New York, Queens, a Citibank branch.

As one of the top ten banks in America, Citibank’s financial strength was immense. Even a regular branch was located in the core financial district of Queens.

The road in front of the branch was wide and clean, with vehicles and pedestrians hurrying by. All kinds of shops lined the street. As the CBD of Queens, everything here was busy, yet orderly.

Across the street was a high-end coffee shop.

On the second floor, a young guy in his twenties was sitting by the window, drinking coffee, but his eyes kept drifting to the bank’s entrance.

A fresh buzz cut, hip-hop clothes, an eye-catching skin color… Every single detail about him was completely out of place with the coffee shop’s refined and elegant atmosphere.

The blonde-haired, blue-eyed white people at the neighboring tables would occasionally glance over, all of them showing undisguised expressions of contempt and disgust.

Someone even called the waiter over to request a different seat, as if they didn’t want to breathe the same air as a filthy nigger.

The guy pretended not to notice the other customers’ reactions, just focusing on the bank’s entrance.

He held a donut in his left hand and a coffee cup in his right. After he finished, he licked the grease off his fingers and called the waiter for the check.

He didn’t leave a tip. He just dropped $20 and left, satisfied, leaving behind the waiter’s look of disgust and contempt.

The guy’s driver’s license said Reggie Franklin, but the low-level thugs who knew him called him “A-Train.” Because he was strong and ran really fast, like a goddamn locomotive.

Like most bottom-tier black guys, A-Train worked a low-wage, back-breaking manual labor job. No house, no car. His daily pay was just enough to get by.

If nothing changed, he’d live and die in obscurity, and no one would even notice.

But A-Train wasn’t satisfied. He hated this boring life. He envied the dazzling politicians and celebrities on TV, hoping one day he could be just like them, the center of attention.

He’d tried basketball, baseball, rap, hip-hop… but failed at all of them.

Just as he was sinking into depression, thinking his life was hopeless, a miracle happened.

He woke up one morning and suddenly had a superpower.

He could run fast. Really fast. He could run 1 mile in ten seconds, leaving an Olympic sprinter in the dust.

Having superpowers changed A-Train’s life dramatically.

He could have chosen to join the government, to be one of those cool, suave superheroes from the movies.

However, a lifetime of social oppression had bred a violent streak in him, on top of his desire for fame and the spotlight.

He hated the government, hated the banks, hated white people, hated the cops, hated the capitalists. He hated everyone who had ever looked down on him.

So, today, he’d come to Citibank, ready to make a big fucking splash and announce his arrival to the world.

*

A-Train left the coffee shop and walked toward the bank.

Two bank guards saw him, frowned instinctively, and looked him up and down with suspicion.

The Joker’s followers had been running wild in New York lately, robbing a bunch of smaller banks. Bank security had to be on high alert for anyone suspicious.

A-Train noticed their stares, and a flicker of anger sparked in him.

For years, anytime he went near a bank or a high-end store, the security guards would look at him with those same fucking eyes.

Before, he had no power to fight back, so he’d just leave. But now…

A-Train’s lips curled into a “friendly” smile as he walked right up to them.

Looking at the nigger in front of him, the guard’s expression soured. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much. I just need to borrow something.”

The guard shook his head. “No.”

“I ain’t even said what.”

The guard’s brow tightened in disgust. “I don’t care what it is, I’m not lending you shit. Fuck off. This isn’t the place for you.”

A-Train snorted and pointed at the guard’s hip. “Don’t be so quick to say no. I just want to borrow your gun.”

Hearing that, the guard’s face changed.

Shit! Another brainwashed Joker fanatic.

The guard immediately reached for his hip, ready to draw… but his hand met empty air.

He looked down, shocked. His holster was open. The pistol was gone.

“Are you looking for this?”

The guard snapped his head back up. A-Train was holding his gun, the black muzzle pointed right at him.

“Shit! Drop the gun!” The other guard fumbled for his own weapon.

But before he could even fire, A-Train vanished.

The two guards blinked, completely fucking dumbfounded. Where’d he go?

The next second, a hard, metal object pressed against the back of the second guard’s head.

The guard froze, slowly raising his hands.

“Hey man, take it easy, I’m not gonna fight…”

BANG!

A-Train didn’t let him finish, pulling the trigger.

A 9mm bullet shot into the back of his head, tumbled, created a massive cavity, and blasted out his face, leaving a gory hole the size of a bowl.

The gunshot shattered the street’s bustling peace.

