Sixty seconds had already passed, but I had managed to bleed off a significant portion of the plane's speed, buying myself a little more time.
Lara even had a speed overlay running in my vision, constantly updating as I worked.
Beyond it, with my own eyes—
I could already see the North Tower.
To the people inside, it was just another normal morning. Across all one hundred and ten floors, not a single person had any idea that a speeding aircraft was moments away from ending their lives.
But that wouldn't last much longer.
As I continued slowing the plane, bringing it closer under control, it was only a matter of time before someone noticed.
Inside the aircraft, chaos was already setting in.
The four terrorists in the cabin struggled to keep their footing as the repeated shifts in momentum threw them off balance. The man in the cockpit—the one pretending to be a pilot—was frantically flipping switches, trying to force the engines to respond, to push the aircraft forward.
It didn't matter.
I had it now.
As long as I held on, the plane wasn't going anywhere without my say.
For a brief moment, a thought crossed my mind—how the structure beneath my hands hadn't buckled under the force I was applying.
It had to be the Bioelectric aura.
Instead of concentrating my strength at a single point, it spread the force across a wider surface, reinforcing the contact area.
I had discussed the theory with Lara and Jor-El before—they found it fascinating, but still needed more data to prove it conclusively.
It was strange how, even in a tense moment like this, my mind drifted toward analysis. I shook the thought away and refocused. This was the most critical phase.
The speed indicator in my vision shifted to blue. That was the signal—the window to change trajectory.
I drew in a steady breath, tightening every muscle in my body before pushing upward. Not abruptly, but with controlled force, continuing to bleed off speed even as I redirected the plane's motion.
The aircraft responded. Its nose tilted upward, and the rest of its massive frame followed, transitioning from a flat trajectory into a gradual climb.
Ahead, the North Tower filled my view, its glass windows reflecting the rising aircraft in the morning light.
For a moment, the image looked almost unreal—like the plane was about to drive straight into its own reflection—but the angle held. It was no longer heading into the building. It was rising over it.
Inside the cockpit, the hijacker fought back, yanking at the controls, trying to force the nose down. The engines roared in protest as he pushed for more speed, but I held firm.
It turned into a tug-of-war between his control and mine—and slowly, steadily, I won. The aircraft continued to climb as it closed in on the tower.
Then—
CRACK!
A thunderous crack split the air.
A violent gust blasted outward, and a storm of white papers erupted in front of the plane, scattering into the sky like a flock of startled birds. Panicked screams followed from within the building.
I understood instantly. The pressure wave from the aircraft's proximity had shattered several of the upper-floor windows.
Keeping the plane steady, I glanced downward. Thankfully, no one had been close enough to the windows to be caught in the initial blast. The glass had blown outward into fragments, minimizing the danger inside, but the shock had already spread.
People had seen it now.
The cries only grew louder as the reality of what had almost happened began to set in.
I pushed the plane higher, maintaining its angle while easing off more of its speed, making sure it cleared the tower completely without losing stability.
It swept over the top of the building, missing it entirely.
A breath I didn't realize I was holding finally escaped me.
Inside the cockpit, the hijacker had frozen. His hands had come together in panic, his lips moving in silent prayer, completely shaken by what was happening.
But I didn't let that distract me.
The immediate danger was over—
not the situation.
I still had to land this plane.
And deal with the men inside.
"I've marked Metropolis International Airport for you," Lara said, her voice steady in my ear.
A blue trajectory line appeared across my vision, guiding the optimal path.
Luckily, it aligned with the plane's current direction, just beyond the outskirts of the city.
"Got it," I muttered, already beginning to adjust.
Carefully, I reduced the upward angle, guiding the aircraft forward while making sure its path stayed clear of any remaining high-rises. Most of the dense skyline was concentrated around the World Trade Center—once past it, the airspace opened up significantly.
For a brief moment, a wry thought crossed my mind.
Most of the people in that tower would never even realize how close they had come to dying.
The aircraft surged slightly as I eased my counterforce, the engines reclaiming some control and pushing it forward again. I compensated immediately, keeping the motion stable as we quickly approached the airport.
From above, everything looked… normal.
Planes landing. Planes taking off.
Ground crews moving about like any other day.
No alarms. No panic.
No one seemed to realize that a hijacked aircraft was approaching their airspace.
I scanned the runways, filtering for the clearest option while extending my hearing toward the control tower.
"…delayed by an hour… runway still open…"
That was enough.
I locked onto that runway.
Adjusting my position, I angled the aircraft downward while continuing to shave off its speed. It felt… easier now. Whether it was because I had already taken control of its momentum or because the hijacker had stopped interfering, I couldn't tell—but the resistance had lessened.
A quick glance into the cockpit gave me the answer.
The man was no longer fighting the controls.
He had his eyes shut, hands clasped together, praying desperately.
He didn't know about me.
To him, the plane itself must have turned against him—defying every command. Whether he believed it was divine intervention or something else entirely didn't matter.
What mattered was that he had stopped.
That made things simpler.
Guiding the aircraft carefully, I brought it down toward the runway, controlling both its descent and forward motion. Without the engines actively pushing against me, I was able to slow it further, gradually bleeding off the remaining speed.
The landing wasn't conventional.
The wheels never deployed.
So I compensated.
Keeping the fuselage level, I absorbed the remaining momentum myself, forcing the plane into a controlled halt rather than letting it skid out uncontrollably.
It took effort—
but it held.
The aircraft came to a stop.
In the distance, I could already see ground staff reacting—pointing, running, shouting. They knew something was wrong. A plane wasn't supposed to land like this.
But they would have to wait.
I moved instantly.
Reaching the aircraft door, I tore it free in a single motion.
Inside, panic erupted.
