Nighttime, Paris suburbs.
The remote gas station was a slaughterhouse.
Seven dead employees were scattered in and around the building. They'd been spread out, but against two supes? They never even got close to a phone.
A-Train, following the instructions on his phone, got the fire truck's water tank open. "Hit it."
Franklin jammed one of the nozzles into the port and used his power. The pump at the station went into overdrive, gushing gasoline into the truck's tank.
The tank was massive. To speed things up, they grabbed all the nozzles and shoved them in.
It still took forever.
A-Train and Franklin just sat on the curb, shooting the shit. While they waited, they casually murdered three more carloads of unlucky people who pulled in for gas.
Half an hour later, the tank was finally full.
Franklin climbed into the truck. A-Train yanked the nozzles out, not giving a fuck as they sprayed gas all over the concrete. They fired up the massive engine and rolled out, heading for the city.
.........
Paris. City of lights, city of romance... a city that never sleeps.
The sky was black, but the square in front of Notre Dame was packed. Couples were everywhere, holding hands, kissing... a goddamn personal insult to every single person in sight.
The tourists were just enjoying the cool night air when a low rumble cut through the noise.
They looked up. A fire truck was pulling into the center of the square, where it stopped.
Is there a fire? People started looking around. Nothing.
Then, the truck's pump kicked in with a deep THUD-THUD-THUD. The massive water cannon on top rose up, swiveled, and aimed right at the cathedral.
PSHHHTT!
A massive stream shot out, arcing over the crowd and drenching the ancient stone.
The tourists were just confused.
"Is this... a French thing? Do they... moisturize their buildings?"
The local Parisians were just as baffled. Have I been a fake Frenchman my whole life?
This weird-ass shit didn't kill the mood, though. Some of the couples, thinking it was romantic, actually walked under the spray, letting the "mist" hit their faces.
"Oh, mon chéri, this is so romantic..." One woman sighed, tilting her head back to smell the... rain?
Wait...
"Darling... Why does this rain... smell like gasoline?"
The men sniffed the air. Their romantic expressions froze.
"OH MY GOD! IT'S GASOLINE! IT'S FUCKING GASOLINE!" Someone screamed.
"What?!"
"HE'S RIGHT! IT'S GAS!"
The whole crowd started sniffing. That familiar, acrid smell... It was unmistakable.
"WHAT THE FUCK! IS THE DRIVER A FUCKING IDIOT? HE'S SPRAYING GODDAMN GASOLINE!"
One brave man ran up to the truck, pounding on the driver's side door to warn him.
The electric window slid down. A Joker mask leaned out.
The entire square went dead silent. Every tourist, especially the American ones, froze. They'd left the US to get away from this Joker shit, and now... he was here.
The silence lasted one second. Then... pandemonium.
"FUCK! IT'S THE JOKER'S GANG! RUN! CALL THE COPS!"
The police stationed at the square heard the screams and ran over. They saw the mask in the truck, drew their guns, and were ready to be heroes. Burning Notre Dame? You die, motherfucker!
"WAIT! NO!" One cop screamed, slapping his partner's gun down. "The truck! It's full of gasoline! Don't fucking shoot, you idiot!"
"He's right! If that thing goes, the church is gone! We'll be the ones who let it happen!"
They put their guns away and pulled out their batons, swarming the truck.
Franklin just smirked. "You wanna go play with 'em?"
A-Train cracked his knuckles. "Sure. Got a few minutes 'til the tank's empty. Why the fuck not?"
The door opened, and A-Train hopped out.
"GET HIM! TIE HIM UP!"
These French cops... Jesus. They saw the mask and, instead of running, they got excited. Like they were about to get famous. If these were NYPD, they'd be in the next goddamn arrondissement by now.
The cop in the lead charged, baton raised, thinking he was about to be a hero. This one's mine!
SWISH!
The instant before the baton hit, A-Train used his power. The world slowed to a crawl.
He looked at the frozen-in-time cop and had an idea. He gently... lifted the cop, turned him 180 degrees to face his own partner, and let go.
The cop, still in his heroic, adrenaline-fueled swing, brought the baton down hard...
THWACK!
...Right on his partner's forehead.
The two cops stared at each other, totally baffled.
What the fuck just happened?
Why did I hit him? / Why did he hit me?
A second later, the pain hit.
"AHHHH!!" The cop clutched his bleeding forehead, screaming.
The other cops stopped, staring at their man on the ground.
"My God! What just happened?"
"I don't know! It was just a blur!"
"Was that... a superpower?"
"I heard the core members were all... supes..."
"No... I thought that was just CNN fake news!"
"If he has powers... we're so dead!"
While they were shitting themselves, A-Train reappeared, now holding two steak knives he'd clearly just boosted from somewhere.
"My first time in Paris, and I didn't get you pricks a gift. So... how about a magic trick?" He said, holding up the knives.
"In a second, I'm gonna throw these. This one..." (he held up the left) "...is going in his right eye. And this one..." (the right) "...is going in his left eye."
He pointed at two random cops. "This ain't no bullshit magic show, either. No props, no plants. Just pure skill."
"RUN!"
He hadn't even finished, and the cops panicked and ran.
A-Train just ignored them, closing his eyes. "Three... two... one..."
He flung the knives and snapped into bullet time.
Shit, my aim's off.
He complained, then literally nudged the knives in mid-air to correct their path. Then, he zipped over, grabbed the two cops he'd pointed at, and dragged them right into the knives' paths. He stepped back. Time resumed.
THWIK! THWIK!
Two blood-curdling screams. The cops collapsed, clutching their faces, blood pouring through their fingers. The knives were buried to the hilt in their eye sockets.
The running cops looked back, saw the horror, and ran even faster.
SWISH!
Their vision blurred, and A-Train—who was a hundred meters back—was suddenly right in front of them.
"NOW!" One cop screamed!
It was a trap. They all opened fire, unloading their pistols.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A-Train was surprised, but he was already in bullet time. The bullets were fast, way faster than the knives, but he just... jogged out of the way.
As he moved, he realized... They're smart. They positioned me so their bullets wouldn't hit the truck. Hmph. Clever pigs.
A-Train stood to the side, sneering.
The cops were terrified, emptying their entire magazines in a panic. When they finally stopped, A-Train was gone. They looked around... and saw him just... standing there, untouched.
"RELOAD! RELOAD!"
A-Train's lips moved. "Game over, motherfuckers. Now it's a slaughter."
He zipped to one cop, snatched his gun, snatched his spare mag, reloaded... and jammed the muzzle right against the cop's chest.
BANG!
A "slow" gunshot echoed. The bullet, visible in his super-speed, tore through the cop's heart.
A-Train didn't go for the head. He wanted them to have a few seconds... to feel it. To know they were dead.
He went down the line. One by one. Bang. Bang. Bang.
He emptied two clips, dropped the gun, and let the world catch up.
Instantly, all dozen cops collapsed, not dead, but dying. They flopped and twitched on the pavement like fish suffocating on land, blood pouring from their chests.
A-Train just crouched and watched them, smiling, until their eyes went dead and they finally stopped moving.
.........
By now, Franklin had given the 800-year-old church a thorough hosing, from top to bottom. The tank was empty.
He hopped out of the cab. "A'ight, shit's done. Let's bounce."
He pulled a Zippo from his pocket, lit a cigarette for himself, and one for A-Train.
He took one long, slow drag, exhaled... and casually tossed the lit Zippo over his shoulder.
.
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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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