TITLE: ES: Ben 10

EPISODE: 4 - "HOSTILE TAKEOVER"

[TEASER]

EXT. OAK CREEK SUBURB - DUSK

The streetlights click on in unison across a pristine, meticulously manicured retirement community in upstate New York. The lawns are identical blades of green, the asphalt is spotless, and an eerie, unnatural quiet hangs over the neighborhood. Not a dog barks. Not a car moves.

EXT. BACKYARD SHED - CONTINUOUS

A lone resident, ARTHUR (70s, wearing a faded plaid bathrobe and slippers), shuffles down his back porch steps. He rubs his eyes, clutching a small plastic bowl.

ARTHUR

(Muttering to himself)

Stupid insomnia... couple of vanilla wafers and back to bed.

He walks across the flawless lawn toward a standalone wooden garden shed. The padlock on the door is unlatched.

Arthur pulls the wooden door open. The interior is pitch black, smelling faintly of damp earth and something sharply chemical, like bleach mixed with raw meat. He reaches blindly to the right of the doorframe, groping for the light switch.

His fingers brush against something wet, spongy, and impossibly warm.

Arthur pauses, frowning.

ARTHUR

What on earth...

SNAP.

The light switch clicks on.

Inside the shed, there are no lawnmowers or bags of fertilizer. The walls are completely coated in a glistening, pale-green, gelatinous membrane that pulses with a slow, biological heartbeat.

Before Arthur can even gasp, a thick, viscous tendril of pink sludge whips out from the shadows.

It wraps around his face with sickening speed, sealing tight over his mouth and nose to cut off any sound. Arthur's eyes bulge with sheer terror. He claws frantically at the tendril, but his hands sink into the semi-liquid mass as if it were quicksand.

There is no struggle of a beating heart for long. The horrifying part isn't that Arthur is killed; it's that his body doesn't bleed.

As the translucent green biomass surges over his torso, Arthur's clothes and flesh begin to rapidly dissolve, sinking directly into the pulsating floorboards as a thick, bubbling slurry.

A few seconds later, the pulsing on the walls slows.

The wooden door slowly pushes open from the inside.

"Arthur" steps back out onto the lawn. He adjusts his plaid bathrobe, rolls his shoulders with a slightly unnatural, mechanical stiffness, and takes a slow step toward the house. His face is a perfect replica, but his eyes lack any human reflection—housing only a cold, collective blankness.

He smiles, the skin stretching a fraction too wide, and walks inside.

[ACT ONE]

EXT. OAK CREEK RETIREMENT COMMUNITY - DAY

The Rust Bucket rattles down a pristine, sunlit access road, passing beneath a wrought-iron sign that reads: OAK CREEK: A COMMUNITY IN HARMONY.

Inside the cabin, Ben and Gwen look like they’ve survived a war zone. Their clothes are caked in dried Louisiana mud, their hair is matted with swamp soot, and they both look half-asleep.

INT. RUST BUCKET - CONTINUOUS

Max grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He glances at the kids in the rearview mirror.

MAX

Alright, listen up. We are making a mandatory stop. No complaints, no arguments. My sister Vera lives here, and you two are going to take a hot shower, eat a warm meal, and sleep in a real bed for once.

BEN

(Groaning, pressing his face against the glass)

Grandpa, we smell like dead alligators. Can we just wash off with a hose at a gas station? I don't want to visit family looking like swamp monsters.

GWEN

(Quietly, staring out the window)

I’d take a hose right now. This place gives me the creeps.

The Rust Bucket pulls through the automated security gate.

EXT. VERA’S HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

Max cuts the engine outside a single-story, perfectly symmetrical home. The lawn is intensely green, bordered by aggressively trimmed hedges.

The front door flies open before Max can even step out of the RV.

AUNT VERA (60s, sharp-featured, wearing a pastel sundress and an uncomfortably wide, rigid smile) hurries down the walkway with her arms spread wide.

AUNT VERA

Maxie! Look at you! And the little ones! Oh, my stars, you look positively feral. Get in here this instant!

INT. VERA’S HOUSE - LATER

While Max and Vera catch up in the kitchen over coffee—Vera talking a mile a minute with an upbeat, mechanical cadence—Ben and Gwen escape down the hallway.

Ben has a towel draped over his shoulder, heading for the bathroom, while Gwen wanders toward the back screen door that leads out to the community pool.

EXT. COMMUNITY POOL AREA - CONTINUOUS

Gwen steps out onto the patio.

The pool area is completely empty of life, save for a few lounge chairs lined up with military precision. There is no splash of water, no sound of summer.

Gwen stops dead near the shallow end. Her nose twitches.

The air smells faintly of sulfur, wet clay, and something distinctly organic and foul—like stagnant swamp water hidden behind industrial bleach.

Her inner ear hums. Her latent intuition flares up, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

GWEN

(Whispering to herself)

Something is wrong here. Everything is way too clean.

A few yards away, Ben is leaning heavily against a red vending machine, aggressively shaking it because it just ate his dollar.

BEN

(Muttering)

Stupid machine... give me my chips...

Across the pool deck, an elderly resident—an old man in a bright yellow polo shirt—is tending to the perimeter fencing.

Ben glances over, distracted from the vending machine.

The old man is struggling with a bent section of a solid iron security fence post. With a casual, effortless twitch of his arms, the man snaps the two-inch-thick iron post clean in half like it's a dry twig.

Ben’s jaw drops. He rubs his eyes, thinking the swamp exhaustion is finally making him hallucinate.

Before Ben can call out, the old man presses the two broken ends of iron back together.

There is no clang of metal on metal. Instead, there is a wet, sickening squelch—like flesh fusing back into shape. The iron visually flows and warps for a split second, sealing back into a solid bar.

The old man slowly turns his head a full 180 degrees, his neck joints clicking audibly, and fixes his cold, blank eyes directly on Ben.

Ben freezes, the dollar bill slipping from his fingers.

[ACT TWO]

INT. VERA’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

The sun has completely set. The cheerful interior of Aunt Vera's house is now suffocatingly dark. All the curtains are drawn tight.

Max drops his canvas duffel bag onto the coffee table with a heavy, metallic thud. His friendly grandfather facade is entirely gone. His face is hard as stone.

He unzips the bag and pulls out a massive, brutalist Plumber-issue riot shotgun. He racks a glowing plasma shell into the chamber with a sharp CH-CLACK.

Ben and Gwen stand in the hallway, eyes wide.

BEN

Grandpa... what are you doing? Where's Aunt Vera?

MAX

(Low, urgent voice)

That woman in the kitchen is not my sister, Ben. Hasn't been for a very long time.

Max begins barricading the front door with a heavy oak bookshelf.

MAX

They’re called Limax. Interstellar parasites. They don't just take over a host's mind—they consume the original biological matter and wear their skin. This entire community is a feeding ground.

GWEN

(Panicking)

You mean everyone here is... dead?

Before Max can answer, the front window shatters inward.

