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

"How accurate is it?" Lynn asked.

"The building's external structural accuracy is within plus or minus half a meter. The internal layout is estimated based on the floor plans in the manual, and there may be a deviation of 10% to 15%."

Lynn walked around the holographic model. The Midway Atoll complex is concentrated at the eastern end of the atoll, occupying an area approximately 300 meters long and 150 meters wide. The core includes—

“The main building is here.” He pointed at the model, highlighting a two-story concrete structure. “According to the manual, the first floor houses administrative offices and mercenary quarters, while the second floor contains laboratories and a monitoring center. The subjects’ living quarters are behind the main building—these three single-story strip buildings—arranged in a row like a military barracks.”

“How big is the area enclosed by the barbed wire?” Scott asked.

"Approximately 120 meters by 80 meters. Two layers of barbed wire, the inner layer electrified, the outer layer equipped with motion sensors. But this defense is designed to prevent internal personnel from escaping, not to defend against external attacks."

"In other words, it locks people inside, but isn't very good at keeping people out."

"Yes. That's the first weakness."

"And the second one?"

Lynn's finger traced a small square next to the runway on the model. "That's the communications facility. The satellite antenna and communications room are all in this building. If we can cut off their external communications within the first minute of the operation, the island's defenders will become an isolated force cut off from the mainland. No reinforcements, no orders—psychological warfare is more effective than physical firepower."

“I can do it,” Ororo said.

All eyes turned to her.

“A precise lightning strike.” Her voice was calm, as if she were remarking on the pleasant weather. “Locking the metal structure of the communications antenna from the air, a single bolt of lightning was enough. The communications equipment was completely destroyed, but the building itself didn’t collapse. I’ve done similar things before.”

"How far is it?"

“If the weather permits, within one kilometer is no problem. If a greater distance is needed, I can first create a cumulonimbus cloud over the target area—that will require an additional three to four minutes of preparation time.”

Diana whispered a word behind Lynn. Lynn didn't quite catch it, but guessed it was a swear word with at least two syllables.

“Okay. Ororo will handle the communications cutoff.” Lynn continued marking the model. “Next up are the three mutant security personnel—'The Forge,' 'Prism,' and 'Silence.' According to the duty roster in the manual, they operate on a two-shift system—two on duty at a time, one off. But the manual was written a few months ago, and the actual schedule may have changed. So we need to conduct on-site reconnaissance before the operation to confirm the exact locations of the three.”

“How do we conduct reconnaissance?” Jason’s voice came from the elevator entrance—he, Pedro, and Mike had arrived at the academy ten minutes earlier and were now standing at the entrance to the Situation Room, their expressions exactly the same as when Diana first walked in.

“Come over here and sit down.” Lynn waved to them.

The three walked to the control panel. Pedro glanced at Logan as he passed by. Logan moved his cigar from the left to the right of his mouth with his teeth, without even looking up.

“I’ll scout,” Jane said. She leaned against the edge of the control panel, her long red hair taking on a dark purple hue in the blue light projected by the holographic model. “If we can get the Blackbird to a low altitude of about five hundred meters around the island before we move in, I can perform a mind scan from that distance—determine the location, number, and mental state of everyone on the island, and whether they’ve noticed our arrival.”

"Won't they detect us at a low altitude of 500 meters?" Diana asked.

“The Blackbird has a full-band radar-absorbing coating,” Scott said. “At an altitude of 500 meters, and with our speed reduced to subsonic, the island’s civilian radar simply won’t detect us. If they had military-grade air defense radar, that would be a different story—but a Brotherhood secret base is unlikely to be equipped with that; it would attract satellite reconnaissance.”

“That makes sense.” Lynn agreed with this assessment. “Then our plan is this: Blackbird will first conduct a low-altitude reconnaissance flyby, while Jane scans the island. Based on the scan results, we will formulate the final assault plan. If everything goes smoothly, after the reconnaissance is complete, Blackbird will return to the sea surface beyond the island's visual range to await orders. The assault team will then land on the island aboard Blackbird during the second flyby.”