Children cried. Passengers clung to their seats, confused and terrified, some staring out the windows, others frozen in place as they tried to understand what had just happened.
The four hijackers were no better off—staggering, disoriented, shouting over each other as they tried to regain control of the situation.
I didn't give them the chance.
In a blur of motion, I grabbed them one by one by their collars and hauled them out of the plane, throwing them onto the runway. Before they could react, I moved to the cockpit, ripped the door open, and dragged the man from the pilot's seat, tossing him out alongside the others.
For a moment, anger flared.
But I forced it down.
This wasn't the time.
The real pilots and crew were still bound. I untied them quickly, then used the same restraints to secure the hijackers—rendering them unconscious with my precise finger pressure strikes before they could resist.
Only after making sure everything was under control did I step back into the aircraft.
The pilot and co-pilot were still unconscious, but the flight attendants were awake now. They stood off to the side, staring at me in stunned silence, unsure of what to say or do.
For a moment, the cabin was eerily quiet.
Then the sound returned—
children crying, passengers whispering, a few people beginning to realize what had just happened.
"I've stopped the hijacking," I said clearly, my voice carrying through the cabin. "The terrorists have been restrained. You're all safe now."
There was a brief pause.
Then someone started clapping.
It spread—slow at first, then rapidly—until the entire cabin filled with applause. People hugged each other, some laughed, some cried openly, the tension finally breaking all at once.
I stood there for a second, taking it in.
And then I remembered—
I wasn't wearing a mask.
This was my first time showing my face completely in public while wearing this suit.
It was a deliberate choice.
After a lot of consideration, I had decided not to hide my face. Jor-El and Lara had assured me that recognition wouldn't be an issue—how that worked was… complicated, but I trusted them.
Before I could think further, Lara's voice cut in sharply.
"Kal—there's another aircraft."
The relief I had been feeling vanished instantly.
My expression hardened.
"You're at Metropolis International Airport," I said quickly, turning back to the passengers. "Authorities will be here shortly. Stay inside and remain calm."
Without waiting for a response, I stepped back and took off.
As I rose into the air, I caught a small voice from below.
"Mommy, that's the man I saw! He really has a red cape!"
A softer voice followed, filled with emotion.
"Yes, dear… he's the one who saved us."
A small smile tugged at my lips—
and then I accelerated, shooting off toward the next threat.
A faint smile touched my lips—
and then I accelerated, shooting toward the next threat.
"This one is approaching much faster," Lara said, her voice sharper now. An overlay appeared in my vision, displaying its velocity, trajectory, and the rapidly shrinking time to impact.
My eyes widened.
"Why am I only hearing about this now?" I asked, my voice tightening as the timer dropped below a minute.
"There was no confirmed hijacking signal," Lara replied immediately. "Jor-El detected it through anomaly tracking. The aircraft ignored repeated air traffic control calls, and its projected path aligns directly with the South Tower."
I didn't respond.
My vision had already locked onto the aircraft.
And what I saw—
made my chest tighten.
The pilot and co-pilot were down.
Not unconscious.
Dead.
Blood had soaked into their uniforms, their throats cut cleanly.
Someone else sat in the pilot's seat, forcing the aircraft forward.
Inside the cabin, four more terrorists moved among the passengers—but unlike before, there was no false calm.
They were tense.
Agitated.
Unstable.
The passengers reflected it.
Fear wasn't contained anymore—it had broken loose.
I spotted two injured men among them. One clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers. Another held his arm, barely able to keep it steady.
They had fought back.
And paid for it.
This wasn't the same situation as before.
This was worse.
More desperate.
More dangerous.
The aircraft was moving faster.
The people inside were already breaking.
And there was less time.
I pushed myself harder, accelerating with everything I had. The air screamed past me as I closed the distance in seconds.
The aircraft burst into view ahead of me, already deep within the city, the skyline rising around it.
I didn't hesitate.
Even as Lara overlaid the structural data across my vision—blue and red zones flashing across the fuselage—I had already moved beneath it, bracing myself against the underside and pushing upward to slow it down.
This wasn't like the first one.
The speed was higher.
The time was shorter.
I tightened every muscle in my arms and forced my strength into the plane, trying to bleed off its velocity as quickly as I could.
But the engines roared in defiance.
And inside the cockpit—
the hijacker pushed them even harder.
"Kal, if you apply that much pressure, the engine will—"
BOOM!
The explosion ripped through the air.
My head snapped up as I switched to X-ray vision. The left engine had blown apart, flames and smoke tearing outward while the wing shuddered violently under the sudden loss of balance.
Screams erupted from inside the aircraft.
"It's fine," Lara said quickly, her voice steady despite the chaos. "The fire won't spread if you bring it down fast enough."
"Ghh—!"
The plane lurched violently.
Looking up, I saw the hijacker losing control, yanking at the controls in panic, sending the aircraft into erratic motion even as its speed continued to climb.
The imbalance from the destroyed engine pulled it sharply to one side.
I pushed harder, fighting both the forward momentum and the sudden tilt, forcing my strength into stabilizing the aircraft.
For a few tense seconds—
it resisted.
Then, slowly—
it steadied.
"Kal," Lara said urgently, "the aircraft has deviated from its original trajectory. It is no longer heading toward the Twin Towers. Current path indicates collision with a nearby building in fifteen seconds—"
I didn't need her to finish.
I could already see it.
The building rushing toward us.
The same one I had just left.
The same one hosting the gala.
Packed with people.
Powerful figures.
Unaware.
And among them—
Martha.
Bruce.
Selina.
Lois.
My heart clenched.
For a split second—
everything else faded.
This wasn't just another rescue anymore.
If I didn't stop this—
right now—
they were all going to die.