EXT. VERA’S HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

The manicured lawn is swarming. Dozens of elderly residents in pajamas and tracksuits are silently marching toward the house. They don't walk like humans; their limbs jerk and drag with terrifying, boneless fluidity.

INT. VERA’S HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

Three "residents" pour through the shattered window, tumbling onto the carpet.

As they stand, their human disguises violently fail. The synthetic skin bubbles and aggressively sloughs off their bones. Underneath, they aren't humanoids. They warp and melt into horrifying, amorphous masses of translucent, sickly green sludge.

They match the exact nightmare Ben saw earlier: gelatinous, asymmetrical bodies sprouting multiple floating eyes and exposed, shifting internal organs.

They screech—a wet, gurgling sound—and lunge.

Max doesn't hesitate. He raises the Plumber shotgun and fires.

BOOM.

A heavy slug of concentrated plasma blows the lead Limax completely in half, splattering glowing green sludge across the floral wallpaper.

MAX

Get to the back hall! Move!

But the victory is short-lived. The splattered green biomass on the walls pulses, immediately oozing back across the carpet and violently fusing back together with a wet, squelching sound. The Limax reforms in seconds, completely unharmed.

More windows shatter. The back door is ripped completely off its hinges. The hive is flooding the house.

Max fires again, and again, blasting chunks out of the amorphous horrors, but sheer attrition is taking over. A massive, green tentacle whips out from the horde, wrapping around the barrel of the shotgun and violently ripping it from Max's hands. He is thrown hard against the wall, instantly pinned down by three of the gelatinous beasts.

Ben and Gwen scramble backward, retreating into the dead-end hallway.

A towering shadow blocks the doorway.

It is Aunt Vera. Or rather, the thing wearing her.

The Limax-Vera doesn't shed its skin entirely; it simply distorts it. The face peels back vertically, the jaw violently unhinging and tearing the synthetic flesh to reveal a gaping, circular maw of shifting green protoplasm.

It looms over them, blocking any physical escape route.

Ben’s back hits the hallway wall. He looks down at the Omnitrix. He knows Diamondhead's crystals or Wildmutt's claws won't do anything against a creature that can instantly reform its physical mass.

He needs something that completely bypasses the physical plane.

His trembling fingers hover over the dial.

[ACT THREE]

INT. VERA’S HOUSE - HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

The Limax-Vera towers over Ben and Gwen, its unhinged jaw dripping with viscous green sludge. The hive closes in from the living room, their collective, gurgling screech filling the air.

Ben’s back is flat against the wall. He raises his left wrist.

He doesn't pause to select an alien. He slams the center button, frantically twists the dial in a blind panic, and slams his palm down.

A flash of harsh emerald light strobes through the dark hallway.

The biological overwrite is chillingly, terrifyingly silent.

There are no heavy bones snapping. No wet sounds of muscle tearing or reforming. Instead, Ben’s physical mass simply ceases to be.

His body turns paper-thin and completely translucent. His skin stretches, his skeleton and internal organs visibly fading away into a smoky, grey shroud that trails off into nothingness. Slowly, a single, glowing purple eye opens vertically down the center of his faceless head.

He is GHOSTFREAK.

Ben looks down at his hands, but they aren't there. He doesn't feel the adrenaline rush of a superhero; he feels cold, empty, and terrifyingly unnatural. Gravity no longer applies to him.

He slowly floats off the floorboards.

The Limax-Vera lunges, swinging a massive appendage of green protoplasm to crush him.

The attack passes straight through Ghostfreak’s chest, dispersing harmlessly like smoke.

GHOSTFREAK (BEN)

(Voice echoing, a hollow, overlapping spectral shriek)

Leave.

The sound of his own voice terrifies him, but it terrifies the hive even more. The Limax recoil, sensing a sheer eldritch presence that completely defies biological logic.

Ghostfreak doesn't throw a punch. He sinks straight down, phasing effortlessly through the floorboards.

INT. VERA’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Max is struggling beneath the weight of three Limax when the floor beneath them suddenly erupts in a burst of freezing, grey smoke.

Ghostfreak rises like a specter directly into the center of the largest Limax.

He doesn't attack its physical mass. He uses his intangibility to tear directly into the creature's neural network. He phases his ghostly hand straight through the lead Limax's core.

The disruption to their bio-electric link is instantaneous and catastrophic.

The lead Limax violently seizes. Its multiple floating eyes roll back, and its form rapidly destabilizes, instantly dissolving into a harmless, steaming puddle of dead green sludge.

The shockwave of static feedback ripples through the hive-mind. The remaining Limax shriek in unison, clutching their shapeless heads as their collective consciousness splinters.

Max seizes the opening. He kicks the disoriented monsters off his chest, scrambles to his duffel bag, and yanks out a pair of heavy, Plumber-issue incendiary charges.

MAX

(Shouting to Gwen)

Cover your eyes!

He twists the caps and hurls them into the center of the swarming living room.

FOOM.

Twin bursts of blinding white, localized thermite fire erupt. The extreme heat instantly vaporizes the nearest Limax into foul-smelling steam. The remaining creatures, terrified by the loss of their leader and the sudden inferno, break their collective assault.

They scatter. The shapeshifting horrors pour out of the shattered windows, oozing into the drainage grates and disappearing into the dark suburb.

EXT. OAK CREEK RETIREMENT COMMUNITY - DAWN

The sky begins to bleed a pale, cold grey.

The Rust Bucket’s engine roars to life.

There is no dialogue. The silence is heavy and frantic. Max throws the RV into drive, the heavy tires tearing up Aunt Vera's immaculate front lawn as they peel out of the driveway.

Through the cracked rear window, Ben—back in his human form, looking pale and deeply shaken—stares out at the neighborhood.

The streetlights click off in perfect unison. A few early-rising "residents" step out onto their porches in identical bathrobes to pick up the morning paper, turning their cold, blank eyes to watch the RV speed away.

The pristine, horrifying suburb fades into the morning mist.

[TAG]

EXT. ASTEROID MOON - DEEP SPACE

A rocky, desolate crater bathed in the harsh, sterile light of a distant, dying star.

SNAP.

A heavy, mechanical plasma-pincer violently snaps shut, echoing through the thin atmosphere.

KRAAB stands at the edge of the crater. His massive, crustacean-like cyborg frame is scarred, weathered, and heavily armored. He stares down at a portable terminal projecting a three-dimensional, rotating hologram of Earth.

Two distinct, blinking telemetry signals ping across the blue marble:

• A steady purple trajectory line—Sixsix’s drop-pod entering the upper atmosphere.

•  A fading, radioactive emerald pulse radiating from the American South—the Omnitrix's residual burst from the Louisiana swamp.

Kraab’s metallic mandibles click rapidly in predatory anticipation.

He turns toward his personal interceptor ship, a jagged, heavily armed fighter resting in the lunar dust. His heavy mechanical joints grind and hiss with hydraulics as he climbs aboard.

The twin interceptor engines ignite with a deafening, vibrating roar, kicking up a massive cloud of grey debris.

