JOHNNY STORM LOVED THE THRILL OF THE CHASE, WHETHER IT WAS RACING HIS MOTORCYCLE AT BREAKNECK SPEEDS, CARVING DOWN BLACK-DIAMOND SKI SLOPES, OR NAVIGATING THE TWISTS AND TURNS OF A HIGH-STAKES POKER GAME. But the excitement didn't stop with sports and adrenaline. No, Johnny chased excitement in every aspect of life, especially when it came to women.

His flirtations were as bold as his stunts, and he had a knack for picking out women who were already spoken for—usually by men twice his size. Johnny thrived off the danger, loving the inevitable chaos that followed when a jealous boyfriend realized who'd been chatting up his girl. A fight would break out, punches would be thrown, and Johnny—grinning like he'd just conquered a new frontier—would end up walking away bruised but satisfied.

It wasn't the cleanest way to live, but for Johnny, it was living. And he didn't care much about the consequences. Unfortunately, his reckless antics made his bodyguards' lives hell. His high-speed motorcycle chases down crowded streets, getting into bar brawls with furious boyfriends, and his habit of picking fights with anyone who dared call him out? None of it exactly screamed "safety."

Bodyguards came and went, each one more exasperated than the last. They couldn't keep up with him. One minute he'd be zipping off on his bike to Vegas for a gambling weekend, and the next, he was throwing himself headfirst into a brawl outside a nightclub, all because he'd flirted with the wrong woman—again.

Johnny didn't blame them for quitting. He probably would've quit, too, if he were in their shoes. But in his mind, why should he stop? He was retired. He was living life the way he wanted, and if someone couldn't handle it, that was their problem.

Susan, on the other hand, had a different perspective. After the third bodyguard threw in the towel, she decided enough was enough.

Johnny rode all the way to Susan's boyfriend's headquarters, Von Doom Industries, with a girl clinging to his back on the bike. Her name started with an H... or maybe it was an E? He wasn't really sure, but it didn't matter. It never did. What he did know was that he had to make this meeting quick—there were reservations for two at some fancy restaurant upstate, and he didn't plan on being late.

As they sped through the city, the wind whipping through his hair, Johnny couldn't help but smirk. Rolling up to Victor Von Doom's high-tech fortress of a company felt like a little jab at his sister. What did she see in that guy, anyway?Always so serious, so controlled. Johnny liked to think of it as cosmic irony—Susan dating the polar opposite of him.

Pulling up to the front of the sleek, towering building, Johnny parked his bike, barely glancing back at the girl who slid off the seat with a dazed smile. He tossed the keys to the valet and flashed her his signature grin. "Wait here. I won't be long. Maybe."

She nodded eagerly, as they always did. H... no, definitely an E, he thought, brushing it off as he swaggered toward the entrance. Whatever business Susan needed him here for, it better not take long. He had more exciting plans waiting.

"Are you sure it's okay?" the girl on the back of Johnny's bike asked, her voice hesitant as she slid off.

Johnny flashed her a casual smile, about to say her name—Harley, Heather, Hannah? He wasn't sure, so he played it safe. "Of course, babe," he said, his grin widening as he strolled past the valet, tossing his keys to him like it was second nature. He glanced back at her with a wink. She smiled, clearly appeased.

They walked up to the front desk, Johnny leaning lazily on the counter. "Storm. Here to see the boss."

The receptionist gave him a practiced smile and gestured toward the elevators. Just as Johnny expected, Susan and her boyfriend, Victor, descended the stairs to meet them. Johnny stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, doing his best to suppress a sigh. Victor's sharp suit and stoic expression couldn't be more different from Johnny's easygoing leather jacket and carefree attitude.

"Johnny," Susan greeted warmly, though her eyes flicked to the girl beside him, suspicion clouding her face.

Victor offered a stiff nod before his eyes darted to the woman next to Johnny. "And you are...?"

"She's uh... her," Johnny stumbled, trying to cover up his uncertainty with a sheepish laugh.

The girl cut in with an exasperated smile. "Harley."

"Right, Harley!" Johnny clapped his hands together, casting a quick glance at his sister, hoping she didn't catch his blunder. But of course, Susan shot him a pointed look that practically screamed Really, Johnny?

"Nice to meet you, Harley," Susan replied, though her tone was polite, her eyes shot daggers at her brother. Johnny could practically feel the heat of her silent disapproval boring into him.

As they made their way to the elevator, Susan turned to him, her voice slightly more serious. "Johnny, ever since your retirement, things have... spiraled a bit, don't you think?"

Johnny leaned back against the elevator wall, crossing his arms. "Spiraled? I call it living the dream. Freedom, baby." He gave her a smirk.

