New note: I fixed the formatting problems on this page. For those who don't know:

Quinton Beck Mysterio

MacDonald Gargan (Mac) Scorpion

Dr. Otto Octavius Dr. Octopus

Maxwell Dillon (Max) Electro

Wilson Fisk The Kingpin

I don't own spiderman or any of the above characters. It is short but later chapters will be a little longer.

X)O(X

Quinton Beck was shaken from slumber by a soft sound in the pitch black of his room, a creak like a door opening. "Who's there?" No answer. Just the creak of the door closing. For a moment he thought it might be the storm blowing some branches against the window. Then, in the light of a bolt, he saw the door, open a crack, slip into the shut position. In the darkness that followed, he jerked upright in bed. Had it been his imagination? The tense silence was broken by the thunder and he leaped a mile before collecting himself. "Don't be an idiot," he scolded himself and turned to put his feet on the floor. Groping in the dark, he found the lamp and clicked it on. He took the knife out of the drawer and went to investigate. He opened the door on a dark, empty hall. All was still. He closed the door, looking puzzled, and started making his way back to bed. His foot encountered something cold and wet. There were wet prints on the carpet. He couldn't make any sense of their shape, but he could trace them back to his window.

Now, the great Mysterio wasn't used to being scared. There were few situations he couldn't worm his way out of with fancy stage effects. However, at that moment he couldn't think of anything else the feeling of cold fingers constricting his heart could be. He gripped the knife tighter and followed the puddles back to his door. That someone hadn't peeked in from the hallway and left. That person had come in through his window and gone into the hallway. But who would break into a crime lord's house? A rival crime lord? Some punk trying to impress his buddies? Quinton pushed the door open farther this time, letting the light flood the hall. The water droplets glistened on the tile, turning left and continuing until the darkness swallowed them. He went back for a light stick and ventured out into the hallway, not sure what to expect, exactly. The house was really quiet, almost dead. The rain pounded somewhere high above his head but he could barely hear it for its distance. His feet followed the circle of light on the floor for a good five minutes or so before the drops faded out and stopped. Quinton stood in the hallway and ran the light across the floor, up the wall, across the ceiling, and down the door on his left. There was a puddle outside the door, as if the intruder had stood there for a time. Who ever it was could have gone into Otto's room, though he couldn't imagine why. Then again, I can't imagine Otto letting anybody in, what with the way he's been behaving lately. Or perhaps he went on some midnight run. But then why would he come through my window? Quinton tapped lightly on the door and whispered, "Otto?" When there was no answer he spoke a little louder. "Dr. Octavius?" He tried the knob but the door was locked. "Are you in there?" Hm...well, maybe I should go back to- There were sounds of movement on the other side and he heard locks unlatching.

Otto Octavius left the chain on when he opened the door. "What do you want? Do you not know what time it is?"

The man certainly looked creepy without his dark glasses. His eyes had been deep brown before the explosion, but now they were an unnatural yellowish-gold. The skin around them was still scarred, though not as bad as it had been. "Is there someone else in there?"

"Why would anyone else be in here?" Otto glared disdainfully at the light in Quinton's hand. He took the hint and lowered it to his side.

"What is that on the floor?"

"It looks like water to me."

"I know that. How did it get there?"

"You should have asked that question to begin with," Otto growled. "Can't we talk about this tomorrow? I'm sort of in the middle of something."

"Are you sure you didn't hear anything?" Quinton pressed.

"Goodnight," Otto answered pointedly and closed the door hard. He didn't slam it, but he made sure the gesture indicated that he was ending the conversation right then and any attempts to continue it would be futile. "Bubble-headed imbecile," he muttered.

"Eight-limbed freak," Quinton spat at the door and went back to his room. Whatever the intruder was after, it obviously had no affect on him. Quite frankly, he didn't care what happened to Otto. Not if he was going to be such a stuck up prick.