[Location: A Makeshift Command Center, Outskirts of Venice]
[Perspective: Quentin Beck / Mysterio]
Dozens of glowing computer monitors illuminated the faces of the disgruntled ex Stark Industries employees who were currently hammering away at their keyboards.
Quentin Beck stood at the center of the room, clad in his motion capture suit. The reflective spheres dotted across the fabric caught the blue light of the screens, making him look like a constellation mapped out in a dark sky.
He adjusted the heavy rig on his shoulders, rolling his neck to crack the tension in his spine.
"Alright, people, listen up!" Beck shouted, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls. "Today, Venice gets a front row seat to the birth of Mysterio, the greatest defender this planet has ever seen."
He paced back and forth, fueled by a potent mixture of narcissism and adrenaline.
"William," Beck barked, turning his gaze to the lead technician sitting at the primary console. "Status on the projection. Is everything ready for the show?"
William Ginter Riva, a man whose disheveled appearance masked a brilliant mind, adjusted his glasses and typed a rapid sequence into his terminal.
"Ready, ready, ready, Quentin," William confirmed, his eyes scanning the data streams. "Combat drones are positioned in the canal. Holographic projectors are calibrated to account for the water refraction. Sonic dampeners are online to simulate the roar of the elemental. It's perfect. It'll look like the entire Grand Canal is rising up to swallow the city."
"Excellent," Beck grinned. He walked over to a pedestal, resting his hands on the polished surface of the fishbowl like helmet that would complete his costume. "And the damage protocols?"
"We have localized targets selected," Victoria, another technician, reported from her station. "We'll destroy a few gondolas, shatter some windows, maybe knock down a bell tower. Enough collateral damage to make the threat look terrifyingly real, but focused enough to ensure you look like the savior when you 'defeat' it."
"Showtime, people," Beck declared, lifting the heavy helmet. "Initiate the sequence. Let the water rise."
He slid the helmet over his head. The internal heads up display flickered to life, bathing his face in a tactical glow.
"Initiating Hydro Elemental Sequence in three... two... one..." William announced, his finger hovering over the execute key.
He pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
Beck stood in the center of the room, holding a heroic pose, waiting for the simulated roar of the water monster to vibrate through the warehouse speakers. He waited for the telemetry data to flood his HUD.
Silence stretched out.
"William?" Beck's voice came through the external speakers of his suit, echoing with sudden irritation. "Where is my monster?"
William was hunched over his keyboard, his fingers flying in a panicked rhythm. The glow of his monitor reflected the sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"I... I don't know, Quentin," William stammered, pulling up a diagnostic screen. "I just lost contact with all the equipment."
"What?" Beck dropped his heroic pose and marched toward the console. His heavy boots thumped loudly against the concrete floor. "What do you mean you lost contact?"
"The telemetry just went completely dark," Victoria shouted from her station, furiously tapping her own keyboard. "I have no signal from the submerged drones. The aerial projectors are offline. The entire grid is unresponsive."
"Try to reconnect!" Beck yelled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Reboot the localized server! Send a ping to the primary receiver!"
"I am trying to connect!" William shouted back, his voice cracking with stress. "The ping is failing! It's like the hardware doesn't exist anymore!"
Beck ripped the fishbowl helmet off his head, his face flushed with a rage. He slammed the helmet down onto the desk, the glass cracking dangerously.
"What the fuck are you doing, William?!" Beck roared, spittle flying from his lips. He leaned over the console, grabbing William by the collar of his shirt and hauling him halfway out of his chair. "I need that monster in the water right now!"
"Let me go and check the hardware first!" William choked out, pulling frantically at Beck's grip. "I can't fix it from here if it's a physical failure!"
Beck released him with a violent shove, sending William crashing back into his chair.
"Go," Beck seethed, his chest heaving.
William scrambled out of his chair, grabbing a diagnostic tablet from the desk. He sprinted up the metal staircase leading to the roof access hatch, throwing the heavy door open.
Beck paced like a caged tiger, running a hand through his hair, his mind racing with paranoid theories. Had the government found them?
Five minutes later, the heavy metal door clanged open.
William rushed back down the stairs, his face pale, clutching the diagnostic tablet as if it were a shield.
"Well?" Beck stalked toward him. "Is it fixed? Was it a dead battery?"
William stopped at the bottom of the stairs, swallowing hard.
"It... it got damaged, Quentin," William said, his voice trembling. "The standby drone on the roof. It's completely fried."
"Fried?" Beck repeated, his voice dangerously low. "Define fried, William."
"Internal circuitry is melted," William explained, holding up the tablet to show a scan of the drone's internals. "Motherboard is completely slagged. Power cells are dead. It... it looks like it was hit by a massive EMP."
Beck stopped pacing. He stared at William.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Beck whispered, his voice vibrating with barely contained fury. "An EMP? We have been monitoring the electromagnetic spectrum for a fifty mile radius all week. There was no EMP attack."
"I... I don't know what to tell you, Quentin," William stammered, backing up a step as Beck advanced. "I didn't see an energy spike on the sensors either. But the physical hardware is destroyed. If the drones in the canal suffered the same failure... they're just expensive anchors now."
"Can you fix it?" Beck demanded, his hands trembling with rage.
"It will take a long time to fix it, Quentin," William said, shaking his head miserably. "We have to pull the drones out of the water, gut the electronics and rebuild the motherboards from scratch. We can't do this attack anymore."
Beck closed his eyes. His hands balled into tight fists. He took a deep breath, the air whistling through his teeth.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to smash the monitors. He had planned this for years. He had rehearsed his heroic entrance a thousand times in the mirror.
He was supposed to be on the front page of every newspaper in the world by tomorrow morning.
But he couldn't do anything without these people. If he threw a tantrum and broke the equipment, he would never get his revenge on Stark's legacy.
He opened his eyes. He forced his muscles to relax, painting a mask of calm leadership over his boiling rage.
"Fine," Beck said, his voice smooth. He reached out and straightened the collar of William's shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles he had created moments ago.
"We pass on this one," Beck announced. "Venice gets a reprieve. We pack up the gear, we haul the drones out of the canal and we move to the next target location."
He turned back to William.
"But make sure," Beck whispered, leaning in close so only the lead technician could hear him, "that this never happens again. Because if I miss my curtain call in Prague, I will test the combat drones on you."
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