Victor, ever the serious one, chimed in as the elevator began to ascend. "Freedom? Or recklessness? How many bodyguards have you burned through this month alone, Johnny?"

Johnny shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, not my fault they couldn't keep up."

Susan sighed, glancing at Victor. "It's not just about that. You've been getting into more trouble lately—bar fights, public disturbances. It's... becoming a bit of a problem."

Johnny waved a hand dismissively. "Look, I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter."

Victor exchanged a look with Susan before offering, "Actually, I had an idea about that." He turned to Johnny, eyes narrowing with an almost smug look. "What if I offered you a job? Assistant to the chief of the department of genetic research."

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Assistant? To who?"

Susan coughed awkwardly before raising her hand with a slightly guilty smile. "Uh... me."

Johnny's grin faltered as the elevator dinged to a stop. Of course, he thought. He loved Susan, he was happy for her success and the new position, but the thought of working for her—especially in a place like this—made his skin crawl. "Yeah, no thanks," he said, stepping out of the elevator. "As fun as that sounds, I value my freedom a little too much to be anyone's assistant. Plus, working here with him—" Johnny tilted his head towards Victor. "—I'd rather jump out of a plane without a parachute."

Victor chuckled, as if Johnny's reaction was exactly what he expected. "I thought you might say that."

Johnny frowned. There was something in the way Victor and Susan exchanged looks that made him uneasy.

Victor gestured down the hall. "But that's why we're trying something different. Instead of forcing a bodyguard on you, we're letting you pick."

Johnny blinked, confusion written across his face. "Pick?"

Victor opened the door to a room filled with ten people standing in a line, all wearing sharp, professional expressions. They were a mix of men and women, each one giving off an air of competence, toughness, and precision.

"Out of 1,538 applicants, these are the top ten," Susan said, walking over to the first candidate, a burly man with broad shoulders and a military stance. "Hand-selected based on your needs... or rather, what we think you need. They'll be hired on the spot."

Johnny couldn't help but laugh. "You've gotta be kidding me. You expect me to pick out a babysitter? What is this, The Bachelorette?"

He scanned the room, waiting for someone—anyone—to crack a smile, but neither Victor nor Susan budged. Their faces were stone-cold serious, as if they hadn't heard the joke. Johnny's laughter quickly died out, and he sighed, realizing they weren't playing around.

Victor stepped forward, gesturing toward the row of candidates standing like soldiers awaiting inspection. "Go ahead, take your time. We've narrowed it down to the best. See if any of them meet your... requirements."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, his expression half amused, half irritated. "Requirements? Right, because I need a checklist for people to babysit me now." He strolled over to the first candidate, barely glancing at the man. Tall, with military-short hair and a stiff posture, the guy looked like he could wrestle a bear and win. Johnny glanced at his name tag.

"Sergeant Colton Bryce, U.S. Marines, Special Ops," Johnny read aloud in a mock-serious tone. "Special Ops, huh? So, what, you crash weddings in your spare time or something? Pass."

Sergeant Bryce didn't flinch, but Johnny was already moving on to the next candidate. A severe-looking woman with piercing blue eyes and a name that screamed "government agent."

"Tom Welling, CIA agent and former Commander in Chief," Johnny continued, pretending to be impressed. "The KGB? Really? What's next, James Bond popping out of a helicopter? Nope, pass."

He kept walking, a sarcastic quip ready for each person in the line. One guy had worked for MI6, another had been personal security for a prince in some distant country Johnny had never heard of. Each introduction was met with Johnny's dismissals, his irritation growing by the second.

"Too serious."

"Too stiff."

"You look like you'd narc on me the first chance you get."

By the time he reached the last candidate, Johnny was done. He was about to brush this one off, too, but when his eyes landed on her, he paused, his gaze sliding down her figure for a moment longer than it should have. She was different from the rest—lean and athletic but not in the bulky, intimidating way the others had been. She was... cute, but definitely not what he had in mind for a bodyguard.

Johnny's date, who had been quietly standing behind him, shifted uncomfortably, picking up on where his attention had gone. Johnny raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to her as if sizing her up. "And what's your story?" he asked with a smirk, the cockiness in his voice obvious. "You sure you're not auditioning for a swimsuit calendar instead?"

The woman didn't flinch, but Johnny could feel his date's annoyance building beside him. She wasn't the only one. Johnny straightened up, his smirk turning into a half-laugh. "Look, no offense, but I need someone who's going to scare people off, not attract them. This isn't gonna work. Can I get a redo?"

Victor arched an eyebrow, his tone flat. "You just dismissed all of the others, Johnny."

