Max Dillon was an ordinary electrical engineer at Osborn Enterprises.
That's what his business card said, anyway. Electrical Engineer, Infrastructure Division. Fancy title for a guy who spent most of his days crawling through maintenance tunnels and arguing with contractors about wire gauges.
His actual job involved wrestling with New York's aging power grid—a tangled nightmare of copper and ambition that dated back to Edison's time. Max loved it. Every circuit was a puzzle, every transformer a challenge. When he was elbow-deep in a junction box, solving problems that would make most engineers weep, he felt like he mattered.
The rest of his life? Not so much.
Take this morning, for instance. The subway had been packed to the point of absurdity, bodies pressed together like sardines in a particularly sweaty can. He'd missed his stop, doubled back, and arrived at Osborn Tower seventeen minutes late.
Seventeen minutes. In the grand scheme of things, nothing. In the world of corporate America, apparently a capital offense.
"Dillon. You're late again."
Max's stomach dropped. Gerald Morrison—Senior Engineer, bifocals permanently smudged, coffee breath that could strip paint—stood blocking the hallway like a particularly disappointed roadblock.
"Mr. Morrison, I'm sorry, the subway was just—"
"Stop." Morrison held up a hand. "I don't want to hear it. Don't you realize the infrastructure project has entered a critical phase? The future is coming, Dillon, and nobody wants it to be late."
Max bit his tongue. The "critical phase" Morrison kept harping about was a routine upgrade that any competent team could handle in their sleep. But pointing that out wouldn't help anything.
"Actually, sir, speaking of the project—I uploaded several power grid designs last week. Alternative approaches to the distribution problem. I was wondering if you'd had a chance to review them?"
Morrison stopped walking. Slowly, he turned to face Max, and the look in his eyes made Max's hope wither and die.
"Power grid designs?" Morrison adjusted his glasses. "Yes, Dillon. I saw them."
"And?"
"They're garbage."
The word hit like a physical blow. Max opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Sir, if you could just explain what—"
"They're garbage," Morrison repeated, already walking away. "Theoretical nonsense from someone who clearly doesn't understand practical limitations. Stick to maintenance, Dillon. Leave the real engineering to the professionals."
Max stood frozen in the hallway, watching Morrison disappear around the corner. His hands were shaking. Not from anger—though there was plenty of that—but from something deeper. Something that had been building for years.
You're invisible, a voice whispered in his head. You don't matter. You never have.
He was still standing there, blueprints clutched to his chest like a shield, when the commotion started.
"Osborn Enterprises has reached a landmark partnership with the United States Military! The company formerly known as Osborn Enterprises is no more—welcome to the Osborn Group, rising from the ashes!"
"Breaking news: At just seventeen years old, Harry Osborn takes the helm of the Osborn Group! Is this the second coming of Tony Stark?"
The lobby had transformed into a circus. Camera flashes strobed like lightning. Reporters shouted over each other, microphones thrust forward like weapons. Security guards formed a human barrier that was slowly losing ground.
And at the center of it all, looking remarkably calm for someone being mobbed, was Harry Osborn.
Max had seen the new Chairman on TV, of course. Everyone had. The military demonstration footage had gone viral—some crazy kid in power armor tanking grenades and laughing about it. But seeing him in person was different. Harry moved through the chaos with an easy confidence that seemed almost supernatural, like he'd been born for this kind of attention.
Must be nice, Max thought bitterly. Must be real nice to matter.
"Mr. Osborn! What role did you play in the formation of the Osborn Group?"
Harry smiled for the cameras. "I believe I've only done some minor work. What's important is that my father laid a solid foundation. I'm just building on his vision."
Humble. Charming. The reporters ate it up.
"Mr. Osborn, some are calling you the second Tony Stark! What are your thoughts on the comparison?"
Harry's smile turned enigmatic. He said nothing, which somehow made for an even better soundbite.
"Mr. Osborn!" A different voice cut through—sharper, more aggressive. "Why did you choose to transition into a military-industrial enterprise? Don't you realize your actions will kill countless innocent people?"
The lobby went quiet. Max watched Harry's expression shift, just slightly—a flicker of annoyance, quickly masked.