"Where will we land? On the runway?"

"No. The runway is too obvious. It's where their own planes take off and land. Even with lax defenses, there would definitely be people near the runway. I saw a clear beach on the northwest corner of the island in the satellite photos—about 600 meters from the complex—that's pristine area of ​​a wildlife sanctuary, without any facilities or barbed wire. Blackbird made a vertical landing there, and then the assault team advanced on foot to the perimeter of the complex."

"Can a blackbird land vertically?" Pedro's eyebrows almost reached his hairline.

“The modified version adds thrust vectoring nozzles.” Scott’s tone was as flat as if he were stating the specifications of a refrigerator. “It will be noisier, but if Ororo creates a localized storm in the landing area, the natural thunder and wind will mask most of the engine noise.”

"Do you often cooperate like this?"

"It has happened a few times."

Pedro turned to look at Jason, his lips moving silently twice. Jason shook his head slightly—meaning, "Stop talking, just listen."

For the next two hours, they repeatedly went over at least seven or eight variations of the plan around the holographic model. Every attack route, every cover position, and every possible counterattack scenario was discussed at least twice. Lynn was impressed by Scott's attention to tactical details—he would ask questions such as "Is the barbed wire electrified by a separate generator or connected to the main building's electrical grid?" and "Is the spacing between the strip buildings in the subjects' living area sufficient for a person to have adequate cover while running laterally?"

Logan only said three sentences throughout the entire process. The first was, "I'll chop down anyone who gets in my way." The second was, "Don't let the kids see too much blood." The third was asking Tyler, "Have you had dinner yet?"

Taylor said he hadn't eaten, so Logan stood up and walked out of the situation room. Five minutes later, he returned with two sandwiches, handing one to Taylor and eating the other in three bites himself. Throughout the entire process, he didn't ask anyone if they were hungry, nor did he bring food for anyone else.

At nine o'clock in the evening, the briefing ended. Xavier had the college administrator arrange rooms for Lynn's team in the guest room area. The rooms were clean and spacious, each with a private bathroom, a single bed with white sheets, a desk, and a window facing the back garden. The heating rose silently from under the floor, maintaining the room at a just-right temperature—not too hot, not too cold, like a person's body temperature.

Lynn lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. At 2:40 a.m., the alarm clock rang.

He sat up in the darkness, taking three seconds to adjust his eyes to the dim light in the room. The light filtering through the curtains wasn't moonlight—the sky was covered by a thick layer of clouds, obscuring even the brightest stars. There was a heavy, oppressive feeling in the air, as if rain was imminent.

He put on his clothes, fastened the buckle of his bulletproof vest, and checked the Glock 19—the magazine was full, the chamber was empty, and the safety was off. Then he pushed open the door and walked into the corridor.

The corridor was quiet. The dark red carpet on the floor absorbed all footsteps. The wall lamps were dimmed to their lowest setting, emitting an almost amber glow, barely enough to illuminate the door numbers and the outline of the elevator at the end of the corridor.

Diana opened the door before he did. She was already dressed—a black tactical vest, dark trousers, tactical boots—a SIG P320 tucked into a tactical holster on her right leg. Her short hair was tied back with a black rubber band, revealing her sharp jawline and neck.

“You’re two minutes ahead of the alarm,” Lynn said.

"I don't set an alarm. I'm used to waking up when I'm supposed to."

They walked together to the other end of the corridor. Jason, Pedro, and Mike were already waiting at the elevator. All three were wearing their respective combat gear—Jason wore a lightweight bulletproof vest under his leather jacket, Pedro had a Remington 870 slung across his back, and Mike had his M4 carbine slung across his chest with a sling, muzzle pointing downwards.

“Where’s Kevin?” Lynn asked.

“He stayed in the room. I told him to wait for us to come back,” Jason said. “He said he couldn’t help, but asked me to tell you—” He paused, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips, “He said, ‘Don’t die, you still owe Diana a steak.’”

Diana glanced at Jason. "When did he find out about the steak?"

