Conquering the Multiverse Starting with the Black Robe

"Hughie, if you interrupt me again, I promise I'll fuck myself with my left hand tonight."

The voices on the other end of the phone faded into the distance, followed by a few whispered arguments.

Afterwards, Butcher put the phone back to his ear and said casually, "Don't be so loud, your girlfriend is perfectly fine."

The locomotive took a deep breath, suppressing his anger. "What do you want? Money? I can give you money to let her go!"

"Don't worry, I'll send you the address, and we can discuss it in person. Remember, come alone."

The locomotive was so angry at this that it laughed. "Are you threatening me? Threatening one of the most famous people in America, the fastest runner in the world?"

"Bro, are you fucking high? Listen, I don't want to escalate this. Stop playing the 'Taken' game. I can trace the signal with one phone call and send you and your accomplices to jail!"

Butcher wasn't intimidated by his two sentences. She said calmly, "Of course you can, but I guarantee you won't, because your dirty little secret can't be exposed."

"That sounds like idiot, I have compound five."

He sneered repeatedly, "I know what you use this for. Without these little potions, you'd be impotent."

A black man who can't get an erection is worthless to Wouter. They want the fastest runner, not the fastest cotton picker. Times have changed. Think about tomorrow's race.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

The locomotive understood that although the man was hateful, what he said made sense. Compound No. 5 determined his fate; without it, he would be kicked out of the game.

Moreover, this matter cannot be publicized; if it gets exposed, he will still be finished.

Boucher repeated, "Come alone, and don't try anything funny. Otherwise, I'll dump all this stuff down the drain, and you'll be defeated by the shockwave."

After saying that, he hung up the phone.

He wasn't afraid the locomotive wouldn't come.

Compound No. 5 is the opponent's lifeline.

As far as he knew, Locomotive had always been a big spender, and despite serving in the seven-man squad for many years, he had never accumulated any wealth.

Losing his current position would instantly bankrupt Locomotive, leaving him destitute and burdened with huge debts due to defaults, which would be worse than death.

……

Twenty minutes later, at an abandoned train station.

The rusted railway tracks stretched along the stone steps, the ground cracked, and withered weeds grew wildly from the cracks.

Half of the sheet metal roof of the platform had collapsed, and sunlight streamed through the pitted holes, while a damp, moldy, and rotten smell lingered in the air.

French was standing on the abandoned station platform. In front of him was a person with a black hood over their head and their hands tightly bound behind their back with rope.

He held a pistol in his right hand, the muzzle pointed diagonally at the head of the bound man, glanced at his watch, and waited patiently.

Suddenly, a dense throng of footsteps rapidly approached, interspersed with the faint sound of a train whistle, and the railway tracks trembled slightly.

A blue shadow swept past, and a gust of wind whipped up nearby pebbles, which crashed against the abandoned train carriages with a clatter.

Beep beep—

A blue shadow flashed and stopped on the tracks not far below the platform.

It was the locomotive that had rushed over.

He was still wearing the combat suit made of abrasion-resistant polymer, the transparent breastplate on his chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing.

His forehead was covered in sweat, his eyes were bloodshot, and waves of dizziness enveloped his brain.

Long-term injections of compound 5 put a huge burden on his heart, causing it to become excessively enlarged, much like it had been injected with growth hormone.

His private doctor had warned him that if he continued like this, he would eventually die of a heart attack.

The locomotive was in a difficult position. If he didn't continue injecting compound five, he would lose his position as the fastest man and everything he had.

He stood below the platform.

Frowning, he looked around and saw French holding a gun, and the hooded woman bound to a chair.

Just as he was about to rush onto the platform, French was already on guard.

The gun barrel instantly rose, aimed at the person in the chair, and the trigger was slightly pulled.

"Don't move!" French threatened coldly. "Mon Pote, take one more step and I'll pull the trigger. We're hundreds of meters apart; I bet you can't outrun a bullet."

The locomotive forced its way to a stop, and due to inertia, its legs plowed two shallow ravines in the pile of rubble.

The locomotive glared angrily, its voice low and menacing, "What exactly do you want? Release them, and I can pretend nothing happened today."

"What do I want?" French tilted his head, the gun still pointing steadily. "I want to talk to you, to hear the truth from you, not the scripted rhetoric you use to talk to the media."

The locomotive frowned, waiting for him to continue.

"Do you remember the victim you killed not long ago?" Franchi asked.

"Just so you know, her name is Robin. She was holding her boyfriend's hand and being all lovey-dovey with him when you hit her and smashed her to pieces just because she was a meter off the sidewalk."

"Fuck! Bro, that really was an accident!"

The locomotive was initially taken aback, then its expression turned impatient as it put its hands on its hips and licked its chapped lips.

He never expected it would be because of this incident. If he had known, he would have killed the man next to him as well, instead of causing all this trouble for no reason.

The locomotive raised its hand and said quickly, "That day I was chasing a superhuman criminal who robbed a bank. In the process, I accidentally bumped into a passerby. It was an accident, like a sudden car crash. No one can predict when an accident will happen."

Besides, Walter's legal department has already handled this matter, okay?

"What's that guy's name? Howie? He's already received the compensation he deserves. Why are you still harping on this, digging up dirt on me to try and bring me down? Was it Shockwave who ordered you to do this?"

