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Anthony then reconnected with Ashley.
"Ashley, I need you to activate 'Hurricane' contingency plan."
"Sir?" Ashley on the other end of the phone was stunned.
"Wake up all our 'friends' embedded in CNN, Fox, and Reuters. I don't care what excuse they use, I don't care if they claim a fuel leak or high-altitude bird migration—I need at least ten news helicopters to fill the airspace east of Florida within the next hour."
...Above Florida, at an altitude of ten thousand meters.
Anthony floated in the stratosphere, moving through the thin clouds.
He wasn't wearing his flashy uniform, but rather a special stealth flight suit from Vought, making him almost invisible on radar.
High-sensitivity tactical headphones were plugged into his ears.
"Ashley," he whispered into the communicator, his voice as calm as if he were ordering food, "Are the cameras in position?"
"Sir," Ashley's voice came from the Vought Tower command center, with a hint of excited tremor, "Thirteen news helicopters have entered the edge of the target airspace under the pretext of 'extreme weather reporting.' They are equipped with top-tier telephoto lenses. As long as you request it, we can cut to a global live broadcast within five seconds."
"Excellent."
"Also," Ashley added, "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s 'friends' just sent a final confirmation. President Matthew Ellis's air force one will enter your interception point in three minutes. War Machine... is really on board."
"Of course he's on board." Anthony chuckled softly.
"Sir, target spotted." Ashley's voice came through.
Anthony's X-ray vision had already penetrated the clouds, locking onto the iconic Boeing 747 dozens of kilometers away.
"Received, track my position, activate in twenty minutes." Anthony turned off the communicator.
Like a meteor, he silently streaked across the sky, trailing air force one from afar... One hour earlier, the Iron Patriot armor landed steadily in front of air force one's runway.
Inside, of course, was not Rhodes, but Killian's capable assistant, Erik Savin.
President Ellis, unaware of the truth, personally saluted and said, "Colonel Rhodes, with you here, I feel this is the safest place in the U.S."
Erik Savin in the armor said nothing, merely nodding.
Secret Service Agents, completely unprepared, allowed him to board the plane.
The plane then climbed to cruising altitude.
Savin glanced at the clock on the plane and walked towards the Presidential conference room.
The Agents on the plane also relaxed their guard, even preparing to take selfies when they saw the Iron Patriot approaching.
Without warning, Savin shoved them into a compartment and pressed his crimson-red hand against the compartment's door lock and seams, instantly welding the alloy door shut!
Savin then strode towards the conference room in the middle of the cabin.
President Matthew Ellis was holding a meeting with his senior advisors.
One of the President's personal bodyguards looked at him suspiciously, but Savin unhesitatingly sent the bodyguard to his demise.
"Rhodes?! Are you crazy?!" a subordinate roared.
Secret Service Agents immediately drew their guns and retaliated; they were the elite of the elite.
But the bullets striking the Iron Patriot's armor only produced a series of meaningless sparks.
Savin's movements were clean and precise; in three minutes, the conference room was cleared.
The scene was chaotic, with only the terrified, pale-faced President and his deputy cowering under the table, trembling.
As the table was overturned and the deputy executed, President Ellis himself still had some backbone; he snatched a handgun dropped by an Agent nearby and aimed it at Savin.
"Bang!"
Savin pulled him up and pressed him against the cabin wall.
"Ah—!"
Savin tore off the armor's helmet, revealing his cold face.
This wasn't Rhodes, President Ellis gasped.
"If you have the guts, kill me!" Ellis feigned toughness.
"Don't be in a hurry, Mr. President. Your stage isn't here." Savin sneered.
He gave the President no chance, roughly dragging Matthew Ellis and forcibly stuffing him into the internal cavity of the Iron Patriot armor.
"Bang!" The armor closed.
Savin quickly set coordinates on the arm's control panel.
"Swoosh—!"
The Iron Patriot armor, carrying the President, automatically detached from air force one and disappeared into the sky.
"Goodbye, Mr. President."
With that, the President was successfully abducted.
Savin remained in the cabin, locking the remaining officials and crew members in the tail section, and prepared to parachute out himself.
Inadvertently, the corner of his eye caught a glimpse outside the window.
His body suddenly tensed up!
A figure.
A black figure bathed in sunlight, quietly hovering outside the cabin, looking at him emotionlessly through three layers of glass.
"That face... Homelander?!"
Savin was stunned. Damn it, how could he be here?!
Anthony slowly revealed an eight-toothed smile at him.
"Damn it, it's perfect."
Outside the window, Anthony witnessed all of this.
His X-ray vision saw everything clearly.
The President was stuffed into a can and flew away.
"Well done, darling." Anthony's face showed a standard smile, and he suddenly tore off his stealth flight suit, revealing his blue spandex, star-spangled uniform.
Swoosh—!!!
He transformed into a streak of light, and in Savin's astonished gaze, he crashed through three layers of alloy bulkheads, hovering in the center of the cabin.
He was bathed in shattered electrical sparks, his star-spangled cape wildly fluttering behind him.
"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt." Anthony's voice drowned out the howling wind, "The in-flight service on this flight looks terrible."
Savin was momentarily at a loss for how to react; he hadn't expected this biggest variable to appear here.
"You damn..."
"Shh." Anthony raised a finger, "Where did the President go?"
"Ha!" Savin laughed, "Guess what? You think you won? You're too late, hero!"
Savin's body began to glow, the Extremis virus pushed to its limit.
He charged towards Anthony like a walking human furnace.
"Go find him in hell!!"
He punched Anthony in the face, his fist carrying a high temperature capable of melting steel.
He was going to burn a hole through this 'Blonde Sweetheart's' head!
Anthony remained motionless.
"Bang!"
A dull thud.
Savin's fist landed squarely on Anthony's face.
...
Savin's smile froze.
His fist was smoking, but that face... was completely unharmed.
"Is that all?" Anthony slowly spoke, "Your body temperature... probably three thousand degrees? You tried hard, but it's not enough."
"No... impossible..." Savin felt a hint of fear; this person's skin was too thick...