Invasion of the United States

The cabin was dimly lit, with only a faint emergency light embedded in the cabin wall, casting a cold white glow.

He looked around. In the narrow space, there wasn't a second figure; only the metallic cabin walls reflected the dim light, appearing cold and silent.

He looked down. His fingers held a pulse oximeter, there was an IV injection in his arm, and a catheter attached below. Every move made him wince.

He gritted his teeth, enduring the pain to remove these restraints one by one, and calmly pondered, "Where am I?"

Rubbing his slightly numb wrists, he noticed a note stuck to the cabin wall in front of him. The handwriting was crooked, clearly his own.

Squinting to look closely, he read: "Don't panic. You've only injected 'X' enhancer, which causes temporary brain malfunction, like a hard drive being formatted.

The mitochondria in your cells provide more energy, but your muscles and bones remain in their original state.

Based on previous experience, your brain will take 20-30 days to recover, and your body will take six months to a year to fully strengthen.

During this period, your physiological instincts will function normally, but your emotions will become exceptionally indifferent. Just follow the arrangements of those around you, there's no need to worry."

Zhou Qingfeng stared emotionlessly at the note for a few minutes. He had indeed entered a state of neither joy nor sorrow, neither shock nor panic, like a calmly operating machine.

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But the cabin was empty, not even a shadow of someone breathing.

His strength had not yet returned. He staggered slightly as he stood up, steadied himself by holding onto the cabin wall, and glanced out the porthole, "I'm inside a small aircraft."

"But there's no one else around." He looked through the porthole. Outside, it was pitch-black, with only occasional flashes of light and a distant, indistinct horizon.

"'X' enhancer? Didn't I already inject it once? Why do it again?" He explored around, trying to find clues.

"Where is this plane headed? Where's the pilot? Who put me in here?"

Zhou Qingfeng had considered countless scenarios for his situation post-coma, but he never expected to be officially pursued at a critical moment.

Let alone waking up alone in the midst of an emergency evacuation, inside an aircraft with an unknown destination.

His gaze fell back on the note, the familiar handwriting seemed to mock him, while the night outside the cabin felt like a massive net silently enveloping him.

Subconsciously, Zhou Qingfeng's hand gripped the Warthog's control stick, his palm feeling the cold metal.

The onboard system immediately responded, a cold synthetic voice sounding in his ear, "Disengage autopilot?"

"No..." Zhou Qingfeng refused.

The cabin was empty, with only the dim green light from the dashboard reflecting his furrowed brow. The engine's low hum sounded like the breathing of a trapped beast, monotonous and oppressive.

It felt like he had drunk too much, blacked out, and needed time to recall something.

But the blank brain and solitary environment kept reminding him: something had definitely gone wrong. But what exactly, he couldn't pinpoint.

After over an hour of continuous high-speed flight, the system suddenly issued a sharp alert, "Battery low, fuel remaining: 20%."

The sound was like an urgent bell, forcing him to make a quick decision.

Zhou Qingfeng fumbled with the control interface beside the pilot seat, swiping his finger across the screen, discovering an option— "Emergency Autoland."

The onboard computer would autonomously choose an appropriate location and method to ensure a safe landing. This seemed the most reliable choice right now.

Watching the decreasing battery level, he decisively pressed the confirm button.

The Warthog immediately slowed down, the roar of its eight electric engines gradually subsided, the fuselage trembled slightly as it began to descend slowly.

The onboard lidar activated, a green topographical scan appeared on the screen, with fine lines outlining the contours below.

The airflow beneath the wings roared and tumbled, as Zhou Qingfeng stared intently out the window. The ground emerged vaguely through the night.

Vertical take-offs and landings didn't require a very flat ground; even some bumps didn't matter.

Half a minute later, with a slight jolt, the Warthog landed steadily, and the cabin door clicked open.

A gust of cool wind blew in, mixed with the scent of soil and grass.

Zhou Qingfeng jumped down from the cabin, his feet landing on solid ground. The solid feeling made him particularly comfortable.

He took a deep breath, rubbed his stiff neck, preparing to survey the surroundings, when suddenly a rough shout came from behind:

"Hey, yellow monkey, where did you come from? That machine you're flying looks nice, must be quite rich."

The voice was abrupt and piercing.

Zhou Qingfeng quickly turned around. Under the cold white light of the Warthog's descent lights, he glimpsed a figure darting out from the darkness.

The man was tall, reeked of alcohol, and a coarse large hand suddenly slapped his shoulder.

Almost instinctively, Zhou Qingfeng lowered his body, counter-elbowing fiercely at the man's ribs.

The man grunted in pain, barely having time to react. Zhou Qingfeng followed up with a swift straight punch to the chin.

Then, grabbing the man's loose collar, tripping him with a hooking foot move, he twisted his body, throwing the man cleanly over his shoulder.

The guy screamed, flew four or five meters like a sack, and crashed to the ground. Amidst the rising dust, he twitched twice and passed out.

This set of moves was Zhou Qingfeng's instinctive reaction. After completing them, he stood in place, coldly surveying the fallen drunkard.

The descent lights cast hard and merciless shadows on his face. Some hidden memories were piecing together, appearing in his once blank mind.

"My rebirth cannot be so mediocre."

"My existence is not for making money and enjoying life."

"My goal is...to face the apocalypse."

Kill mode, activated!