The boundless expanse of the Pacific Ocean stretched endlessly, its waves crashing against a small, remote island.
Above the nearby sea, a Boeing 747 was spiraling out of control—both wings and the tail section torn away. The remaining fuselage tumbled violently across the water, hurtling straight toward the island.
Inside the rolling cabin, a tall, black-clad figure suddenly appeared in one of the seats.
Chen Mo blinked against a blinding flash of white light—and in the next instant, the office of Hydra's Norwegian base was gone. Around him, chaos reigned: twisted metal, screaming passengers, a plane spinning out of control.
He instantly recognized where—and when—he was.
The last time he had been here, he was a fugitive aboard this very plane, seconds from disaster. When the aircraft plummeted from the sky, the deadly crisis had triggered the full awakening of his power, sending him across space and time—into the world of Captain America.
There, after years of struggle and meticulous planning, he had risen to power, his strength growing to near-superhuman levels.
And now—after two long years in another world—he was back. Yet to his astonishment, nothing here had changed. The burning wreckage around him was frozen in the same instant he had left it, as though no time had passed at all.
Only he himself was different.
He was taller, broader, the aura around him sharper and heavier, like a blade drawn from its sheath. Beneath his black combat uniform gleamed the seamless plates of his adamantium armor, even his head encased in a smooth, dark helmet that left only a pair of piercing eyes visible.
Fortunately, the cabin was already a scene of madness—blood, smoke, and terror. No one was calm enough to notice his sudden transformation.
Gripping the sides of his seat, Chen Mo braced himself against the violent rotations of the fuselage. His gaze swept across the chaos, then locked on the cracked window beside him.
Luggage, debris, and human bodies hurtled through the air like deadly projectiles. Blood splattered the walls and ceiling; the screams had already faded into a suffocating silence.
Through the fractured glass, he caught a glimpse of land—a shadow of green flashing past amid the spinning blur.
Relief flickered in his chest. Land meant hope. Survival.
He wasn't afraid of drifting at sea—he had enough food, water, and inflatable rafts stored in his personal space—but he would rather not float endlessly in the ocean, waiting for rescue or the next dimensional shift.
He hooked his feet under the seat in front of him, locking his body firmly in place, freeing both hands to fend off the incoming wreckage.
With physical strength six times that of a normal human and reflexes honed beyond reason, Chen Mo could swat away flying debris with ease. His movements were precise, measured—almost calm amid the chaos.
When two girls beside him shrieked and curled into themselves, eyes squeezed shut in terror, he shifted instinctively, extending one arm to shield them.
As the cabin rolled again, the girls slammed repeatedly against their seats, the restraints straining against their weight. Without him, they would've been flung across the cabin long ago.
Debris kept coming. When he couldn't block it all, Chen Mo threw himself forward, using his armored body as a shield.
The impacts were brutal—chunks of metal and luggage slamming into his back with the force of sledgehammers—but the adamantium absorbed it all.
For anyone else, a single hit would have shattered bones. For him, it was little more than an inconvenience.
He was a killer on the battlefield, yes—cold, efficient, merciless to his enemies—but his heart was far from cruel. If someone was in danger and he could save them, he would. That was his instinct.
Still, even he had limits. Saving the two girls at his side was all he could manage. The rest of the passengers were beyond his reach.
He clenched his jaw, a dark frustration twisting inside him.
Not strong enough yet. Not enough power.
He refused to face a future where his loved ones could die before his eyes while he stood helpless. He needed more—power vast enough to control fate itself.
The wreck continued its deadly roll across the waves before crashing onto the island's shore, carving a deep scar through the sand before finally slamming into the jungle beyond. Trees shattered and splintered as the fuselage tore through the forest, until at last… it stopped.
Silence.
The wrecked plane lay broken and burning, its tail and wings gone, the remaining fuselage cracked open like a wound. Fires spread across the wreck, thick smoke curling toward the darkening sky.
Inside, the devastation was unspeakable.
Even with seat belts and safety measures, the force of the impact had hurled passengers like rag dolls. Many had died instantly; others were crushed beneath falling debris. By the time the plane came to rest, only a handful were still breathing.
Chen Mo exhaled slowly, steadying himself as the rolling ceased. The sudden stillness after the chaos made his head spin, but only for a moment.
The cabin was eerily quiet now—save for the faint crackle of fire and the soft drip of blood.
The world had turned upside down. Literally.
He pushed himself upright, scanning the wreck. Bodies hung from their belts above him, blood dripping in crimson threads. Through a jagged hole in the rear fuselage, he saw trees swaying in the sunlight.
They'd made it. The island.
Turning to his side, he checked the two girls. Both were unconscious but alive—unscathed thanks to his protection. He considered waking them, but one glance at the carnage around them changed his mind. Better they sleep a little longer.
Flames licked at the walls, heat rising fast. He knew what came next—the fuel tanks beneath the cabin were ticking bombs.
Even his armor wouldn't save him from the inferno that would follow.
He took one last breath, eyes narrowing.
It was time to move.
They had to get out—now.