Waylen Anderson sat in the dimly lit room; his gaze fixed on the glowing monitor. The low hum of the computer was his lullaby, a companion in the silent hours that stretched into infinity. A yawn escaped him, a silent protest against the late hours.

Waylen, a 26-year-old systems programmer, had traded a vibrant life for this solitary existence. Once he'd been handsome, with a string of romantic conquests. But life had dealt him a hard blow. Orphaned at four, he'd grown up without parents, relying on the kindness of a friend of his late father - a couple desperate for a child.

Their support carried him through adolescence, but when they too departed this world, Waylen faced loneliness once again. The weight of the financial burden born of youthful excess forced him into the world of work. Nevertheless, he clung to his studies with new-found fervour.

His diligence paid off; he became a successful programmer. But success came at a price. While others revelled in parties and love, Waylen remained chained to his screen, the glow of code replacing human connection.

His life was now a binary choice: work or sleep, with no room for romance or celebration.

The glow of the monitor cast shadows on his face, etching lines of determination and weariness. He stood, stretching cramped muscles, intending to retreat to his bedroom - the office conveniently connected to it, allowing him to rest when fatigue gnawed at his bones.

But as he touched the doorknob, a feeling of wrongness overcame him. The longer he stared, the weirder it felt. It was as if something was terribly wrong behind that door.

He took a step back and thought hard,

'Had a thief entered the room? Is that why my Spidey senses are tingling? Am I Spiderman?'

Looking around, he saw his baseball bat and picked it up. Having made some money, he owned a large house and lived alone. He knew that some form of protection was necessary.

On tiptoe, he approached the door. As soon as he was within a certain distance, the wrongness returned. Now he was sure that his latent Spiderman powers had awakened to danger, alerting him to a potential thief in his bedroom.

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Very stealthily, he reached the door and opened it, trying to sneak a peek inside.

He opened the door, then quickly shut it.

'What the hell was that?'

What greeted him wasn't a thief or a masked villain, not even his bedroom. Beyond the door was a vast hall, with several people performing strange actions around a woman standing in a strange glowing pattern.

As stealthily as Waylen had approached the door, he moved away from it.

Then he heard a knock at the door. Immense horror gripped him, and he immediately fled the entire house. He didn't stop until he reached a nearby police station.

He wanted to ask the police for help, but he quickly stopped himself when he remembered how strange his situation was. What was he going to ask for? That his bedroom had been exchanged for a strange hall? No one would believe him.

It was late at night. They would probably just dismiss his problem and think he had been drinking and was hallucinating.

Or maybe he was just hallucinating. He had been working on a problem all day. He was tired and sleepy.

'Maybe I should just go back and try to go into the room. Everything would be fine.'

But he soon shook his head.

'No, maybe I should try sleeping somewhere else tonight. I should give it some time.'

Having agreed to his plan, Waylen immediately made his way to a nearby hotel. Unfortunately, he had forgotten his wallet and phone at home in a hurry to leave.

Faced with no choice, Waylen simply decided to go home and deal with it. He didn't dawdle and arrived at his house immediately. Before entering, however, he entered the unused garage and rummaged through a secret compartment to retrieve his trusty weapon, a shiny pistol. As mentioned, he lived alone in a large house and protection was necessary.

Stealthily entering through the side door, he made his way around the house before arriving at his bedroom. This time, however, he intended to enter through a different door than the one in his office.

As he approached the door, the feeling of wrongness returned with a vengeance. However, with the boost of courage from the gun in his hand, he didn't hesitate and immediately grabbed the doorknob and turned it.

But it didn't work as he had planned. No matter how hard he tried, the door wouldn't open. He even tried kicking it, but it didn't budge.

After some thought, Waylen soon approached the door to the bedroom in his office. He wanted to see if this door was as jammed as the previous one.

With his gun fully loaded and aimed, he grabbed the doorknob and turned it.

He hoped it would be blocked as well, but contrary to his expectations, it opened very easily.

As soon as he opened the door, someone standing inside grabbed his shoulders and dragged him inside. Someone else swiftly closed the door. Waylen didn't hesitate to fire his weapon either. But he was shaking, and his aim was way off.

*swoosh*

Something hit his hand and the gun went flying. He also took a blow to the neck and soon passed out.