Piercing screams erupted. Pedestrians ran for their fucking lives. Several drivers, panicking, slammed the gas and crashed into the cars in front of them. The orderly street dissolved into chaos.

The first guard saw his partner’s mutilated corpse and ran for it, diving into the crowd.

A-Train swung the gun toward him, firing several shots.

Too bad his aim was fucking terrible.

Less than ten meters away, and he missed every shot, hitting a few innocent bystanders instead.

The guard’s face lit up, thinking he was going to make it.

Suddenly, his vision blurred, and A-Train was right in front of him.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

No mistakes this time. After a few shots, the guard fell, his face a mask of pure, final terror.

A sick, vengeful smile spread across A-Train’s face. He casually strolled into the bank, gun in hand.

*

Because of the gunshots, the bank was on high alert.

A dozen guards in body armor, armed with shotguns, were behind cover, all aimed at the entrance.

SWISH!

The guards’ vision blurred. They saw a shape flash by. They blinked. The entrance was empty.

Just then, a guard heard soft footsteps behind him.

He turned. All he saw was a black muzzle.

BANG!

A-Train pulled the trigger. The guard collapsed, a bullet in his forehead.

“AHHH!!!” Screams echoed inside the bank.

The other guards spun around. When they saw A-Train, they were stunned. How the fuck did he get in?

No time to think. They instinctively aimed.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Heavy-caliber buckshot sprayed out, shattering vases and glass, pitting the white walls.

But their target, A-Train, was already gone.

BANG!

A moment later, another shot. The guards turned, but all they could see was a blur.

All they could do was fucking curse.

A-Train used his speed, moving instantly to a guard, putting the pistol to his head, and blowing his brains out. Then he’d move to the next.

To him, moving at this speed, time itself seemed to slow down. Everything was in bullet time.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

A rapid series of shots. The female tellers and managers were all hiding under their desks, shaking.

The bank manager had already called 911, but he had no idea if they’d live to see the police arrive.

A minute later, the gunfire stopped.

A-Train sped to the manager’s office and blasted the locked door open with a scavenged shotgun.

“Please! Please, don’t kill me!”

The bank manager was a fat-bellied, middle-aged white man. He immediately dropped to his knees, hands up, begging for his life.

A-Train gave a mocking laugh. This was the first time he’d ever seen a white man kneel to a Black man.

“Cut the bullshit. Take me to the vault. Now.”

He raised the shotgun and fired. BOOM! A globe on the manager’s desk exploded into fragments.

The manager flinched, nodding frantically. “Okay… okay! Just don’t hurt me, I’ll cooperate!”

He got up, ready to walk.

A-Train suddenly grinned. “Don’t stand up. You’re gonna fucking crawl to the vault.”

The manager’s face went blank, confused. After a second, a flash of anger appeared in his eyes.

“B-but crawling will be… slow.”

A-Train frowned and blasted the desk again. “Then you’d better fucking crawl faster!”

Looking at the shotgun, the manager finally lowered his head and began to crawl.

He was fat. The way he crawled was fucking ridiculous.

Seeing this, A-Train felt a deep, profound satisfaction.

But just one man kneeling wasn’t enough of a visual. He sped to the counters and dragged out all the hiding employees.

And so, a bizarre spectacle appeared in the bank lobby.

A dozen white people, kneeling in a single-file line, one behind the other, crawling quickly across the floor.

Seeing this, A-Train burst out laughing, he couldn’t stop.

Yes. That’s right. This is exactly right. You descendants of slave owners… you should all be on your fucking knees forever.

A-Train fired his gun to hurry them along, all while pulling out his phone to record it. He uploaded the video to social media.

A video this fucking explosive… this had to get him at least a million followers.

*

After the “centipede” crawled to the vault, the manager used his key to open the massive door.

A-Train threw him a backpack. “Don’t fuck around. Fill the bag.”

The manager grabbed the bag and frantically stuffed it with cash.

A-Train had seen enough heist movies. He only wanted small-denomination, non-sequential used bills.

When the bag was full, the manager put it on the floor and asked, surprised, “Sir… just the one bag?”

To save his own skin, he was willing to sell out his employer to earn the robber’s trust.

A-Train picked up the bag and said. “I’d like to take it all, but I can’t fucking carry it, can I? But just because I can’t take it… doesn’t mean I’m leaving it for you.”

With that, he pulled a knock-off Zippo lighter from his pocket.

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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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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep