"Colonel Rhodey? What are you doing?!"
The President's eyes widened, senators around him dumbfounded. Elite bodyguards drew their pistols and fired rapidly.
But the bullets couldn't even scratch the Iron Patriot. They were swatted aside like nothing.
Instead, the Gatling gun on his shoulder unleashed a storm of fire, mowing down the guards in seconds. The front row of senators didn't escape either.
In front of Iron Man's might, ordinary humans were as fragile as ants.
With a stomp, the last senator's skull burst, blood and brain matter spraying.
The Iron Patriot stood tall. The faceplate hissed open—not Rhodey, but a stranger.
"Mr. President, do you like the banquet I've prepared for you?" Killian smiled.
"You… who the hell are you?!"
The President's terror-stricken gaze locked onto him. They were ten thousand meters in the sky. No rescue could reach him. He was meat on Killian's chopping block.
Washington, Pentagon, Air Force Command.
"Sir! We've lost contact with Air Force One!" A soldier cried out.
The monitors turned to static, though the radar still showed the plane in steady flight.
"Contact Colonel Rhodey immediately!" the commander barked, his heart pounding.
"Colonel Rhodey has also gone dark!"
The news nearly made him explode, but there was nothing anyone could do.
Back on Air Force One, Killian sneered. "No one is coming to save you. Waiting for Stark? He's locked up. Captain America? He can't fly this high. So you'd better obey me, Mr. President, because I don't want to bring back a broken version of you. That would ruin my performance."
In his mind, he was already the world's next leader, with his Extremis soldiers as the new ruling class.
The Iron Patriot raised his arm toward the President—then froze.
Killian frowned. The President followed his gaze… and saw a bald head gleaming in the sunlight outside the window.
A yellow-and-purple jumpsuit. White cape fluttering. A figure keeping pace with the aircraft.
"Sa… Saitama?! You're Saitama! Stark Industries' spokesman! Mr. Saitama, save me!!"
The President, moments ago on the brink of madness, shouted like a drowning man grabbing a lifeboat.
Killian's face darkened. The last person he wanted to see was Saitama—the monster who had once made headlines in America before vanishing.
"Years ago, maybe you'd have scared me away," Killian sneered.
The Gatling spun, unleashing a torrent toward the President.
A white cape fluttered. Bullets clinked to the floor, twisted and harmless.
"Not bad speed. Let's see your strength."
The Iron Patriot's fist roared down.
Boom!
The alloy floor warped. But Saitama caught the punch with one hand.
Even the shoulder thrusters shrieked, trying to force the fist forward. It didn't budge.
"This is your strength?" Saitama asked, puzzled.
His fingers clenched slightly. The titanium fist cracked under the pressure.
Killian's eyes went wild. Molten cracks spread across his body. His fist glowed red-hot, smashing into Saitama's chest.
Clang!
Instead of piercing through, it was like punching an iron plate. Pain shot up his arm, bones nearly shattering.
Expressionless, Saitama grabbed his wrist, pulling him back as if to throw him.
Killian's instincts screamed. Even as an Extremis-enhanced being, he couldn't win. Escape!
With a sickening rip, he tore off his own arm at the shoulder, molten flesh glowing.
"Damn you, Saitama! You forced me to this! Next time we meet—it'll be your death!" Killian snarled, blasting through the fuselage in the Iron Patriot, fleeing into the sky.
The severed arm glowed dangerously, leaking unstable energy.
Saitama casually flung it away.
But Air Force One groaned. The torn fuselage gaped like a ripped banana, pressure ripping it apart.
Passengers screamed as they were sucked out.
"Save me!!"
"I don't want to die!"
"Master, I've tagged 987 passengers falling into the sky. I'll repair the fuselage, please recover them." The sweet voice of the 001 AI copy chimed from the tactical ring.
Saitama glanced at the flailing bodies, then vanished in a crackle of electricity.
In the stunned gaze of the President, arcs flashed again. A moment later, dozens of officials and senators tumbled onto the cabin floor, screaming in confusion.
Meanwhile, the black tactical ring expanded, weaving an iron curtain over the breach. The hole sealed, but the engines were failing, sending the plane plummeting.
"I've marked the nearest air base. Please land her safely," 001 intoned.
Saitama said nothing.
He pushed open the hatch, dove out, then slid beneath Air Force One. Muscles tensed, cape flaring—
And the bald hero carried the massive aircraft through the clouds, slowly bringing it down onto the runway of an American air base.
(End of Chapter)
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