"Actually," Harry said, his tone still pleasant but with an edge now, "the Osborn Group hasn't transitioned into a military-industrial enterprise. We've simply expanded our business scope. Moreover, the EXO series will primarily be applied to civilian industries—mining, deep-sea operations, construction. I suppose a reporter like yourself wouldn't know how harsh the working conditions are for people in those fields, would you?"
The aggressive reporter opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Around her, other journalists shifted uncomfortably.
Harry pressed on. "Tell you what—it must be exhausting, camping outside company headquarters at seven in the morning. So I'll give you something for your trouble." He paused, letting the anticipation build. "The Osborn Group's next major initiative will be in the energy sector. We've actually been developing this project for some time now. It's almost ready to bear fruit."
Before anyone could follow up, Harry turned and strode toward the building entrance. The security team closed ranks behind him, cutting off pursuit.
Max watched him go, still clutching his rejected blueprints. Energy sector. Power grid designs.
Coincidence, he told himself. Has to be a coincidence.
Harry stepped into the lobby and immediately felt the tension in his shoulders ease. Reporters were exhausting. Necessary, but exhausting.
"Good morning, Miss Hurley. Please tell me there's coffee."
Victoria Hurley was waiting for him with a tablet in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. Blonde, sharp-eyed, and terrifyingly efficient—she'd been his father's assistant before Harry took over, and she'd transitioned to his service without missing a beat.
"Black, two sugars, exactly how you hate it," she said, handing it over with a smile. "Also, the Energy Department submitted a new urban power grid design yesterday. You need to review it before the ten o'clock."
Harry took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. She wasn't kidding about the two sugars. "Perfect timing, actually. I was about to ask—can you get Max Dillon up here?"
"Max Dillon?" Hurley's fingers were already dancing across her tablet. "Electrical engineer, Infrastructure Division?"
"That's the one."
As they walked toward the elevators, Harry noticed two figures frozen near the stairwell. One was an older man with glasses, looking like he'd swallowed something unpleasant. The other was a Black man in his thirties, hunched slightly, arms wrapped around a stack of engineering blueprints like they were a life preserver.
The second man was staring at Harry with an expression that hovered somewhere between awe and terror.
"Something I can help you with?" Harry asked.
"It's nothing!" the older man blurted, far too loudly. He grabbed his companion's arm and tried to pull him away.
Hurley glanced at her tablet. "Oh—Harry, this is Max Dillon. If we don't have a second Max on payroll, he's the one you were looking for."
Harry stopped walking.
Max Dillon. Electro. The man who, in another timeline, would be transformed by an accident at Oscorp into one of Spider-Man's most dangerous enemies. A living battery with enough voltage to level city blocks.
Harry had confirmed yesterday that Dillon was still employed here. He'd planned to seek him out eventually, once the energy initiative was further along. But running into him like this, in the lobby, clutching what looked like exactly the kind of designs Harry needed?
The universe has a sense of humor, Harry thought.
In the movies, Max had been a tragic figure—brilliant but overlooked, desperate for recognition, ultimately driven to villainy by a combination of terrible luck and worse treatment. The man standing before Harry now had that same haunted look, that same beaten-down posture. Like someone who'd been told he didn't matter so many times he'd started to believe it.
Harry could work with that.
"Perfect timing, Max." He waved toward the elevator. "Come with me."
Max's eyes went wide. "Y-yes! Sir!"
The older man—Morrison, according to his badge—looked like he wanted to object. Harry ignored him completely.
The office door closed with a solid thunk, and suddenly Max Dillon found himself sitting across from the Chairman of the Osborn Group.
This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Max had imagined scenarios like this a thousand times—being recognized, being seen—but he'd never actually believed any of them would come true.
"I heard you submitted quite a few power grid designs," Harry said, settling into his chair like he owned the world. Which, technically, he kind of did. "Tell me about your thinking."
Max didn't respond. He couldn't. His brain had apparently decided that this was an excellent time to stop working entirely.
Harry frowned. "Max?"
Still nothing. Max was frozen, a deer in headlights, his mouth slightly open but no words coming out.
Harry studied him for a moment. The body language, the barely-controlled trembling, the way Max seemed to be simultaneously desperate for attention and terrified of receiving it—all of it painted a picture. This was a man who'd been overlooked and undervalued for so long that genuine recognition felt like a trap.
