Drifting weightlessly in the infinite blackness of space, bathed in the unfiltered, life-giving torrent of solar radiation, Zhou Yi experienced a profound physical and mental satisfaction. This was far more than relaxation; it was a state of pure energetic saturation.
The light acted as a celestial hot spring, flooding his enhanced physiology and pushing the energy reserves displayed on the Dawn Type-1's internal diagnostic panel toward dangerous levels of overflow.
This incomparable serenity was abruptly shattered by the clinical voice of his AI.
"Director, a new priority incident has been flagged in our coverage sector of Manhattan. It involves a coordinated financial robbery with escalating collateral damage. My analysis suggests you should re-evaluate your criteria for engagement."
"Medusa, remain dispassionate. A simple bank robbery is an issue for the NYPD, not a world-class solution to existential threats," Zhou Yi responded, allowing a flash of impatience to momentarily cloud his focus. He had no intention of becoming a planetary janitor, dealing with every petty crime.
Such omnipresence would only breed counter-productive resentment and undermine the very institutions he sought to protect. Why should he risk exposing his identity to save a few thousand dollars when the local police force was perfectly capable of handling it?
"The classification is no longer 'simple robbery,' Director. The perpetrators are professionally armed and operating with military discipline. More critically, they have commandeered a yellow student transport bus containing twenty-four primary school children as non-negotiable human shields. Police response is currently constrained to containment, and initial reports indicate multiple civilian casualties from the pursuit phase. This is now categorized as a high-stakes, maximum-lethality hostage crisis, exceeding local law enforcement capability."
Zhou Yi's mental landscape instantly shifted. Hostages, especially children, changed the calculus entirely. Sparing the police's feelings was irrelevant when innocent lives were on the line.
"Location and trajectory."
"Target vehicle is advancing rapidly towards the Brooklyn Bridge. Based on their current speed and the established police blockade ahead, contact and definitive containment are projected to occur in precisely five minutes and seventeen seconds."
Without another word, Zhou Yi angled his body, ignited his primary thrusters, and dove.
The velocity of his descent was catastrophic. The black armor became wreathed in blazing red fire streaks as he tore through the upper atmospheric layers.
The friction of the air molecules against the nanometal surface was intense, but the Alpha Nanometal Type VII held flawlessly, the outermost layer glowing with a faint, manageable crimson heat—a testament to its extreme thermal insulation and structural integrity.
The tranquil void of space was instantly traded for a maelstrom of sound and energy as he plunged toward the dense, chaotic air over New York City.
Medusa provided a continuous stream of navigational and tactical data, allowing Zhou Yi to modulate his speed just enough to avoid causing a destructive sonic boom over the densely populated boroughs, yet fast enough to arrive moments before the projected timeline.
Below, the Brooklyn Bridge was a scene of unmitigated chaos. A runaway yellow school bus, scarred by bullet holes and mangled from impacts, was cornered near the apex of the structure. Behind it, a trail of destruction marked its rampage: crushed vehicles, overturned civilian cars, and the flashing, impotent sirens of several abandoned police cruisers.
The bus, a symbol of safety warped into a cage, finally ground to a halt against a newly established, hastily constructed police barricade near the bridge's midpoint. The standoff had begun.
Inside the bus, a man whose face was obscured by a thick, dark balaclava—the Leader—shouted toward the steering column, his M4A1 held ready. "Bar! What in God's name is the obstruction?"
The driver, a thin, nervous figure, threw his rifle against the reinforced door in frustration. "The entire bridge is choked, Boss! Those damned cops mobilized faster than we anticipated! They've locked down the exit lanes with reinforced tactical vehicles! We can't drive through it!"
The Leader paced frantically toward the front, seeing the dozen or more police cars and the hastily erected Kevlar barricades. He knew tactical deployment when he saw it. The window for a clean escape had slammed shut.
He roughly shoved a terrified woman—a bank employee with a nasty bleeding wound on her arm—toward the broken front door. He used her as a human megaphone. "Listen up, you uniformed fools! I am giving you exactly four minutes to clear this road! If I see one tire tread still on that asphalt, I start executing the cargo! This pathetic distraction is your last chance to comply!"
From behind a heavily armored SUV, NYPD Commissioner George Stacy, a man whose face was etched with decades of dealing with the worst of humanity, grabbed a megaphone. His voice was stern but controlled, trying to project authority without inciting panic.
