Spider-Man 3 Movie Novel Stuff

.Detaching Scene.

Still wearing the black costume, Peter sat in the bell tower, looking off toward the horizon. His fancy Italian suit was piled in a heap on the side.

He had no idea what to do. The words of Curtis Connors were haunting him. When he'd first heard them, he'd laughed them off. But he kept replaying the image of his swatting aside Mary Jane, and it was like having ice cold water repeatedly dousing him in the face.

A huge churche bell hung above him, it was three times his size. Nut he wasn't really paying attention to it. He was caught up in his inner torment, oblivious not only to its presence, but to the timing mechanism nearby that was ticking down toward the moment when it would set the gears into motion and send the bell ringing.

A part of him was urging him to forget everything that had happened. Find a way to make up to Mary Jane if he had to, but not to dwell on it.

Even as he thought that, though, he knew it would be impossible. Not only had too much happened, too much more could still happen. Just wearing the costume for a couple days, he felt as if he was losing touch with his soul. What I'm God's name would happen a couple of weeks or months from now? Would he even be recognisable to himself? What would he become?

He couldn't chance finding out.

Peter stood and started pulling on the suit, figuring that he would easily be able to peel it off as easily as he had the last time.

Wrong.

Perhaps sensing that matters had reached a crisis point, the suit refused to yield. Peter pulled at it harder, using the full power of the Amazing adhesive abilities that lay in his fingertips. Nothing. The suit stretched like silly putty, then snapped right back.

You didn't keep any, did you, Peter? All the words of Curtis Connors flew back at him, and he cursed himself for his stupidity, even as he continued to battle against the costume.

I want my life back! Give me my life back! Peter furiously thought, and the suit redoubled it's efforts, seemingly fighting for its own life as well.

The bell clanged above them, deafening, and apparently it seemed to jot the suits concentration. He felt it loosening slightly, felt its influence upon him starting to diminish. He was winning the contest of wills. I've got you now you b#=+~$d, he thought grimly, not noticing that the black goo was starting to slip through a crack in the flooring.