186. Static and Silence. (Patreon)

Max Dillon POV:

Pain.

That was the first thing I felt.

Hot, searing and everywhere, like my nerves had been dipped into molten wire and set on fire. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream. It felt like my body had been wrapped in something tight and dry, like a cocoon made of old paper and ash.

I tore at it.

My hands punched through with a brittle crack, and the room echoed with the sound of something hollow and dead shattering around me. Pieces rained down, clattering against the floor like broken eggshells.

I dragged myself free and gasped.

When I opened my eyes, the world wasn’t… normal. There were no colors. No textures. No familiar shapes.

I saw outlines.

Lines of light traced the skeletons of objects, glowing veins of electricity crawling through walls, through cables, through machines. Anything that carried current burned bright in my vision like something alive, screaming and present. Everything else looked thin and unreal, like transparent holograms layered over nothing.

I staggered back, clutching my head.

“What…?” My voice came out hoarse, thin.

I didn’t recognize the room. Some basement. Concrete. Water stains. Burn marks. The skin of my arms were blackened and cracked like charcoal after a fire.

I panicked.

I stumbled toward a bin, knocked it over, sent trash spilling everywhere. It held discarded clothes. They were ugly and mismatched. I grabbed them with shaking hands and pulled them on without caring how I looked because I couldn't even see their colour fully.

I just needed out.

I staggered through hallways, up stairs, out a door and into the city.

The alleys were bad enough. Power lines hummed like insects trapped inside my skull. But when I stepped into Times Square, it was like my mind exploded.

Light.

Noise.

Electricity everywhere.

It crawled along billboards and wrapped around phones in people’s pockets. It screamed through underground cables. The pavement itself glowed in blinding flash as Piezoelectric tiles harvested kinetic energy from footsteps, converting motion into current. Hydroponic berths lining the buildings shimmered as they siphoned excess bioelectricity from plants, green leaves alive with electrical power.

Millions of voices.

Millions of wires.

Millions of tiny, endless demands for energy.

It was too much.

I dropped to my knees, hands clawing at the concrete.

“Stop,” I whispered. My chest tightened at the endless buzzing. My heart thundered like it was trying to escape. The noise drilled into my skull until I couldn’t tell where the city ended and I began.

“PLEASE!!!! JUST STOP!!!!”I screamed.

Electricity surged out of me in a wild, uncontrolled wave. Phones died, streetlights popped. Screens went black all at once.

And then...boom.

The pedestrian barrier activated instantly.

Ten-foot walls of reinforced steel and concrete slammed up around the block, locking the street down like a bunker. Standard issue. New York had learned the hard way.

I curled in on myself, sobbing.

“What’s happening to me?” I choked out.

No answer.

“What’s happening to me?” I yelled, my voice cracking, echoing uselessly off steel and concrete.

I felt small.

I felt broken.

I felt lost.

Then...

“Max. Calm down.”

The voice cut through the chaos like the first rain after a drought.

Gentle. Steady. Familiar.

I lifted my head, tears blurring even the glowing lines of my vision.

Someone was there.

And for the first time since I woke up, I wasn’t alone.

Harry POV:

I exhaled slowly and leaned back in my chair.

“I swear,” I said, rubbing my temples, “being rich the right way is exhausting.”

Felicia laughed softly beside me, her legs tucked under her as she flipped through a tablet full of financial projections. “Oh no. Poor you. Tragic billionaire struggles. Having to work like the rest of us peasants.”

“I mean it,” I said, glancing at her. “Trust funds are easy. You just… exist. But actually running a company? Making sure people get paid? Making sure the board doesn’t implode under the stupidity of shareholders who know nothing about the Pharmaceuticals and the energy sectors?”

She looked up, smiling. “You know you could live the rest of your life in ridiculous luxury without lifting a finger.”

“I know.” I replied. “That’s why I don’t.”

Her smile softened.

“That’s cute.” She said. “Stupid, but cute.”

I snorted. “I’ll take that.”

She leaned closer, nudging my shoulder with hers. “You didn’t have to be responsible. You chose to be. That counts for something.”

Before I could reply, the penthouse doors slammed open.

Donald Menken strode in like he owned the place, flanked by several guards built like refrigerators with anger issues.

Felicia was on her feet instantly. “Excuse me? You can’t just...”

“It’s fine,” I said calmly, standing. I raised a hand, and she stopped, though her eyes burned.

Menken sneered. “Harry Osborn. You are accused of illegal genetic modification performed on yourself and the siphoning of company funds into a personal trust.”

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

“Wow,” I said. “You didn’t even warm up before swinging.”

I stepped around the desk. “I always knew this day would come.”

Menken threw a file at my feet. “Sign it.”

I picked it up, skimmed the contents, then nodded.

“Sure,” I said easily, signing my name without hesitation. “I’ll retreat. I’ll even be polite about it.”

Felicia was already moving, bags in hand.

“I just need my toiletries and personal belongings.” I added it lightly.

Menken’s jaw tightened. He was expecting whining, anger, tears not calm acceptance.

The elevator doors slid open. Felicia stepped inside first, turning to give me a look that was half fire, half reassurance.

I followed, turning back just long enough to smile at Menken.

An easy smile.

A dangerous one.

The doors slid shut with a soft ding.

And just like that, I was free.