"I am Commissioner Stacy. You are surrounded by armed response teams, and specialized units are moving into position! You know this situation is unwinnable. Release the children, surrender your weapons now, and we can discuss terms for safe extraction!"
The robbers' reply was a deafening burst of automatic fire, tearing through the air where Stacy's head had been moments before. Stacy ducked, cursing silently as a hail of spent brass rained down on his head.
"Chief, the snipers?" a young officer whispered urgently.
Stacy shook his head grimly. "They are professionals. Trained. They're using the children as mobile shields. Our snipers can't guarantee a clean shot on all three. This is why I despised the rise of paramilitary thieves—they understand angles better than we do!"
The Leader, impatient with the silence, renewed his threat. "Time's up, pigs! I see no movement! You want a demonstration?" He raised his weapon.
Stacy, his heart pounding with dread, knew he was losing the negotiating high ground. These men were not bluffing. "Hold on! I need more time to clear a path! Don's make this worse than it already is!"
The Leader scanned the surrounding bridge structure, his combat instincts overriding his panic. He immediately spotted the faint reflection of a concealed scope—a sniper team had indeed taken position.
"You were stalling!" the Leader shrieked, firing a frantic burst toward the high reflection.
Simultaneously, the seasoned sniper, having seen the weapon raised and judging the hostage's life to be in immediate peril, took the shot. The projectile was accurate, intended for the Leader's head, but the robber's battle-honed reflex—years of surviving fire—caused him to instinctively duck and shift. The bullet grazed his shoulder instead, searing away a chunk of flesh.
The unexpected pain and noise caused the hostage the Leader was holding to instinctively recoil and stumble, falling to the bridge deck.
Enraged and bleeding, the Leader ignored the escaping woman and focused his fury on the prone figure, a clear example of the robbers' absolute lack of moral restraint.
"You move, you die!" The Leader brought the rifle down, aligning the barrel with the fallen hostage's head.
The hostage, a middle-aged woman named Sarah, choked out a desperate, tearful plea. "No! Please, I have kids, please!"
The robber pulled the trigger without hesitation. Stacy, witnessing the inevitable failure of his entire operation, reflexively squeezed his eyes shut.
The expected sound of a single, fatal gunshot was drowned out by a deafening, localized thunderclap and a furious gust of wind that slammed Stacy against the vehicle, forcing his eyes wide open.
In the fraction of a second the bullet was mid-flight, a translucent shield of highly energetic, distorted light had materialized around the fallen woman. The bullet, and three others fired in panic by the remaining robbers, hung suspended in the air at the shield's periphery, their trajectories arrested by an invisible force field.
Hovering silently above the shield, slowly descending to the asphalt, was a figure clad in intimidating, obsidian-black armor, emblazoned with the blazing gold solar emblem. He landed with a heavy, controlled thud that vibrated through the bridge deck.
"What in the name of God is that thing?" The Leader stammered, his eyes wide with a mixture of dread and disbelief.
Zhou Yi, his movements economical and purposeful, dropped to one knee beside the hostage. The visor of the Dawn Type-1 glowed, and the internal medical scanner immediately provided data. Medusa's voice, audible only to Zhou Yi, was calm amid the chaos:
"Director, the female hostage, Sarah, is experiencing severe vascular trauma—a femoral artery tear in her left leg from shrapnel penetration and a high-velocity puncture wound to her right arm. She is entering hypovolemic shock. She requires immediate external compression and rapid transport to a Level 1 trauma center."
Ignoring the armed men, Zhou Yi smoothly lifted the dazed woman into his arms. He chose a slow, deliberate walk toward the police barricade. He intentionally avoided flight or superspeed; such rapid maneuvers would risk causing a secondary shockwave or appearing overly aggressive, which might provoke the police to unleash a panicked volley of friendly fire. His slow, measured pace was a display of absolute control—a psychological message that their paltry weapons were irrelevant.
Stacy, regaining his footing, watched in stunned silence as the armored figure approached, carrying the woman effortlessly. He signaled frantically to his men. "Hold fire! Do not shoot! Maintain position!"
Zhou Yi reached the barricade. Without a word, he gently transferred the injured woman to Stacy's officers, who rushed her toward the waiting, distant ambulance.
Stacy, gripping his megaphone, stepped forward, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Who are you? Identify yourself now."
Zhou Yi's voice, synthesized and resonating with an unnerving, low frequency, answered directly.
