American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

Little Rascal lay on the medical stretcher next to him, her eyes closed, but Lynn could see her eyeballs moving rapidly beneath her eyelids—she was going through some kind of intense inner struggle, the memories she had absorbed from Victor were raging in her mind.

“Her mental state is very unstable,” Storm said from the cockpit, her voice coming through the intercom. “Professor X said we need to get back as soon as possible; he’s already preparing for mental intervention.”

"How much longer until we arrive?" Lynn asked.

“At the current speed, it will take about two hours,” One-Eyed Dragon replied, monitoring radar and communications from the co-pilot’s seat. “The Blackbird could cruise faster, but considering the wounded on board, we’re maintaining a relatively steady pace—”

He suddenly stopped.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked alertly, sitting opposite Lynn, still holding the pistol that hadn't been used in the battle.

The one-eyed man didn't answer immediately. His fingers moved rapidly across the control panel, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

“That’s impossible,” he said in a low voice.

“What’s impossible?” Logan stood up from his seat and walked toward the cockpit.

“There’s a signal on the radar,” One-Eyed said. “It’s approaching rapidly from six o’clock, eighty kilometers away. Damn, it’s exceeding Mach 2.”

“A commercial airliner?” Storm asked.

“No, a civilian airliner wouldn’t travel that fast,” the one-eyed man’s voice turned serious, “and the signal signature is that of a military fighter jet.”

The atmosphere in the cabin froze instantly.

“Military fighter jets?” Sarah said incredulously. “Who would send fighter jets to chase us?”

“It’s not from the U.S. Air Force,” the one-eyed man said, staring at the screen. “The signal signature is off. And the U.S. Air Force wouldn’t track a civilian-registered aircraft without warning.”

"Who is that?"

No one answered the question. But Lynn already had a terrible suspicion in his mind.

He glanced down at Victor, who was still unconscious—the mind manipulator was strapped to a seat at the other end of the cabin, his wrists and ankles bound by restraints and metal braces. His face was still pale, but his breathing had stabilized.

“It’s the organization behind him,” Lynn said. “Little Rascal said Victor works for a very powerful organization. If that organization can send fighter jets…”

“Then they have far more resources than we imagined,” Logan replied in a low voice.

The one-eyed man's fingers flew across the control panel. "I'm trying to identify the model of that aircraft. Wait, not one. Two."

"Two fighter jets?" Storm's voice also became tense.

"Confirmed, two aircraft, flying in formation, approaching from our six o'clock position. At the current speed, they should be within visual range in about seven minutes."

“Can we shake them off?” Sarah asked.

“The Blackbird can reach speeds of Mach 3 and above,” Cyclops said, “but acceleration takes time, and we have wounded and prisoners on board. High-speed maneuvers could cause even more damage.”

"Then make sure the wounded are strapped in," Logan roared. "Being shot down by a fighter jet will cause even greater damage."

Lynn stood up, enduring the sharp pain in his ribs, and began checking the straps on the little rascal's stretcher. Suddenly, her eyes opened, those different colored eyes—one brown, one blue—looking at him blankly.

"What happened?" she asked weakly.

“We’ve run into a little trouble,” Lynn tried to keep his voice calm. “You need to hurry.”

"Trouble? What trouble?"

A deafening roar came from outside the fuselage, and the plane shook violently.

“That’s trouble,” Lynn said, grabbing the stretcher’s handrail to steady himself.

"They've opened fire!" the one-eyed man shouted. "Missiles! Two air-to-air missiles are approaching!"

Storm's reaction was almost instinctive. Her eyes turned pure white, her hands rested on the control stick, and the Blackbird suddenly tilted violently to the right, while the chaff launchers beneath the fuselage unleashed a barrage of red thermal decoys.

Lynn was thrown against the cabin wall, the pain almost making him scream. He heard Sarah scream and saw her slide off her seat and be caught by the seatbelt.

Two explosions rang out behind the aircraft, so close that the shockwaves could be felt. But the Blackbird was not hit—the heat decoy successfully lured the missile away.

“Well done,” One-Eyed said, “but they’re still getting closer. Fifty kilometers away.”

