Max lifted his head, eyes sharp with suspicion as the noise cut through his thoughts. A plump, middle-aged woman stood a few steps away, her face twisted in open disgust, while beside her loomed a burly, overweight man gripping a camera, angling it like he was about to capture something unpleasant. Their attention wasn't casual curiosity—it was judgment, thick and immediate, pressing down on him like a weight he'd carried his entire life.
"So what, I blocked your group photo?" Max muttered under his breath, his voice low but edged with irritation. The man hesitated for a moment, then awkwardly shuffled to his feet as if ready to move aside, his earlier bravado fading into something more submissive. But before he could even take a few steps away, the couple started barking at him again, their impatience spilling over into sharp, mocking words, punctuated with crude, irritated curses.
The way they dismissed him so casually, as if he were less than human, twisted something deep inside Max. It wasn't new—he'd endured this kind of treatment more times than he could count—but that didn't make it easier to swallow. This constant cycle of being ignored, belittled, and treated like a problem was suffocating, and now, as faint arcs of lightning curled around his fingers, he stared at them with something darker in his eyes.
"I don't want this anymore," he said, the words slipping out almost like a confession, quiet but heavy with meaning. They didn't even hear the desperation behind it, or maybe they just didn't care, because the woman's expression hardened instantly.
"You dare talk back?" she snapped, her voice rising as she stormed forward without hesitation. Her hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back before her palm cracked against his face.
Once.
Twice.
Each strike rang out sharply, echoing through the air, but the third sound that followed wasn't another slap. It was something else entirely, something louder and far more violent, like the sky itself tearing open.
A deafening roar exploded outward, and in the next instant, the woman's body was flung through the air. When she hit the ground, her form was charred black, smoke curling from her skin as she convulsed violently, her earlier fury replaced by raw, helpless agony.
"You damn mutant, you think you can fight back?" the man screamed, his voice shrill with outrage. Yet even as his wife lay writhing on the ground, he didn't rush to her side. His gaze locked onto Max instead, filled with revulsion and something dangerously close to hatred, as if Max's very existence offended him.
Max met his eyes, and for a brief second, something snapped. Lightning surged outward again, violent and uncontrolled, and with a sharp crack, the man was blasted off his feet and hurled backward, crashing into the ground with a heavy thud.
The space around Max cleared almost instantly, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. For the first time, there was no one crowding him, no one pressing in too close, no one looking at him like he didn't belong. He exhaled slowly, and for a fleeting moment, he felt… comfortable.
But that illusion shattered just as quickly as it formed. The people around him didn't relax—they recoiled, their fear transforming into something far uglier as they put distance between themselves and him, as if he were a contagious disease.
"That electric freak actually attacked normal people!" someone shouted, their voice trembling with outrage.
"Get out of New York, you filthy trash!" another voice yelled, louder, angrier, fueled by the crowd's rising hysteria.
"God, why did we have to witness something this disgusting?" a third voice cried out, laced with revulsion.
Max's expression tightened, his face draining of color as the words struck him harder than any physical blow. "So now I'm the villain?" he muttered, his teeth clenching as something inside him twisted painfully. He couldn't understand it—he had done nothing more than defend himself. Was it really so wrong to answer violence with violence?
Why was it always like this? Why were there always people who went out of their way to provoke, to humiliate, to push others to the edge? And when someone finally pushed back, suddenly they were the monster?
A faint crackling sound filled the air as the electricity around him grew more unstable, flickering erratically like a bomb seconds away from detonation. Even so, Max forced himself to hold on, to keep that last thread of control from snapping completely.
"Everyone," he said, his voice strained but still carrying, "if you don't want to get hurt, you should leave. I'm not in a good state right now, and if something happens, I won't be able to stop it."
His warning only made things worse. The crowd didn't calm down—instead, their fear twisted into anger, their voices rising as they shouted accusations and condemnations, painting him as something evil that needed to be put down. Some of them even pulled out weapons, their hands shaking with a mix of fear and reckless excitement.
Max stared at them, disbelief slowly giving way to cold fury. Were they always like this? Always so quick to judge, so eager to turn on someone they didn't understand?