Frenchie scoffed and shook his head repeatedly. "An accident? No, no, no, darling, you weren't saying that when you were drunk at the Superhuman Bar and bragging to others. Let me think, you were laughing and saying you still had one of her teeth in your mouth?"

"Fuck..."

The locomotive paused slightly, then gave a bitter smile. "Now that you know the truth, there's no need to keep you in suspense any longer. Tell me, what do you want?"

"You still don't feel any remorse? You're a complete scumbag." French scoffed, tilting his head towards the pillar in a gesture of dissatisfaction.

Shirley emerged from the shadows, holding a cell phone and filming.

"Say it," French shouted, looking down at the locomotive. "I want you to say this in front of the cameras, in front of all Americans—"

"I did it on purpose. Robin is innocent. It's all my fault."

"Speak up and apologize sincerely, instead of nonchalantly shirking all responsibility and waiting for Walter's PR team to clean up your mess, you giant baby."

The locomotive's expression changed, and he said in a deep voice, "Buddy, let's change the terms. I can't do this; it will ruin my reputation!"

French tapped the seat on the head with the bottom of the handle. "There's no room for negotiation. Do you want to just watch her die?"

"Fuck you! Don't touch her!" The locomotive's eyes immediately turned red.

"Speak!" French glared back defiantly.

The locomotive had a gloomy expression, and its Adam's apple bobbed up and down with difficulty.

Seeing this, French moved his finger to the trigger. "I'll count to three. When the countdown ends, I'll shoot her in the head."

As he spoke, he spread his fingers out towards his head with his free hand, making an explosive gesture, "Now the bad things have happened to you, huh? It's time for you beasts who don't value human life to experience the pain of losing a loved one."

"Ready, three."

"two--"

"Wait!" the locomotive shouted.

"That's all? You'll release them if I tell you?"

He was sweating profusely from nervousness.

He glanced quickly at the woman tied to the chair, then subtly swept his gaze over the gun in French's hand.

To be honest, he wasn't entirely confident he could save the person at that distance.

The total time for a normal person's nerve reaction speed, plus the time it takes for the signal to travel to the muscles, pull the trigger, and for the bullet to hit the target, will not exceed 0.2 seconds.

This timeframe was a bit of a limit for him. He needed to complete the entire process from starting to getting on stage to rescuing the person in one go, which wasn't very efficient. He was probably only about 70% confident, otherwise he would have already taken action.

"Hurry up!" French seemed to sense his thoughts, raised the muzzle of his gun, and made a move as if to fight to the death. The locomotive was startled and immediately backed down, "OK! Fine! I'll do as you say! Don't shoot!"

"It's...it's my fault. Robin was innocent. She did nothing wrong. I killed her. I'm so sorry."

"Did you record it?" Frenchie turned to the woman and asked.

Shirley held up her phone and gave an OK sign.

"I've cooperated with you. Release her quickly, she has nothing to do with this," the locomotive said urgently.

"That's just one thing, to see if you're truly willing to cooperate. There's another question: who gave you those Compound V compounds?"

"Thank you, but I really can't say anything about this. If I do, I'm dead!" The locomotive waved his hand, shaking his head like a rattle drum. The mastermind behind this absolutely could not be implicated, or that person would rip his head off and use it as a football.

French frowned and urged, "Do you think you have a choice? Don't forget, we still have Compound V."

The locomotive remained silent for a long time, then suddenly asked, "Where did you put those compounds number five?"

French replied matter-of-factly, "Of course not in my hands. They're in a safe place, my friend."

The locomotive nodded, and the next second, it suddenly moved.

A sudden, explosive blast of a whistle filled the air, and the high-speed motion created a burning, foul odor in the air!

French was just an ordinary person and could not observe the supersonic movement at close range with the naked eye. He could only vaguely see a fast blue afterimage flashing on his retina.

In the blink of an eye, French only had time to pull the trigger!

boom!

Flames shot from the muzzle of the gun.

The bullet leaves the barrel and spins as it flies toward the target.

However, the initial velocity of a 9mm warhead cannot outpace a locomotive exploding at full power.

Locomotive swore that this was only the second time in his life he had run like his life depended on it, and that he must have broken his usual training record. The first time was when he raced against Mr. Marathon to compete for the title of the world's fastest runner.

Swish!

From the perspective of the speedster, everything around him slows down, and the locomotive leaps onto the platform and pounces on the people in the seats.

At the last moment, he narrowly avoided the bullet, but before he could even rejoice, a dark shadow, moving at high speed, attacked him at a speed far faster than he could.

The locomotive's pupils contracted sharply, trying to dodge, but it was too late.

The next instant, a foot over size 40 landed directly on his face.

In an instant, he was out of the "Speed ​​Force" state and was kicked far away by the enormous inertia, crashing heavily into the wall behind him, directly causing half of the platform to collapse.

"Ugh..." The locomotive pushed aside the rubble pressing down on it, coughed as it stood up, its back burning with pain, and when it touched its shoulder, it found blood was already seeping out.

"Wozefak?"

Rean slowly retracted his leg, which had been kicking upwards to the side. He had a lollipop in his mouth and a nonchalant smile on his face. "You think you can flip the table just because you can't play? That won't do. You have to follow my rules."

"You're quite fast. Two hundred years ago, you would have been the highest-paid Black person. You could have done all the work by yourself."