Running From Himself 3-2 (Patreon)

Click.

"Cameron, this is unbelievable.” The woman on the panel was as severe in the face as she was with her haircut, almost staring daggers at the camera. “The fallout here on Capitol Hill would be something we haven’t seen since Watergate. We are looking at a potential subpoena for the highest levels of Vought International following last week’s bombshell. Former Seven member The Lamplighter — who many assumed retired to a life of  luxury — has officially agreed to testify before the congressional oversight committee.” 

The woman shook her head, barreling over the other man on the panel before he could even open his mouth. “Sources close to the prosecution say he is prepared to detail the origins of the highly volatile street narcotic currently terrorizing our cities: 'Rojo.' And leaked documents go as far as to suggest that Lamplighter himself will be testifying under oath regarding the fact that this Rojo is actually a black-market derivative of a corporate-manufactured super-steroid known as  'Compound Vought.' Vought International has fiercely denied these allegations, calling them the 'ramblings of a disgruntled former employee,' but Wall Street isn't buying the spin. Vought stock has already plummeted t—"

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

"—el enforcer known only as 'El Diablo' in the Washington Heights and Queens areas. While reports are conflicting and the supervillain is still supposed to be somewhere in Guadalaraja, he has reportedly found his way to New York according to certain claims from sources close to the Latin Kings gang. The fugitive, notorious for his gruesome fire-based executions and cartel affiliations, is the prime suspect in last year's brutal murder of beloved Seven member Translucent. The mayor's office is already facing heavy bipartisan criticism for not requesting immediate Vought intervention. If you see this man, do not approach. Do not engage. The suspect is considered armed, highly volatile, a—"

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

"—nd welcome back to Supe-Scoop. I’m Courtney DeLaVega, your Host with the latest news on the Earth’s Most Mighty.” The blonde young Latina stood on a bright soundstage as a camera rotated around her, catching her bright pink outfit as she clapped her hands together and smiled. “Speaking of the Seven, filming for Vought Studios' highly anticipated Dawn of the Seven is currently underway, but our onset spies have been hinting at major tension between the cast. Specifically, former member of the Seven Blushift aka A-Train and America’s favorite Supe Mom Nubia have been spotted spending a lot of time whispering in the shadows between takes. We all know A-Train’s dramatic and sudden exit from the team and his recent relationship with the Defender of Des Moines, Starlight, ruffled more than a few capes, and with Nubia’s own recent PR controversies with her anger issues, you have to wonder: Can the Seven's perfect image handle this rowdy new couple? Hashtag Blue-Bolt, anyone? Our sources say Homelander is distinctly unamused by the distraction on his set. We reached out to Vought PR for comment, b—"

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

"—reaking News right now from Chopper Five, we have eyes on… Jim, Jim, are you seeing this? Live over the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway where a high-speed pursuit is currently underway. But this is not the NYPD.” The sound of chopper blades thumping the sky were almost loud enough to fight his words, but the newscaster continued on anyway. “-epeat, this is not a police chase. Chopper Five is tracking a rogue supervillain — one of the new street supes we've been seeing the past few months—tearing through afternoon traffic. But look at the right side of your screen. Newly independent hero, Blushift — formerly A-Train of the Seven — is the one engaging the suspect in a high-speed urban chase the likes we’ve never seen. Look at the sheer velocity these two have in them, Jim, both weaving through civilian vehicles at speeds we estimate are nearing two hundred miles an hour. It is absolute chaos down there, we are seeing minor collisions as drivers panic and swerve, but Blushift appears to be — wait, the suspect just tore a door off a moving delivery truck! He’s throwing it!”“Oh my god, an incredible dodge and recovery from Blushift! Catching the door and keeping it from hitting civilians! Unbelievable footage here, folks, Blushift is weaving through the debris shield like it isn't even ther—"

Click.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The world stretched out, a blue tinted freeze-frame juddering for a fraction of a second as the exhaust from a rusted-out box truck hung in the air like spun sugar. An instant later, a body in a black bodysuit coasted right through the middle of it, sneakers eating the asphalt at a pace that would be worth entry in the Indy 500.An easy pace, but just enough to make this look convincing.

The guy Reggie was chasing after was pulling almost the same pace; decent but nothing impressive.

Definitely nothing Vought would ever waste much money on. Maybe a good spot on a Vought+ show, but nothing like a toy line. 

