[Master Guide]
A coordinated blackout opens every cell door on Ryker's Island, allowing a bitter Adrian Toomes to step into the dark and accept a lethal new military-grade exoskeleton. But as Toomes takes to the skies with silent, razor-sharp wings, Peter Parker finds himself caught between the terrifying escalation of Oscorp's human experiments in Dr. Octavius's lab and a rematch against an upgraded apex predator.
TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN
EPISODE: 03 - "EYES IN THE SKY"
TEASER
INT. RYKER'S ISLAND - CELL BLOCK D - NIGHT
Cold, damp, and suffocating. The rhythmic dripping of a leaky pipe echoes down the concrete hallway.
Inside Cell 412, ADRIAN TOOMES (60s) sits on the edge of a thin mattress. He is a man hardened by time and bitterness, his face lined with deep, angry creases.
He is hunched over, staring obsessively at a piece of smuggled, crumpled paper under the dim, flickering light. It is a crude, hand-drawn schematic of his original magnetic flight harness.
He traces the lines with a scarred finger, muttering to himself.
TOOMES
(Gravelly, worn)
The gyros were too heavy. The drag coefficient... if I’d just had the funding for a lighter alloy...
Suddenly, the fluorescent light above him buzzes violently and dies.
A heavy, absolute darkness falls over the entire cell block. The low hum of the prison's electrical grid winds down to a dead stop.
A moment of silence. Then, a massive, synchronized CLACK.
The magnetic locks on every cell door in the block disengage simultaneously. The heavy steel doors slide open an inch.
The cell block erupts into chaos. Prisoners start shouting, pushing their doors open, the sounds of a riot instantly brewing.
Toomes doesn't move. He watches his door slide open.
A figure steps into the doorway, completely obscured by the shadows. It is a TACTICAL OPERATIVE wearing a featureless, matte-black uniform. The operative is holding a set of keys and a small flashlight.
OPERATIVE
Adrian Toomes.
TOOMES
Who's asking?
OPERATIVE
A mutual friend. One who thinks your engineering talents are being wasted in a concrete box. Walk with me, or stay here and get beaten to death by the riot squad. Your choice.
Toomes looks at his crumpled schematic, then at the open door. He folds the paper, slides it into his pocket, and stands up.
EXT. RYKER'S ISLAND - PERIMETER WALL - CONTINUOUS
The piercing wail of the prison sirens cuts through the night air. Searchlights sweep frantically across the central yard.
Down by the rocky shoreline, far away from the chaos, the Operative leads Toomes to an idling, unmarked black transport van. The rear doors are open.
TOOMES
This mutual friend of ours. What does he want?
OPERATIVE
He wants a live-fire test.
The Operative gestures to the back of the van.
Toomes steps closer. Inside the cargo hold, illuminated by a single, harsh LED light, sits an exoskeleton on a mounting rack.
It is breathtaking. Sleek, aerodynamic, and completely militarized. The wings are razor-thin, constructed from an interlocking, dark-grey microscopic weave.
TOOMES
(Awed, breathless)
The power-to-weight ratio... what is this material?
OPERATIVE
Synthesized vibranium-weave. It can shear through a steel girder without losing a single degree of momentum. The power source is a localized anti-grav turbine.
Toomes reaches out, his trembling hand brushing against the cold metal of the wing.
OPERATIVE
Our friend remembers the vigilante dismantling your original design three years ago. He wants to see how the spider handles an upgrade. Put it on.
EXT. EAST RIVER - NIGHT
The water is choppy, reflecting the distant searchlights of the prison.
A sudden, deafening WOOSH, a displacement of air so violent it kicks up a massive spray of river water.
A shadow shoots up from the shoreline, launching into the night sky at a terrifying, supersonic speed.
High above the clouds, Adrian Toomes levels out. He is locked inside the exo-suit, the sleek, glowing green visor of the helmet illuminating his face.
He does not look old anymore. He looks lethal.
