After Alex vaporized the three attack helicopters, no more enemies came.
Whether it was because the people behind the assault were intimidated, or for some other reason, the battlefield finally fell into silence.
Alex stood off to the side, arms casually crossed, calmly watching the two soldiers apply emergency treatment to Liz.
---
About fifteen minutes later...
The two soldiers finally stood up, their movements stiff and hesitant. One of them gulped and said nervously:
"S-Sir… we're done."
Alex stepped closer, giving Liz a quick inspection.
Her complexion looked much better. The bleeding had stopped and the wounds were bandaged.
But he knew better.
Those were only surface injuries. Her internal damage was still serious.
She needed a hospital—immediately.
---
"We've only stabilized her external wounds," one of the soldiers explained cautiously.
"The real issue is internal bleeding. She needs to get to a hospital ASAP."
He looked like he regretted saying anything at all—terrified that even a helpful comment might earn him a death sentence from the superpowered executioner standing before him.
---
But Alex wasn't surprised. This was exactly what he had expected.
---
"Drive. Take us to the nearest hospital."
His voice was steady, unquestionable.
---
"Why the hell did I open my mouth…"
The soldier cursed himself internally, but neither he nor his partner dared complain.
The two quickly ran to start one of their unmarked agency vehicles.
Alex carefully picked Liz up and climbed into the back seat with her.
---
Vroooom!
The car roared out of Fountain Plaza, speeding toward the nearest hospital.
At the plaza's exit checkpoint, the guards didn't even blink.
Whether they'd received orders, or were simply unaware of the carnage, they waved the car through without question.
---
---
"Whew… that freak finally left."
Back at the plaza—unbelievably—Colonel Katz, who had been presumed dead, suddenly sat up from among the bodies.
Covered in dust, he staggered to his feet, looking pale and shell-shocked.
---
"Terrifying."
"Absolutely terrifying…"
"When the hell did New York end up with a monster like that?"
He patted the dust off his uniform, glancing at the surrounding wreckage—smoking helicopters, charred soldiers, and broken weapons.
Rocket launchers couldn't even make him flinch.
Too much. Way too much.
---
"Good thing I played dead."
He'd survived only by sheer luck and shamelessness.
But he had seen enough.
"I need to report this to the Master. Immediately."
Without hesitation, Katz pulled out a secured communicator and began his report.
---
---
St. Mary's Hospital.
Screech.
The agency vehicle pulled up outside.
The back door opened.
Alex stepped out, carrying Liz in his arms.
She had long since passed out from blood loss and trauma.
---
"S-Sir… can we go now?"
The two soldiers looked up at him with terror in their eyes, bracing for the possibility of sudden disintegration.
---
"Get lost."
Alex waved them off with total disinterest.
To him, these men were nothing more than ants—utterly insignificant.
He had no reason to kill them. They posed no threat.
And honestly, even if they reported his location or identity, it made no difference.
After what happened at the plaza, there was no way the military wasn't already monitoring his every move.
---
So he let them go.
And turned his attention back to what mattered.
---
"Doctor!"
"I need help—now!"
Alex barged into the emergency wing, calling for aid.
A team of doctors rushed over. He laid Liz down on a surgical bed.
Only once she was in expert hands did he finally exhale.
---
Then he slipped out of the ward, found a public phone, and dialed Selena.
"Send a team. I'm at St. Mary's."
He hung up, walked calmly back into the hospital, and sat in the waiting area like nothing had happened.
---
---
A few minutes later...
Two men stepped into the front lobby of St. Mary's.
Both looked utterly unremarkable—middle-aged, casual clothes, totally forgettable faces.
One wore a cheap jacket and jeans, with a Mohawk-style haircut.
The other had a thin, narrow face and was dressed in all black.
But if you looked closer—if you looked into their eyes—you'd know immediately:
These were no ordinary men.
---
"So this is it—St. Mary's."
"Guy causes a massive scene at Fountain Plaza, then doesn't even run? Ballsy."
"He didn't even kill the witnesses. Let the soldiers go."
---
The Mohawk guy snorted.
"He's got nerve, I'll give him that."
"But seriously, do you believe what Hawkeye said? That this guy's some kind of unkillable laser-eyed tank?"
---
"Doesn't matter."
The thin-faced man smiled faintly.
"Now that I'm here, he only has two options: submit... or die."
---
Mohawk clicked his tongue.
"Whatever. Let's just find him first. This hospital's a maze. Should've brought backup."
---
"No need."
A cold voice cut in behind them.
---
Both men froze.
They spun around—instantly alert.
Only to find a young man—an Asian teen, by appearance—standing just behind them.
Face calm.
Expression unreadable.
---
But what shocked them most…
Was that they hadn't noticed him at all until he spoke.
Not a sound. Not a breath. Nothing.
He'd been right there, and they hadn't sensed a thing.
---
"Who the hell—"
They were already reaching for weapons.
But deep down, their instincts screamed:
They were not in control of this situation.
---
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