"Yeah, I know," Johnny shot back. "But come on, she's a—" he gestured vaguely at the woman in front of him, clearly at a loss for words. "She's a chick. How do we even know she—"

Before he could finish the sentence, the candidate sprang into action. Faster than Johnny could blink, she grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and flipped him effortlessly onto the ground. Johnny landed with a hard thud, all the air knocked out of his lungs in a single gasp.

He lay there, stunned, staring up at the ceiling as if trying to process what had just happened. Victor, of course, was unfazed, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement.

"Her name is Charlie Madden," Victor said coolly, barely acknowledging Johnny's humiliation. "Former KGB operative. One of the best, actually."

Susan knelt beside her brother, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "And she's my favorite," she added, a hint of pride in her voice.

Charlie stepped back, arms folded, watching Johnny as if daring him to get up and try again. Johnny groaned, slowly sitting up and rubbing his sore back. "Great, she's got moves," he grumbled, still wincing from the impact. "But I'm still not convinced."

Victor sighed, looking every bit as tired as Susan. "Johnny, you've scared off every other candidate or insulted them. The rest of the applicants were either unqualified or obsessive fangirls who'd spend more time asking for selfies than doing their job."

Johnny wasn't ready to give in. He straightened his jacket, his irritation boiling over. "I don't need a bodyguard. I'm fine on my own."

Susan's smile faded, her voice softening, though her expression remained firm. "Johnny, this isn't just about you. You've been reckless ever since you retired. I'm your sister, and I care about you. You need someone to watch your back—whether you like it or not."

Johnny groaned again, rubbing his temples as the reality of the situation sank in. He thought about his newfound freedom, about the thrill of doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The idea of having someone tailing him 24/7, watching his every move, made his skin crawl. But going back to work? Even under Susan? That was a nightmare he couldn't stomach.

After a long, drawn-out pause, Johnny sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. "Fine," he muttered, the word dripping with reluctance. He turned to his date, who had been standing awkwardly nearby. "Let's go, Paisley."

His date yanked her arm free, glaring at him with fire in her eyes. "My name isn't Paisley!" she smacked him before storming off, leaving Johnny standing there, stunned.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, then turned back to Charlie and Victor. "Aren't you supposed to stop stuff like that from happening? Bodyguard, hello?"

Victor smirked, unimpressed. "You haven't hired her yet."

Johnny looked around the room, utterly confused. "What do you think I meant when I said 'fine'?"

Susan couldn't help but smirk. "'Fine' isn't the same as 'you're hired,' Johnny."

He looked like he wanted to bang his head against the wall. "Whatever," he grumbled. "You're hired. Can I go now?"

Before he could make a quick exit, Susan practically leaped forward, pulling him into a tight, crushing hug. Johnny groaned, rolling his eyes but not pulling away from his sister. "You're the worst," he muttered, but there was no malice in his voice—just the tired acceptance of someone who knew he'd been beaten.

Johnny stormed out of the building with Charlie trailing a few steps behind, her presence quiet but unmistakable. The sun was dipping low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the city as he strode toward his motorcycle, his mind racing. He had just agreed to let a former KGB agent watch over him, and yet, he still felt like he was the one babysitting. Typical.

As they reached the parking lot, Johnny turned to Charlie, pulling out his sunglasses and sliding them on. There was something different in his tone this time. Less playful, more... strategic.

"Here's the deal," he said, leaning against his bike, eyes glinting with his usual cockiness. "I don't need another babysitter, okay? So how about I hire you, put in a good word, and you just pretend like you're doing your job? I don't need Suzie and Victorian Asshat getting upset and whining at me, got it?"

Charlie stood there, arms crossed, her face unreadable. Her gaze was steady, almost unnervingly so. Johnny waited, expecting some kind of response, but she just kept staring at him in silence, not a flicker of emotion on her face. It was like she hadn't heard a word he'd said—or maybe she just didn't care.

He awkwardly cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "You don't talk much, do you?"

Again, nothing. Just that same cold, unwavering stare.

"Oooookay," he muttered, feeling a strange sense of discomfort creeping over him. Without waiting for a reply—because clearly, there wasn't going to be one—he swung his leg over his bike, cranked the engine, and shot off down the street, tires screeching as he sped away.

Probably off to get into god knows what trouble.

Charlie watched him disappear into the distance, her expression unchanging. She turned slowly, heading toward her own car. But before she could get in, her eyes flicked back toward the towering glass windows of Von Doom Industries.

Victor stood there, watching her, his arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowing at her as if he was waiting for her next move. It was clear that this was more than just a job to him—there was something else at play. 

Whatever tonight would bring, one thing was for certain—Johnny Storm wasn't going to make her job easy.