Great, Harry thought. I need to handle this carefully, or he might completely shut down.
Or worse. Harry remembered how quickly Max's adoration for Spider-Man had curdled into murderous rage in the movies. The man had psychological issues, no doubt about it—issues that stemmed from a lifetime of being treated like garbage. Push the wrong button, and things could get ugly.
"Max." Harry tapped the desk, making his voice deliberately calm. "Let's talk business. I'm genuinely interested in your work. No tricks, no tests. Just tell me what you've been thinking about."
Something in Max's expression shifted. A spark of hope, maybe, fighting through the fear.
"Y-yes, sir!"
And then he started talking.
Twenty minutes later, Harry was genuinely impressed.
Max Dillon wasn't just a good engineer. He was brilliant—possibly one of the most creative electrical minds Harry had encountered in either life. The designs he described weren't incremental improvements; they were revolutionary reimaginings of how urban power distribution could work.
More importantly, they aligned almost perfectly with the Global Energy Grid Design Outline the system had given him as a reward.
Harry pulled up the system schematic on his office display, letting the holographic projections fill the room. Max's eyes went wide, tracking the elegant curves and mathematical precision of the design.
"Not bad," Harry said, comparing Max's sketches to the system's version. "Your instincts are good. Really good, actually. You're thinking about power distribution in exactly the right way."
Max didn't respond. He was staring at the display like a man who'd just seen God.
"However." Harry highlighted several sections where the designs diverged. "Compared to the version I've been developing, yours still has some issues. Efficiency losses in the secondary distribution nodes. Redundancy problems in the failsafe architecture. Small things, but they add up."
Max's head dropped. Here it came—the rejection, the dismissal, the you're not good enough that he'd heard a thousand times before.
"So here's what I want you to do."
Max looked up, startled.
"Take my design framework. Study it. Learn from it." Harry transferred the files to a secure tablet and slid it across the desk. "Then give me a new version of your design that incorporates these improvements. I want it on my desk in two weeks."
"I... okay. Wait." Max's brow furrowed, processing. "You want me to submit it directly to you? Not to my department head?"
"Directly to me." Harry leaned back in his chair. "In fact, my father has already negotiated with the New York City government. The power grid improvement project kicks off next month, and I need someone to lead the technical side."
He paused, letting the moment build.
"I'm planning to make you Chief Engineer."
Silence.
Then Max was on his feet, chair clattering backward, his face a mask of shock and disbelief.
"That's great news—wait, WHAT? What did you say you want me to be?"
Victoria Hurley poked her head in, alarmed by the commotion. Harry waved her off.
"Sit down, Max." He kept his voice calm, controlled. "You're going to be the Chief Engineer. It's primarily a technical leadership role—you won't have to deal with the political nonsense—but I need you to be composed. Professional. The Group has high hopes for this project, and I need to know you can handle the pressure."
Max sat down heavily. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wet.
"I... I... I..." He took a breath, tried again. "Thank you, Mr. Osborn. Thank you. I won't let you down. I promise, I won't—"
"I know you won't." Harry smiled, and he meant it. The Max Dillon sitting in front of him wasn't a supervillain. He was a man who'd been beaten down by life until he'd almost given up. All he'd ever needed was someone to believe in him.
And if I can keep him on this path, Harry thought, he never has to become Electro at all.
That was the goal, wasn't it? Not just building an empire, but changing the futures he knew were coming. Tony Stark would return from Afghanistan transformed. The Avengers would assemble. Threats from beyond the stars would descend. And somewhere in Queens, a kid was probably getting bitten by a radioactive spider right about now.
Harry couldn't prevent all of it. But he could prepare. And having a grateful, loyal Max Dillon on his team—a Max who'd never been pushed to the breaking point—was a good start.
As if on cue, the system notification flashed in his peripheral vision:
[MISSION: Energy Monopoly]
[Phase One: Establish and Control the New York City Power Grid]
Harry looked at that "Phase One" designation and felt a smile tugging at his lips. Long-term mission. Multiple stages. The system wasn't just giving him tasks anymore—it was giving him a roadmap.
New York's power grid was just the beginning.
"Get to work, Max," Harry said. "We've got a city to light up."
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