Quentin Beck took a tense, deep breath. Sitting in the car, his heart pounded wildly, and nausea churned in his stomach.
Yesterday, he had actually—actually—stood up to Kingpin. He had demanded a full two hundred dollars more in weekly pay! He had even spoken up for Mr. Dimitri! God, had Quentin Beck really said those things?
"Take a deep breath, Beck. Deep breath. You can do this. You can handle it. You had no problem with Kingpin; this is just a little trial run."
Quentin sat in the sedan, breathing deeply. Aaron Davis, who was driving in the front, had already gotten used to the kid's nervous antics. After parking at the designated location, he turned to Quentin, who was still trying to reassure himself. "We're here. Uh, Mysterio, time to work. Get out early. The faster, the better."
"Huh? Oh!" Quentin grabbed his fishbowl helmet and asked nervously, "Is there a time limit?"
"Uh, no. This parking lot charges five bucks an hour. Finish faster, and I pay less for parking."
Quentin looked at his helmet and drew a deep breath. Then he hurriedly put it on. In an instant, a green suit of armor that did not exist and a purple cape behind him appeared over his body. Quentin—no, Mysterio's—presence immediately became steady and confident.
"Mr. Aaron, please rest for a moment. I'll be back shortly."
Aaron nodded, leaned back in his seat, pulled out his phone, and started watching last week's Saturday Night Live. Mysterio opened the car door, concealed himself, then shut the door and left the underground parking lot. At that moment, he was invisible. No one could see him.
His target was the building not far from the parking lot: Osborn Industries. Otto Octavia had given Kingpin another list. Unlike Scarecrow, who was supposed