Adrian Toomes leaned over his workbench, the dim light of his workshop casting sharp shadows across his weathered face. A large city map spread out before him, crisscrossed with red lines and dotted with red Xs marking previous heists. His gnarled finger hovered over a circled location: the Oscorp storage facility near the harbor.
"This is it," he muttered, his voice low and resolute, carrying the weight of his anger. "One final strike, and everything comes crumbling down."
The room was silent except for the faint hum of the Vulture suit standing tall behind him, its jagged wings fully repaired and gleaming under the flickering fluorescent lights. Toomes turned, his gaze lingering on the suit. Each scarred piece of metal and reinforced joint was a reminder of his resilience, a testament to his refusal to back down.
He reached out, his hand brushing against the cold, metallic surface of the suit. "They think they can stop me," he whispered, a bitter edge in his tone. "But they've never faced someone with nothing left to lose."
With practiced precision, Toomes adjusted the gauntlet on his wrist, his fingers tightening the straps. The sharp click of the mechanism echoed in the workshop as a small camera on the desk blinked to life. The red recording light cast an eerie glow on Toomes' face as he positioned himself before it.
The fury in his eyes was unmistakable. "Norman Osborn," he began, his voice steady but laced with venom, "you built this city on greed, stepping on men like me to get to the top. You've taken everything from me—my livelihood, my dignity, my family's future."
Toomes leaned closer, his gaze piercing through the lens. "Now, it's my turn."
His voice dropped to a chilling whisper, each word heavy with intent. "You think your money and power can shield you, but you're wrong. I'll show this city what you really are. Let's see how your empire stands when I tear it apart piece by piece."
With a final glare, Toomes ended the recording and leaned back, his lips curling into a grim smile. He slid a drive containing the message into an envelope, addressed to Oscorp's headquarters.
He turned back to the Vulture suit, the faint hum of its thrusters filling the air as he powered it up. The jagged edges of the wings began to shimmer faintly, the energy coursing through them casting shifting patterns of light on the workshop walls.
Toomes picked up a wrench, tightening one last bolt on the gauntlet before slipping it onto his arm. He flexed his fingers, the suit responding instantly with a mechanical hiss. "Your move, Norman," he growled, his voice cold and unyielding.
With one final look at the map, he grabbed the envelope and secured it in a compartment on the suit. The thrusters roared to life, sending a gust of wind through the small room as he activated his helmet.
The workshop door slid open, revealing the dark expanse of the city skyline. Toomes stepped to the edge of the platform, his wings extending to their full span. The cool night air whipped against his face as he leapt into the sky, the glow of his suit disappearing into the darkness.
In the sterile confines of Oscorp's high-security lab, alarms blared as red lights bathed the room in an ominous glow. Mac Gargan thrashed against his restraints, his muscles bulging unnaturally as veins pulsed with a faint green hue. His guttural growls echoed through the chamber, sending chills down the spines of the scientists.
Alaric Kane hurried to the control panel, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he shouted, "We need to stabilize him now, or he'll rip this place apart!"
Norman Osborn watched from the observation deck, his hands clasped behind his back. His expression was calm, almost indifferent. "He's fine," he said dismissively. "This is exactly what we need."
"Fine?" Kane snapped, glancing up at Norman. "He's completely unstable! If this containment fails—"
Norman cut him off with a sharp glare. "If it fails, we'll rebuild it. But Gargan's rage, his aggression… that's the key. That's what will make him unstoppable."
Below, Gargan let out a roar, the restraints groaning under his strength before the system surged with a pulse of energy, temporarily subduing him. Norman smirked, turning to Kane. "He's ready for field testing. Start preparing him."
Kane hesitated, his jaw tightening. "You're making a mistake."
Norman's smirk faded, his tone icy. "No, Alaric. You're forgetting who's in charge."
The late afternoon sun bathed the school courtyard in a golden glow. Peter and Harry found a quiet corner near the edge of campus, away from the bustling crowds of students. Harry leaned against a tree, his shoulders slumped and his gaze distant.
"Thanks for sticking around," Harry said, his voice unusually subdued.
"Of course," Peter replied, sitting cross-legged on the grass. "What's on your mind?"
Harry let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. "It's my dad. I feel like… no matter what I do, I'm always stuck in his shadow."
Peter frowned, unsure of how to respond. "You're not your dad, Harry. You're your own person."
Harry gave a humorless laugh. "Yeah, tell that to the board of Oscorp. They see 'Osborn' and expect me to be some kind of mini-Norman." He shook his head. "And now, with all this Vulture and Scorpion crap, it's like my life's constantly in danger just because of my last name."
Peter's heart ached for his friend. He thought of the countless times he'd put himself at risk to stop the very chaos Harry was talking about.
Harry's tone softened. "You know, I wish I could be like that vigilante guy. Brave, selfless… actually making a difference. Instead, I'm just the screw-up son of a corporate tyrant."
Peter's stomach churned. He wanted to tell Harry the truth, to let him know that his best friend was the very person he admired. But the weight of his secret kept him silent.
"You're not a screw-up," Peter said instead, his voice firm. "You're one of the best people I know."
Harry looked at him, a small, grateful smile breaking through his gloom. "Thanks, Pete. That means a lot coming from you."
As the two friends walked back toward the main building, Liz Allan and Gwen Stacy appeared, their presence immediately brightening the mood. Liz grinned, jogging up to Peter.
"There you are, Parker," she teased. "What's with all the secrecy lately? Got some mysterious science project you're working on?"
Peter rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. "Something like that."
"Maybe he's inventing a new way to dodge PE," Gwen quipped, crossing her arms. Her sharp eyes lingered on Peter, catching the subtle tension in his posture.
Liz laughed, punching Peter lightly on the arm. "Well, whatever it is, don't let it fry your brain. We need you sharp for the next group project."
Peter smiled, but Gwen's piercing gaze didn't waver. She pulled him aside, her voice dropping to a quieter tone. "You okay, Parker? You've been… off lately."
Peter hesitated, his mind racing for an excuse. "Just… a lot on my plate. Nothing to worry about."
Gwen studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Alright. But if something's going on, you can tell me. You know that, right?"
"Yeah," Peter said softly. "I know. Thanks, Gwen."
Back at Oscorp, Gargan sat in his containment chamber, his glowing eyes fixated on the reinforced glass separating him from the outside world. His body trembled with barely-contained rage, and his voice was a guttural whisper.
"Spider-Boy… Spider-Boy…" The words repeated like a mantra, growing louder with each iteration.
Norman watched from above, his expression calm. "Focus that rage, Mac," he murmured. "It's what makes you strong."
Alaric Kane, standing at the edge of the room, felt a chill run down his spine. Gargan's next outburst was inevitable—and when it came, the consequences would be catastrophic.