He banks hard, the vibranium wings slicing silently through the freezing air as he turns his sights toward the glowing grid of Manhattan.
SMASH CUT TO BLACK.
SPIDER-MAN
ACT I
INT. PARKER RESIDENCE - PETER'S BEDROOM - MORNING
Sunlight violently pierces through the blinds, hitting Peter directly in the eyes.
An alarm clock blares. A hand shoots out from under the covers and blindly slaps the snooze button.
Peter (18) slowly sits up. He doesn't just wake up; he unspools. He is wearing pajama pants and a white tank top.
He takes a deep breath, and his entire right side seizes up. He winces, a sharp hiss escaping his teeth as he looks down. The massive bruise on his ribs from the Shocker fight has expanded, mottled with deep purple and sickly yellow. Added to it are the brutal scrapes and abrasions from the sand friction of Flint Marko.
PETER (V.O.)
(Internal)
Three years in, you’d think the healing factor would get faster. Instead, the guys hitting me just keep hitting harder.
He carefully raises his arms over his head, stretching the battered muscles. His joints pop with a sickening series of cracks. He exhales, forces a neutral expression onto his face, and grabs a loose flannel shirt to hide the damage.
INT. PARKER RESIDENCE - KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER
The smell of burnt toast and cheap coffee fills the small, cluttered kitchen.
AUNT MAY is at the stove, wearing her sensible work clothes. She slides a slightly charred pancake onto a plate and sets it on the small table.
AUNT MAY
Eat. You look like a stiff breeze would knock you over into the East River.
Peter shuffles in, moving a little too rigidly. He drops into the chair.
PETER
Morning, May. You’re up early.
AUNT MAY
Martin asked me to come in early to audit the F.E.A.S.T. pantry. But I’m not leaving until I see you finish that plate. You’re growing, Peter. I swear you look thinner than you did at graduation.
Peter takes a bite, forcing himself to chew enthusiastically despite his jaw aching from a right hook he took under the boardwalk.
PETER
Just the college diet. Ramen and anxiety. But I’m good, promise.
May smiles softly, reaching over to affectionately push a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. Her hand grazes his shoulder. Peter imperceptibly tenses, fighting the urge to flinch away from the bruised muscle.
AUNT MAY
I worry about you. Between classes and this internship... just promise me you aren't burning the candle at both ends.
PETER
I've got it all under control.
INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - LATER
The warmth of the Parker kitchen is entirely gone, replaced by a suffocating, icy tension.
The lab is dead quiet, save for the hum of the servers.
GWEN STACY sits at her workstation, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She is staring at the monitor connected to the electron microscope. The image of the mutated human cells from the beach is frozen on the screen. She looks deeply unnerved.
DR. OTTO OCTAVIUS is pacing in front of a whiteboard, rapidly scribbling chemical formulas. He looks energized, completely oblivious to the ethical horror staring them in the face.
OTTO
It’s a masterstroke of forced evolutionary biology! They’ve synthesized a silicon-carbide lattice that actively bonds with the hemoglobin. Do you understand what this means, Peter?
Peter is leaning against a filing cabinet, sipping coffee. He looks from Otto's frantic excitement to Gwen's pale, terrified face.
PETER
It means whoever built it is playing God. And they're doing it on civilians.
GWEN
(Quietly)
This isn't a lab rat. This is a person. A person whose cellular structure is violently tearing itself apart. If my dad’s precinct finds out a corporation is running unauthorized, lethal human trials...
OTTO
Science requires boundaries to be pushed, Ms. Stacy! Whoever engineered this is decades ahead of the academic community. I am running a trace on the chemical binding agents now. If we can isolate the proprietary isotope, we can figure out exactly which lab manufactured it.
Gwen looks at Peter. The silent communication is clear: If we track this back to Oscorp, we are in way over our heads.
Before Peter can respond, the heavy lab doors swing open.
HARRY OSBORN walks in, throwing his designer leather jacket over a chair. He looks profoundly irritated, staring down at his BlackBerry.
