEHICLES! GO! GO! GO!"
Hearing Jason's name, the cops panicked.
They scrambled, falling over each other to get into the cars, slamming the gas. The two choppers peeled off and fled.
In the chaos, a cop yelled, "Chief! What about this fucking guy?!"
George screamed back, "JASON'S HERE FOR HIM! WE TAKE HIM, WE'RE ALL DEAD!"
He leaped into his armored truck and floored it, tires smoking!
Ten seconds later, Jason slammed into the pavement with a ground-shaking thud.
When he stood up, all he could see were the disappearing taillights.
Jason smirked. "Heh. The NYPD's pretty good. They run a lot faster than the LAPD."
He looked over, saw the pool of blood, and hurried to A-Train, pulling him up.
When he saw the severed arm, Jason frowned.
A wound this bad... Only Christine can fix this.
Jason found the severed limb, grabbed A-Train, and blasted off into the sky.
*
Back at the base.
John and David were just waking up after their healing.
Christine stood, wiping sweat from her forehead. "I'm exhausted. Do you guys actually enjoy beating the shit out of each other every day?"
John and David just looked at each other and smiled wryly.
BOOM!
The door to the training room was kicked open. Jason strode in and dumped A-Train on the medical bed.
"His arm's off. Reattach it. Now."
The others gathered around and sucked in their breath.
Damn. This guy is fucked up.
Christine immediately started treatment, but she looked up, pissed. "Where the hell did you drag this one in from? When did the Joker Organization become the Red Cross?"
Jason just said, "He's one of us. Core member. Just like you."
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
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