Chapter 79.
The Presidential Palace in Washington, D.C., stood silent in the pre-dawn darkness. At 5:47 AM, when most of the city still slept, the most powerful figures in America had already gathered in the secure conference room on the third floor. The eastern horizon showed no hint of sunrise—this was the darkest hour before dawn, and it seemed fitting for the gravity of what they faced.
Mr. President adjusted his tie with tired fingers, his usually pristine suit wrinkled from the hasty departure from his residence. Around the polished mahogany table sat more than a dozen of the nation's most influential leaders: cabinet members in their dark suits clustered on one side, while military officials in crisp uniforms, many with silver-streaked hair earned through decades of service, occupied the other.
The room thrummed with tension despite the small number of occupants. These were individuals who wielded immense power, yet the atmosphere was heavy with uncertainty. All eyes remained fixed on the large screen mounted on the wall opposite the President's chair, each person lost in their own thoughts about the implications of what they were witnessing.
The silence stretched on, thick and oppressive, until it became unbearable.
"What the hell is he doing now?" President Harrison's voice cracked through the quiet, hoarse from exhaustion and stress. "Why did he suddenly stop there? And why is he flying over our territory for thousands of miles? What is his purpose? Will this endanger our national security?"
The President's piercing gaze never left the screen, where an impossible sight held their collective attention. A figure in a gleaming silver suit with a brilliant red cape flowing behind him hovered motionless in the sky. The satellite imagery, captured from high above, showed the person suspended at an altitude of over 30,000 feet with nothing but clouds drifting beneath his feet.
No visible means of support. No aircraft. No parachute. Just a human being floating in the stratosphere as if gravity itself had forgotten he existed.
If this scene had appeared in a Hollywood blockbuster, every person in that room would have enjoyed it with popcorn and suspension of disbelief. But this was real. This was happening right now, just a few thousand kilometers from American airspace, and it had dragged them from their beds for an emergency session that felt more like science fiction than reality.
The figure had traveled from the African continent to his current position in less than thirty minutes, moving at speeds that defied conventional aircraft capabilities. His intentions remained completely unknown.
"Mr. President," responded Director of the CIA, his face pale with the weight of failure. "We cannot predict his next move. We don't know why he's been flying at high speed toward our country, and as of this moment, we know absolutely nothing about his identity."
As one of America's premier intelligence agencies, the CIA's inability to provide any useful information about the airborne figure was both embarrassing and deeply troubling for him. The organization that prided itself on knowing secrets before they became secrets had been caught completely off guard.
"Does anyone from the other intelligence services have information about this individual?" the President asked, his voice carrying a note of desperate hope.
The response was a collective lowering of heads and averted gazes. Not one person in the room could offer anything useful.
"Let me understand this correctly," the President continued, his voice rising with barely contained fury. "It's been nearly an hour since this person first appeared on our screens, and every single intelligence chief in this room is telling me you know nothing about him?"
"We allocate billions of dollars to your agencies annually, and you're telling me you can't even identify one person? What exactly is the point of keeping you around? I might as well be funding a petting zoo!"
The President's anger was palpable, though he maintained enough control to keep from exploding entirely.
"Mr. President, with respect, it's not that our intelligence services are incompetent," interjected Deputy Director Sarah Chen from the NSA. "This individual appeared with no warning whatsoever. When our satellites first detected him, he was already airborne over a rural region of Africa."
"By the time we locked onto his position, he was already at altitude with no indication of how he achieved flight or what technology enables him to remain airborne. Initially, he seemed to be... experimenting with his abilities, moving erratically through the sky like someone learning to fly for the first time."
"However, his speed was already exceeding Mach 5 during these apparent 'practice runs'—faster than our most advanced fighter jets can achieve. Based on our analysis, this may indeed have been his first flight, which could explain the seemingly playful behavior we initially observed."
"As for why he's heading toward the United States, we simply don't have enough data to determine his motivations."
The President's expression softened slightly, though his voice remained stern. "Then why haven't you been able to identify him by now? And what was the name of the African country where he first appeared?"
"Sir, our surveillance satellites are the most advanced in the world," Chen continued. "While we can photograph him clearly in flight, every attempt to enhance the image for facial recognition or detailed analysis has failed. There appears to be some kind of interference that deliberately obscures his features."
"This phenomenon is similar to what we might expect if our satellites were being hacked and manipulated, but the level of technological sophistication required would exceed anything we've encountered. No known hacker organization or nation-state possesses capabilities that advanced, and there's no digital –footprint left behind."
"The country where he first appeared is called Wakanda—a small, isolated nation that has remained largely agricultural and underdeveloped. What's particularly unusual is that their government has repeatedly refused international aid and assistance, including United Nations funding programs. They seem determined to remain isolated from the global community."
The President processed this information with growing frustration. "So you're telling me we have no way to determine who this person is, what country he represents, or what faction he might belong to? We can't predict his next actions or assess whether he poses a threat to our national security?"
"If he intended to attack the United States, we would have no effective countermeasures in place?"
The urgency in the President's voice was unmistakable as the implications became clear.
General Patricia Rodriguez, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, stood abruptly. "Mr. President, I recommend we authorize an immediate military response. Deploy our fighter squadrons with orders to intercept and eliminate this target before he can enter our airspace. We should neutralize this threat before it becomes an imminent danger."
Her proposal sparked immediate debate from the civilian leadership.
"Absolutely not, Mr. President," countered Secretary of State William Thompson. "We cannot authorize military action against an unknown individual without understanding their intentions. Launching an unprovoked attack could escalate this situation beyond our control and potentially trigger a conflict we're not prepared for."
"Furthermore," added Defense Secretary, "while we can't identify his flight technology, we've calculated that his maximum speed has exceeded Mach 15. Our fastest operational fighters can barely reach Mach 5. How exactly would we intercept a target that can outrun anything in our arsenal?"
The room fell silent as the weight of their technological disadvantage settled over them. They were facing something—or someone—that had rendered their most advanced military capabilities obsolete.
The President stared at the screen, watching the motionless figure suspended impossibly in the sky, and wondered if they were witnessing the beginning of a new –era—one where the rules of power and conflict had fundamentally changed.
Outside, the –first rays of dawn began to pierce the darkness, but in the secure conference room, the shadows seemed to be growing deeper.
Secretary of Defense raised her hand, cutting through the tension. "With respect, General Rodriguez, it's precisely because of his incredible speed that we should proceed with extreme caution. We might be able to capture or neutralize him, but more importantly, we could potentially reverse-engineer whatever technology enables him to fly at such velocities."
"I believe his extraordinary speed stems from that silver suit and the cape he's wearing," she continued, gesturing toward the screen. "This could be similar to Iron Man's armor—advanced technology beyond our current understanding."
"If we could acquire and master this technology, our military capabilities would advance by decades overnight. We'd leave every other nation in the dust militarily. The potential gains justify the risks, especially considering he appears to be heading directly toward our territory."
General Rodriguez nodded approvingly. "Exactly my point, Mr. President. We should strike while we have the advantage of surprise."
"That's purely speculative thinking," countered Defense Secretary, his voice rising with concern. "The situation may not unfold as optimally as you're suggesting."
"Consider this, at Mach 15, the friction generated by his body moving through –the atmosphere should produce temperatures exceeding several thousand degrees Fahrenheit—hot enough to melt most known metals within seconds."
"Yet we can all see this individual shows no signs of distress whatsoever. No visible damage, no apparent discomfort—even his hair remains perfectly intact. This suggests his abilities aren't dependent on external equipment but rather represent some form of enhanced human capability."
"His body must possess extraordinary resilience, not only to withstand extreme temperatures but also to endure the massive G-forces from rapid acceleration and deceleration that would kill any normal person instantly."
Dr. Sarah Chen, the President's chief advisor, leaned forward. "While I can't explain how he acquired such abilities, I believe we're dealing with something fundamentally different from technological enhancement. This appears to be a superhuman individual with abilities that transcend our current understanding of physics and biology."
"Impossible!" General Rodriguez slammed his hand on the table. "Human beings cannot possess such capabilities naturally. This has to be advanced technology—something we simply haven't encountered before."
"I refuse to believe otherwise. Mr. President, please authorize the strike. I guarantee we can eliminate this threat and recover whatever equipment he's using."
"You're potentially dooming our entire nation," Defense Secretory shot back. "Can you accept responsibility for such catastrophic consequences? Mr. President, you must not authorize an attack. We have no idea what other capabilities this individual might possess."
"And if we fail to eliminate him completely, we'll face his retaliation—and someone with his abilities could inflict unimaginable damage on our cities, our people, our entire infrastructure."
The room erupted as the debate split the assembly into two distinct factions. What had begun as a critical national security briefing had devolved into something resembling a town hall argument, with each side passionately defending their position.
Both camps presented compelling arguments, but neither could definitively prove their case. The final decision rested solely with the President—he alone possessed the authority to issue such orders and bear the consequences of whatever action they took.
