Hearing Lara's warning, I had no choice but to leave the manor almost immediately after informing the others about the remaining hijacked planes. Their worried faces lingered in my mind even after I took to the skies.
In truth, the main reason I had insisted on staying in Metropolis instead of returning to Gotham was because of my memories from my previous life. On that day, there had originally been four hijacked planes.
And now—
there were still two left.
"Is this the route toward Washington?" I asked as I tore through the morning sky, following the direction Lara projected before me. "What about the other plane?"
"According to Jor-El's calculations, the second aircraft is also heading toward Washington," Lara replied. "Possibly the Capitol Building or the White House. However, due to an earlier delay, it is still farther away from the city."
A second timer appeared beside the first, displaying the aircraft's projected path and remaining distance.
"Good," I muttered, relieved. "Handling one is already difficult enough. Trying to stop both at the same time would be a nightmare."
The cities blurred beneath me as I crossed state lines at tremendous speed. Unlike before, the skies were now eerily empty. No passenger aircraft. No helicopters.
Nothing.
After the national emergency was declared, every flight in the country had either been grounded or redirected to the nearest airport. The entire United States had effectively become a no-fly zone.
Honestly, if not for Lara's assistance, I would have already been lighting up every military radar in the country like a beacon.
That was also why these remaining planes had been identified so quickly. They were the only unauthorized aircraft still moving through American airspace—and both had ignored repeated communication attempts.
"Kal," Lara's voice suddenly sharpened, "the military has authorized countermeasures against the aircraft approaching the Pentagon."
My expression tightened.
"Damn it… are they planning to shoot it down?" I asked anxiously as the distant outline of Washington, D.C. finally appeared on the horizon.
"No," Lara replied quickly. "A former member of the Justice Society has been asked to intercept the aircraft."
"Which one—"
I cut myself off.
"I see him."
Even from this distance, my vision immediately locked onto the aircraft tearing across the sky.
And directly ahead of it—
a man was flying toward the plane head-on.
Large metallic wings stretched from his back, dark grey and imposing against the morning sky. He wore dark green pants and a golden hawk-like cowl with a sharp beak covering the upper half of his rugged face. Apart from a crossed harness bearing a hawk emblem across his chest, most of his torso remained bare, his muscular build exposed to the rushing air.
I recognized him instantly.
Hawkman.
Former leader of the Justice Society.
One of the most famous heroes in the country.
I had assumed he retired years ago alongside the other members of the JSA, but apparently that wasn't the case.
Instead of colliding with the aircraft directly, Hawkman planted his feet against the nose of the plane for a brief instant before launching himself backward with the momentum.
His grip tightened around the heavy mace in his hand.
And immediately—
I understood what he intended to do.
He was going to smash through the cockpit.
My eyes widened.
"Wait—!"
I forced myself to accelerate even harder, the air around me cracking as I shot forward and caught his arm just before he swung.
"Stop!" I shouted, positioning myself between him and the aircraft while still matching its speed.
"Who the hell are you, kid?!" Hawkman growled, his voice barely audible beneath the roaring wind. "Move aside!"
Without hesitation, he drove a punch toward me with his free arm.
I caught it cleanly.
The impact still echoed through my palm with enough force to make the air tremble around us.
Strong.
Very strong.
Behind the golden hawk mask, I saw his weathered expression tighten ever so slightly as surprise flickered across his eyes.
At the same moment, a translucent screen appeared beside him in my vision as Lara rapidly compiled information.
Carter Hall.
Archaeologist.
Currently employed at the National Museum in Washington, D.C.
Founding member—and leader—of the Justice Society of America under the identity of Hawkman.
According to the records Lara accessed, he had supposedly retired years ago and now spent most of his time working at the museum or occasionally lecturing on archaeology at a nearby university.
That at least explained how he had responded so quickly. He had already been in the city.
My eyes briefly scanned the rest of the information while still holding position against the rushing air. Interestingly, there was no mention of Thanagar or any extraterrestrial origins. Through my X-ray vision, his skeletal structure looked completely human as well.
So was he a reincarnated human in this reality too, just like in the comics?
I pushed the thought aside.
This wasn't the time.
"I have a safer way to bring the plane down," I shouted over the roar of the engines.
Trying to smash open the cockpit at this speed was far too dangerous. It had been one of the very first rescue methods Lara and Jor-El forced me to discard during the simulations.
Hawkman narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze drifting toward my suit—
more specifically, toward the symbol on my chest.
For a moment, he seemed to recognize it.
Then, after a brief pause, he stopped resisting.
"…Alright," he said gruffly. "Let's see your way, then."
I released his arm.
The metallic wings on his back shimmered faintly as he twisted through the air and grabbed onto the wing of the aircraft instead of pulling away completely.
Turning back toward the cockpit, I caught sight of the terrorist flying the plane. His face was pale with panic.
Behind him, both the pilot and co-pilot lay unconscious on the floor, bruised and bloodied but thankfully still alive.