Reggie knew that much, considering the banger was definitely clipping the exact same numbers he had hit around the same time he woke up in this body last year. A solid respectable speed, the kind that could turn New York traffic into a parking lot of near-stationary metal and glass.Solid C tier. Reggie clicked his tongue as he darted past a frozen bicycle courier. Kinda strong too.

Not exactly outmuscling Lil Kim, but the dude had still managed to rip an entire ATM out of a bodega wall a ways back in Bushwick. Just bear-hugged the thing and tore it free with a rain of plaster, before sprinting three blocks with it over his shoulder.

Not the smartest, though, considering it slowed him down enough for the NYPD to start popping shots at his back.

By the time he dropped the box to dodge the shots, Reggie was already on his tail and now, he was jut pacing him a solid fifty yards back, watching the form.

It was noisy. 

The guy ran like somebody was animating him and was trying to waste the budget, arms pumping way too wide for no reason. Shoulders were tight as he traced the cars, heavy boots tearing up little chunks of the road with each step; a dull gray streak behind him like kinetic exhaust. The A-Train ghosts buzzing under Reggie’s thoughts threw up some static, a phantom-memory critique of the terrible stride, but Reggie just pushed the noise down.

It’d be real hypocritical of him considering he ran the exact same way the first few months, back before the blue sparks on his feet started showing up more often; back when he was trying to move like A-Train instead of like himself.

The guy ahead of him was wiry, long dark hair whipping behind him as his black and gold track jacket flapped behind him like a parachute. It was almost distracting enough for Reggie to miss the jagged crown tattooed high on the back of his neck. 

Long hair and baggy clothes on top of that. Reggie just clicked his tongue. Bad choices for a runner, man. Honestly, the guy would probably have another thirty extra miles per hour on him if he fixed those already. 

The chase pulled off the BQE, both of them diving down the off-ramp and into the industrial guts of Malspeth; rusty chain-links, cracked concrete, and old warehouses blurring past. Tattoo-guy cut a hard right, boots skidding messy enough that the guy chewed a trench through a patch of sidewalk and just threw himself into the corrugated metal of a warehouse door.

Jesu-! Reggie’s eyes went wide as the guy didn’t bother slowing down, handle forgotten as he burst right through the metal. Heavy steel folded inward around his body as the hinges came free in a spray of sheared bolts.

"Boss!” A panicked shout echoed out from the warehouse as Reggie followed the gray slipstream right through the jagged hole. “Big D!? He's right on me!"

Air pressure equalized as Reggie closed forty yards in under a heartbeat, wind rushing around as the yelling guy spun around to look at the entrance.

He slipped the space between them, loose in the shoulders as he brought his weight forward and the messy left hook to the guy’s jaw did the rest for him.

Bone cracked as the other speedster’s head snapped to the side, force carrying him directly into the ground as concrete dusted on impact. The guy skipped like a stone across the empty-looking warehouse parking lot, tearing right through a rusted metal roll-up. Without even a scream, he vanished further into the dark interior with a crash of snapping wood

Reggie blinked, shaking out the blue sparks dying off his knuckles, as he walked through the hole the guy just made. …huh. He stopped and blinked. So, not empty then.

The inside of the warehouse reeked of acetone, burnt plastic, and bleach, and not too far from where the speedster lay in a groaning heap against a forklift, a dozen Hispanic faces in aprons and respirators froze around long folding tables piled high with bunsen burners, centrifuges, and glass beakers bubbling with a familiar red fluid.

Very familiar.

"Oh shiiiiit..." Reggie breathed out the word as he took in the whole cook operation staring back at him, pieces coming together. "I been looking for one of these. Okay, people…” Reggie took a few steps forward into the warehouse, both hands up in the air as he offered the scared faces an easy smile and an easy way out. "Here’s how this is gonna work. Y’all just put the beakers down, keep the hands where I can see 'em, and we can all walk out o-"

The air in front of him warped.

Reggie barely had a chance to throw his hands up before heat and light flared into his face and raw force took him before he could run. The gout of flame hit him with the solid weight of a dump truck and the ground vanished from under his feet.

Concrete exploded into gray shrapnel, rebar screaming and snapping as the exterior warehouse wall gave out behind his back. Godd-! He crashed spine-first into the asphalt outside, momentum plowing a trench through weeds and cracked pavement, chewing up the earth before he finally ground to a halt.

Really… really hope nobody got that on camera. The sound of propellers beating hard as it got closer and closer told him his hopes were probably going nowhere. Fuck meeeee. A breath hissed past Reggie’s lips as he rolled over, one hand planted on the hot tarmac to push himself up. The blue and black suit was smoking, material hot to the touch, but the reinforced fabric held all the same. 

