What sound does a speedster make when they run?
If Barry Allen or Wally West were asked that question, they would tell you: not much, really.
Once a speedster truly starts running and taps into the Speed Force, they essentially make no sound at all.
The Speed Force, a faster-than-light energy field, protects its user while allowing them to violate nearly all known laws of physics. The faint crackling of electricity and the tearing of air are nothing more than the illusion created when the Speed Force intrudes upon this world.
But A-Train in this world clearly didn't know any of that.
Because he was just someone who ran a bit faster than normal—someone who had only just barely broken the sound barrier.
Every time he ran, the sound of his body tearing through the air would chase after him and arrive at the destination a moment later. That noise was like the horn of a high-speed train, its wavelength compressed by velocity itself. And that was how he got his name: A-Train.
A-Train. A member of the Seven—the most powerful superhero team in this world.
Early this morning, he'd been jolted awake from the arms of his girlfriend, Popclaw, by a phone call from Vought.
They ordered him to head to some rural place in Kansas called Smallville. According to the Crime Analytics Department, a superpowered incident of unprecedented severity might have occurred there.
"Fuckin Homelander."
Kansas was thousands of kilometers away from New York City. The only people who could get there quickly were himself and Homelander. And given that Homelander never cared about minor incidents like this—especially when there were no cameras or flashing lights—every one of these dirty, exhausting jobs always ended up on A-Train's shoulders.
All he had to do was secure the scene, preferably keep the local police under control, and wait for Vought's cleanup team to arrive and shut everyone up with NDAs and other legal measures.
After all, Vought's heroes were heroes of all Americans. They couldn't just let things spiral out of control and allow public opinion to magnify countless isolated incidents into something that damaged the overall image of American heroes, right?
"Holy shit!"
After arriving at the target location, A-Train sprinted around briefly to confirm that local law enforcement hadn't arrived yet. He'd seen plenty of superpower-loss-of-control scenes before, but this one truly lived up to what the Crime Analytics Department had said—it was the worst he'd ever seen. Much worse than what he himself had caused a couple of days ago.
By rough estimation, a farm of at least four hundred acres looked like it had been plowed over by an entire bomber squadron. At least a quarter of it had been completely destroyed. The air was still thick with the sharp, acrid smell of burning.
"So which unlucky bastard blew himself up this time?"
The moment when a superpowered individual awakened their abilities depended on many factors, but it usually happened before adulthood. As a member of the Seven and one of Homelander's inner circle, A-Train had seen countless bloody examples, both in the field and in classified files. It was unavoidable.
Suddenly gaining highly destructive powers was no different from putting an AR-15, or a grenade—A-Train glanced around again, correcting himself—no, more like a block of C4 into the hands of an impulsive, ignorant teenager.
Sooner or later, their brain would short-circuit, they'd press the button, boom! And congratulations to the whole family.
"Are you the Flash of this world?" A hand landed silently on A-Train's shoulder.
"No, I'm A-Train! What the hell is Flash?" A-Train snapped, irritated. He was a full-fledged member of the Seven, an actual celebrity hero. Even in the middle of nowhere, people should know who he was.
Wait—no, something was wrong.
A-Train suddenly remembered that he'd just scanned the area. There hadn't been a single person around. He turned his head and saw a man standing next to him, his face covered in blood.
"Fuck! Where the hell did you come from?!"
A-Train didn't hesitate for even a second. He slapped the hand away and bolted at full speed, fleeing the scene. Was this a joke? This guy had leveled his own home, and somehow hadn't blown himself up in the process?
"Obviously, from underground."
Joey had just gone beneath the farm to look for the Kryptonian spacecraft his father had buried there when he was young. Unfortunately, it had been caught in the shockwaves of last night's battle and had been completely reduced to scrap. So he'd taken the time to bury the remains deep into the mantle.
In a blink, he reappeared and grabbed A-Train's shoulder again.
"I just want to ask a few questions. For example—how fast can you run right now?"
"You motherf—"
A-Train struggled with everything he had, trying to break free, but the right hand clamped around his shoulder didn't budge in the slightest. His hair stood on end.
A monster capable of turning hundreds of acres into a lifeless wasteland—and strong enough to do this—was now face-to-face with him. If this guy snapped again, even without knowing what his exact powers were, it would be more than enough to get A-Train killed.
