Running From Himself (The Boys/??? A-Train SI) (Patreon)

Hard Stop I

Compound V was truly a miracle substance.

In many ways more than anyone who used or worked with the blue liquid could really hope to understand.

A pinnacle of bioengineering composed of retroviral vectors, upon injection, the compound disperses rapidly as the retroviral load in it seeks out and binds itself painfully into the genetic structure of its new host.

Ignoring its mutagenic capabilities for a moment, it must be noted that the serum was created for one simple purpose; to create better soldiers.

Anyone aware of the details of Nazi Germany's war efforts would be aware of the Third Reich's liberal implementations of amphetamines among its soldiers in many forms, including but not limited to chocolate of all things. Energizing and confidence boosting and occasionally tasty, methamphetamine played heavily into the Third Reich’s obsession with superiority. 

Frederick Vought didn't aspire to make superhumans. He was simply searching for a permanent way to keep Nazis active, awake and alert to keep fighting. 

And succeed he did.

Notably, when given to supes already dosed with it, Compound V had the remarkable and expected effect of behaving like the sapphire love child of cocaine and meth, energizing and enhancing mind, body, and ability.

Unfortunately, like both cocaine and meth, for the worse.

Much like those drugs, the heightened state induced by Compound V almost always led to erratic behavior, psychosis, and severe biochemical imbalances when even a superhuman body’s limits were pushed too far.

And at this very moment, bursting through the streets with the sound of a train whistling behind him, no one knew this more than Reginald Daniel Franklin.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Granted, A-Train didn’t really know much at the moment other than the rush of blood in his veins and the sound of his heart pounding in his ears as he blurred through the streets of New York City.

The speedster tore through the streets of New York the way he’d done for years, thinking of nothing but motion and movement; nothing else. 

The world around him was barely more than a blur, a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that shifted and distorted as he moved, Compound V pushing everything about his powers past the limit. His heart pounded in his chest as the blue rushed through his veins faster than even he moved, the feeling better than any crystal his pusher could supply him.

Can't stop. Can't stop.

The mantra repeated in his head, a never-ending loop that drowned out the sounds of the city. Car horns, screeching tires, shouting pedestrians - all of it faded into the background as A-Train focused on the task at hand. He had to get the V to the place Homelander told him to.

Had to prove his worth.

Had to show that he was still the fastest fucking thing on two legs.

Can't drop it. Can't drop the V. Homelander'll kill me.

A-Train clutched the small red duffel bag tighter, the strap digging into his shoulder. Inside was basically billions of dollars of true blue power. 

Vials upon vials of glowing blue liquid, each one a promise of power. 

The world slowed to a crawl as A-Train zipped between cars, reflexes stuttering and spurting for a half-instant, past the hyper-colorful blur of the world and jumping straight into pure clarity.

But then the moment was gone, and the world sped up once more. 

A-Train stumbled for an instant, legs losing the ground beneat him as his vision blurred. Colors bled together, shapes lost their edges, and for a terrifying second, he thought he might lose control. Keep it together, Reg. You got this.

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. His temples throbbed, a dull ache that he couldn't quite ignore, pushing down into his chest as his heart pumped a little too hard. 

But he pushed through it, gritting his teeth against the pain.

He had to keep going.

Had to prove that he was still the best.

A-Train's muscles screamed as he pushed himself harder, faster. His lungs burned with each breath, his chest heaving as he gulped down air. But beneath the pain was a sense of exhilaration, a rush of adrenaline that made him feel alive.

Invincible.

Faster than ever.

He could feel the Compound V surging through his body, strengthening his muscles and sharpening his senses. It was like electricity crackling beneath his skin, a constant hum that set every nerve ending alight. 

He was a fucking god, untouchable and unstoppable.

But even gods had their limits. 

As A-Train ran, he could feel the first stirrings of fatigue in his limbs. He knew he’d been juicing too much recently, showing off against any new speedster that called him out, any time and any place. 

Still, he hadn’t realized it had gotten this bad.

His heart stuttered in his chest, a warning sign that he was pushing himself too hard. Just a little longer. Almost there.

He blinked sweat from his eyes, his vision swimming as he took a turn so sharp it could’ve sheared metal. The buildings around him warped and twisted, their edges blurring together until he couldn't tell where one ended, and another began. Fuck. Gotta keep it together.

A-Train gritted his teeth and pushed through the haze, his focus narrowing to a single point. He had to get the V to Homelander’s people. 

Had to prove that he was still worth something. 

Still valuable.

Can't stop. Can't fucking stop.

The world faded away until there was nothing but the pounding of his feet on the pavement and the rush of wind in his ears. A-Train ran, his body screaming in protest as he pushed himself to keep going.

But he couldn't stop. 

Not now. Not ever.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

Compound V was truly a miracle substance.

Unfortunately, calling it the sapphire lovechild of cocaine and meth was not an exxageration. 

His heart seized.

Not a flutter. Not a skip. A full, crushing stop that sent lightning through his chest and down his left arm. The world tilted sideways as his body betrayed him at seven hundred miles per hour.

No. No, not now. Not fucking now.

But the Compound V didn't care about his panic. 

It kept pushing, kept demanding, kept flooding his system even as his heart forgot how to beat right. His vision strobed between crystal and darkness as the city became a smear of light and shadow.

He was still running. Somehow, impossibly, his legs kept moving even as his chest collapsed inward like a tin can. Muscle memory and chemical momentum carrying him forward into disaster.

The girl appeared in his peripheral vision like a ghost materializing from smoke.

Young. Tan. Walking with someone who looked like he'd never hurt a fly.

A-Train tried to swerve. Tried to stop. Tried to do anything other than what he knew was about to happen.

His body wouldn't listen.

The impact lasted a nanosecond. She was there, and then she wasn't, and then there was red mist and blood hanging in the air like a question mark nobody wanted to answer.

Oh God. Oh Fuck—

His legs gave out.

Fifteen hundred miles per hour became a tumbling, spinning nightmare of concrete and steel. He bounced off a parked car, the metal crumpling like paper. Slammed through a newspaper stand, sending pages fluttering like dying birds. Ricocheted off a fire hydrant that exploded in a geyser of pressurized water.

Each impact should have killed him. Each bounce should have been the end.

But the V in his system kept him conscious, kept him aware, kept him feeling every bone that snapped, every ligament that tore, every organ that shifted where it wasn't supposed to be.

The brick wall rose up in front of him like judgment itself.

Solid. Unforgiving. Final.

The collision happened faster than sound could travel. The red duffel bag exploded on impact, dozens of vials shattering simultaneously in a crystal symphony of destruction. Blue liquid sprayed everywhere—across the alley, across the broken bricks, across his broken body.

His skull cracked like an eggshell. His spine telescoped. His ribs became shrapnel in his own chest cavity.

But the Compound V found every cut, every wound, every broken vessel and poured itself inside. Liquid lightning seeking purchase in dying flesh.

A-Train felt it happening. Felt the blue fire racing through his bloodstream even as his brain began to shut down. Felt it trying to repair what couldn't be repaired, trying to resurrect what was already dead.

The world dimmed.

His last coherent thought wasn't about the girl he'd killed or the mission he'd failed or the life he'd wasted.

It was simpler than that.

Can't... stop...

And then Reginald Franklin stopped thinking altogether.

The Compound V kept working long after there was anything left to save.