A nine-millimeter was a poke. 

A rifle was a bee sting. 

This felt like taking a gut-punch from Mayweather. 

With another groan, Reggie pushed himself up, only raising his head as he heard the sound of crunching footsteps on broken cinderblock. What… what now?

Through the jagged hole in the warehouse wall, a Hispanic man in his mid-forties stepped out into the muggy Queens afternoon.

Reggie blinked at the sight of feverish skin, forearms and neck bulging with thick veins glossy with sweat and almost pulsing red. The mouth was a furnace, orange light guttering as embers flicked past the man's teeth with every breath. “Y-you fuckin’ think…”Jesus Christ, man. Reggie winced as he stood up, the man’s voice a raw and damaged. You chain-smoking charcoal?“You think that you can fuck with my shit?” Hands came up, thumbs jabbing at his bare chest. “This my operation! This all Diablo right here!” 

“Diablo?” A chunk of pulverized concrete dusted off his shoulder as Reggie tilted his head. "El Diablo? Like the dude the news said killed Translucent?"

Glowing orange eyes narrowed, a smirk pulling at half-blackened lips. "You got it, hermano."

“Ohhhhh.” A laugh bubbled up in Reggie's chest as the speedster shook his head. Even if he didn’t remember what he saw on screen in his first life, having the gang at his place for ten months let him know for a fact beyond a fact that Translucent wasn’t killed by anybody but White Urkel himself. "Ohhh, so we lying now? Man, that’s crazy, ‘cause we both know you ain’t that guy."

The smirk vanished, veins flaring a brighter red. “Sangre! Fuelle! Escombro! El Asfalto!” The man barked out four names, rapid footsteps crunching behind him on gravel.A thick-built man, taller than he had any right to be, jumped from the hole and onto the parking lot; wearing just a sleeveless vest and heavy gold chains. Basketball-sized palms slammed onto the asphalt as he landed with a crouch, the ground suddenly groaning as it shifted. Tar, gravel and dirty rock crawled up his arms and into his flesh as his skin turned nearly the same texture and color as fresh-laid asphal, gravel fusing to his face and jawline as he swelled bigger, broader and heavier.

"Fuerte, cabrón.” A voice like a cement roller boomed out, three other supes flanking the road man as Diablo stood back.Reggie didn’t exactly know who was who, but he knew enough Spanish to put together two and two. “I’m guessing you’re El Asfalto.”The names weren’t the big thing, though.

The important part of all this right now was the number.

Five.

Five. The Kings always moved these Rojo-juiced hitters in cells of five or six. Annoying as hell, it was a scattered nightmare that kept him bouncing all across the city and the outskirts. 

“¡Capos!" Diablo’s smoker voice roared out. ”¡Mátalo!"

A woman was the first to make a move, a fine little thing with black hair in a ponytail. She didn’t stay all that fine for long, though; her chest swelling like a barrel as the air around her whistled like a kettle on the stove. A fine mist poured off her skin as she charged his way and threw a punch at empty air. The hell is sh-

Reggie threw his hands up as she burst forward, steam venting from her elbows and ankles in a high-pressure burst of compressed air. His head jerked back, barely slipping the punch as air steamed the air and scored his bare skin. Bitch!Reggie grabbed the heavy canvas of her jacket and spun as quick as he could, momentum sending her hurling back-first into a stack of shipping pallets that shattered on impact. Before the speedster could catch his breath or confirm the takedown, his eyes went wide and Reggie scrambled back again; hands tight at his side. 

His head snapped to the side as a jet of red shot through the air, something thick and liquidy ripping across the parking lot and slicing through the driver’s side door of a rusted-out minivan like an industrial water-cutter. Reggie snapped his head back, eyes tracing where the scarlet sludge had carved a neat line through the asphalt where he’d just been standing. The source stood at the far end, a lanky redhead with twitchy eyes, his hands held out as something mud-thick red liquid dripped from open holes in his palm.I’m guessing that’s Sangre. Reggie’s head snapped back to the last of them. And that makes you… Escombro rolled his shoulders, the chubby man’s skin darkening to gray and dusting the air in edged flakes that made him almost sparkle like glitter. Yeah, I don’t know what does but I don’t like it already.

El Diablo stepped forward, eyes and mouth glowing as he rasped. “Take this pendejo apart!”