If things went wrong, Vought would probably start preparing a brass statue of him to stick in front of their office park. Hell, for the promotion of The Seven: A New Era, they might even have Queen Maeve or some other top female hero sing 'See You Again' just to squeeze a little more value out of his death.
Those bastards would absolutely do something like that.
Thinking this, A-Train slowly raised his hands and gave a military salute.
"Hello, sir. I know you're confused, and angry, but everything will be alright. And, uh, and..."
A-Train froze mid-sentence.
Because that line wasn't something he'd come up with on the spot. Those sentence came straight from Vought's bullshit 'Hero Handbook' training materials—specifically, the section on calming down hostage-taking suspects.
Right now, A-Train wanted nothing more than to slap his past self twice across the face. Back then, he'd only listened to the opening line before his mind wandered off, fantasizing about how the beautiful instructor might 'give him some extra tutoring' later that night. He hadn't absorbed a single word after that.
"Don't be nervous. I'm not angry at all."
Joey smiled sincerely. The blood on his face made the smile look a little feral, causing the 'Flash' in his arms to tremble like a leaf. Joey didn't care. He thought he'd found a way to undo the tragedy—he just needed the 'Flash' to cooperate a little.
"How fast can you run right now? Do you know how to use the Speed Force yet?"
"Yeah, yeah, Speed Force plus singing and dancing plus cardamom plus Mexican shaved ice, real awesome—can you let me go first?"
A-Train had no idea what the 'Speed Force' was. He just assumed it was the rambling of a madman. Looking at the blood-covered grin, his legs were already going weak. At this rate, he'd probably be killed before Vought's cleanup team arrived.
All he could do was bullshit his way through this based on life experience, then make a break for it the moment the guy let his guard down.
"Of course."
Joey had always been a reasonable person. Especially since this was the Flash of this universe.
Just a few steps, and he could revive Joey's entire family, right? He had to build a good relationship. The thought that his parents might be brought back softened Joey's attitude considerably, and the grip on A-Train's shoulder loosened.
"But if you try to run again, I'll break your—"
Woom.
A-Train didn't have the patience to listen to the rest of that bullshit. He kicked up a cloud of ash and, in the blink of an eye, was already more than a kilometer away.
Then the world spun.
He tumbled violently across the ground several times before clutching his leg and screaming in agony. His shinbone had a clean hole punched straight through it, front to back, blood pouring out.
"I think you need more practice. If that's all you can do at full speed, you won't be able to enter the Speed Force and travel through time."
Joey drifted over slowly. He hadn't even chased A-Train himself—he'd simply thrown a pebble, and that had been enough to catch up. A-Train's gut-wrenching screams grated on his nerves.
"You have the Speed Force. A wound like that will heal in a minute. Stop crying like a bitch, will you?"
"You lunatic! What the hell is the Speed Force—?!"
A-Train was completely beside himself with rage now. He'd been worried about when this guy might snap—but now it was obvious. He'd been insane from the start. If Vought's cleanup team didn't arrive soon, he was really going to die here.
As the man drew closer, A-Train gave up on calming him down entirely. What good was soothing a psychopath anyway? If he was going to die, he might as well curse him out first.
"Fuck you! Stay the hell away from me! When Vought's cleanup team and the Seven get here, they'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth!"
"Shit..."
Joey covered his forehead.
His emotional state felt like lifting a barbell with mismatched plates on either side. On one side was indescribable grief, stabbing into his heart and crushing his ability to breathe. On the other side was nothing—no anger, no fury, no hatred. No emotion at all to stabilize his mind.
Rationally, he knew that no version of the Flash—no matter the universe—would reverse time for a stranger based on such a request. But trying cost nothing.
Maybe he really needed to accept reality. This universe might still be in its infancy. The 'Flash' here was catastrophically underdeveloped—barely supersonic, no Speed Force, and terrible manners. Relying on him was clearly unrealistic.
Joey tried to crouch down and help the still-bleeding A-Train up, apologizing sincerely.
"Fla— I mean, A-Train. Don't be so angry. I'm definitely not crazy. We just have a small misunderstanding."
"You! Get away from A-Train!"
Before A-Train could respond, Joey heard a loud shout from behind him—followed by the whistle of a blade cutting through the air.