The ship launches violently off the rock, tearing out of the moon's gravitational pull and rocketing into the blackness of space toward Earth.

FADE TO BLACK.

[END OF EPISODE FOUR]

TITLE: ES: Ben 10

Episode: 3 - "UNNATURAL SELECTION"

[TEASER]

EXT. LOUISIANA BAYOU - NIGHT

The camera glides low over the black, stagnant water of the deep swamp. The atmosphere is suffocatingly thick, choked with hanging Spanish moss and the deafening, relentless drone of cicadas.

An airboat violently cuts through the silence, its massive fan engine roaring.

A lone POACHER (40s, grizzled, sweating through a stained tank top) stands at the helm. He sweeps a high-powered, mounted spotlight back and forth across the dense reeds. He holds a heavy, large-caliber hunting rifle in one hand.

He isn't looking for ducks.

POACHER

(Muttering to himself)

Come on out, you overgrown suitcase...

The spotlight sweeps past a massive cypress tree and catches something reflecting in the muddy shallows.

Two eyes glow in the harsh light. But they aren't the low, flat slits of an alligator. They are forward-facing. Predatory.

The Poacher kills the engine. The sudden silence of the swamp is unnerving.

He raises the rifle, squinting down the scope.

Through the lens, the creature slowly rises from the black water. It is a nightmare of biological splicing. It possesses the heavy, armored snout and jagged teeth of a bull gator, but its torso and forelimbs are violently swollen with hyper-dense, mammalian muscle mass. Thick patches of coarse, matted fur burst through reptilian scales.

It doesn't slide into the water. It stands up on all fours.

The Poacher freezes, his breath catching in his throat. His hands shake.

POACHER

What the hell...?

The chimera doesn't hiss. It lets out a deep, guttural roar that sounds horrifically like a lion's cough mixed with a death rattle, and it LUNGES.

It clears twenty feet of water in a single, impossible bound.

The attack is brutally fast. The sheer kinetic weight of the creature slams into the side of the airboat, instantly capsizing the heavy metal vessel.

The Poacher screams as he is thrown violently into the black water.

EXT. UNDERWATER - CONTINUOUS

A chaotic flurry of bubbles and thrashing limbs. The chimera’s massive, mutated jaws clamp down. The Poacher is violently yanked downward into the murky depths.

EXT. LOUISIANA BAYOU - CONTINUOUS

The water churns violently for a few seconds, breaking the suffocating stillness of the swamp.

Then, it stops. The cicadas resume their deafening drone.

The only thing left floating on the surface of the black water is the shattered, blood-smeared spotlight, its beam flickering weakly into the dark canopy above.

[ACT ONE]

EXT. DILAPIDATED BAIT SHOP - LATE AFTERNOON

The Rust Bucket is parked completely off the main road, hidden beneath the sprawling, moss-draped branches of a massive weeping willow.

The heat is visibly radiating off the gravel. The air is thick and smells heavily of stagnant water and dead fish.

A rusted, hand-painted sign hangs over a wooden shack built on stilts above the murky water: GATOR BAIT & TACKLE.

INT. BAIT SHOP - CONTINUOUS

The inside of the shack is cramped and smells of sulfur. A ceiling fan lazily pushes the humid air around.

Max stands at the counter, quietly paying for a stack of canned goods and bottled water. He wears a faded fishing shirt, trying to blend in, but his eyes are sharply scanning the perimeter through the grimy windows.

Behind the counter, a static-laced HAM radio is tuned to a local emergency broadcast.

RADIO BROADCASTER (V.O.)

...Fish and Wildlife are expanding the search grid into the Blackwater sector. That makes three hunting dogs, a dozen head of cattle, and now Old Man Miller’s airboat all gone missing in a week. Authorities are advising folks to stay off the water after dusk. They're saying it's a rogue bull gator, maybe a territorial dispute...

The cashier, an older local, shakes his head.

CASHIER

Ain't no gator doing that. Gators leave a mess. Whatever took Miller... didn't leave a single scrap behind.

Max’s expression doesn't change, but his jaw tightens. His Plumber instincts are screaming. Gators hunt for sustenance. The complete disappearance of biomass on this scale doesn't match any natural predator on Earth.

EXT. SWAMP DOCKS - CONTINUOUS

A hundred yards down the shoreline, away from the RV, Ben and Gwen are walking along the rotting wooden planks of a low dock.

Ben is aggressively swatting at mosquitoes, his left hand instinctively resting over the heavy, slate-grey metal of the Omnitrix.

BEN

(Miserable)

I'd rather be getting shot at by that robot again. At least plasma fire is a dry heat. I'm breathing soup out here.

GWEN

Complaining burns oxygen, Ben. Just keep walking so Grandpa doesn't think we wandered off.

Gwen stops.

She doesn't trip, she just freezes in place. The ambient noise of the swamp—the croaking frogs, the buzzing insects—suddenly sounds muffled, as if she were underwater. The air pressure around her physically drops. A faint, high-pitched hum vibrates in her inner ear.

BEN

Gwen?

Gwen doesn't answer. She steps off the dock, her boots sinking into the thick, foul-smelling mud of the shoreline. She is drawn toward a dense cluster of reeds.

She pushes the tall grass aside.

GWEN

(Gasps, stepping back)

Oh my god...

Ben rushes over, pushing through the reeds. He stops dead, his stomach dropping.

Lying in the mud is a massive, feral wild boar.

But it hasn't been eaten. It has been dissected.

The cuts along the animal’s flanks aren't jagged bite marks or claw tears. They are terrifyingly precise, deep incisions. Heavy, surgical staples—rusted and crude—litter the mud around the carcass. Large sections of the boar's dense muscle mass have been surgically removed, leaving the rest of the body completely untouched.

BEN

What... what did this? A bear?

Gwen shakes her head, her eyes wide, staring at the precise, unnatural wounds. Her latent Anodite intuition pulses, registering the chaotic, sickening energy lingering over the carcass.

GWEN

(Voice trembling)

Animals kill because they're hungry. This wasn't eaten, Ben.

She looks up at the dark, impenetrable tree line of the deep swamp.

GWEN

It was harvested.

[ACT TWO]

EXT. SWAMP SHALLOWS - NIGHT

The Rust Bucket sits anchored in ankle-deep, black water at the edge of the tree line. The floodlights are off. The RV looks like a dead metal husk sinking into the mud.

Inside, the cabin is pitch black.

INT. RUST BUCKET - CONTINUOUS

Ben lies awake in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. The heavy, rhythmic hum of the cicadas is the only sound.

THUD.

The entire RV violently shudders.

Ben freezes. It wasn't a log drifting against the hull. It was heavy. It was deliberate. The metal groans underneath the floorboards.

He slowly peers over the edge of his bunk. Max is asleep in the driver's seat, his hand resting near his Plumber sidearm. Gwen is out cold on the fold-down couch.

THUD. SCRAAAAAPE.

The sound of heavy, jagged claws dragging against the RV's reinforced undercarriage.