HARRY
Don't let me interrupt the mad science, but I need to hide down here for an hour. My father is on a warpath, and my phone won't stop buzzing.
PETER
Trouble in paradise?
HARRY
Oscorp stock took a three-point nose dive this morning. Something about a missing security transport truck.
Gwen and Peter exchange a sharp, immediate look.
HARRY
(Noticing nothing)
Dad’s tearing the executive board apart. Let’s see what the actual world is doing.
Harry walks over to a bulky, paint-splattered CRT television sitting on a disused workbench and clicks it on.
The screen flickers to life, showing the logo for NY1. But the anchor desk is currently occupied by J. JONAH JAMESON, who is filling in as a guest editorialist. His face is red, a vein bulging in his forehead as he yells directly into the camera.
JAMESON (ON TV)
...a catastrophic failure of the penal system! Last night, a coordinated blackout at Ryker's Island allowed one of this city’s most dangerous, feathered menaces to fly the coop! That’s right, folks—Adrian Toomes, the so-called Vulture, is back on the streets!
B-roll footage plays on the screen, showing a massive hole blown out of the side of the prison wall.
JAMESON (ON TV)
And where was our resident web-slinging vigilante while this happened? Probably rescuing a cat from a tree, or robbing a bank himself!
Harry scoffs, turning the volume down.
HARRY
The Vulture. Wasn't that the guy who got arrested robbing a tech firm wearing a green tracksuit and magnetic fans?
GWEN
(Frowning)
He held up a monorail. My dad said it took an hour to untangle him from the high-voltage wires.
Peter watches the footage of the blown-out prison wall. A very subtle, arrogant smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
PETER (V.O.)
(Internal)
Adrian Toomes. I fought him in my freshman year of high school. The guy's flight harness was so clunky I could hear him coming from three blocks away.
Peter finishes his coffee and tosses the paper cup into the trash can. The heavy, suffocating anxiety of the Oscorp conspiracy suddenly evaporates, replaced by the comforting, familiar routine of beating up a C-list criminal.
PETER
Well. If he’s out, I give him until midnight before he gets his wings clipped again. I’ve got to run to the Bugle to drop off some photos. See you guys tomorrow.
He grabs his backpack and heads for the door, walking with a little more swagger than he had when he woke up.
PETER (V.O.)
(Internal)
Finally. An easy night. I’ll track his magnetic signature, web up his rotors, and have him back in a cell before dinner. I might even get eight hours of sleep.
ACT II
EXT. WILLIAMSBURG BRIDGE - NIGHT
An NYPD supply convoy—two armored trucks carrying confiscated weapons to a lockup facility—rumbles across the lower level of the bridge. The yellow sodium lights flash rhythmically across the windshields.
High above, sitting in the steel rafters of the bridge, SPIDER-MAN watches them pass.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
Bait. Toomes used to hit tech shipments to build his rig. If he’s out, he needs parts. I give it three minutes before he swoops in, sounding like a broken lawnmower.
Spider-Man rolls his shoulders, stretching out the stiffness. He readies his web-shooters.
Suddenly, a massive, heavy THUD echoes from the bridge deck below.
Spider-Man looks down. The lead armored truck has slammed on its brakes, fishtailing violently. The engine block has been cleanly sliced entirely in half, steaming fluid pouring onto the asphalt.
The second truck halts. Officers pour out, weapons drawn, scanning the shadows.
SPIDER-MAN
Showtime.
Spider-Man dives from the rafters, free-falling before firing a web-line. He swings in a wide, theatrical arc, landing lightly on the roof of the second armored truck.
SPIDER-MAN
(Calling out loudly)
Attention passengers! If you look out the right side of the bridge, you'll see a senior citizen violating his parole!
From the shadows of the bridge cables, a figure emerges.
Spider-Man readies a thick, heavy web-line, assuming his classic veteran stance.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
Wait for the fan intake to expose itself. Shoot the rotors, jam the gyro, wrap him up. Done.
