Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

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The moment they heard the roar of engines in the distance, Brian and Henry broke into a full sprint—well, Brian did.

Henry, on the other hand, pretended to run for his life. In reality, he was following at a brisk yet controlled pace, panic etched across his face purely for show.

Based on the runway's layout, their plane's takeoff direction, and the position of the pursuing vehicles, Henry had already calculated that their enemies would have no chance of stopping the plane. At best, they could spectate—like an uninvited farewell party, complete with deadly fireworks.

So Henry didn't plan to intervene. As long as Audrey Hepburn wasn't harmed, anything that happened remained within his acceptable loss margin. Of course, it'd be better if none of the others got killed either.

The small jet had already begun taxiing out of the hangar toward the runway. The cabin door remained open, but the whine of the engines ramping up made everyone's eardrums ring.

Brian kept a firm hand on Henry's back, both of them hunched over as they ran. They veered wide to avoid the jet's powerful intake and exhaust.

Brian shoved Henry up the steps into the aircraft, then leapt in himself—but didn't close the hatch. Instead, he yelled toward the cockpit:

> "Everyone's aboard! Take off! NOW!"

Then, half-hanging out the open cabin door, he raised his rifle and began returning fire at the pursuing vehicles—while the plane started to roll down the runway, its engines roaring louder and louder.

The sudden gunfire behind them made it clear to the rest of the passengers what kind of situation they were still in. Unfortunately, the cabin offered poor firing angles. Only Brian's exposed position allowed for a counterattack. Everyone else could do little but stare helplessly.

Well, not everyone. Bernie shoved Henry aside—not hard, but firm enough—and barked, "Get to your seat. We've got this."

Henry nodded and moved toward the center of the aircraft, where Audrey Hepburn sat.

He first checked that she had fastened her seatbelt and that her bulletproof vest was still on.

> "Everything okay, ma'am? I didn't have time to ask earlier," he said calmly.

> "I'm fine, child," Audrey replied, just as composed.

> "Once we're airborne, we'll be safe," Henry assured her, then took a seat behind her—putting himself between her and any stray bullets from the rear.

At the hatch, Bernie wrapped an arm tightly around Brian's waist with one hand while bracing himself with the other—ensuring Brian could continue firing without getting flung off the increasingly fast-moving aircraft.

The other two scrambled to hand Brian fresh weapons whenever he emptied a magazine. But they hadn't brought much ammo or gear onboard in the rush. Reloading empty magazines wasn't an option, and the available guns were rapidly running out.

Soon, the only thing left to pass to Brian was a pistol.

Thankfully, the plane had already built enough speed.

In the cockpit, the Italian pilot pulled back the yoke, and the nose lifted skyward.

The jet left the ground.

The pursuing convoy, in a final act of fury, let loose with their mounted machine guns—spraying wild, useless fire into the air.

Brian fired his last few rounds, then retreated inside. He and Bernie slammed the cabin door shut together.

Collapsing into the cabin, Brian let out a triumphant yell:

> "Hell yeah, we made it!"

> "Nice job, Brian."

> "We all kicked ass."

> "Ha! We showed those bastards."

Then, a voice that completely ignored the mood chimed in—coming from the calm, seated flight attendant:

> "Gentlemen, while I understand your excitement, the aircraft is still climbing. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts for safety."

Brian groaned but relented.

> "Alright, you old war dogs. Buckle up. Once we're level, I'll go talk to the pilot about where we're landing."

Even with the aircraft still tilted steeply during takeoff, the ex-special forces vets had no trouble navigating the narrow aisle. They made their way back to their seats like it was a stroll through the park.

And just like that, they were airborne—leaving the chaos of Somalia behind them, wrapped in the adrenaline-soaked relief of survival.

Then—

> "Hey, guys! Look!" Sam suddenly shouted. "There's a rainbow mist outside! Is this some kind of sunset effect? I've never seen anything like it!"

Everyone turned toward his window. Some admired the colors. Others gasped.

And one voice snapped:

> "Shit. We're screwed."

Bernie turned.

> "Brian, what the hell is it?"

> "Take a good look," Brian said grimly. "See where the mist is coming from? It's trailing off the wing. Now what do you think that is?"

Mark's face went pale.

> "You're not saying… that's fuel, are you?"

> "Ding ding ding! We have a winner," Brian muttered sarcastically. "Finally, someone's brain is online."

Sam, less amused, asked quietly:

> "We're not… gonna crash, right?"

> "Not yet."

> "Oh, good," Sam deadpanned. "So we'll crash later, huh."

> "But not now. That's the key point," Brian said, already unbuckling his seatbelt. "We've got time to figure something out. That's what matters. I'm going to talk to the pilot."

No one panicked. No one screamed.

That alone was a small miracle.

Still, the threat was real, and everyone instinctively cared about surviving.

Bernie and the others also unbuckled and crowded around the cockpit door. There wasn't room for everyone inside, but at least they could lean in and see what the pilot was doing.

Meanwhile, Henry sat down beside Audrey again, watching her calm expression.

> "Boss, are you alright?"

Despite the seatbelt light still being on, Audrey had shifted seats to one next to the window, allowing Henry to sit beside her.

> "I'm fine, child," she said with composure. "I just thought, after all I've seen in life, there wouldn't be many firsts left. But it looks like crashing in a plane might be one of them."

She had seen war zones. She had shot films in hostile regions. She had lived through the extremes of human experience—both wondrous and horrific.

In a world of mutants who could fly, move mountains, or breathe fire, it was hard to be shaken by the unusual.

But a mid-air crash?

Yeah… she could go her whole life without adding that one to the list.

The seasoned Italian pilot, still calm, offered his professional assessment:

> "Probably got hit by one of their machine guns during takeoff. Must've punctured the wing tank. Could be worse—at least we didn't explode into a fireball. That's something, no?"

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