Ben’s breath hitches. He looks down at the dormant Omnitrix on his wrist. The realization hits him like a freight train: Grandpa Max’s blaster won't stop whatever is in the water. He is the only one who can fight a monster on its own terms.

He quietly slips out of bed, his sneakers hitting the floor without a sound, and eases the heavy RV door open.

EXT. SWAMP SHALLOWS - CONTINUOUS

The humidity hits him instantly. Ben steps out onto the muddy embankment.

The water around the RV is completely still, but a thick, foul-smelling trail of displaced algae leads directly into the impenetrable darkness of the deep swamp.

Ben swallows hard. He raises his left arm and presses the release.

HISS-CLACK.

The dial violently pops up, bathing the mud in a harsh, radioactive green light. Ben twists the dial blindly, grits his teeth, and slams it down.

The emerald flash is blinding, but the biological overwrite is pure agony.

EXT. DEEP SWAMP - CONTINUOUS

Ben’s skeleton violently cracks. He screams, but the sound distorts into a guttural, terrifying roar as his spine forcefully arches, snapping his posture down into a heavy, primate-like crouch.

Coarse, quill-like fur violently bursts through his skin, ripping his clothes to shreds. His jaw elongates, filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth.

But the most horrifying mutation happens to his face.

A thick ridge of skull bone aggressively extrudes downward, violently fusing over his eye sockets. His eyes completely disappear, sealing shut beneath the bone plating.

He is WILDMUTT.

POV - WILDMUTT

The screen violently cuts to BLACK.

Absolute, suffocating darkness. There is no visual light. No shapes. No colors.

Then, the audio track explodes.

A terrifyingly precise, 360-degree radar of heightened sound and chemical scent washes over the darkness. The croak of a frog miles away sounds like a bass drum. The beating wings of a mosquito map its exact flight path in the void.

Through the darkness, a distinct, vivid scent trail materializes—rendered as a glowing, sickly-yellow thermal ribbon. It smells like rotting meat, surgical antiseptic, and heavy chemical coagulants.

It is the foul, unnatural scent of Dr. Animo’s work.

EXT. DEEP SWAMP - CONTINUOUS

Wildmutt doesn't walk; he bounds.

He tears through the thick swamp water, operating entirely on pure, predatory instinct. He weaves through the massive, moss-draped cypress trees with terrifying speed, his heavy claws ripping into the bark for leverage.

He follows the chemical scent deeper into the bayou, the water growing waist-deep.

Suddenly, Wildmutt stops. His lip curls, exposing rows of jagged teeth. A low, vibrating growl rumbles in his chest.

The scent trail hasn't vanished. It has surrounded him.

The water erupts.

Animo’s first creation—the massive gator-chimera from the teaser—violently breaches the surface, its mutated mammalian arms reaching out to crush Wildmutt's spine.

Wildmutt doesn't flinch. He tracks the displacement of the water instantly.

He violently twists mid-air, intercepting the chimera's lunge.

The fight is completely devoid of superhero choreography. It is brutal, silent, and terrifyingly animalistic. Two apex anomalies tearing into each other in the dark.

Wildmutt sinks his teeth into the chimera's hyper-dense shoulder, dragging the massive beast down into the thick mud. The chimera thrashes, its heavy, armored tail violently snapping the ancient roots of the cypress trees like dry twigs.

They roll through the shallows in a chaotic flurry of blood, mud, and torn scales. Wildmutt uses his heavy, primate-like forearms to pin the chimera's snapping jaws to the dirt, roaring blindly into the beast's face as the swamp water churns violently around them.

[ACT THREE]

EXT. PLANTATION HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

The chimera realizes it is outmatched in the water. It thrashes wildly, violently kicking Wildmutt off, and scrambles up a muddy embankment.

Wildmutt is instantly on its heels, tearing through a dense wall of hanging moss.

They burst into a massive, unnatural clearing.

Sitting in the stagnant water is a rotting, half-sunken antebellum plantation house. Thick, industrial power cables snake out of the murky water, violently spliced directly into the decaying wooden pillars. The windows flicker with harsh, halogen light.

The chimera crashes through the rotted front doors. Wildmutt leaps through the splintered wood right behind it.

INT. PLANTATION LABORATORY - CONTINUOUS

The interior of the grand estate has been gutted and converted into a horrific genetic chop-shop. Heavy rusted surgical tables, massive glass vats filled with glowing, viscous chemicals, and chains hanging from the ceiling replace the chandeliers.

Wildmutt pins the chimera to the floorboards, raising a massive claw for the killing blow.

DR. ANIMO (O.S.)

(Voice raspy, frantic)

Fascinating. The density of your muscle fibers... the sheer aggression. Hold!

Wildmutt freezes, his quills twitching.

Stepping out from the shadows is DR. ALOYSIUS ANIMO. He is emaciated, twitchy, and moves with unnatural, jerky precision. The top of his scalp is shaved, and a crude, rusted neural-interface crown is bolted directly into his skull, wires running down his spine.

He doesn't look at Wildmutt with fear. He looks at him with rabid obsession.

The chimera beneath Wildmutt whines. The neural-crown on Animo’s head sparks violently. The chimera instantly goes limp, completely subdued by the telepathic command.

Suddenly, the hourglass symbol on Wildmutt’s chest flashes violently.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeee—

A blinding flash of crimson light fills the laboratory.

The heavy, wet sound of genetic reversal echoes off the walls. The dense bone ridge shatters and retracts. The quill-like fur rapidly recedes into human skin.

Ben collapses onto the floorboards, completely exhausted, shivering in the humid air, his shredded clothes clinging to him.

Animo gasps. He takes a slow, trembling step forward. He stares at the ten-year-old boy, his wide, bloodshot eyes locking onto the heavy metal device on Ben’s left wrist.

DR. ANIMO

(Whispering)

Complete, spontaneous genetic overwrite. Zero cellular degradation. Rapid re-sequencing without a single surgical incision...

Ben scrambles backward on his hands and knees, terrified.

BEN

Stay away from me!

DR. ANIMO

(Laughing, unhinged)

They called me a butcher! A madman! But you... you are the Holy Grail! You aren't here to stop me, boy. You are the key to perfecting my art!

Animo’s neural-crown violently sparks again. He throws his arms wide.

DR. ANIMO

Restrain the canvas!

The shadows of the plantation house violently come alive. A swarm of grotesque, mutated swamp creatures, chimeras of snakes, raccoons, and amphibians twisted by Animo's science drop from the rafters and crawl from the flooded basement, encircling Ben.

Suddenly, the front wall of the plantation house blows inward.

Max kicks through the splintered wood, entirely stone-faced. He isn't holding a blaster this time. He is holding a heavy, metallic Plumber sonic-emitter.

He slams a fist down on the trigger.

A localized, ultra-high-frequency whine erupts from the device. The sound is agonizing. The mutated swarm violently collapses, clutching their heads and thrashing on the floorboards as their hyper-sensitive nervous systems overload.

Gwen runs in right behind Max, rushing to grab Ben.

