Subject Three takes flight! Cutting-edge tech and a veteran driver
The distance from New York to Los Angeles is over 4,000 kilometers.
Less than 24 hours remain.
Driving at the maximum speed limit, even if you floor the gas pedal and create sparks, would still take two days and two nights.
By the time they arrive, that precious space-age delivery guy will probably already be sashimi in Stryker Labs.
Go to the airport to buy a plane ticket?
Forget it!
The large screen also displayed an arrest warrant for 'Stephen Zhou, an extremely dangerous fugitive'.
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 targets.
Time is tight and the task is heavy.
We absolutely have to make something that can fly!
Sing Sing grabbed Slug 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!"
X Academy
Professor X was sitting on a folding chair by the lawn, basking in the sun, looking unusually peaceful.
A gust of wind swept in, carrying dust, Sing Sing rushed to him in a flurry of activity.
"Old Charles! I need your help urgently! What kind of flying vehicles do you have here? Preferably supersonic, stealthy, no security checks required, and with a range that can cross the United States. Do you have any of these high-performance machines?"
Professor X's eye twitched slightly; even though he had lost his Mind Stone abilities, he could tell 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's no small matter.
"You're going to find Mutants who desperately need rescue?"
Sing Sing 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 code into a hidden compartment in the wall, and a retinal scan went through.
The earth trembled slightly.
The ground, which was originally overgrown with weeds, split open on both sides, revealing a wide passage.
Sing Sing's eyes widened.
What a grand display!
This is so high-tech!
Isn't this much better than that underground parking garage door in the 749 Bureau where you get stuck nine out of ten times just by using facial recognition?
We descended the passageway and arrived at the massive underground hangar.
The lights came on one by one, illuminating the equipment that had accompanied the X-Men on their battles across the land.
Even covered in dust, it still exudes a sense of solemnity.
Sing Sing Chow rubbed his hands together and looked around, looking exactly like a hungry wolf that had barged into a buffet restaurant.
"Old Charles, your asset idle rate is way too high. Leaving them unused is a loss of state-owned... no, collective assets! Why not donate them to our 749 Bureau? 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 resembling those of 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, possesses both optical and radar stealth capabilities, and can reach a top speed of Mach 3."
Sing Sing's eyes lit up, and he went up and started touching the fuselage.
"The paint is intact, the bodywork is undamaged, 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, Sing Sing fell silent.
The entire control panel was 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 every letter individually, but when put together, it was like an encrypted file.
Slug cautiously approached him from behind and asked, "Master 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 it might be safer to be in the hands of the gangsters than to be on this plane.
Professor X, feeling helpless, walked to the hangar, took an instruction manual from a 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."
Sing Sing opened the instruction manual.
Page 1, tadpoles.
The second page still shows tadpoles.
Turning to page 30, he felt as if the tadpoles had already begun to hold a sports meet around his brain.
Time ticked by, second by second.
The lives of those in the space science field are counting down.
If he keeps researching, by the time he learns how to drive it, the grass on the other person's grave will be sprouting.
Sing Sing 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. Airplanes have wings, but the underlying logic can't be any different."
Slug's lips trembled. "Master Zhou, is it too late for me to go down now?"
"Since we're already here, buckle your seatbelts!"
Based on his intuition and the few diagrams he had just glanced at, Sing Sing 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 Charles, thanks a lot! I'll treat you to braised pork offal when I get paid!" Sing Sing 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; the nose of the plane tilted 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 wore a pair of worn-out red quartz sunglasses, carried a half-empty bottle of wine, and 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, 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 betrayed a profound 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 slightly. He didn't argue, but simply tilted his head back and downed the rest of the liquor in one gulp.
Cyclops