He sat, staring rather vaguely into the window with his chin rested on his fist and one leg crossed atop the other. His mind, outside of the plane he sat in and within the world at large, as he sat in contemplation of how things were. Heroes, vigilantes, mercenaries, PMCs. No matter who entered the fray, or who helped, the world and potentially the universe seemed fervent in remaining in a constant state of chaos. But, what can one expect when power is given so liberally to any individual by none other than seemingly, nature itself. The world never seemed to know safety, to know a semblance of order that he'd so craved to bring it. Perhaps by an iron fist, but in actuality how would that make him much different than those who came before him? These were not things that could be forced, and shouldn't be forced. If it was to happen, it would happen. One step at a time.
Terrorists run amuck, extra-normal and human relations were once again on the rise in the face of seemingly individuals who had an unregulated genetic code. There was too much morality, and at the same time there was too little. He compared it to a paradox of how we live in a world where starvation and obesity in unison. No one had the common sense to lack or have it where it made sense. A new continent literally dropped out the sky and few people actually batted an eye at it. Seemingly, at any moment, anything at all could happen. A world where anything possible may seem like something unto a dream, but as it turns, he and the ones who often get trampled by it, see it as unto something of a nightmare.
His eyes wandered about the plane and fell upon his unused ashtray. Seemingly out of previous habit, he reached for a cigar, only to recall the lack of it's ability to generate any sensation within his body. For him to feel the nicotine, his body would have to actually undergo chemical reactions, like things made of conventional matter would.
Slowly, he reclined back in his seat eyes going about the plane as he looked at the pass angers, all of which he was assured of were M.O.R.S. Indeed, the only human on that plane was the pilot, due to the fact that none of the synthetic organisms possessed a mental capacity to learn to perform such tasks beyond infantry and combating large numbers of opponents in situations where cold war tactics weren't effective and raw numbers were needed. (Such as zombie like infections.) Despite being consisted of organic material, contrary to what many people believed, they were completely expendable.
His mind ceased to wander as the plane flew over a seemingly lifeless portion of they Libya-Algeria border. He waited for what was to happen next, looking downwards at his watch.
Seems about that time.