“I need more room to maneuver,” Storm said. “Fasten your seatbelts, I’m going to accelerate.”

The Blackbird's engines roared furiously, and the entire aircraft accelerated suddenly, as if propelled by a giant hand. Lynn felt immense pressure pressing him into his seat, making it difficult to breathe.

"Mach 2.5," the one-eyed man reported, "Mach 2.83. They're still chasing."

"What type of fighter jet can keep track at Mach 3?" Sarah shouted, her voice mostly drowned out by the roar of the engine.

“I don’t know,” One-Eyed said, “but these are definitely not standard military equipment. These aircraft may have been modified.”

“Mutant technology,” Logan roared. “That organization has mutants working for them, improving their weapons.”

Lynn remembered what the little rascal had said before he lost consciousness—Victor's organization was large and powerful. Now he was beginning to understand what that meant. An organization capable of acquiring and modifying military fighter jets, an organization capable of deploying this level of firepower to rescue or eliminate an agent.
"They've opened fire again!" the one-eyed man's voice suddenly rose.

This time, it wasn't two missiles, but four.

Storm used her abilities again, but this time the situation was even more dangerous. She made Blackbird perform a near-impossible maneuver—first a sharp climb, then an aerial flip, and finally a dive. The flares were fired again, but only three of the four missiles were deflected.

The fourth missile grazed the Blackbird's left wing. Although it did not hit directly, the shockwave and shrapnel from the explosion tore apart the outer part of the wing.

The plane shook violently, and the alarm blared shrilly.

"Left wing damaged!" the one-eyed man shouted. "Thirty percent of lift lost!"

“I can control it,” Storm said through gritted teeth, sweat beading on her forehead, “but our mobility has decreased. If they go on another round—”

“They’re approaching,” the one-eyed man interrupted her, “thirty kilometers away. Prepare for the third attack.”

Lynn's mind raced. They couldn't continue to be on the defensive like this. No matter how skilled Storm was at piloting, a damaged aircraft against two high-performance fighters could only end in one way.

“Do we have weapons?” he asked. “The Blackbird is equipped with defensive weapon systems,” Cyclops said, “but primarily for ground attack and missile defense. Against fighter jets…”

“Something is better than nothing,” Logan said. “Let me operate the weapon system.”

One-Eyed hesitated for a second, then nodded. Logan squeezed into the cockpit and sat in front of the weapons control panel.

“Haven’t played this in ages,” he muttered, his fingers tracing the control panel. “Let me see… Infrared-guided missiles, two. Machine gun, five hundred rounds. Not many, but enough.”

“Are you sure you can hit them?” Sarah questioned.

Logan turned his head, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Little girl, I was fighting in aerial combat back when fighter jets were still propeller-driven. Trust me."

The third wave of attacks arrived. This time, the enemy planes didn't use missiles—they got close enough to use their machine guns. Tracer rounds drew bright trails across the night sky, like fiery serpents lunging at the blackbirds.

Storm tried to maneuver again, but the damaged wing slowed the aircraft's response. Several shells struck the fuselage, producing a piercing metallic clang.

"Fuselage penetrated!" Cyclops reported. "The right side of the fuselage is damaged, but no critical systems were hit."

Lynn felt a gust of cold wind rush in from somewhere—a hole had been punched in the fuselage. He looked at Little Rascal, who was gripping the stretcher's handrail tightly, her face pale, but her eyes unusually calm.

“They’ve circled around to our left,” the one-eyed man said. “Prepare for the next attack.”

“Let them come,” Logan said, his eyes fixed on the aiming screen. “Closer. Closer.”

The enemy aircraft did indeed get close. With the Blackbird damaged, they became bolder, attempting to deliver a fatal blow at close range.

This is their mistake.

Logan pulled the trigger the instant the enemy aircraft entered optimal firing range. The Blackbird's cannons roared, unleashing a barrage of shells at the nearest fighter.

Even at high speed, Logan's shooting accuracy was astonishing. The shell struck the front of the enemy aircraft's cockpit, shattering the glass and twisting the metal. The fighter jet immediately lost control, began to spiral downwards, and disappeared into the night sky in a trail of black smoke.

