American comic: From Beijing with Love, starting with a mutant.

From New York to Los Angeles, it's over 4,000 kilometers.

Less than 24 hours remain.

Even if you drive at the maximum speed limit, you could floor the gas pedal and create sparks, and it would still take two days and two nights to drive.

By the time they arrive at the destination, that precious space-age delivery guy will probably have already become sashimi in Stryker Labs.

Go to the airport to buy a plane ticket?

Pull it down!

The big screen also displayed a wanted poster for "Extremely Dangerous Fugitive Stephen Chow".

That photo was particularly ugly; his eyes were unfocused, his hair was messy, and he looked like he had been called to a morning meeting by his boss after staying up all night for seven consecutive days.

Buying plane tickets is tantamount to directly boosting the FBI's performance record.

Time is tight and tasks are heavy.

We absolutely have to make something that can fly!

Stephen Chow grabbed Snotty by the collar, lifted him up like a chick, and turned to walk out.

"Master Zhou! Where are you going?"

"Shut up! Come back to the academy with me!"

Xavier's School of Thought

Professor X was sitting in a folding chair by the lawn, basking in the sun, looking unusually peaceful.

A gust of wind swept in, carrying dust, and Stephen Chow rushed to him in a flurry of activity.

"Hey Cha, I need your help urgently! What kind of flying vehicle do you guys have here? Preferably supersonic, stealthy, no security checks required, and with a range that can cross the US. Do you have any of these high-performance machines?"

Professor X's eye twitched slightly; even though he had lost his psychic abilities, he could tell that something was wrong with this guy.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breathing became rapid, and he didn't even bother to flick the cigarette from his mouth.

For this guy, who usually asks for reimbursement before anything else, to be this anxious, it must be something serious.

"You're going to find mutants who desperately need rescue?"

Zhou Xingxing nodded repeatedly: "It's extremely urgent! A strategic-level logistics talent is about to be dismembered by the gang! If we're even a step too late, we won't just lose one person, but the entire multinational transportation industry's cost reduction and efficiency improvement!"

Professor X was silent for a moment, then stood up, leaning on his cane, and gestured to Old Zhou: "Come with me."

The group bypassed the main building and arrived at a hidden building ruin on the back hill.

Charles entered the password into a hidden compartment in the wall, and the retinal scan passed.

The earth trembled slightly.

The ground, which was originally overgrown with weeds, split open on both sides, revealing a wide passage.

Stephen Chow's eyes widened.

What a grand display!

This is so high-tech!

Isn't this much better than that underground garage door in Bureau 749 where you get stuck nine out of ten times when you try to use facial recognition?

We walked down the passage and arrived at the massive underground hangar.

The lights came on one by one, illuminating the equipment that had accompanied the X-Men in their battles across the land.

Even covered in dust, it still exudes a sense of solemnity.

Stephen Chow rubbed his hands together and looked around, looking exactly like a hungry wolf that had barged into a buffet restaurant.

"Old Cha, your asset idle rate is too high. Leaving them unused is a loss of state-owned... no, collective assets! Why not donate them to our Bureau 749? I'll give you a tax-free invoice and even send you a banner."

Professor X ignored him and pointed to a streamlined black aircraft in the corner.

The aircraft is long and slender, with wings like a bat and a surface covered with a radar-absorbing coating, making it look like a lurking raptor.

"A tactical shuttle reconnaissance aircraft," Professor X explained. "It's not large, can seat five to six people, has both optical and radar stealth capabilities, and can reach a top speed of Mach 3."

Stephen Chow's eyes lit up, and he went up and started touching the fuselage.

"The paint is intact, the bodywork is undamaged, but the tires... why are there no tires?"

Before the professor could answer, he had already opened the hatch, crawled into the cockpit, and sat in the driver's seat.

Then, Stephen Chow fell silent.

The entire control panel is covered with a dense array of colorful buttons, gauges, and warning lights.

It was all in English, and it was full of professional aviation terminology. He recognized each letter individually, but when put together, it was like an encrypted file.

The slug cautiously approached him from behind and asked, "Mr. Zhou, you have a pilot's license, right?"

"I even bought a counterfeit tricycle driver's license from Lao Wang for 100 yuan. How am I supposed to get a pilot's license?"

The slug's smile vanished; he figured he might be safer in the hands of the gangsters than on this plane.

Professor X, feeling helpless, walked to the hangar, took a manual from the locker, and threw it into the cockpit.

"The intelligent driver assistance system can solve most problems, but takeoff and landing require manual parameter settings. You'd better take a look."

Stephen Chow opened the instruction manual.

First page, tadpoles.

The second page still features tadpoles.

Turning to page 30, he felt as if the tadpoles had already begun to hold a sports meet around his brain.

Time passed by, second by second.

The lives of those in the space sciences are counting down.

If he keeps researching, by the time he learns how to open it, the grass on the other person's grave will be sprouting.

Stephen Chow gritted his teeth and threw the instruction manual onto the passenger seat.

"Who cares! Driving is simply about accelerating, shifting gears, and releasing the clutch. An airplane has wings, but the underlying logic can't be any different, right?"

The slug's lips trembled: "Master Zhou, is it too late for me to go down now?"

"Since we're already here, buckle up!"

Based on his intuition and the few diagrams he had just glanced at, Zhou Xingxing operated the control panel with both hands.

First turn on the power, then start the ignition, and finally push the lever that looks most like the accelerator forward.

"Old Cha, thanks a lot! I'll treat you to braised pork when I get paid!" Stephen Chow gave a thumbs up from inside the cabin.

The dome at the top of the hangar slowly opened, revealing the azure sky.

"boom!"

Two blue trails of flame shot out from the tail of the black shuttle.

The takeoff maneuver was like a wild dog breaking free of its reins, with the nose of the plane tilting up at an exaggerated angle, skimming the edge of the dome as it soared into the sky.

The aircraft shook violently in the air a few times, drew an S-shaped trajectory, accelerated suddenly, and disappeared into the horizon as a small black dot.

A strong wind swept up fallen leaves.

Professor X shook his head as he looked at the distressing flight path. He now regretted not having insured the plane beforehand.

The button to close the dome was pressed.

The armor plates were closed again, and the underground hangar returned to its dim state.

A series of dragging footsteps came from the shadows.

The newcomer was disheveled, with a stubble-covered chin and a strong, cheap smell of whiskey emanating from him.

He was wearing a pair of worn-out red quartz sunglasses and carrying a half-empty bottle of wine as he walked unsteadily to Charles's side.

Looking through his sunglasses at the now-closed dome above, the man's voice was hoarse.

"Professor, are you just going to hand over our trump card like that?"

Professor X turned his head and looked at his extremely dejected and proud student, his eyes filled with regret.

"Scott, look at us now." He swept his cane across the empty hangar and over the dusty equipment.

Turning his gaze back, Professor X looked at Scott's eyes, hidden behind his sunglasses.

"What else can we do?"

His voice was filled with unfathomable weariness: "At least, he gave those children a place to live, allowing them to regain their names, jobs, and lives."

"And we, now, seem so powerless even to protect our own academy."

Scott's hand holding the bottle trembled. He didn't argue, but simply tilted his head back and drank the rest of the liquor in one gulp.