"He heard everything you were saying in the car. The soundproofing in the back seat isn't very good."

The elevator took them to the third basement level.

The third basement level is a hangar.

The moment the elevator doors opened, Lynn finally understood why this school needed a war room, an underground bunker, and a self-contained logistics system—because the plane parked in front of him was not something any normal school should have.

Blackbird.

It crouched in the center of the hangar, like a giant raptor with its wings folded. The fuselage was painted a deep, dark blue-black—not pure black, but a muted shade where the blue was only discernible at certain angles—without any reflective surface, appearing as if it had swallowed all the light that fell upon it. The nose was long and sharp, with twin vertical stabilizers extending upwards from the rear like two metallic blades. The engine nacelles bulged outwards on either side of the lower fuselage, the air intakes shaped like open mouths, revealing the metallic sheen of the turbofan blades inside.

It was larger than Lynn had imagined. It was about forty meters long from nose to tail and had a wingspan of over twenty meters. The hatch under the belly of the aircraft was already open, and a built-in boarding ladder extended out from inside, with the end of the ladder resting on the concrete floor of the hangar.

Scott was already conducting pre-flight checks next to the plane. He was wearing a dark blue flight suit, and his red quartz lenses gleamed dimly under the hangar lights. His fingers pressed through the inspection ports on the leading edge of the wing, pausing at each one to listen for a few seconds—presumably to feel the vibrations of the internal machinery.

Jane stood near the tail of the plane, her eyes closed, her hands hanging at her sides. Lynn didn't know what she was doing, but there was an extremely faint hum in the air, so low that it was almost below the hearing threshold—like someone slowly gliding their fingertips across the thickest string of a cello.

Ororo stepped out of the belly hatch, his short white hair standing out against the dark blue fuselage. "Cabin interior inspection complete. All twelve seats are operational, oxygen supply system normal, pressure compensation system normal."

Logan was the last to appear. He wore a completely different set of equipment from during the day—a tight-fitting combat suit in dark yellow and dark blue, with armor covering his chest and shoulders that looked like some kind of alloy fabric. His fists were clenched at his sides, and the muscles on his forearms were taut like thick ropes. He paused as he passed Taylor.

Are you scared?

Taylor's Adam's apple bobbed slightly. "A little."

“That’s right. People who aren’t afraid won’t last the first round.” Logan continued walking toward the plane, his tone as if he were commenting on whether his breakfast cereal was sweet enough.

Lynn looked around. Nine people—himself, Diana, Jason, Pedro, Mike, Scott, Jane, Ororo, Logan—plus Taylor, making ten in total.

Ten men raid a secret base in the Pacific Ocean.

He took a deep breath and then stepped onto the boarding stairs.

The cabin interior was surprisingly spacious. Two rows of six seats faced each other on either side of the fuselage. The seats were high-backed racing seats with excellent support, equipped with five-point harnesses and individual oxygen masks. The floor was covered with non-slip rubber mats, and the storage compartments on the walls were securely fixed, so nothing would fly out even if the plane flipped over. A heavy, sealed door separated the cockpit—with a small round window through which Scott could be seen already seated in the pilot's seat on the left.

Jane sat in the passenger seat. Scott glanced back at the people in the cabin.

"Everyone, fasten your seatbelts. We'll reach cruising speed of Mach 3 within approximately 45 seconds of takeoff, with G-forces during acceleration ranging from 3.5G to 4G. If you haven't experienced supersonic flight before—" His gaze swept across Lynn's team members, "I suggest you rest your head on the headrest, clench your teeth, and don't be ashamed if someone throws up."

“I won’t throw up.” Pedro fastened his seatbelt and placed Remington on his lap.

“I might,” Jason added honestly.

With a hum of hydraulic mechanisms, the hangar ceiling slid open to both sides—a giant sliding hatch disguised as a tennis court. The Westchester sky at three in the morning poured down through the rectangular opening, a thick, opaque cloud obscuring all the stars. Moist air rushed into the hangar, carrying a chilly hint of rain. (End of Chapter)