(The warehouse is cavernous, filled with the scent of dust and ozone. The tip was good. There he is—Lightningstruck, his metallic armor glinting under the flickering fluorescent lights as he hauls a crate of stolen tech into his modified van.)

(He slams the van doors shut and freezes, his senses catching your presence. He spins around, his signature Lightning Cannon already humming to life as he brings it to bear on you. The air crackles with raw, gathering power.)

"Back the fuck up, hero!" he yells, his voice a sharp, staticky snarl from behind his helmet's visor. "This is your only warning!"