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"You know what?" Anthony tilted his head, offering a pitying smile. "I really hate you lab rats."
"It reminds me of some ugly memories—though they're not even mine."
"What do you know!" Savan roared, stepping back and slamming the detonator.
BOOM—!!!
He'd blown the charges he'd hidden in the cabin wall.
He knew he couldn't win in a fight—but he had a Plan B!
WHOOSH—!!!
A ten-meter hole gaped in the fuselage.
At ten-thousand meters, the pressure differential ripped carts, luggage, papers—and—"Aaaaah—!!"
Thirteen surviving crew, aides, and agents snapped like cut strings, shrieking as the hurricane sucked them into the void.
"Hahahahaha!!" Savan laughed himself hoarse.
"Go save them, Homelander!" he snarled. "Go on! You're the hero, right? Hahaha!"
Savan gloated at Anthony.
"You're loud." Anthony cut him off, ice-cold.
The laughter died.
"Thought you'd given me a problem?"
A cruel grin split Anthony's face.
"I'm not here to play your game, you… overheated trash."
Savan's instincts screamed; he reached to blow himself up.
ZZZZT—!!!
Crimson light blazed from Anthony's eyes.
No time to react.
Twin beams—core temp over 5,000 °C—swept across.
Splat—!
Eric Savan's head parted like a sliced watermelon.
The half-corpse thudded to its knees, cauterized black.
Anthony didn't spare it another glance.
"Ashley," he reopened the comm, voice calm, "Plan A complete. Initiating Plan B."
"B… Plan B? What Plan B?" Ashley blurted.
"Exactly."
Anthony strode to the jagged hole. Wind howled; his cape snapped.
Below, thirteen black dots flickered through the clouds.
"Plan B is… camera time."
His eyes flared—not to kill, but to cut.
He targeted the carpeted alloy floor still bolted to seven rows of seats.
SKREEE—!!
Heat-vision sheared the airframe like a scalpel.
"Cut… cut… turn… one more…"
Like a meticulous artist he carved a perfect rectangle into Air Force One's belly.
"Open."
He slammed both feet against the slab.
CLANG—!!!
A ten-by-five-meter section—seats and all—ripped free.
Anthony grabbed the edge, steadying the makeshift raft.
He swung it around and dove after the screaming thirteen.
"Aaaah, I'm gonna die!"
A stewardess flailed, air too thin to breathe.
Just before blackout, an arm hooked her waist.
"Hey."
She opened her eyes to the face seen only on TV and in dreams.
"Homelander?!"
"Hold tight, sweetheart." He flashed a million-dollar smile.
Gently he tossed her into a seat on the slab.
Thud!
"Sit. Buckle up, ma'am."
"What?!"
"Buckle up. Ride's gonna be bumpy."
"Aaaah!!"
He ignored her shrieks and streaked to the next.
"Help me! Help!" a senior aide plummeted.
Homelander snagged his collar.
Thud—another.
"Buckle."
"Next!"
Thud.
"Buckle!!"
"Next!"
Thud.
"Buckle!!!"
Last one.
"Done."
Thirteen. Not one more, not one less—everyone on the flying platform.
Most were catatonic, yet instinct snapped belts and grabbed armrests.
"Ladies and gentlemen."
Homelander gripped the front lip, acting as nose-cone.
He cleared his throat and beamed his trademark grin.
"Welcome aboard… Homelander Flight!"
"Expect turbulence—keep your damn belts fastened!"
VROOOM—!!
He accelerated; the slab leveled off, gliding smoothly under his tow.
Meanwhile, Times Square, New York.
The usual chaos of lights and crowds.
A colossal billboard looped the Homelander: Origins trailer.
Every screen suddenly went black.
"Hey, what gives?"
"Where's my Homelander eye-candy?!"
In unison, every display cut to an emergency live feed.
"…My God, we're witnessing the unbelievable!"
Aerial chopper footage shook across the screens.
Air Force One—what was left of it!
A slab of deck carrying a dozen people glided over the Manhattan skyline!
At its prow, the red-and-blue figure led them.
"He did it… Homelander… he caught them all!!"
"He sliced the plane into a life-raft, holy—"
Thousands in Times Square craned their heads, mouths agape.
They saw the very figure from the broadcast swoop into view.
Homelander held the platform perfectly level, cruising above the city.
He heard the roar below—and didn't care.
His Vought Media chopper hovered at the perfect angle.
"Closer! Tight shot—now!" the onboard cameraman yelled.
"Now!"
Homelander hovered dead-center above Times Square.
Slowly, he shifted stance.
From towing… to lifting.
He slipped beneath the slab, hoisting the thirteen lives—and tons of alloy—on his shoulders.
CLICK—!!!
The Vought photographer snapped the shutter.
That frame was destined to become legend.