Ignoring the hijacker, I dropped beneath the aircraft.
Lara had already finished scanning the plane and was feeding me a constant stream of structural data and stress points. This time, I refused to repeat the mistake I made earlier—the one that had caused the engine to explode.
I steadied my breathing.
Then pressed both hands against the underside of the fuselage and began slowing the aircraft down.
The massive frame trembled under the force.
"Jesus Christ…" Hawkman muttered from above, gripping the wing tightly as the wind battered against him. "That's some insane strength, kid."
I heard him—
but I also heard everything else.
The panicked cries inside the aircraft.
The desperate shouting.
People had recognized Hawkman. Some passengers were already pleading for help the moment they saw him outside the windows.
Unfortunately—
the hijackers noticed him too.
"Ugh—"
I tensed as the aircraft suddenly lurched downward.
The terrorist in the cockpit was trying to force the nose straight toward the ground.
I immediately adjusted my grip, holding the plane steady while continuing to bleed off its speed.
Through my X-ray vision, I could clearly see the man's terrified face. His heartbeat was completely erratic, and even from here I could make out his frantic prayers as he gripped the controls with shaking hands, desperately trying to force the aircraft down faster.
I instantly understood what he was trying to do.
The plane had already entered Washington airspace.
At this altitude and speed, crashing it anywhere in the city would still kill countless people.
Thankfully, by now I had become far more efficient at controlling the aircraft's momentum. I kept the plane from diving while simultaneously preventing it from accelerating, gradually redirecting it toward the airport Lara had marked for me.
"Damn it," Hawkman growled from above. "They're taking hostages."
Hearing that—and the sudden wave of terrified screams from inside the cabin—I shifted my vision through the body of the aircraft.
One of the hijackers had dragged a passenger against the window, pressing a box cutter tightly against the man's throat while shouting something in his native language.
Even without understanding every word, the meaning was obvious.
Back off—
or the hostage dies.
Hawkman understood it too. His grip tightened around his mace as frustration crossed his face.
Before he could say anything, I spoke first.
"I'm going to open the front passenger door," I shouted over the roar of the wind. "The moment I do, get inside and take care of them."
For a second, Hawkman looked bewildered—
then realization hit him.
"But what about the pressure—"
"I'll seal it immediately after you enter," I cut in, already understanding his concern. "Just leave it to me."
He stared at me for a brief moment before tightening his grip around the mace.
"…Alright!" he yelled back.
Thanks to Lara's scans—and my own X-ray vision—I already knew the area near the forward passenger entrance was clear. Most of the flight attendants had been pushed farther back into the cabin.
I tightened my grip against the underside of the aircraft.
Then, instead of gradually slowing it—
I sharply decelerated the plane for a brief instant.
The sudden shift sent a violent jolt through the cabin. Passengers screamed as the entire aircraft lurched, and even the hijacker holding the hostage lost his footing and slammed awkwardly against the seats.
Ignoring the chaos inside, I released the plane and shot upward toward the passenger door.
With one motion, I tore it free.
WOOSH!
A violent burst of compressed air exploded outward from the opening as cabin pressure destabilized.
But Hawkman was already moving.
His metallic wings shimmered as he lunged through the opening at incredible speed. The instant he entered the cabin, the wings folded tightly against his back to maneuver through the narrow aisle.
The moment he cleared the doorway, I slammed the passenger gate back into place.
My eyes ignited crimson.
BZZZZT!
Heat vision surged across the metal edges, rapidly melting the hinges and seams shut and sealing the aircraft once more.
Inside, Hawkman was already moving.
One of the hijackers barely had time to turn before Hawkman drove the handle of his mace into the man's back hard enough to send him crashing across the aisle with a cry of pain.
The second terrorist—the one holding the hostage—was yanked out of his seat and met with a brutal punch to the stomach that folded him over instantly.
The third rushed forward wildly with his box cutter raised—
only for Hawkman to kick him square in the chest and send him flying backward into the rows of seats.
The passengers were still stunned, many too shocked to even process what had just happened, but Hawkman didn't slow down for even a second.
He charged straight toward the cockpit and smashed through the door with his mace.
"AHHH—!"
The hijacker piloting the aircraft barely managed a scream before Hawkman's fist slammed into his jaw, knocking his teeth loose.
Hawkman immediately dragged him out of the seat and dropped himself into the pilot's chair, gripping the controls and stabilizing the aircraft.
Watching all of it unfold through my vision, I couldn't help but feel impressed.
Old or not—
the man was clearly experienced.
I flew toward the cockpit window since I no longer needed to physically restrain the aircraft.
"Can you actually fly that thing?" I called out, my voice easily carrying through the reinforced glass.
"I'm rusty," Hawkman admitted with a crooked grin, "but I'll manage."
"Good. The airport's that way," I said, pointing ahead before flying slightly forward to guide him. "And you should probably make sure those guys stay down."
I gestured toward the cabin behind him.
