Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [113]

Bruce believed in holding onto hope for the world.

Even in the deeply rotten world of the Supes, he still trusted that not everyone was irredeemable.

Even in the darkest abyss, there were those who yearned for the light.

“I’m willing to give them a chance,” Bruce murmured. “After all, I’m a good person.”

Suddenly, an idea struck him—a way to deal with A-Train.

A speedster, huh?

Then let’s see just how fast you really are.

—

A-Train stood uneasily in the elevator, following Black Noir.

He couldn’t see Invisible Man and didn’t know if the other supe was still lingering nearby.

The elevator ascended steadily until it finally stopped. The doors opened to reveal the command hall.

The hall’s walls had been remodeled into massive floor-to-ceiling windows.

Standing before them was a towering figure, his back turned to A-Train.

His hands were clasped behind him, and the American flag cape on his shoulders fluttered ever so slightly despite the still air.

Homelander gazed out at the city bathed in neon light—his city.

“Homelander, you called for me?”

A-Train approached cautiously, head bowed low. He didn’t dare look directly at Homelander’s back.

“Ah, A-Train, my friend! You’re here!”

Homelander turned, a brilliant smile spreading across his face.

“What took you so long?” he asked, his tone unnervingly cheerful. “With your speed, I didn’t think I’d have to wait.”

“I can explain!”

A-Train opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden, overwhelming force slammed him into the wall.

“Ugh—!”

He doubled over, clutching his stomach as a sharp, twisting pain tore through him, like his insides were being wrenched apart.

Homelander still had his hands behind his back. He strolled slowly toward A-Train, each step making the speedster’s heart pound harder.

Homelander stopped in front of him and reached out a hand, gripping A-Train’s throat and lifting him effortlessly off the ground.

A-Train instinctively clawed at Homelander’s hand, his legs kicking frantically as his dark face turned pale from lack of oxygen.

“What do you gain by betraying me?”

Homelander’s smile vanished, replaced by a terrifying snarl.

“A-Train,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “Have you forgotten who the core of this team is?”

A-Train couldn’t respond.

He couldn’t breathe, let alone speak, his eyes rolling back as the life was choked out of him.

Homelander didn’t let go. He leaned in close, his cold, unyielding voice pressing into A-Train’s ears.

“Answer me, A-Train. Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I… was… wrong…”

With the last bit of air left in his lungs, A-Train managed to force out the words that might save his life.

Homelander’s lips curled into a faint smile as he released him, letting A-Train collapse to the ground.

Gasping and clutching at his neck, A-Train sucked in air, grateful just to be alive.

“This is your last chance,” Homelander said softly. “Find that boy. Get his money. I’ll give you a seventy-thirty split.”

“But before that… I need you to do something to make me happy.”

Something to make him happy?

Still reeling from the choking, A-Train’s foggy mind struggled to grasp Homelander’s meaning.

Homelander glanced around the room thoughtfully.

“If I remember correctly, Invisible Man doesn’t wear clothes when he’s invisible, right?”

A-Train’s body stiffened, his heart sinking.

Somewhere nearby, though unseen, Invisible Man tensed as well.

“Good.”

Homelander’s grin returned, chilling in its brightness. “A-Train, find Invisible Man and… satisfy him. You know what I mean.”

Of course it’s this.

A-Train stared at the floor, his humiliation and anger boiling inside him.

This was the last thing he wanted to do, but disobeying Homelander wasn’t an option.

Swallowing his pride, A-Train rose to his feet and prepared to find Invisible Man in the hall.

“No, no, no!”

Homelander wagged a finger at him, his grin widening.

“Crawl.”

—

A-Train sprinted down the city streets, his tears unable to keep up with his speed.

“Bastard! Bastard!”

He cursed through clenched teeth, desperate to erase the humiliation he had just endured.

But he couldn’t.

Homelander’s voice still echoed in his mind—

“I’ve given you the boy’s location. Make it clean.”

The boy named Bruce was crafty, sure.

But not crafty enough.

He had left far too many clues behind, showing up on surveillance footage several times.

With Vought’s data network at their disposal, tracking him down had been child’s play.

Vroom—

A-Train’s signature sound ripped through the air as he streaked across the city, arriving in an instant at Bruce’s last known location.

And there he was: the boy with the baseball cap, walking along the sidewalk, completely oblivious.

Got you.

A-Train sneered inwardly. A kid was still just a kid, thinking a little disguise was enough to evade him.

What do you think Vought is?

Without slowing down, A-Train charged at Bruce. At the last moment, Bruce turned and saw him, his face twisting into a look of terror.

The boy bolted, running at an astonishing speed and disappearing into the streets in the blink of an eye.

“He can run that fast?”

A-Train paused, startled, but quickly pieced it together.

The records showed Bruce had grown up in one of Vought’s orphanages for failed experiments.

He must have been exposed to Compound V and gained superpowers.

Perhaps even a speedster ability like his own.

Too naive, A-Train thought with a smirk. Did Bruce think for a second that among all the speedsters in the world, he was the one chosen to join the Seven?

Sure, being Black played a role.

But more importantly—he was the fastest.

Vroom-vroom!

The sound of an accelerating train roared as A-Train increased his speed, closing the gap between him and Bruce in seconds.

Bruce glanced back mid-run, his expression even more panicked as he picked up speed again, pulling just slightly ahead.

A-Train pushed himself harder.

But every time he was on the verge of catching Bruce, the boy widened the gap by just a fraction.

A fraction.

Again and again.

No matter how fast A-Train ran, Bruce always stayed just out of reach.

They ran endlessly, a predator chasing prey in an eternal cycle.

—

From another vantage point, Bruce and Kathoom stood on a rooftop, watching as A-Train sprinted in loops around a street corner, unable to stop.

The speedster was running so fast he was barely visible, his movements leaving faint afterimages in his wake.

He would keep running.

Until he could run no more.

“You’re wicked,” Kathoom remarked, his voice tinged with admiration.

“This is his chance,” Bruce said coldly. “If he stops obsessing over me, he won’t run himself to death.”

—

T/N: I think the stereotypes fit well with The Boys universe so I didn’t censor it but let me know if it’s too racist!