Crash Landing

Charles Reynolds' instincts screamed that something was terribly off.

For six years, Metropolis skies had been free of plane crashes, yet today, of all days—just as he resolved to dig into a story—his flight encountered trouble. Just minutes after takeoff, as the plane was climbing, a muffled boom erupted from the wing. The aircraft jolted violently, and passengers by the windows saw the ominous omen of flames trailing from the left turbine, black smoke billowing out.

The burning engine trailed dense smoke across the sky, and the white plane, its majestic wingspan crippled, descended towards the dense Metropolis skyline. It managed a faltering hover, but altitude bled away with every passing second. Air traffic control had designated an emergency landing site on the outskirts of the city, but the current rate of descent made that target increasingly unlikely.

As the plane dipped below a thousand meters, a new message crackled through from the tower: "Attention! An unidentified object is approaching at high speed, heading straight for you."

"Another aircraft?" The pilot, brow slick with sweat, glanced at the altimeter, which read a perilous seven hundred meters. The sprawling city was now a clear threat in the windshield. "At this altitude? Are you sure it's not a sensor glitch?"

A red and blue blur cut through the smoke and flames trailing the descending airliner like a bullet through air. Jay, emulating the feats of cinematic superheroes, clasped the failing left wing with both hands, attempting to replace the lost thrust and stabilize the craft.

Unsure if he could accomplish the task, having never tested the limit of his strength—his heaviest lift to date being Mr. Reynolds' five-year-old car—it was now a dire necessity.

The howl of the wind and engines was deafening, but he quickly learned to tune them out. The airflow felt like whips lashing against him, though they caused no discomfort. The cape on his back billowed aggressively, a flag in the throes of battle.

It was working.

The teetering airliner gradually steadied under Jay's exertion. The cumbersome white structure regained balance, descending slowly and safely towards the designated landing zone.

"What's going on?" the astonished pilot radioed the tower. "It's like... like we're being supported by an external force?"

For a moment, the pilot's thoughts went to Superman—who had always been there to catch them. But it was a fleeting thought, quickly discarded. Six years had passed, and Metropolis had accepted the harsh reality of his absence.

With determined effort, Jay moderated the descent. If his calculations were correct, they would narrowly miss the tallest building, eventually coming to rest in the uninhabited outskirts.

As the plane neared safety, Jay felt a wave of relief—his first time handling a disaster, and his confidence was as shaky as the passengers inside. All he needed was to maintain the current effort...

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. A minor detail Jay had overlooked was the wing's decaying state. Overwhelmed by his strength and the pressure of the wind, it finally gave way, breaking off with a soft, fiery pop, too late for him to react. The plane lurched and accelerated downwards, leaving Jay spinning with the broken wing far behind.

Panic reached its peak among the passengers as the plane resumed its nosedive. The city below seemed ready to embrace the falling behemoth. Below, the citizens, pointing and screaming, had little chance of escape from the encroaching impact.

Without hesitation, Jay surged forward, a white sonic boom marking his departure. His form blurred, vanishing as he chased the plummeting machine. The right turbine, too, succumbed to the strain and exploded off the wing, heading straight for Jay. He didn't dodge—instead, he accelerated, blasting through the fiery debris and catching up to the airliner.

Now for the hard part. Unsure of his own strength but hoping it would suffice, Jay positioned himself beneath the nose of the plane, pushing upwards against the colossal weight and the momentum of the fall. Straining, he became acutely aware of the aircraft's hull denting beneath him—an error that could rip open the fuselage and unleash a torrent of new problems.

Saving a falling airliner was never as easy as the movies made it seem, where neglected details led to happy endings. Real life was rarely so forgiving.

A skyscraper loomed ahead; if the descent continued, the plane would surely crash through it.

"Damn it," Jay muttered and braced himself. With a herculean effort, he rotated the smoking hulk. The plane miraculously turned sideways, smoke drawing a lengthy arc just above the skyscraper. The rumble shook every window to its breaking point as if they might explode from the vibration.

"We're slowing down!" the pilot yelled incredulously. "We're about to land!"

Prepared for impact, the passengers braced as the plane swooped low over the city and out towards the deserted countryside. Trees snapped like twigs as the plane, doing over three hundred miles an hour, slammed onto the ground.

Jay, holding the nose, planted his feet firmly, the soil erupting in towering waves on either side of his red boots. Dust billowed, almost submerging him as he acted as a living brake pad, his back deforming the hull as the impact rippled from tail to nose.

The aircraft skidded for a few hundred meters before coming to a shuddering halt. Earth turned up on either side as if plowed repeatedly by an invisible force.

Crawling from beneath, Jay released a long, victorious breath.

He had succeeded.