Two of the hijackers were already groaning and trying to stand again.
"Heh." Hawkman glanced back briefly. "Trust me, kid… those passengers aren't letting them get back up."
And just like he said—
the moment the terrorists tried to rise, several passengers surged forward together, pinning them back down, kicking and yelling at them in anger.
It only took a few minutes for us to reach the airport.
For someone who claimed to be rusty, Hawkman handled the aircraft incredibly smoothly. He even used the intercom to contact the airport ahead of time, allowing the control tower to clear an emergency runway while ambulances and emergency crews rushed into position.
I remained in the sky, watching from above as the plane descended safely onto the runway.
Since I had sealed the front entrance shut, the passengers had to evacuate through the rear exits and emergency doors instead.
Once I confirmed everyone was getting out safely, I turned away.
There was still another plane left to rescue.
"Nicely done," Lara said, sounding genuinely impressed as I accelerated back into the sky. "That was probably the smoothest rescue out of all three."
"All the credit goes to Hawkman," I replied with a grin. "Honestly, he probably could've handled that hijacking even without me."
Over the years I had heard stories about Hawkman countless times. Not to mention, he had always been a fairly well-known hero in the comics from my previous life.
So seeing him fight in person like that had been… surprisingly cool.
"That isn't entirely— wait, Kal."
Lara suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
"You don't need to intercept the fourth plane anymore."
My expression sharpened.
"Why? What happened?"
"The aircraft has already landed," she replied quickly. "Multiple passengers are contacting emergency services right now. Their reports match, so the information is most likely accurate."
I frowned slightly but didn't slow down.
"That's good," I said. "But I'm already close enough to check for myself."
I accelerated further.
A few minutes later, I spotted the aircraft resting in the middle of a wide open field.
Dozens of passengers had already gathered outside. Some were on their phones, desperately contacting family members, while others stood around in shock, talking among themselves as the adrenaline slowly wore off.
To my surprise, the flight crew—including the pilot and co-pilot—were alive as well.
Inside the aircraft, four unconscious men had been restrained near the middle rows.
They must be the hijackers.
"What exactly happened here…?" I muttered, hovering high within the clouds as I focused my hearing on the conversations below.
Piece by piece, I started putting the story together.
After hearing through phone calls and messages about what had happened to the other hijacked planes, the passengers realized what was likely waiting for them as well.
So instead of staying passive—
they fought back.
Together, they managed to overpower three of the hijackers in the cabin before forcing their way into the cockpit and subduing the fourth man controlling the aircraft.
Both the pilot and co-pilot had been knocked unconscious by the hijackers, but thankfully one of the passengers had some flight experience and managed to land the plane safely in the open field.
Listening to the scattered accounts, I couldn't help feeling surprised.
Something very similar had happened in my previous life as well.
But there—
the passengers had been too late.
Before they could break into the cockpit, the hijacker had deliberately crashed the aircraft into the ground, turning the entire incident into a tragedy.
Thankfully, this time things had ended differently.
The people on this plane had managed to save themselves—and luckily for them, there had even been someone onboard capable of landing the aircraft safely.
Still…
something felt off.
Whenever people talked about who actually landed the plane, everyone kept pointing toward different individuals. Some men were even awkwardly denying it as frightened families approached them to offer thanks.
"Huh…" I muttered from within the clouds. "That's strange."
How could so many people be confused about something like that?
Narrowing my eyes, I swept my X-ray vision across the crowd once more, carefully examining every passenger and crew member below.
Nothing stood out.
Everyone looked normal.
"Lara," I said quietly, "bring up the passenger list for this flight."
At this point, I was seriously starting to suspect that there might have been a metahuman among the passengers.
A translucent screen instantly appeared before my eyes, rows of names scrolling rapidly past.
Then—
I froze.
"…John Jones."
The moment my eyes stayed on the name, Lara immediately expanded the profile attached to it.
John Jones.
Police detective from Middletown.
My gaze immediately shifted toward a dark-skinned man standing slightly apart from the others, wearing a brown coat and hat.
The man slowly turned—
and looked directly toward the clouds.
Towards me.
A chill shot down my spine.
"Fuck."
I vanished instantly, accelerating away at full speed.
"What happened, Kal?" Lara asked in alarm.
"If I'm right…" I said tensely, "that man isn't human."
Everything suddenly clicked together.
How the passengers had managed to overpower the hijackers so quickly.
How someone had successfully landed the aircraft despite both pilots being unconscious.
And why nobody seemed fully certain about who had actually done it.
Because "John Jones" was an alias I recognized from the comics.
The civilian identity of Martian Manhunter.
A shapeshifting Martian.
And one of the most powerful telepaths in DC.
"You mean he's an alien like us?" Lara asked curiously. "But if he helped save all those people, then he can't be someone bad, why are you running away then Kal?"
How exactly was I supposed to explain this to her?
For a reincarnator like me—
running into a telepath like Martian Manhunter was practically a nightmare!