Spider-Man 3 Movie Novel Stuff

.Bonding Scene.

Eventually tiring of doing nothing other than hunkering down next to the police radio, Peter pulled on his Spider-Man costume, ready to leap into action at a moments notice. With the mask in hand, he looked out the window for what seemed the hundredth time that evening and muttered, "Where are You Marko?"

He no longer gave any thought to Mary Jane's visit, never even considered picking up the phone and calling Aunt May to assuage her fears.

The rest of the world seemed to fall away until there was only him and somewhere out there, Flint Marko.

He considered randomly swinging around the city, searching for sandman, hoping to stumble over him, but that was likely a waste of time. Waiting for a police summons to at least steer him in the right direction was clearly the more logical way to go. But logic didn't do a damn thing to satisfy his desire for action. He felt like a racehorse trapped behind a gate that refused to open.

More time passed, and Peter—tired of ineffectual pacing—lay down on the bed, continuing to listen to the scanner. With everything that was on his mind, one thing was for certain: no way was he going to fall asleep this night.

Naturally within the hour, he was dead to the world.

The scanner crackled at him, "car 604, domestic disturbance at 3415 Belmont...apartment B...woman caller is at knifepoint, hysterical..."

Deep in slumber, Peter was unaware of the thick black ooze that was separating itself from the shadows of his closet... and now slowly creeping toward him.

Instead he was in the grip of a nightmare, twitching in bed, and groaning in mental pain. Twisting in his dream, he saw the criminal Denis Caradine tripping over a pipe and falling to his death— except now Peter was there shoving him hard, grinning dementedly, just as Mary Jane had said... but that wasn't how it really went down... was it?

Uncle Ben's murder scene flared up. Ben lying there, dead, eyes closed... Ben's head snapping around, eyes opened... except there where no eyes, nothing but worms crawling out... Flint Marko walking past the macabre scene, whistling casually, innocent of suspicion.

It isn't right, it isn't fair, this shouldn't have happened, I should be able to do something about it, you can, you can do whatever you want now, nothing can—

Peter's mind recoiled against itself, bewildered and uncertain of what was happening. He was talking to himself, as if his mind had somehow split right down the middle.

Even in his dream state, he wondered if he was somehow losing control of his Spider-Man persona. Ben was gone, the murder site was gone, Marko was gone, and instead the city spun dizzily beneath him, skyscrapers whipping past, the chil air permeating him, and he felt giddy, revealing in his power, enjoying it in a way not before experienced since it all began. It was all new and liberating, and he couldn't understand why. He heard the distant sound of car horns honking, and sirens yowling, and suddenly he realised that the wind was all too real...

He managed to look around, and saw his reflection, and it was odd, his suit was now midnight black...

"Whoa!" He shouted, and almost lost his grip on his webstrand, before clutching it tightly and maintaining his place. "What the... what is this?!"

He'd always known the right way to catapult yourself out of a dream was to pinch yourself. He attempted that now, pinching his arm through the suit. He felt the pain; that torpedoed the entire dream theory. Even stranger, though, was that the suit seemed to pull away from his skin like elastic. When he realised it, it snapped back. "Ow! Sticks!"

Whatever this tarry stuff was, it hadn't just simply covered the suit. It had actually permeated it, been absorbed through, adhering to his skin.

This has to be a trick, a trap, I have to get this suit off... who made it? The goblin? Harry? This must be his doing. He must have regained his memory and...

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it.

Harry had been focussed on one thing; the death of Peter Parker. If he'd regressed to his villainous mental state, had come to Peter's apartment and found him asleep, he would simply have killed him,. The Sandman? Didn't seem likely.

So where the hell had this thing come from? A lab experiment gone wrong? A trap by an enemy I haven't even encountered?

Panic welled within him... but faded just as quickly. He felt an almost soothing sense of peace and well-being, so much that it never occurred to him to question it. He stopped to study, really study, the way his reflection appeared in the building. Not satisfied with the distance,he vaulted free of the webline and landed on the buildings side. He flexed one arm, then the other; amazingly, his muscles were larger. He felt stronger too, nearly bursting with power.

It was as if he were reborn... no. More than that. He was truly alive for the first time in his life.

It wasn't just the strength he sensed burgeoning within him. He was more attuned not only to his own body, but the entirety of the city as well. The full potential of his spider-sense pulsed in his brain—as if invisible weblines radiated in every direction, and he was at the center. Just like a real spider, any small vibration in any of the lines instantly caught his attention.

He wanted to do more.

He could do more.

Wether that was coming from a deep-seated need or somewhere else within that had only now manifested, he couldn't say.

Peter was oblivious to the concept that whatever had bonded with him might have its own mind, it's own agenda. That while he was busy testing the limits of his own abilities, the creature was doing the same exact thing.

The black-suited Spider-Man ran. Moving at breakneck speed, he sprinted down the face of the building and then leaped powerfully. He somersaulted in midair, bounced off a lower rooftop, and landed with perfect precision upon a narrow ledge. Not something that would have been beyond his abilities to accomplish before... but not this effortlessly. He would have been looking ahead, calculating distances, making sure that he could pull it off. Instead, as if he his body no longer needed his conscious mind to function, he simply leaped into action, moving with far greater sureness and facility than ever before.

"No problem" he said, confirming it for himself. "How'd I do that?" He caught his reflection in the mirrored glass, turned this way and that, said, "gotta be this suit. But how did...?"

As a scientist, his first impulse was to go home, remove the suit (presuming he could), and find some way to study it. It was the height of recklessness to be throwing himself around hundreds of feet in the air without the slightest true comprehension of what this... this thing... could and could not do.

But the impulse was quickly smothered, again by the part of his mind that wasn't his.

This time, though, Peter started to fight it. Although he didn't consciously experience it, part of his core personality started to rise through the "static" that the suit was creating within his mind, like a deep-sea diver in distress, struggling back towards the surface.

The alien symbiote—for that was what had attached itself to him—fought for its own survival. It reached deep within peter, found that which was most distressing him, then plucked the single strand on peters newly heightened spider-sense that would lead him straight to his quarry...

Peter, not realising that the symbiote had triggered the response, suddenly knew, just knew, exactly where Flint Marko was. Something in his head did a fast "zoom in" a movie unspooling in his brain just for him, and his concerns about the creature bore no further thought.

Instinct kicked into overdrive as Peter bounded away from the building, webbing down toward the street, moving dangerously fast.