Lynn Said, No Killing on Camera

At four in the morning, on the border in El Paso, Texas.

The night wind carried the acrid smell of gunpowder and the scent of dried blood.

Armed drug traffickers had turned an abandoned heavy steel mill into a fortified stronghold.

Several bullet-riddled police cars sat outside, their sirens still wailing shrilly.

"Requesting backup! We need heavy firepower! They have RPGs and heavy machine guns, and there are at least ten civilian hostages inside! When the hell is the National Guard getting here?!"

Sheltering behind cover, local Sheriff Miller roared desperately into his radio. A stray bullet had grazed his left arm, and blood had stained his uniform red.

His only answer was the harsh static from his radio, along with another burst of arrogant laughter and machine-gun fire from inside the steel mill.

Meanwhile, five thousand feet above them in the night sky, an unmarked Vought International stealth command helicopter hovered silently.

Inside the cabin, Lynn sat at a tactical console. Its screens displayed infrared thermal images of the battlefield below, along with ultra-high-definition live footage transmitted by several Vought stealth drones.

"Communications frequencies have been cut off. The surrounding airspace is clear. Drone camera team in position. Lighting tracking system in position."

The technical supervisor sent by the public relations department reported to Lynn, his tone as relaxed as if they were shooting a Hollywood blockbuster.

Lynn ignored him and turned toward the rear of the cabin instead.

Eight-year-old John stood quietly at the edge of the open cabin door.

The fierce high-altitude wind rushed inside, snapping the Stars and Stripes cape behind him, yet his slight body remained as motionless as if it had been nailed to the deck.

"John, can you hear me?" Lynn pressed the talk button on his headset.

"Loud and clear, Lynn."

John's voice came back through the tactical headset, so steady that it betrayed not the slightest fluctuation of emotion.

"Remember what I told you. First, keep the hostages alive. Second, the cameras will be following you the whole time. Show the entire United States your most perfect side."

Lynn stared at the screen. "Go. Let them see what justice descending from the heavens really looks like."

John turned his head, gave a confident smile in Lynn's direction, then stepped forward without hesitation.

No parachute. No equipment to cushion his landing.

The boy's figure instantly plunged into the endless night, tearing through the air like a meteor with a chilling shriek.

On the ground.

The drug traffickers' leader, "Scarface," had his foot planted arrogantly on the back of a crying female hostage. Holding an AK-47, he shouted at the police outside, "Listen up! You've got five more minutes to get a helicopter ready! Otherwise, I'll shoot one hostage every minute!"

Before he had finished speaking.

BOOM!!!

A deafening crash erupted in the clearing in front of the steel mill!

A violent shock wave swept sand, stones, and metal debris into the air, sending several traffickers on the perimeter flying.

Even Sheriff Miller, sheltering far away, was knocked to the ground by the impact, his ears ringing.

"An RPG?! Those lunatics are even using RPGs?!" Miller looked up in horror, only to see something he would never forget for the rest of his life.

The clouds of dust gradually cleared.

There was no missile wreckage in the center of the half-meter-deep impact crater.

Standing there was a blond, blue-eyed little boy in a dark blue combat suit.

Two golden eagles perched on the boy's shoulders, and behind him hung a Stars and Stripes cape that remained dazzling despite its coating of dust.

Amid the dark ruins, a Vought International drone quietly cast an exceptionally precise, cool-white spotlight directly over the boy, making him look like a holy angel descended from myth.

The entire battlefield fell deathly silent. Police and drug traffickers alike were dumbstruck.

"What the fuck is that thing? Where did that kid come from?!"

Scarface froze for two seconds, then roared, "Shoot! Fill him full of holes!"

Ratatatatat!

More than a dozen automatic rifles opened fire at once, their dense bullets weaving a web of fire that instantly swallowed the boy at the bottom of the crater.

Yet a sight that inspired despair unfolded.

The bullets, powerful enough to tear through steel plate, struck the boy's face, eyes, and combat suit as though hitting an indestructible titanium-alloy wall. One after another, they crumpled into scrap metal and fell helplessly to the ground.

Amid the shower of sparks, John slowly raised his head.

He remembered Lynn's instructions and silently calculated the angles of the drone cameras overhead.

Then he gave the traffickers spraying bullets at him a compassionate, warm smile that nevertheless carried supreme majesty.

"Gentlemen."

John's clear voice pierced the roar of gunfire, reaching everyone's ears distinctly. "You broke the rules and created fear. But now, your fear ends here."

The instant he finished speaking, two dazzling points of dark red light flared in John's eyes.

Hiss!!!

Two searing beams of Heat Vision swept out like the Grim Reaper's scythe.

John strictly obeyed the rule against "showing excessive gore on camera." Rather than aiming his Heat Vision at people, he severed the guns in the traffickers' hands with terrifying precision, then continued the sweep to slice through the steel support columns holding up the mill's gate.

Crash! The heavy iron gate collapsed, knocking unconscious several traffickers who could not dodge in time.

"A monster... he's a monster! Fall back! Get inside the mill! Use the hostages as human shields!"

Scared out of his wits, Scarface scrambled deeper into the mill.

Suspended in midair, John floated into the mill as casually as if taking a leisurely stroll.

Inside the mill, the light was dim, and there were several blind spots beyond the searchlights of the drones and helicopter.

One trafficker hid behind a load-bearing wall, his arm locked tightly around a six-year-old girl's neck. Clutching a grenade with its safety pin pulled, he screamed frantically at John as he floated inside, "Stay back! Come any closer and I'll take her down with me!"

The little girl trembled all over in terror, unable even to cry aloud.

John stopped in midair. The practiced smile on his face instantly vanished without a trace, replaced by a coldness like absolute zero.

He looked around, confirming that this was a camera blind spot.

"Lynn said, no killing on camera."

John murmured those words softly, then vanished from where he hovered.

The trafficker saw only a blur as a fierce gust swept past.

He did not even feel pain. He only heard a muffled tearing sound.

The trafficker lowered his head and stared blankly at the arm that had been holding the grenade-it was gone. Along with half his shoulder, it had been forcibly torn off by an incomprehensibly terrifying force, and blood gushed out like a fountain.

And the grenade with its safety pin pulled rested securely in John's palm.