Pain.
Unbearable, all-consuming pain.
Max Dillon felt like he had been dragged straight into hell itself, his entire body drowning in agony that refused to let go. Every nerve screamed, every muscle spasmed, and just when he thought he had reached his absolute limit—when he was sure he couldn't endure even one more second—something deep inside him snapped.
A primal instinct.
A desperate, clawing will to survive.
It surged through him, dragging him upward from that endless abyss, forcing him to fight, to move, to escape. And as that instinct awakened, something else followed it.
Something darker.
Something far more dangerous.
As if something had descended into the human world.
"Sizzle… sizzle…"
Silver-blue arcs of electricity flickered across his body as his form slowly rose from the water. He didn't climb out. He didn't struggle his way up.
He floated.
Suspended in mid-air like a being that no longer belonged to gravity.
With a simple motion of his hand, several currents shot outward, slicing into the nearby electrical panels. Sparks exploded instantly, and the water around him surged violently, carrying along the still-twitching bodies of electric eels.
For a moment, Max just stared at his own hands.
What… happened to me?
The power inside him was overwhelming.
It wasn't subtle, and it wasn't gentle. It was wild, violent, and absolute, like he could reach out and take control of everything around him if he wanted to. The building, the electricity, the very air—it all felt like it was responding to him.
But instead of joy, instead of excitement…
He felt fear.
Raw, suffocating fear.
Had he turned into a monster?
Was he even human anymore?
"No… no…!" Max clutched his head, his voice breaking as panic took over. The more his emotions spiraled, the more unstable the energy around him became. Lightning burst outward uncontrollably, smashing through glass tanks one after another.
Explosions rang out across the room.
Water flooded the floor.
Eels were thrown into the air like debris.
Everything collapsed into chaos.
"Bang… bang…"
Glass shattered, metal buckled, and currents danced wildly through the wreckage as Max cried out in anguish. The destruction didn't stop until the entire chamber had been reduced to a flooded, sparking ruin.
Only then did his mind begin to clear.
And just as he realized what he had done—
"Click."
The sound of a key turning in the door echoed through the room.
Max froze.
In that instant, he looked exactly like a thief caught in the act, panic flashing across his face. He didn't think. He didn't hesitate.
He just moved.
With a violent surge of energy, he shot upward and slammed straight through the window above. The glass exploded outward as his body turned into a streak of electricity, vanishing into the open air.
It was absurd.
A skylight, in a power supply room buried three levels underground.
And yet, that strange architectural decision became his escape route.
A second later, the security guard pushed the door open.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Water covered the entire floor. Dead eels floated everywhere. The air still crackled with residual electricity, and for just a split second, he thought he saw something move within the fading arcs.
A figure.
Or maybe a shadow.
His throat tightened.
Was that… a ghost?
——
"Clang!"
Inside S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Nick Fury slammed his hand against the table, his expression darker than ever.
The situation had escalated beyond what he had expected.
Hammer Advanced Industries hadn't just made noise—they had delivered results. That towering Iron Monger, standing over five meters tall, wasn't just a prototype. It was a statement.
And worse…
It had crushed War Machine.
That single outcome changed everything.
Tony Stark's armor was no longer unique.
If Tony couldn't step forward and defeat that monster in a fair fight, then his reputation—his entire standing—would collapse. The man who had once been seen as irreplaceable would become just another name in the long list of outdated innovators.
And for Fury?
That meant one thing.
A terrible investment.
What he had wanted was a one-of-a-kind asset. A symbol. A weapon that couldn't be replicated.
But now?
That advantage was slipping away.
His jaw tightened as another thought forced its way to the surface, one he couldn't ignore no matter how much he wanted to.
The biggest mistake he had ever made.
Letting Locke walk away.
If he hadn't made that decision… if he hadn't pushed him out…
Then that overwhelming force, that unstoppable presence, would still belong to S.H.I.E.L.D.
The thought alone made his chest tighten.
Grinding his teeth, Fury exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the frustration boiling inside him.
"Knock, knock."
The door opened, and Steve Rogers stepped in, his expression serious. He didn't waste time on small talk.
"Director Fury, the public opinion around Tony is getting worse by the hour," Steve said directly. "If we don't step in, he's going to lose everything."
Fury shot him an irritated look.
"Step in? And how exactly do you propose we do that?" he snapped. "The guy's been drunk for days. I haven't seen him do anything productive since this mess started."
Steve hesitated for a second, then pressed on.
"We have to try something. We're supposed to be partners."
His voice carried conviction, that familiar unwavering sense of righteousness. To him, helping Tony wasn't optional—it was the right thing to do.
Fury stared at him for a moment, then let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"Fine," he said, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "If you want to help him so badly, go ahead. I approve your mission. Go light a fire under him."
Steve blinked, caught off guard.
"Me?"
"Who else?" Fury shot back immediately. "You two are practically brothers, aren't you? When your friend's in trouble, you step up. Or is that not how it works anymore?"
Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"…All right," he finally said, though the uncertainty on his face didn't disappear.
He turned and walked toward the door, clearly not expecting the responsibility to fall entirely on him. Behind him, Fury leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Want the glory?
Then earn it yourself.
But before the moment could settle, the television in front of him abruptly cut to a breaking report.
The headline hit like a shockwave.
A new era without disease.
The camera focused on a familiar figure standing at the center of it all.
Locke.
Dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, he stood with calm authority as the announcement unfolded. Beside him, Curt Connors stepped forward, his voice steady as he explained the breakthrough.
"The first generation of self-healing medicine developed by Milcom Industries is ready for release," Connors said. "External injuries… internal damage… congenital defects… all of it can be treated with this."
The reporter, April, stood nearby, her expression bright with excitement as she occasionally glanced toward Locke. Her admiration was obvious, and judging by the reactions of the audience behind her, she wasn't alone.
People were already imagining it.
A world without disease.
A world without suffering.
It was revolutionary.
It was terrifying.
Fury felt the air leave his lungs.
The gap was too wide.
Too absolute.
Compared to something like this, Tony Stark's armor suddenly felt… small. Insignificant. A toy in the shadow of something that could reshape humanity itself.
His expression darkened further.
"Tony…" he muttered under his breath. "This might be the worst deal I've ever made."
"No exceptions."
——
The wind carried the noise of the city through Times Square, but in one forgotten corner, far from the bright lights and crowded streets, a lone figure huddled against the cold.
Max Dillon.
He had wrapped himself tightly in an old coat, his body curled inward as if trying to hold something back. Only his eyes remained visible, darting nervously at every movement around him.
If anyone got too close, he flinched.
If anyone lingered, he pulled away.
Inside him, something was wrong.
The power he had gained wasn't under control. It surged unpredictably, building and twisting, threatening to break free at any moment. He could feel it constantly, like a storm trapped beneath his skin.
If he lost control…
He might destroy everything around him.
That thought alone forced him to keep fighting, to hold it back with everything he had.
He sat there, shaking slightly, lost in his own thoughts.
Then—
"Hey! You! Get the hell out of here!"
The shout cut through the air without warning.
.....
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