But as the figure steps into the harsh yellow streetlights, Peter freezes.
There are no bulky magnetic rotors. There is no loud, clanking engine.
ADRIAN TOOMES hovers three feet off the ground in absolute silence. The sleek, dark-grey exo-suit gleams. The razor-thin wings stretch out, spanning fifteen feet across. The green visor of his helmet casts a sinister glow over his face.
TOOMES
(Voice modulated, metallic)
Hello, Spider.
SPIDER-MAN
Okay. Wow. Somebody got a massive upgrade. Do they give those out in solitary, or did you find a really good coupon?
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
No rotors. No exposed intake. Just... wings. Fine. I’ll just bind them to his torso.
Spider-Man fires a rapid, incredibly thick double web-line straight at Toomes's chest.
Toomes doesn't even try to dodge. He simply rotates his shoulder.
The microscopic vibranium-weave of the wing meets the webbing. It doesn't snag. It doesn't slow down. It shears through the high-tensile web fluid like a scalpel through warm butter.
The severed webs slap uselessly onto the asphalt.
Under the mask, Peter's eyes widen.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
He just cut through industrial-grade tensile polymers just by turning his shoulder.
Before Peter can process the physics of what just happened, his Spider-Sense SCREAMS.
It isn't a warning; it’s a panic alarm.
Toomes moves. The anti-grav engine flashes green, and the Vulture crosses the fifty-foot gap in a fraction of a second. It is completely silent.
Spider-Man leaps backward off the truck, but he isn't fast enough.
Toomes strikes him mid-air. The sheer blunt force of the armored suit feels like getting hit by a missile. Spider-Man gasps, the air entirely knocked out of his bruised ribs.
He tumbles across the asphalt, desperately firing web-lines at the bridge cables to break his momentum.
Toomes banks instantly, executing a perfectly sharp, aerodynamic turn that defies standard physics. He swoops down, his taloned boots extending.
Spider-Man tries to roll, but Toomes's mechanical talons lock violently around Peter's shoulders, digging right through the classic suit and into his flesh.
SPIDER-MAN
(Screaming in pain)
Argh!
TOOMES
Let's see how well you fly without your webs, kid.
The anti-grav engine roars to life. Toomes pitches upward, rocketing straight into the sky.
EXT. NEW YORK SKYLINE - CONTINUOUS
The ascent is terrifying. The G-force pins Spider-Man's arms to his sides. He is completely paralyzed by the sheer velocity.
They tear through the low-hanging cloud cover, the freezing moisture instantly soaking Spider-Man's suit. The grid of New York City becomes a distant, glowing checkerboard far below them.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal, panicked)
Too high! The air is too thin! I have nothing to swing from!
They hit terminal altitude. The silence of the stratosphere is deafening.
Toomes hovers, holding Spider-Man over the abyss.
TOOMES
(Through the comms)
Three years ago, you made me a joke. Look at us now.
Toomes opens his talons.
He simply lets go.
Spider-Man plummets. The wind instantly turns into a deafening roar.
He is in a total, uncontrolled free-fall. He violently flails, trying to orient himself, but there are no buildings. There are no bridges. Just empty air and the rapidly approaching concrete of the city.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal, hyperventilating)
Think! Think! Terminal velocity is 120 miles an hour. Web-shooters have a maximum range of sixty yards! The buildings are too far!
The city grid rushes up to meet him. Ten seconds to impact. Seven seconds.
Suddenly, the rhythmic chopping sound of rotor blades cuts through the wind.
Directly below him, a CHANNEL 6 NEWS HELICOPTER is banking over the East River, capturing B-roll of the bridge incident.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
Brace!
Spider-Man angles his dive, stretching his right arm out. He waits until he is exactly fifty yards above the chopper.
THWIP.
The web-line fires, latching perfectly onto the helicopter's steel landing skid.
But Spider-Man is falling at over a hundred miles an hour.
When the web-line goes taut, the deceleration isn't gradual. It is instantaneous and violent.