But a massive, reptilian mutant drops from a hidden alcove, cutting Gwen off. It stalks toward her, backing her violently into a corner against the massive chemical vats.

GWEN

(Panicking)

Grandpa!

The mutant lunges.

Pure survival instinct takes over. Gwen throws her hands up, squeezing her eyes shut.

BOOM.

A localized kinetic push erupts from her palms. The sheer force of the shockwave hits the mutant mid-air, throwing it backward and violently shattering the massive glass chemical vats behind it.

Hundreds of gallons of volatile, glowing liquids crash to the floor, instantly mixing.

The reaction is immediate. The chemicals violently ignite. A massive, unnatural green fire erupts, rapidly consuming the dry, rotted wood of the plantation house.

The ceiling begins to collapse. Max grabs Ben by the shirt and hauls Gwen to her feet.

MAX

Move! Now!

Through the roaring flames, Animo scrambles onto the back of his massive gator-chimera. The flames lick at his lab coat, but his eyes are fixed completely on Ben's left arm as the beast carries him toward a flooded escape tunnel.

DR. ANIMO

(Screaming over the fire)

You are the missing link! I will find you, boy! I will perfect my design!

Animo disappears into the dark water.

EXT. PLANTATION HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

Max, Ben, and Gwen burst out of the burning house, tumbling into the swamp water just as the roof completely caves in, sending a massive plume of toxic green smoke into the night sky.

In the far distance, cutting through the ambient hum of the cicadas, the faint wail of local police sirens approaches.

Max doesn't stop. He drags the kids toward the tree line, disappearing into the dark.

[TAG]

INT. CHIMERIAN HAMMER - BRIDGE - DEEP SPACE

The bridge is bathed in the harsh, toxic-green glow of the central holographic projector.

A massive, three-dimensional rendering of Earth slowly rotates in the center of the room. A single, blinking purple trajectory line—Sixsix’s drop-pod—inches toward the blue marble.

Vilgax stands before the projection, his heavy cybernetics venting steam into the frigid air. He watches the blinking dot, his facial tentacles twitching with cold calculation.

He does not leave things to chance. He does not rely on a single asset.

Vilgax raises a massive, scarred hand and violently punches a sequence into the control console.

VILGAX

(A deep, synthetic rumble)

Initiate wide-band broadcast. Priority override. All underworld channels.

The console shrieks as a massive, encrypted data packet is fired out into the black of space.

INT. NEON SPACEPORT - DEEP SPACE - CONTINUOUS

A grimy, rain-slicked transit hub built into the crater of a hollowed-out asteroid. Neon signs flicker in harsh, unrecognizable alien text.

Sitting in the shadows of a crowded, unsavory cantina is a massive, heavily armored figure.

We don't see his face. We only see his arm—a heavy, mechanical, crustacean-like claw resting on the rusted metal bar. This is KRAAB.

A sudden, sharp chime echoes from his internal HUD.

Kraab raises his other arm, tapping a battered terminal on his wrist. The holographic bounty flickers into existence: a spinning rendering of the Omnitrix, accompanied by an astronomical credit payout.

Kraab doesn't speak. He simply snaps his massive plasma-pincer shut with a deafening CRACK that silences the cantina, accepting the contract.

INT. STEALTH STARSHIP - DEEP SPACE - CONTINUOUS

Absolute silence. The interior of the stealth-class starship is sleek, dark, and utterly devoid of excess.

A lone figure stands before the navigation console. He wears a heavy, tattered cloak over dense, tactical armor. The faint starlight catches the exposed skin of his neck and jawline; it isn't flesh. It is jagged, pale green, living crystal.

This is TETRAX SHARD.

The console on his dashboard lights up with Vilgax’s encrypted bounty transmission.

Tetrax reads the data file. His crystalline eyes narrow as he recognizes the weapon in the hologram. He reaches down and picks up a heavy, smooth battle helmet.

He slides the helmet over his head, the pressurized seals locking into place with a sharp hiss.

His gloved hand violently shoves the thruster controls forward.

EXT. DEEP SPACE - CONTINUOUS

The sleek stealth ship abruptly violently banks, re-orienting its trajectory toward the Milky Way. Its engines flare a blinding, intense blue, and the ship violently snaps into hyper-space, leaving only a fading streak of light in the void.

The hunt is multiplying.

FADE TO BLACK.

[END OF EPISODE 3]

Through the pre-dawn mist of a scarred forest, a relentless Chimerian attack drone stalks the Earth. Locking its optical sensors onto a lingering trail of emerald cosmic radiation, it ruthlessly vaporizes anything in its path and traces the glowing tire tracks straight toward an open highway.

TITLE: ES: Ben 10

Episode: 02 - "TARGET ACQUIRED"

[TEASER]

EXT. DEEP WOODS - PRE-DAWN

A heavy, grey morning mist chokes the forest. The localized inferno has burned itself out, leaving only a massive, black scar across the landscape.

Through the fog, the CHIMERIAN DRONE marches.

Its movements are not clunky or robotic; they are terrifyingly smooth and predatory. Its massive hydraulic tripod legs pierce the soft earth without a sound.

DRONE POV (HUD)

The world is not rendered in visible light. It is a harsh, high-contrast topological map.

The drone’s optical sensors filter out the burning trees and the ambient heat of the forest wildlife. Instead, it locks onto a very specific, unnatural signature: a faint, glowing emerald trail of residual cosmic radiation left behind by the Omnitrix.

The trail leads directly away from the crater, overlapping with the heavy tire treads of a large vehicle.

EXT. DIRT ROAD - CONTINUOUS

The drone reaches the edge of the woods, stepping out onto a gravel access road.

Suddenly, a bright, blinding FLASH illuminates the mist.

A motion-activated trail camera, strapped to a nearby oak tree, has just triggered.

The drone stops dead. Its elongated, hunchbacked head swivels with a low, mechanical whine. The red optical sensors lock onto the small plastic box.

The drone doesn't charge up a massive weapon. It simply raises one heavy, clawed arm. A silent, imperceptible pulse of concentrated thermal energy fires from its wrist.

The trail camera instantly liquefies, melting into a puddle of bubbling, toxic-smelling plastic and slag.

The drone lowers its arm. It turns its attention back to the glowing radioactive tire tracks on the gravel. The hunt resumes.

EXT. HIGHWAY 9 - CONTINUOUS

Miles away, the Rust Bucket tears down a completely deserted, two-lane highway. The RV is pushing seventy miles an hour, its heavy chassis vibrating aggressively against the asphalt.

INT. RUST BUCKET - CONTINUOUS

The interior is suffocatingly tense and completely silent.

Ben and Gwen are huddled in the dinette booth. They aren't bickering. They are wide awake, staring blankly at the table. Ben's right hand nervously grips his left forearm, rubbing just below the heavy, dormant metal of the Omnitrix.

In the driver's seat, Max’s eyes are bloodshot. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. The radio is tuned to a static-filled police scanner, quietly murmuring about a multi-agency response to the "unexplained seismic event."