"Commissioner Stacy, my identity is not relevant to the crisis at hand. Consider me a gentlemanly knight who found himself passing by. I believe the situation beyond the barricade requires immediate, decisive action that your resources cannot currently provide."
Stacy's authority instantly bristled. "I won't accept aid from a masked individual who violates every established protocol!"
"Then you will accept the inevitable slaughter of two dozen children, sir," Zhou Yi countered, his voice flat. He turned his back on the police line. "Since your current strategy has reached a clear point of failure, I suggest you allow the alternative option to proceed. I will resolve this."
He began his slow, measured walk toward the school bus, the golden sun on his chest facing the bewildered robbers.
"Chief, what's the protocol?" a nearby officer yelled, fear evident in his voice.
Stacy watched the black figure advance, the epitome of an unstoppable force. He knew the man's sudden appearance was the only chance they had.
"Order of the day: Protect the remaining hostages. Keep your weapons trained on the bus, but do not fire without my direct command! This… gentleman is our only play."
The three robbers, witnessing the armored man's arrogant approach, went into a frenzy.
"Stop, you freak! I said stop!" the Leader screamed, his military training dissolving into panicked rage.
Zhou Yi ignored him, closing the distance from two hundred meters, maintaining his slow, steady pace. This deliberate psychological pressure proved too much. The Leader, the thin driver, and the second large robber (Andrew) all simultaneously opened fire, aiming at the center mass of the advancing figure.
The cacophony of M4 and AK-74 fire was deafening. Sparks flew violently as the high-velocity rounds slammed into the Alpha Nanometal Type VII plating. The bullets either deflected with a high-pitched whine or flattened instantly into harmless, deformed slugs that fell to the bridge deck.
The Dawn Type-1 armor sustained the barrage without so much as a tremor. The impact force, while immense, was completely neutralized by the suit's kinetic dampeners.
"Damn it! What kind of monster is this? He's not even staggering!" Andrew screamed, his voice strained with terror as he continued to empty his magazine.
The Leader watched the black figure advance, undeterred, the rhythmic thud-clank of his armored boots echoing menacingly. He realized the battle was already lost if it remained a simple exchange of fire.
Zhou Yi, meanwhile, was assessing the situation with clinical detachment. He could cross the remaining distance in a thousandth of a second, but the risk remained too high. Even the focused wind blast created by a supersonic dash would shatter the bus windows, potentially injuring the children with flying glass and sudden air pressure.
How did Quicksilver manage to run at Mach 5 through a crowded street without causing a catastrophic shockwave? Zhou Yi mused internally, annoyed by the logistical limitations of his power set when dealing with delicate hostage situations. He was forced to move slowly and patiently.
As he closed to one hundred meters, the Leader, consumed by desperation, yanked out a different weapon from the bus—a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) launcher.
"Die, you metallic beast!" The Leader mounted the weapon, aiming at the figure's chest, and pulled the trigger.
The 40mm rocket, a high-explosive anti-tank projectile, roared toward Zhou Yi, trailing thick smoke and a deadly yellow-orange tail flame.
Zhou Yi did not speed up. He did not dodge. He simply extended his right hand toward the incoming projectile. At five meters, his gauntlet slammed around the nose of the rocket. The fusion of immense kinetic strength and the hyper-durable nanometal held the ordinance rigid for a split second before the warhead's fuse completed its cycle.
The subsequent blast was spectacular. A deafening CRUMP, followed by a roiling sphere of orange flame, smoke, and superheated air. Turbulent currents scattered debris across the bridge. The sheer force shook the school bus violently on its springs, and the police barricade shuddered under the pressure wave.
The Leader and his remaining robbers, seeing the figure engulfed in the explosion, breathed a collective sigh of relief, lowering their weapons for the first time since the standoff began.
On the police side, Commissioner Stacy grimaced, many officers instinctively crossing themselves, believing the mysterious ally had been vaporized.
But when the smoke cleared, the scene was fundamentally, terrifyingly unchanged.
Standing exactly where he had caught the rocket, Zhou Yi was unharmed. His armor, though coated in soot and residue, was pristine. The hand that had gripped the RPG was intact, save for a minor section of the plating now shimmering with white-hot residue. The Alpha Nanometal Type VII had absorbed the blast wave.
Zhou Yi simply dropped the molten, useless wreckage of the RPG launcher to the ground. The only sign of damage was an ominous, smoking black scorch mark across the otherwise flawless golden sun emblem on his chest.
The robbers' faces drained of color. This was not a man. This was an entity.