The Gulfstream G650's landing gear scraped hard against the runway, sending high-frequency vibrations through the fuselage. The speed brakes rose, and the roar of reverse thrust filled the cabin.
Jessica pressed her face against the bulletproof window, staring out at the blinding California sunshine, still clutching a half-finished glass of champagne.
Trish touched up her lipstick with a compact mirror, eagerly anticipating their upcoming trip to Hollywood. Neither woman had stopped since boarding, sampling every premium snack at the bar.
Yang Ming sat in an armchair, leisurely slipping several high-carbon titanium alloy scalpels back into the tactical straps on the outside of his thigh and covering them with the hem of his coat.
He had classified the three mercenary squads Tony mentioned in the video as "high-risk medical waste." Disposing of waste required a sorting plan prepared in advance.
The cabin door opened. A wave of heat rushed inside, mingling with the scents of jet fuel and the Pacific Ocean sea breeze.
Below the boarding stairs, several black, full-size SUVs formed a semicircle on the private apron at Los Angeles International Airport. A silver-gray Audi R8 sports car occupied the most prominent spot.
Tony Stark leaned against its door, wearing a bright red Hawaiian shirt, loose beach shorts, and his trademark brown-tinted sunglasses. The blue glow of the Miniature Arc Reactor in his chest shone through the thin fabric.
To his left stood Pepper Potts in a fitted business suit. She held a stack of folders, her back perfectly straight above her stiletto heels.
To his right was Dr. Yinsen, now dressed in a clean casual suit, looking far healthier than he had in the cave in Afghanistan.
A portly man, Happy Hogan, stood farther out, wearing a radio earpiece and scanning their surroundings warily.
Yang Ming carried his backpack