"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
Suddenly, low, maniacal laughter echoed through the street. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once, reverberating endlessly.
The people fleeing in panic froze momentarily, bewildered by the chilling laughter.
The laughter was exaggerated, almost otherworldly, carrying an unsettling blend of madness and menace. It was not the kind of sound one would expect from a good person.
"Anton, do you think you can beat me with the same tricks as last time?"
The voice taunted, dripping with madness. Those who heard it couldn't ignore the name it mentioned: Anton.
Someone among the crowd recognized the figure standing opposite the gate—Anton Jameson.
Anton was no ordinary man. He was the son of a wealthy family, a celebrated Hollywood director, a New York entrepreneur, and the owner of Wayne Company. But these accolades were not what made him a target.
Anton's most significant—and dangerous—identity was that of Batman's comrade-in-arms and an official member of the Justice League.
It didn't take long for the crowd to piece together what was happening.
"Is this revenge?" someone whispered.
"Batman's enemies can't find him, so they're coming after Anton instead?"
The realization sent a wave of unease through the crowd. People hurriedly retreated, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.
While Anton, as Batman's ally and the head of an arms manufacturing empire, likely had resources and tricks up his sleeve, the ordinary civilians knew they stood no chance in such a confrontation.
Wayne Company, Chairman's Office
Inside the building, a group of people stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the scene unfold below.
Among them was Phil, who had just arrived in the office, and Anton's father, John, who looked visibly worried.
"Will he really be okay?" John asked anxiously, his gaze fixed on Anton's lone figure outside.
"If something happens to him, New York is finished," someone muttered grimly.
"Don't worry, John," another reassured with a smirk. "he'll be fine."
The others exchanged knowing looks, their expressions bordering on amusement. Even the old man chuckled quietly and shot John a sly glance.
John noticed their reactions, and his curiosity was piqued. Anton's confidence—and the group's apparent lack of concern—suggested that Anton had some kind of trump card up his sleeve.
Yet, John felt out of the loop. It was clear to him that everyone else in the room already knew Anton's "secret."
He frowned, feeling like the only one without a backstage pass to the full story.
Beneath the towering building, on the now-deserted street cleared by the fleeing crowd, Anton stood alone in the center.
Looking around, he saw that even the closest bystanders were nearly a hundred meters away, anxiously watching from a distance.
Meanwhile, the mysterious man who had been laughing maniacally, his voice echoing from an unknown location, finally revealed his extraordinary power.
Boom!
Several streetlights along the street exploded at their bases, their metal poles hurtling through the air before crashing heavily onto the pavement.
One of the streetlights, propelled by the force of the blast, flew toward the distant crowd, narrowly missing several people.
The near-miss elicited panicked screams as the lamp smashed into the ground, sparks flying and stone fragments scattering in all directions.
The tension in the air became almost palpable.
Zzzzzttt!
The sound of crackling electricity grew louder.
The street's billboards began flickering erratically, and many of the cheaper, poorly maintained ones short-circuited entirely, plunging sections of the street into darkness.
Before everyone's eyes, streaks of electricity surged from the shattered streetlight bases and flowed upward like rivers. The currents coalesced in mid-air, shaping themselves into a humanoid form.
Gasps rippled through the crowd as the miraculous scene unfolded. Even in New York—a city no stranger to the extraordinary—this was something entirely new.
"Is this really... a person?"
That question lingered in the minds of everyone who witnessed the phenomenon.
At the previous Stark Expo, Max Dillon—Electro—had appeared only briefly, and few had truly seen him in action.
Subsequent media reports, under pressure from the New York Police Department, had merely glossed over his existence.
While the name "Electro" or "Max Dillon" might have been familiar to some, few had any concept of what he actually looked like.
But now, with this dramatic entrance, everyone present knew they would never forget him.
"It's him!" someone shouted.
"He's Electro! I remember now—Anton just called him Max Dillon! He's the one who showed up at the Stark Expo and got arrested!"
"Arrested? This guy? Who could take him down?"
"Anton Jameson, that's who!"
"What? Anton Jameson? But he's not a superhero! He's just a member of the Justice League's logistics team, right? How could someone like him handle this guy?"
As the crowd whispered and debated, their murmurs quickly turned into a buzz of disbelief and awe.
Zzzzzttt!
The electrical currents in the air fully solidified into a figure.
Max Dillon—Electro—hovered in mid-air, supported by the magnetic field generated by his power.
His imposing figure stood over three meters tall, and his glowing blue skin crackled with raw electricity. He looked down at Anton, a sneer twisting his lips.
"This time, you have no chance!"
Electro raised his hand slowly, gathering a searing orb of electricity in his palm.
Anton, standing calmly in the middle of the street, showed no fear. His voice was flat, almost dismissive.
"I'm not surprised you've come for revenge. What I'm curious about is... who sent you?"
Electro's expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of unease crossing his face. But he quickly masked it, his sneer returning.
"You'll never find out!" he snarled, hurling the charged ball of electricity toward Anton.
Boom!
The shockwave of the attack was deafening, the raw energy lighting up the street.
Anton didn't flinch. His calm demeanor remained unchanged, a hint of disdain flickering across his face.
"So," he murmured as the attack hurtled toward him, "there is someone pulling your strings."
The onlookers, frozen in fear, could hardly believe their eyes.
"No way..."
"Anton Jameson wouldn't just die like this... would he?"
"Why is he just standing there?"
The crowd was a mixture of emotions—some were frightened, others sneered, a few were genuinely worried, and some couldn't bear to watch.
Inside Wayne's building—Chairman's Office.
"That's it!"
John's face turned pale with anxiety. He spun around, glaring at the others in the room. "Why isn't he dodging? Didn't you say it's impossible for Anton to lose?"
"Calm down!"
The old man, though visibly uneasy, tried to keep his composure as he barked back, "Watch closely! My grandson won't go down so easily. Don't forget—he's already captured Electro once; he can do it again! Don't you have faith in your own son?"
Phil and Wick remained silent, their confidence in Anton seemingly unshaken.
They both knew just how capable Anton was.
Phil, as a Justice League member, had personally seen Anton step into Batman's shoes and carve out his own reputation.
Wick, on the other hand, had faced Anton in combat—a fight that left him humbled and magnified Anton's power in his mind.
"Look!"
Phil suddenly pointed to the scene outside. "Someone's appeared!"
John, tense with worry, immediately turned his gaze back to the window.
Boom!
At the exact moment when Electro's current was about to strike, a tall, slender figure descended from the sky.
Her long hair flowed behind her, and she wore armor that was both revealing and striking. Her entire body seemed to emit a golden light.
Clang!
The figure landed gracefully in front of Anton, crossing her arms to project an invisible shield of air that completely absorbed the electric shockwave.
"Who is she?"
"Wait… doesn't her outfit look familiar?"
…
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