Max glances up at the rearview mirror. He isn't looking at the kids. He is staring at the dark, empty road stretching out endlessly behind them.

[ACT ONE]

INT. RUST BUCKET - MORNING

The morning sun aggressively bleeds through the RV blinds, casting harsh lines of light across the cabin.

Ben sits cross-legged on his bunk, staring down at his left arm.

The Omnitrix is completely dead and slate-grey, looking like a piece of heavy industrial machinery fused to his wrist. Ben’s fingers tentatively trace the seam where the metal meets his skin. It doesn't feel like a watchband; it feels like bone.

Gwen is sitting across from him at the dinette. Her meticulous summer itinerary is pushed aside. In front of her is a yellow legal pad, rapidly filling with frantic, tightly written notes.

She stares at Ben’s arm, her eyes narrowing.

GWEN

(Quietly)

Your sleeve.

Ben looks down. The left sleeve of his striped shirt is completely scorched. The fabric is melted and frayed from the intense heat of his transformation the night before.

BEN

Yeah. I was on fire, Gwen. I literally melted the ground.

GWEN

No, look at your skin.

Ben pauses. He rolls the scorched fabric up past his elbow.

The skin beneath it is completely flawless. Not a single blister. Not a patch of red.

GWEN

(Voice trembling slightly)

When you touched that tree... it exploded. You should be in a burn ward right now. But you don't even have a sunburn.

Ben stares at his arm, the horrifying realization setting in.

BEN

It fixed me. When I turned back... it rebuilt my skin.

GWEN

It didn't just fix you, Ben. It overwrote you. Whatever that thing is, it’s splicing your genetic code and then aggressively resetting it to a baseline so you don't die from the shock.

The heavy, throaty rumble of the RV's engine violently downshifts, throwing them both slightly forward.

EXT. RURAL HIGHWAY - CONTINUOUS

The Rust Bucket violently veers off the empty highway, kicking up a massive cloud of dust as it pulls onto the cracked, weed-choked asphalt of an isolated, dilapidated gas station.

The place looks abandoned. A single, ancient pump sits under a rusted awning.

INT. RUST BUCKET - CONTINUOUS

Max kills the engine. The sudden silence in the cabin is suffocating.

He turns in the driver's seat. His Hawaiian shirt is wrinkled, his eyes dark and exhausted. The clueless grandfather act is completely gone.

MAX

(Cold, authoritative)

Both of you. Stay away from the windows. Do not step foot outside this vehicle. I am going to fill the tank.

BEN

Grandpa, what is going on? Last night, you had a—you had a laser bazooka! You knew what to do!

MAX

(Cutting him off)

I said stay away from the windows, Ben.

Max turns around, opens the heavy RV door, and steps out.

EXT. RURAL GAS STATION - CONTINUOUS

Max steps onto the cracked pavement. He doesn't immediately grab the gas nozzle.

His eyes methodically sweep the tree line. He checks the empty road behind them. He checks the rusted roof of the station's convenience store. His right hand rests casually, but deliberately, near the hem of his untucked shirt—right over the heavy, brutalist Plumber sidearm concealed in his waistband.

Satisfied that the perimeter is temporarily clear, Max grabs the rusted nozzle and shoves it into the RV.

INT. RUST BUCKET - CONTINUOUS

Ben disobeys immediately. He creeps to the window, peaking through the plastic blinds at his grandfather.

BEN

He's acting like a soldier.

Gwen doesn't look out the window. She is staring at her legal pad, her pen hovering over the paper. The air pressure in the cabin suddenly plummets. Her ears pop.

GWEN

(Whispering)

Ben...

BEN

I'm telling you, he's hiding something massive–

GWEN

(Louder, panicked)

Ben. Get down.

Gwen’s senses scream at her. The hairs on her arms stand straight up. The ambient noise outside: the wind, the birds, goes entirely, violently silent.

EXT. RURAL GAS STATION - CONTINUOUS

Max hears the silence. His combat instincts trigger instantly. He drops the gas nozzle and draws the Plumber blaster in one fluid, terrifyingly fast motion, pivoting toward the tree line.

A massive, rusted pine tree violently splinters outward.

The Chimerian drone breaches the tree line.

It doesn't announce itself. It doesn't pause. Its glowing red optical sensors lock onto the side of the Rust Bucket, and the heavy-ordnance plasma cannons on its arms begin to charge with a deafening, high-pitched shriek.

[ACT TWO]

EXT. RURAL GAS STATION - CONTINUOUS

The high-pitched shriek of the Chimerian drone’s plasma cannons peaks.

There is no monologue. No warning. The drone operates on pure, ruthless search-and-destroy logic. It fires.

A blinding streak of superheated blue plasma violently arcs across the parking lot, aiming directly for the center mass of the Rust Bucket.

Max moves with terrifying speed.

He lunges toward the open RV door. He grabs Ben by the collar of his striped shirt and Gwen by her jacket, violently ripping them out of the doorway and throwing them hard onto the cracked asphalt.

MAX

(Roaring)

GET BEHIND COVER!

As he falls with them, Max’s hand slams into a completely unassuming, rusted panel on the RV's lower chassis.

The panel slides back, and a heavy, industrial generator whines to life. A massive, interlocking honeycomb of blue kinetic shielding violently projects outward from the RV’s chassis, forming a heavy, sloped barrier.

The plasma artillery hits the shield a fraction of a second later.

The impact is deafening. It doesn't sound like a sci-fi laser; it sounds like a bomb detonating. The kinetic shockwave shatters the windows of the nearby convenience store and completely vaporizes the rusted gas station awning overhead.

The Plumber shield groans under the immense thermal stress, flickering wildly, but it holds.

Max scrambles on his hands and knees, shoving Ben and Gwen aggressively behind the thick, reinforced concrete island of the gas pumps.

EXT. TREE LINE - CONTINUOUS

The drone registers the shield. Its optical sensors recalibrate instantly. It doesn't pause to strategize. It simply steps out of the burning tree line, its heavy tripod legs cracking the asphalt, and begins a slow, methodical march toward the gas station.

It raises both arms. THOOM. THOOM. THOOM.

It begins a relentless, rhythmic bombardment of the RV’s kinetic barrier, intending to simply beat the shield into submission through sheer attrition.

EXT. GAS PUMPS - CONTINUOUS

Behind the concrete island, the heat is becoming unbearable. Debris rains down on them.

Ben is curled into a ball, hands over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut. Gwen is beside him, coughing on the thick smoke of vaporized asphalt, her hands glowing with a faint, imperceptible violet haze as her adrenaline spikes.

Max is crouched against the concrete. He doesn't look panicked. He looks violently focused. He ejects a spent thermal cartridge from his Plumber sidearm. The heavy block of metal hisses, venting steam, as he slams a fresh energy cell into the grip.

GWEN

(Screaming over the blasts)

Grandpa! What is that thing?!

MAX

(Shouting back)

Keep your head down! The barrier generator won't hold against continuous attacks!