"ENOUGH!" President voice boomed as he struck the table with his fist, instantly silencing the heated exchange.
The President found himself in an impossible position. Faced with this unprecedented situation—an unknown entity whose abilities defied explanation, whether technological or supernatural—he lacked the information necessary to make an informed decision.
For the first time in his presidency, he felt completely out of his depth. The United States, one of the world's most powerful nations, was hesitating to act against a single individual. When had they ever been forced into such a position of uncertainty and caution?
"Has anyone contacted S.H.I.E.L.D.?" the President asked after the room settled. "Do they have more detailed intelligence about this individual?"
"We've already reached out to S.H.I.E.L.D., Mr. President," Director Matthews replied. "Unfortunately, they're in the same position we are—no prior intelligence on this person."
"However, S.H.I.E.L.D. did provide an assessment based on their analysis," Matthews continued, his expression growing more serious. "According to their experts, this individual's capabilities are so advanced that only a direct hit from a nuclear weapon would pose a lethal threat."
"But S.H.I.E.L.D. also emphasized that his speed creates an insurmountable targeting problem. We currently possess no weapons system capable of accurately striking him while he's in motion."
"Even our most advanced electromagnetic railgun, with projectiles traveling at nearly Mach 10, wouldn't be fast enough to ensure a successful hit."
The weight of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s assessment settled over the room like a heavy blanket. They were facing an individual who could potentially only be stopped by humanity's most destructive weapons, yet was too fast for any of those weapons to effectively target.
President stared at the screen once more, watching the figure who had single-handedly thrown the world's most powerful military into disarray, and realized they were truly entering uncharted territory.
"So S.H.I.E.L.D.'s recommendation is clear," Matthews continued, his voice heavy with implication. "If we don't provoke him, it's best not to engage. Any hostile action could trigger unpredictable and potentially catastrophic consequences. And we must prepare for the worst-case scenario—that he intends to invade our territory."
The CIA Director's words made the President's expression grow even more troubled. The weight of impossible choices pressed down on him like a physical burden.
"Is there truly no better option?" President Harrison asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The President fell into deep contemplation, paralyzed by the magnitude of the decision before him. He had to proceed with extreme caution. The individual on the screen had demonstrated power that could potentially render their entire military apparatus useless. A superhuman –who could evade any weapon they possessed was indeed a nightmare scenario—and they still had no idea what offensive capabilities he might possess.
"Everyone, look! He's moving!"
The urgent shout from one of the technicians shattered the President's deep thought. Every head in the room snapped toward the screen, where the figure was no longer stationary but had begun flying in a specific direction.
The mystery man's sudden movement sent ripples of tension through the room. No one could predict his next action, but all eyes remained fixed on the screen, tracking his every move.
The United States government wasn't alone in their vigil. Intelligence agencies, military commands, and government officials across the globe were monitoring the situation. Satellite networks from multiple nations had locked onto the airborne figure, each wondering what his next move would be and how it might affect their own national interests.
Meanwhile, high above the clouds, the subject of all this international attention was grappling with his own concerns. Felix had been wrestling with the question of how to demonstrate his abilities effectively. After considerable thought, he still hadn't settled on the perfect method.
He was aware that he was likely being watched—the sudden appearance of a flying human would naturally attract attention—but he had no idea that his recent speed tests while flying toward American territory had sent the U.S. government into a state of near-panic.
Unknown to him, military officials were debating whether to launch a full-scale assault against him. Only their fear of his demonstrated power and incredible speed had prevented them from acting decisively.
"Finally! I've got it," Felix muttered to himself, a solution crystallizing in his mind. "It may not be perfect, but it'll work. At least it should give them a clear demonstration of what I'm capable of."
Having made his decision, Felix hovered in place, scanning the landscape below for a suitable target. His enhanced vision swept across the terrain, calculating distances and assessing possibilities.
Within seconds, his eyes lit up with recognition. He had found the perfect location for his demonstration. Without hesitation, he controlled his body's trajectory, accelerating instantly as he streaked toward his chosen destination.
This sudden burst of movement immediately caught the attention of every observer tracking him, including a particular individual watching from a secure facility—a imposing black man with a distinctive bald head and a black eyepatch covering his left eye.
Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., leaned forward in his chair as he watched the mysterious figure change course. His single eye narrowed as he observed the flight pattern, his mind already running through tactical assessments and potential threat scenarios.
"Where are you going, and what are you planning to do?" Fury murmured to himself, his fingers already moving to alert his field teams. Whatever this individual intended to demonstrate, Fury had a feeling it was going to change everything.
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