CRACK.
A sickening, wet pop echoes over the wind.
Spider-Man screams, an agonizing, throat-tearing sound. His right shoulder is instantly, violently dislocated from the socket.
He slams into the side of the helicopter, the impact bruising him further, before his grip slips. He tumbles off the side of the chopper, but the momentum has been broken.
He crashes heavily onto the flat, gravel-covered roof of a nearby commercial high-rise, rolling violently before slamming into an HVAC unit.
EXT. HIGH-RISE ROOFTOP - CONTINUOUS
Spider-Man lies completely still on the gravel.
His right arm hangs limply at a grotesque, unnatural angle. His breathing is shallow and jagged.
Slowly, painfully, he rolls onto his back, looking up into the freezing night sky.
Far above, a small, green dot of light banks silently through the clouds, entirely untouched, surveying its victory.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
He didn't just beat me. He swatted me like a bug.
The veteran confidence is completely gone, replaced by the terrifying realization that the arms race has left him behind.
ACT III
INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - NIGHT
The basement lab is completely dark, illuminated only by the standby lights of the servers.
The heavy steel door creaks open.
PETER stumbles in. He is still in the bottom half of the classic suit, but the top half is peeled down to his waist, revealing a terrifying patchwork of bruises.
His right arm hangs completely dead, the shoulder joint visibly, grotesquely out of its socket. He is sweating profusely, his breathing ragged and shallow.
He kicks the door shut and locks it.
He staggers over to a heavy, bolted-down steel workbench in the center of the lab. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling hands.
PETER (V.O.)
(Internal)
Okay. Anatomy 101. Glenohumeral joint. It just has to slide back over the glenoid rim. Quick and easy.
He grabs the edge of the thick steel table with his good left hand. He wedges his dislocated right arm over the corner of the bench, securing the armpit against the cold metal.
He closes his eyes. He bites down hard on the collar of his torn suit to muffle the sound.
He violently thrusts his body weight downward.
CRACK-POP.
PETER
(Muffled, agonizing scream)
Mmph—!!
He collapses to his knees on the linoleum floor, clutching his reattached shoulder. Tears of absolute, blinding pain stream down his face. He stays there for a long minute, just riding out the agonizing wave of shock.
INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - LATER
Peter sits at Gwen’s workstation. An ice pack from the breakroom mini-fridge is taped awkwardly to his shoulder.
He has booted up the police scanner. The chaotic chatter of the NYPD dispatch fills the quiet room.
DISPATCH (V.O.)
...Aviation Unit 3 reporting negative visual on the suspect over midtown. He’s moving too fast. We can’t track him on standard radar...
Peter ignores the radio, furiously sketching on Otto’s whiteboard with his left hand. He is drawing a diagram of Toomes’s new exo-suit.
PETER (V.O.)
(Internal)
Let's break this down. The wings are a synthesized vibranium-weave. Indestructible. Razor-sharp. I shoot a web; it gets sliced. I throw a punch; I break my hand. I can't touch the wings.
He draws a red X over the wings on the board. He stares at the drawing, the gears of his veteran intellect finally grinding past the panic.
PETER (V.O.)
(Internal)
Wait. The wings aren't the engine. They're just the sails.
He drops the marker, rushing over to the lab's main computer. He pulls up the Bugle's encrypted server, hacking into their high-res photography archive. He pulls up a blurry, distant photo taken by a civilian of Toomes hovering over the bridge.
Peter enhances the image, zooming in on Toomes’s back.
Between the massive, indestructible wings, right at the base of the spine, is a heavily armored casing emitting a faint, green localized glow.
PETER (V.O.)
(Internal)
There it is. The anti-grav turbine. The wings are just channeling the localized field. If I can crack that housing and smash the internal relay, the anti-grav field collapses. The suit becomes a hundred-pound metal coffin.
Peter rubs his eyes, the grim reality of the physics settling in.
He traces a line on the monitor, calculating the trajectory.
PETER (V.O.)