It felt like the world itself had frozen over, a suffocating cold wrapping around his chest as the electricity inside him surged violently outward. He couldn't hold it back anymore.
"Boom!"
The explosion of power was instantaneous, a wave of raw energy ripping through the area and knocking everyone to the ground in a blinding flash of light. The voices that had filled the air moments ago were gone, replaced by a heavy, unnatural silence.
——
Inside a seaside villa, the calm was anything but peaceful. The sound of shouting echoed through the room, followed by the sharp crack of a slap that cut through the tension like a knife.
"You've let down everyone who believed in you," Captain Steve said, his voice heavy with disappointment as he glared at the figure sprawled in front of him. The man barely looked human anymore, slumped there like a heap of mud, his clothes disheveled, his beard overgrown, and the smell of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin.
"I need a drink… just one more…" the man mumbled, his hand reaching out blindly, his eyes unfocused and clouded by intoxication. It was hard to reconcile this broken figure with the image of Tony Stark, the once brilliant billionaire and hero who had stood at the forefront of every battle.
Now, he looked like nothing more than a drunk who had lost everything, including himself. Even Steve's anger and harsh words couldn't stir any sign of the man he used to be.
A quiet sigh escaped Steve's lips as he glanced down at the message on his phone. "It's getting late," he said, his tone softening slightly. "I have to go. Tony… you were the strongest among us once. Whatever happens, I hope you find your way back."
The door closed behind him with a muted thud, leaving the dimly lit laboratory in silence once more. Inside a glass enclosure nearby, a semi-mechanical symbiote writhed slowly, its movements unsettling, like a beast waiting for the right moment to break free from its cage.
Outside, Steve lifted his gaze toward the darkening sky, only to see a warship hovering in the distance. His communicator crackled to life, and the voice of Hawkeye came through clearly.
"Captain, we've got a new mission."
"What is it?" Steve asked, already turning his focus back to the task at hand.
"It's a lightning-related incident. According to the logs, it's a disaster that just happened in Times Square. It's connected to a mutant's powers, and the suspect is still at the scene. If we move now, we can contain the situation."
Steve nodded slightly, his expression hardening as he stepped onto the warship. "Looks like we're not getting a break anytime soon."
Once inside, he took the documents handed to him by Black Widow and flipped them open. The first page detailed everything known about Max, outlining his background, his abilities, and the events leading up to the current crisis.
At the very end of the report, a single line stood out. It described him as someone who had once been ordinary and harmless, someone who had spent his life being overlooked and ignored, only to finally gain power. And now, it questioned whether what he truly wanted was recognition and validation from the very people who had dismissed him—or if he had become something else entirely, a figure hiding behind a fragile mask of resentment.
Steve's brow furrowed slightly as he read it, a faint sense of unease creeping into his thoughts.
——
Inside a quiet, rustic villa, Locke stood alone, his presence radiating an overwhelming intensity that warped the air around him. As he continued to refine and understand the power he had obtained, the gap between himself and ordinary humans became clearer with every passing moment.
It wasn't just strength—it was something more fundamental, like the difference between entirely different dimensions of existence. If that difference had to be described in simpler terms, then within this small space, everyone else might as well be his enemy.
Heat rippled outward from his body, like a miniature sun releasing its energy, the ground beneath him cracking under the pressure as the surrounding vegetation withered and dried almost instantly. This wasn't even him trying—it was just the natural overflow of power coursing through his veins.
If he truly let it loose, the destruction would be unimaginable.
"Lord Locke," a voice called out from above, breaking the stillness.
Near the doorway, a figure knelt, clad in blue bandages, twin swords resting at his sides, their edges still stained with fresh blood. As the leader of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Leonardo had honed his skills to a razor's edge, his dual blades moving with deadly precision after relentless training under Locke's guidance.
"I followed your orders and searched thoroughly," Leonardo said, his tone steady despite the tension in the air. "And just recently, I found the target you've been looking for… Luke…"
.....
Join my p@treon and read ahead by more than 60+ chapters.
Link : [email protected]/Sonic_Spectre
Free members can read the next two chapters for free on my p@treon