The gutters filled with rain, and the streets with flimsy umbrellas and newspapers as Daniel Berkhart kicked a puddle in tired boredom. Living on the streets away from everything was tough and lonely, especially when you didn't own a box to hide in. He didn't even have a coat.
He slid down onto the pavement, hiding himself under a store umbrella. The owner of the store came outside, angered and upset.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
"I need a place to sleep for the night-"
"Noooo way!"
"I need a place to sleep for the night-"
"Nuh uh, get outta here!"
"I NEED A PLACE TO SLEEP FOR THE NIGHT!"
Berkhart removed a knife from his pocket and plunged it into the man's heart. He twisted it round then ran, through the alleys. He heard people scream behind him, and to avoid detection he dived into a condemned building. Inside was illuminated by the outer street lighting, casting unintentional light on a moulding door. He cautiously opened it, finding a small room. From its ceiling hung a solitary lightbulb, which he turned on using the grimy, dusty switch next to him.
Inside were a level-series of shelves. On the middle one was a blank, full-head helmet. It was a foggy white. On the shelf under it was a green suit, with purple cuffs, tie and shirt collar. There were also yellow gloves, and amber loafers. On the high shelf was a case. When he opened it he found six clamp-like objects, which had smooth metal circles. He could feel an extremely thin layer of metal within the suit, too. There was a piece of paper in there too. It read:
If you have found this, then it means I am dead. I am Quentin Beck, and this is my Mysterio II prototype. I built this originally for magic, but my mind wandered to crime. Included you will find the formula to my hallucinogenic bombs, as well as a sample of them. Also, the magnet clamps. These are to be set up around the city, and will allow for the movement of whoever you are in the air in a twenty mile radius. The magnets are designed to be impervious to interference. You'll fly.
Use these well, I know I did not.
Berkhart reached in and removed a handful of small squares. He guessed these were the bombs. He also pulled out a crumpled paper covered in a long formula. He looked around, and found a box full of newspapers. He tossed them out and filled it with the gear, before leaving discreetly and running to the apartment blocks he knew had roof access.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllll
Peter was brooding. The night was coming, and the night brought with it new threats, new villains to fight. He was ready to start this whole crime fighting thing, as Spider-Man, but on his own. No Tony Stark to help him prove himself.
He was in the costume, a snug but comfortable fit. It was also pretty cold in there. He heard someone open the door to the roof, so flung himself down and ran.
Berkhart placed the last clamp on the last building, smiling to himself. He got into the suit, and slipped on the helmet. He could still see perfectly. A fog enveloped his head, through which he could also see perfectly. Carelessly he stepped off the edge, finding himself hovering. He moved his legs in a walking motion, and found himself walking in mid-air. He then ran across to the building adjacent to him, and lowered himself into an alley. He took off the gear and walked away, laughing.