"Take one down!" Sarah exclaimed excitedly.

But the other fighter jet reacted immediately. It accelerated sharply, disappeared from the Blackbird's sight, and then reappeared on the other side, so close that it could almost see the pilot's mask.

"He's at six o'clock!" the one-eyed man warned. "Too close, we can't turn around!"

Lynn saw the fighter jet through the cockpit window—a black, streamlined silhouette with no national markings on its paint scheme, only a red symbol that looked like some kind of distorted Greek letter.

The enemy aircraft's missile pylons flashed. It was about to launch a missile at close range.

“Storm!” the one-eyed man shouted.

Storm made a crazy decision. She didn't try to dodge—at this distance and angle, any evasion would be futile. Instead, she unleashed her mutant powers.

The clouds in the sky suddenly began to churn, and a huge bolt of lightning struck down from the clouds, hitting the fighter jet directly.

An electric current surged through the fuselage, causing the electronic systems to malfunction instantly. The missile exploded on its launcher, shattering the fighter jet's tail into fragments. The pilot ejected, his parachute unfurling in the night sky like a white flower.

But the price of the lightning was enormous. Using such a powerful ability at such a height had pushed Storm to her physical limits. Her face turned deathly pale, and her hands slipped from the control sticks.

"Storm!" One-Eyed Man gripped the control stick, trying to steady the plane. "Are you alright?"

“I…I need to rest,” Storm's voice was so weak it was almost inaudible. “I just need to keep flying.”

Her head drooped, and she fainted.

The blackbird lurched through the air as the one-eyed pilot struggled to control the damaged aircraft. The left wing was still leaking oil, the fuselage bore multiple bullet holes, and the pilot was now unconscious.

“We have to land,” One-Eyed said. “The plane won’t last much longer.”

"Where did we land?" Lynn asked. "Where are we now?"

One-Eyed glanced at the navigation screen. "Northern Alabama, roughly 100 kilometers east of Birmingham. Below are the hilly areas of the Appalachian Mountains, covered in forests and sparsely populated."

Is there an airport?

“The nearest airport is fifty kilometers away,” One-Eyed Man shook his head. “In our current condition, we can’t fly that far. We need to find a flat spot to make an emergency landing.”

“Emergency landing?” Sarah’s voice trembled. “You mean a crash landing?”

“It’s not a crash, it’s an emergency landing,” One-Eyed tried to keep his voice calm. “We still have power and control, we just can’t fly for long. If we can find a large enough open space—a riverbed, a dried-up lake, an abandoned road—we can land safely.”

Logan had climbed down from the weapons control panel to check on Storm's condition. "She's just exhausted, nothing serious. But she won't be awake for a while."

“Then we’ll have to rely on ourselves,” the one-eyed man said. “Everyone fasten your seatbelts and prepare for an emergency landing.”

Lynn checked the little rascal's harness again, then sat back down in his seat. His ribs ached terribly, and every breath felt like someone was stabbing him with a knife. But he forced himself to stay calm—panic would only make things worse in this situation.

“What about that prisoner?” Sarah asked, pointing at Victor.

Lynn looked at the still unconscious mind controller. "He's tightly bound; he should be fine."

"What if he woke up during the emergency landing?"

“Then we’ll be in even bigger trouble,” Logan roared, “but for now, let’s worry about landing.”

The blackbird began its descent, breaking through the clouds, and the outline of the ground gradually became clear. In the moonlight, Lynn could see rolling hills, dense forests, and winding rivers. It was a wilderness, almost devoid of any trace of human activity—no lights, no roads, only endless darkness and trees.

“I see a river,” said the one-eyed man, “about two kilometers away. There’s an open area beside it, which looks like a dried-up riverbed.”

Is it big enough?

"Barely enough. But the ground conditions are unclear; there might be rocks or ravines. We need to pray for better luck."

Lynn had never been one to believe in luck, but at that moment he found himself silently praying.

The Blackbird continued its descent, dropping from 3,000 meters to 2,000 meters, then to 1,000 meters. The roar of the engines turned into an unstable coughing sound, and the oil leak on the left wing worsened, leaving a trail of black smoke behind the fuselage. (End of Chapter)