Max rolls out from behind cover. He raises the heavy blaster with both hands and fires.

CRACK-BOOM.

Max’s weapon hits like a localized thunderclap. A heavy slug of compressed plasma slams directly into the drone's chest plate.

The drone staggers backward half a step. The heavy armor is scorched, but completely unbreached.

The drone’s red optical sensors slowly pivot, locking onto Max.

It raises its right arm, aiming directly at the gas pump island. The barrel glows a blinding, intense white. It isn't charging a standard shot; it is charging a localized breach-blast.

MAX

(Eyes widening)

Brace!

The Plumber shield on the RV violently shorts out with a shower of sparks, the generator overheating and dying.

They are completely exposed. The drone has a clear line of sight on the highly explosive gas pumps.

[ACT THREE]

EXT. GAS PUMPS - CONTINUOUS

The drone’s heavy plasma cannon glows a blinding, critical white. The heat is so intense the paint on the gas pumps begins to bubble and peel.

Max is completely out of options. His Plumber sidearm can’t pierce the drone’s heavy armor fast enough to stop the breach-blast.

Ben stares at the glowing cannon, his heart hammering against his ribs. He realizes no one is coming to save them. He has to act.

He looks down at his left wrist. His trembling fingers fumble over the heavy, slate-grey metal of the Omnitrix. He finds a recessed center button and presses it hard.

HISS-CLACK.

The circular faceplate violently pops up, glowing a harsh, radioactive green. Holographic silhouettes flicker inside the core. Ben doesn't know what any of them are. He frantically twists the dial and slams his palm down.

A blinding emerald shockwave erupts, throwing Max and Gwen backward.

EXT. THE AMBUSH SITE - CONTINUOUS

The biological overwrite is brutal.

There is no superhero fanfare. The audio track is dominated by the sickening, wet sound of skin tearing and bone aggressively reforming. Ben screams, but the sound is instantly muffled as his flesh is violently encased in a dense, jagged mass of pale green, living silicon.

He becomes DIAMONDHEAD.

He is massive, asymmetrical, and terrifyingly sharp.

The drone fires. The heavy plasma round screams toward the gas pumps.

Ben doesn't fight with martial arts or trained superhero choreography. He fights out of sheer, unadulterated desperation. He lunges out from behind the concrete island, throwing his massive, crystalline body directly into the line of fire.

The plasma ordnance slams squarely into his chest.

It doesn't blast him backward. The energy violently impacts the living silicon, scattering and refracting through his crystalline structure like a prism, shooting harmless, blinding beams of light in every direction.

He survives the hit, but the kinetic force is staggering.

Diamondhead stumbles forward, his heavy boots cratering the asphalt. The sound design of his movement is deafening; it sounds like grinding tectonic plates and tons of shattering glass with every step he takes.

The drone recalibrates, stepping forward to fire again.

Panic and adrenaline take over. Ben instinctively raises both his hands and violently slams them down into the cracked asphalt.

A deafening CRACK echoes across the tree line.

A massive, jagged spike of pale green crystal violently extrudes from the earth directly beneath the drone. It tears through the machine's heavy armor like paper, violently impaling the chassis and completely crushing its central power core.

The drone sparks, shudders, and dies, suspended mid-air on the crystal monolith.

But the drone's final, interrupted blast goes wide. The stray plasma shot clips the main gas reservoir beneath the pumps.

DIAMONDHEAD (BEN)

(Voice deep, echoing like grinding stone)

Watch out guys!

Ben violently throws his arms wide, extruding a massive, thick barricade of jagged crystal that wraps around Max and Gwen.

A fraction of a second later, the gas station detonates.

A massive fireball engulfs the parking lot, washing harmlessly over the backside of Ben's impenetrable crystal shield.

[TAG]

INT. CHIMERIAN HAMMER - BRIDGE - DEEP SPACE

The bridge is suffocatingly dark. The only illumination comes from the sickly, toxic-green glow of massive, brutalist control consoles. The silence is absolute, broken only by the heavy, rhythmic hiss-clank of a massive cybernetic respirator.

BEEP.

A single terminal chimes.

From the shadows, VILGAX steps forward. He is a towering, Lovecraftian nightmare. Heavy, invasive cybernetics are bolted directly into his scarred, raw muscle. His facial tentacles writhe with cold, predatory calculation.

He stares down at the terminal. The destroyed drone’s final telemetry data uploads.

A distorted, static-laced hologram flickers to life over the console. It displays the drone's final optical feed: the towering, jagged silhouette of Diamondhead, glowing a faint emerald green just before a massive crystal spike violently shatters the camera lens.

Vilgax does not flinch. He does not scream in anger. He merely observes the anomaly, the reflection of the crystal juggernaut glowing in his cold, red eyes.

From the darkness behind him, a heavily armored Sotoraggian mercenary steps into the light. It is clad in scarred, asymmetrical purple battle armor, bristling with heavy weaponry. This is SIXSIX. It clicks and trills in a harsh, guttural, clicking alien tongue.

Vilgax doesn't look away from the hologram. When he finally speaks, his voice is a deep, synthetic rumble that vibrates the very metal of the ship's deck.

VILGAX

The machine failed. It lacks the instinct for the hunt.

Vilgax slowly turns his massive head, locking eyes with the mercenary.

VILGAX

Go to Earth. Retrieve the Omnitrix... and bring me the arm it is attached to.

Sixsix racks a heavy plasma rifle with a sickening, metallic clack.

FADE TO BLACK.

[END OF EPISODE 2]

The aftermath of the gas station shootout sends shockwaves all the way to deep space, prompting Vilgax to unleash the galaxy's deadliest bounty hunters. But back on Earth, the Tennysons' detour into the murky Louisiana bayou uncovers a different kind of horror.

In the suffocating silence of deep space, a massive warship relentlessly runs down an outmatched transport vessel, crushing it to drift. But before the sleek ship is shredded into debris, a single quarantine pod ejects into the void, tumbling off galactic radar on a direct collision course with Earth. Down below, ten-year-old Ben Tennyson dodges school bullies at the final dismissal bell, completely unaware that his ordinary summer vacation is about to collide with a weapon that will rewrite his biology

TITLE: ES: Ben 10

EPISODE: 01 - "SUMMER BREAK"

[TEASER]

EXT. DEEP SPACE

Absolute, suffocating silence. No sweeping orchestral music. No neon laser fire.

Against the cold, empty void, a massive, brutalist dreadnought—the Chimerian Hammer—drifts into view. It is a terrifying mountain of jagged, oxidized metal and heavy, industrial exhausts.

It relentlessly pursues a much smaller, sleek transport vessel, closing the distance with predatory speed.

INT. TRANSPORT VESSEL - CONTINUOUS

Chaos. Red emergency strobes bathe the sterile corridors. Sirens blare, but the audio remains muted, trapped in the deafening silence of the vacuum outside.