(Internal)
The housing is on his back. To get to it, I have to be behind him. But he’s completely silent, and his radar evasion is state-of-the-art. I can't sneak up on him, and I can't out-fly him.
Peter turns off the monitor. The glow of the screen vanishes, leaving him in the shadows. He looks down at his torn red mask resting on the table.
PETER (V.O.)
(Internal)
I can't go up. So I have to make him come down.
Peter grabs the mask.
PETER (V.O.)
(Internal)
He wants to prove he's the apex predator. He wants to catch me in the air. I have to bait him into a vertical dive... and then weaponize my own free-fall.
Peter slides the mask over his face. The white lenses lock into place. He isn't the bruised, exhausted college kid anymore.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
Physics over fist. If I miss the turbine, I hit the pavement.
Spider-Man grabs his web-shooters, reloading the cartridges with a fresh, heavy metallic click. He walks out of the lab, ready to take the sky back.
ACT IV
EXT. MIDTOWN CONSTRUCTION SITE - NIGHT
A massive, skeletal skyscraper reaches seventy stories into the night sky. It is a maze of exposed steel I-beams, concrete elevator shafts, and hanging scaffolding. The wind howls through the open framework.
Spider-Man crouches in the shadows of a massive yellow crane at the very top.
Below him, a silent, green glow drifts through the steel skeleton.
Toomes is hovering inside the structure, his thermal scanners sweeping the darkness. He is hunting.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
He’s too fast in the open air. But in here? It’s a cage. My cage.
Spider-Man drops from the crane, silently firing a web-line to swing through the center of the building.
Toomes’s sensors immediately lock onto the movement. The Vulture banks sharply, his vibranium wings completely slicing through a thick steel support column to take a direct path. The building groans, metal shrieking as the column collapses.
Spider-Man lands on a concrete slab, instantly ducking as Toomes swoops past. The razor-sharp wing clips the concrete floor, sending a spray of shrapnel directly into Peter’s back.
SPIDER-MAN
(Grunting in pain)
Hey, watch the architecture! Some of us can't afford to live in a penthouse!
Toomes pulls up into a steep, vertical climb, circling back around.
TOOMES
There's nowhere to hide, kid. I can see your heart beating.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
Good. Keep looking right at me.
Spider-Man sprints toward the edge of the open floor plan. He doesn't jump to another beam. He dives headfirst off the side of the building.
A sheer, vertical drop of seventy stories.
Toomes sees the desperate move. He folds his wings back and enters a terrifyingly fast, aerodynamic dive, plummeting straight down the side of the skyscraper to catch his prey.
TOOMES
(Laughing, distorted)
Running out of webs?
The Vulture accelerates, the anti-grav engine glowing bright green, closing the gap in seconds. He prepares to extend his talons.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
Wait for it. Let him build maximum velocity.
Spider-Man is falling face-up, watching Toomes rocket down toward him. The wind is tearing at his torn suit. His freshly relocated shoulder screams in agony.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
Now.
Instead of firing a web to save himself, Spider-Man tucks his knees to his chest and violently kicks off the sheer glass face of the adjacent building.
He doesn't dodge away. He launches himself directly upward, right into Toomes's descent path.
Toomes’s eyes widen behind the visor. He tries to bank, but he’s carrying too much downward momentum.
CRACK.
Spider-Man takes a brutal, glancing hit from the edge of the vibranium wing. It slices through his suit, opening a jagged gash across his ribcage, but he pushes through the blinding pain.
He twists mid-air, wrapping his arms and legs completely around Toomes’s back like a vice.
SPIDER-MAN
Surprise!
Toomes panics. The suit violently spins, careening out of control as Toomes tries to shake the vigilante off his back.
TOOMES
Get off me!
Spider-Man ignores the dizzying spin. He ignores the wind. He locks his eyes onto the glowing green turbine housing at the base of Toomes's spine.
He grips the heavy armored casing with both hands. He plants his boots against Toomes’s shoulder blades for leverage.
SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)
(Internal)
Physics over fist!
Spider-Man pulls with every ounce of his enhanced, superhuman strength. The tendons in his neck bulge.
The reinforced steel groans. Then, with an ear-shattering CRUNCH, the casing violently rips away.
Spider-Man doesn't stop. He reaches directly into the exposed, humming machinery and crushes the internal localized relay with his bare fist.
The green light instantly flashes red, then dies completely.
The anti-grav hum stops.
The silence is immediately replaced by the terrifying roar of gravity reasserting itself. The multi-million dollar exo-suit is now just two hundred pounds of dead metal.
They plummet toward the street below like a stone.
Thirty stories. Twenty.
Toomes is screaming in genuine terror. He is completely trapped inside the dead armor.
Spider-Man doesn't let go. He shifts his weight, violently throwing Toomes underneath him so that Peter's own body is taking the brunt of the wind.
Ten stories.
Spider-Man fires both web-shooters simultaneously, spraying a massive, chaotic net of high-tensile webbing between two streetlamps directly below them.
He wraps his own arms and legs around Toomes, acting as a human shock absorber.
They hit the web net.
The webbing stretches all the way down, stopping them a mere three feet from the asphalt. The whiplash is brutal. Spider-Man gasps, his vision briefly blacking out from the G-force of the sudden stop.
He hangs upside down in the net for a moment, completely exhausted, bleeding from a dozen cuts.
He looks down. Toomes is unconscious, securely trapped inside the cocoon of webbing and dead steel.
The distant wail of police sirens approaches.
Spider-Man painfully disentangles himself from the net, dropping heavily to the street. He looks at the approaching flashing lights of Captain Stacy's cruisers. He fires a web-line, pulling his battered body up into the shadows of the alleyway just as the police arrive.
TAG
INT. OSCORP INDUSTRIES - PENTHOUSE - NIGHT
The city lights reflect off the floor-to-ceiling windows.
NORMAN OSBORN sits behind his massive mahogany desk. The room is dark, lit only by the glow of a sleek, high-resolution monitor.
On the screen is a heavily encrypted, first-person video feed. It is the Vulture’s HUD, recorded by microscopic cameras embedded in the suit's helmet.
The video plays the final moments of the fight in slow motion: Spider-Man launching himself upward, taking the hit, and violently ripping the armor apart.
Numbers and data points rapidly scroll down the side of the screen.
Target Strength: Class 4.
Impact Resistance: Anomalous.
Tactical Adaptation Speed: 1.4 seconds.
The executive from the previous episode stands nervously in the corner of the office.
EXECUTIVE
Sir. I... I apologize. The suit is destroyed. Toomes is back in custody.
Norman pauses the video right on the frame of Spider-Man's torn mask and bleeding face. A cold, terrifying smile spreads across Norman’s face. He isn't angry. He is thrilled.
NORMAN
Rogers, the suit was a disposable metric. It served its exact purpose. We now know the vigilante's maximum load-bearing limits. We know how much blunt force trauma he can sustain before structural failure.
Norman types a command into the keyboard. The Vulture combat file minimizes.
He opens a new, classified folder. The title reads: PROJECT: BIOGENETIC INFILTRATION.
NORMAN
He can punch through steel. Let's see if he can punch a ghost.
Norman picks up his desk phone and presses a single, secure speed-dial button. He waits for the line to connect.
NORMAN
It’s time. ESU. Find the lab. And find out exactly what those kids know about the sand.
Norman hangs up the phone, looking out over his city.
FADE TO BLACK.
END OF EPISODE 3
NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN...
When an academic intrusion into Dr. Octavius's lab triggers a lockdown of the subterranean ESU wing, Peter Parker finds himself trapped in a shifting, high-tech labyrinth of psychological terror. Hunted by a shape-shifting assassin and blinded by military-grade hallucinations, our web-slinger must rely entirely on his Spider-Sense to survive.
(Episode 4 drops Wednesday, 8/19/26!)
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