However, it seemed God wanted to joke with Blaine. After spending the entire day playing tense, exciting games, he couldn't tell whether this was the calm before the storm or just the silence that comes before chaos. Today had been far too peaceful.

"Hey, after gaming all day, I should get some air…"

Blaine had stayed inside until eight in the evening before finally growing restless.

He decided to take a walk through the streets. Despite living in Queens for so long, he had never really taken in the night view. Tonight, there was supposed to be a light show on Moore Avenue, and Blaine intended to check it out.

Evenings in America weren't particularly lively. Unless there was a party or public event, the streets at night stayed mostly empty. Unlike some bustling countries nightlife—the city that never sleeps—here you usually saw little more than drunks and the homeless wandering around.

Blaine didn't teleport or fly. He simply walked, slowly and deliberately, as though taking an after-dinner stroll.

By eight o'clock, the sky was already fully dark. Few stars were visible, but the moon glowed brighter than usual.

"A dark night with bright moon and scattered stars—the perfect stage for crime and fire…" he muttered.

As if on cue, a piercing scream split the night, echoing from the direction of Moore Avenue.

In the distance, Blaine saw lights flickering among tall buildings. Something was definitely happening again.

This wasn't stage lighting—it was the kind of flicker caused by unstable voltage. But what could destabilize the power grid of multiple high-rises at once?

A self-proclaimed connoisseur of chaos, Blaine wouldn't miss the show.

The Hunter suit materialized around him in an instant. As he merged with the night, a gust of wind carried him to the heart of the disturbance.

The scene was Moore Avenue's central intersection.

Traffic lights had been ripped out, the posts tossed carelessly aside. Exposed city cables sparked ominously where the lights once stood.

At the center of it all stood a lone figure in a hooded sweatshirt. The hood concealed his face, but faint blue light flickered beneath it—enough to show this was no ordinary person.

"Wait… wasn't Spider-Man supposed to bring MJ to this light show tonight? If this is happening, where the hell is he?" Blaine whispered from the shadows.

Spider-Man hadn't arrived yet, but the police had. They rushed to disperse civilians and surround the saboteur. Unfortunately, curiosity outweighed fear, and the crowd refused to leave. The hooded figure, meanwhile, didn't look worried in the slightest.

Then he moved.

Raising his palm slowly, arcs of blue electricity flared to life. Sparks crawled across his skin, and his veins glowed like currents themselves.

Blaine frowned. Could it be… Electro?

But wait—Electro was supposed to appear later in Spider-Man's story, after Peter was older, working at the Daily Bugle. Why was he here now? Had Blaine's arrival actually altered Marvel's timeline?

Crackling electricity filled the street. Lights flickered violently. The tension was palpable.

Suddenly, nearby police cars exploded as the current surged through them. One vehicle was even lifted into the air and thrown aside by the blast.

That's a hell of a display, Blaine thought, half-amused.

"Listen up! You're surrounded!" one officer shouted.

"Put down your weapon, hands on your head!" another ordered.

"Stop resisting!"

Blaine nearly doubled over with laughter. Stop resisting? Against him? You clowns don't even know which one of you is going to end up fried first.

Sure enough, the instant the officer finished speaking, Electro lashed out. A whip of blue lightning extended from his arm, cracking through the air. It struck the officer squarely, hurling his body like a ragdoll. He convulsed midair, foam spilling from his mouth, before collapsing unconscious.

"Max! Stop! What's going on with you? How could this happen?"

Spider-Man swung onto the scene, catching the officer before he hit the ground. He called out desperately—but how did he know Electro's real name?

It wasn't surprising to Blaine. He knew the story: Max Dillon, once just an electrical engineer, had been exploited by his boss, forced to work overtime during holidays. An accident involving an experimental power grid and a tank of genetically engineered electric eels had changed him forever. His body became living electricity—too dangerous to live a normal life.

In a country already paranoid about "freaks" and aliens, Max had been shunned, ridiculed, and abandoned. The one person he had admired—Spider-Man—never appeared when Max needed him most. The betrayal had festered, turning him bitter.

Now, labeled a monster, Max had chosen to become one.

"…So you're here. Tonight, I'll make you watch as everything you protect burns."

His voice was low, hoarse, and laced with static. Each word crackled with electricity.

"Max, listen to me," Peter pleaded. "We can talk about this. It doesn't have to be this way. You've got these powers—use them with me. We can protect the city together."

"Max, I know you're not a bad person. You don't want this, right? Just calm down. I won't hurt you."

Electro said nothing. Sparks leapt across his arms, but his silence gave Spider-Man hope. Carefully, Peter stepped closer, as if negotiation might actually work.

"I didn't expect Spider-Man to pull out negotiation tactics," Blaine thought, amused. "The chatterbox actually knows how to reason."

Still, Blaine understood Electro too well. Reality didn't bend to persuasion. Hope was beautiful, but truth was cruel.

And indeed—

Pong!

A gunshot rang out, shattering Spider-Man's careful attempt at peace.

*************************************

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