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“We’ll make it,” Kurt said, kicking his leg.

“Cool. Then get incinerated by a nuke. Yay.”

“Yeah, wasn’t on my bucket list either.” Ben rubbed his jaw.

“Fucking humans.” Oliver shook his head and lifted his boot to re-tie his bootlaces.

Risky.

Mack wasn’t taking his eyes off the ball. If something happened, he was teleporting to one of the fields he could see in the distance.

The clock kept metaphorically ticking.

His fellow warriors’ heartbeats were bang, bang, banging around him.

“Three minutes,” the pilot updated.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Logan ran a hand over his face.

“Incoming,” the pilot shouted as a Russian jet appeared on either side of them.

“Fuck.” Kurt shifted on his seat and ripped the headphones off.

The aircrafts closed in on them.

“What the hell are they doing?” Ben leaned back, turning his head.

“Let’s fucking move,” Mack yelled, glancing at Kurt.

“One minute,” the pilot yelled. “I think they are escorting us. I think.”

“Watch their weapons. Those Gatling guns move an inch, teleport immediately,” Kurt instructed, not moving his eyes from the one on his right as he pointed at the other jet.

Mack locked onto it and counted.

Sixty.

Fifty-five.

Forty-five.

Thirty.

Someone cursed.

Twenty.

Ten.

The wing flaps moved, and Mack’s heart skipped about three fucking beats. Preparing his body to teleport, he counted the last few seconds.

Three, two, one.

“We’re out of Russian airspace,” the pilot yelled as the two jets rolled away and down, disappearing.

“Fuck me. I don’t care if we’re semi-immortal, I just lost about three hundred years of my life.” Mack moaned, sinking back into his seat.

“Same, fuck. Same.” Ben leaned his arms on his thighs and ran a hand over his hair.