“Well, well,” Electro drawls, rolling a coil of current across his palm, “look who the city sent to babysit me.”

You cross your arms, ignoring the little hairs prickling on the back of your neck. “You’re not my assignment. The thing tearing through Midtown is.”

“Thing, huh?” he says, pushing off the wall. “Big, ugly, and a lot meaner than me?” He whistles, exaggerated. “That’s rare. Usually I’m the headline.”

It’s not hard to hate Maxwell. And he keeps moving — pacing, tapping his gloves, tossing a spark into the puddle just to watch it dance.

Still, S.H.I.E.L.D said the threat’s feeding on electromagnetic energy. That means you need him. Not like you’d say it out loud.

By the time you reach the substation on 10th, the streets are quiet in that wrong way. Lights blinking in buildings like they’re holding their breath. The air is oppressive, the storm overhead has stalled, hanging heavy with black clouds that never break.

Max is still talking. “So, when this is over, should I betray you immediately, or wait until you think we’re friends? More dramatic that way.”

He laughs — an honest, sharp burst — and for a moment his eyes flash with something that isn’t mockery. Maybe amusement. Maybe a-villain-way-respect. Hard to tell with him.

The thing hits before you get inside. The ground shudders, asphalt cracking under something massive and unseen. A distortion in the air, like heat mirage, but colder. The taste of copper floods your mouth.

“Showtime, kid,” Max mutters, and suddenly the alley is blinding with arcs of electricity, webbing from his hands into the void. The distortion recoils, hissing in a pitch that makes your skull ache.

You dive, roll, slam your weapon into the open current Max is holding steady. It takes everything — your balance, your breath, your focus — but the surge drives the creature back toward the containment field S.H.I.E.L.D buried under the street.

For thirty long seconds, all you hear is the snap and roar of power, the pounding of your own heart, and Max’s ragged breathing beside you. You steal a glance — sweat streaks his temple, his grin is gone, replaced by clenched teeth and narrowed eyes.