Had it crashed?

With widened eyes, Rosalynn rushed to the smoke-engulfed aircraft.

In the dimming Light, she could vaguely discern a figure slumped over the steering wheel inside the aircraft.

Was the person dead?

Rosalynn pounded on the door of the cockpit.

“Hey, wake up. Can you hear me?"

Receiving no response, Rosalynn hurriedly pulled out a knife from her bag, straining to pry open the door.

The man in the cockpit was tall and muscular, blood smeared across his forehead.

Rosalynn gently slapped his face, urging, “Hey, wake up!"

Finally, the man slowly fluttered open his eyes.

Rosalynn was frantic.

"Can you move? We need to get out, or the helicopter could explode.”

The man looked at Rosalynn, and a spark ignited in his hazy eyes.

With considerable effort, he raised his hand, clutching hers tightly. A faint voice emerged from his throat.

“Rosalynn!"

Rosalynn was too focused on assisting the man to clearly comprehend his words.

She guided the man's hand to her shoulder and urged, “Hold on, sir. I'll get you out of here immediately."

The man's breathing was labored, his chiseled face contorted with pain.

However, his black eyes remained steadily on Rosalynn.

Until she helped him out of the wreckage, his eyelids finally succumbed to the strain.

Leaning heavily against her, he fell unconscious.

Rosalynn, thrown off balance by his weight, stumbled and fell.