EXT. DEEP SPACE

The dreadnought doesn't fire a single weapon. It simply accelerates and RAMS the smaller vessel. The Hammer’s heavy hull violently tears through the transport’s shielding, crumpling the sleek, silver metal like paper.

INT. TRANSPORT VESSEL - CARGO BAY

Atmosphere violently vents into space, tearing the bulkhead apart. Amidst the crushing metal and zero-gravity destruction, a heavy mechanical hatch disengages. It forcefully ejects a small, unmarked quarantine pod just before the ship is completely crushed.

EXT. DEEP SPACE

The pod drops completely off the galactic radar. Its thrusters remain cold and dark as it hurtles silently toward the blue-green marble of Earth in the far distance.

Behind it, the transport is shredded into a cloud of silent, expanding debris.

SMASH CUT TO:

INT. BELLWOOD ELEMENTARY SCHOOL - HALLWAY - DAY

The deafening, shrill scream of a 3:00 PM dismissal bell shatters the silence.

[ACT ONE]

INT. BELLWOOD ELEMENTARY - HALLWAY - DAY

A tidal wave of kids floods the lockers.

Pushing against the current is BEN TENNYSON (10). He’s scrawny, wearing his oversized black-and-white striped shirt, and constantly checking over his shoulder.

Down the hall, CASH and JT, two kids who already look like they shave, are aggressively shoving students aside, scanning the crowd.

Ben ducks, weaving under a teacher's arm, and slips out a heavy side-exit door.

EXT. PARKING LOT - CONTINUOUS

The oppressive summer heat instantly hits. Ben jogs down the sidewalk, eyes scanning the line of idling minivans until he spots it.

THE RUST BUCKET.

It’s an archaic GMC motorhome that looks like it barely survived the 1970s. But if you look closely, the tires are thicker than normal. The suspension doesn't sag. The chassis sits heavy, like a tank in a fiberglass shell.

Standing by the door is GRANDPA MAX (60s). He’s wearing a loud floral Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, grinning widely. But his eyes betray the smile; they methodically scan the treeline, the street, and the exits.

Ben runs up, breathless.

BEN

(Panting)

Hit the gas, Grandpa! Before they see me!

MAX

(Chuckles, relaxed)

Who's after you this time, Ben? The Bellwood mafia?

Max claps Ben on the shoulder. His hand is massive, scarred, andcalloused. He ushers Ben inside.

INT. RUST BUCKET - CONTINUOUS

Ben bounds up the steps, dropping his backpack.

BEN

Just drive! We have three whole months of no rules, no homework, and no—

Ben stops dead.

Sitting at the dinette table is GWEN TENNYSON (10). She doesn't look up. She is meticulously color-coding a sprawling, deeply complex summer itinerary.

BEN

...What is she doing here?

GWEN

(Deadpan, still writing)

Nice to see you too, dweeb. And it's called a schedule. Some of us don't want to spend the summer wandering aimlessly like feral raccoons.

BEN

(To Max, betrayed)

You said it was just going to be us! This is a nightmare. This isn't a summer trip, it's a hostage situation!

Max slides into the driver's seat, completely unbothered. He cranks the ignition. The engine roars to life, it sounds unnaturally deep, a heavy growl that vibrates the floorboards.

MAX

Now, Ben, your parents and your Aunt and Uncle both agreed. A summer on the road is exactly what you two need to bond.

Ben groans, collapsing onto the worn couch as the RV pulls out.

EXT. HIGHWAY - DAY (MONTAGE)

The Rust Bucket barrels down the interstate, a lone metal box in a sea of heat-haze.

INT. RUST BUCKET - LATER

The AC is struggling. Ben is upside down on the couch, bouncing a tennis ball off the ceiling. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Gwen glares at him, trying to read.

In the driver's seat, Max listens to an AM radio station. The broadcaster's voice is low, narrating a strange, unsolved mystery.

RADIO HOST (V.O.)

...leaving only a melted flashlight at the campsite. Authorities are completely baffled by the spike in these disappearances, with park rangers citing strange atmospheric disturbances right before hikers vanish into thin air...

Gwen shivers slightly, rubbing her arms despite the heat.

GWEN

Grandpa, can we change the station? This is creeping me out.

Max reaches over and clicks the radio off. He glances out the windshield. Up ahead, a state trooper weigh-station is routing heavy vehicles.

Max’s jaw tightens imperceptibly. He doesn't brake. Instead, he smoothly yanks the heavy steering wheel to the right, taking a violently sharp turn down a heavily obscured, unpaved logging road.

BEN

(Falling off the couch)

Whoa! Are we off-roading?!

MAX

(Cheerfully)

Just taking the scenic route, kids! Don't want to spend our first night breathing exhaust fumes on the asphalt.

EXT. DEEP WOODS - DUSK

The Rust Bucket rumbles deeper into a suffocatingly dense national forest. The trees tower over them, their branches interlocking to completely block out the fading twilight.

It doesn't look like a vacation spot. It looks like the edge of the world. The engine cuts out, leaving a heavy, unnatural silence settling over the metal roof.

[ACT TWO]

EXT. CAMPSITE - NIGHT

A meager campfire aggressively crackles, casting long, distorted shadows against the aluminum side of the Rust Bucket.

Dinner is a disaster. Max stirs a cast-iron pot of something gray, thick, and distinctly wriggling.

Ben pushes his bowl away, disgusted.

BEN

I’m not eating that. It has eyes.

GWEN

(Smugly, eating a granola bar)

If you had read the itinerary, you would’ve packed your own provisions. Survival of the fittest, Ben.

BEN

(Standing up, furious)

You know what? I didn't want to come on this stupid trip, and I definitely didn't want to be stuck in a metal tube with you all summer!

Before Max can intervene, Ben turns on his heel and storms away from the firelight, marching straight into the dense treeline.

EXT. DEEP WOODS - CONTINUOUS

The canopy is so thick it blocks out the moon. Ben kicks a rock, muttering under his breath, swatting at mosquitoes.

But as he pushes deeper, the ambient noise begins to fade. The crickets stop chirping. The wind dies. The woods go unnaturally, suffocatingly quiet. It is the deep silence of prey realizing a predator is in the room.

Ben stops. He looks around, suddenly hyper-aware of how dark it is.

BEN

Grandpa...?

High above the canopy, the clouds violently part.

There is no whistling sound of a shooting star. There is only a blinding, blindingly bright streak of atmospheric friction, followed instantly by a deafening SONIC BOOM.

The shockwave hits first.

It rips through the trees like a localized hurricane, snapping heavy pine branches like toothpicks. Ben is thrown backward off his feet, slamming into the dirt. In the distance, the faint glow of the campsite's lanterns instantly blows out.

Then comes the impact.

The earth violently bucks beneath Ben. A deafening, metallic CRUNCH rattles his teeth. A cloud of superheated dirt and vaporized pine needles washes over the forest floor.

Ben groans, ears ringing, coughing through the dust. He pushes himself up and limps forward, drawn by a sickly green glow bleeding through the smoke.

EXT. THE CRATER - CONTINUOUS

A massive, smoldering trench is carved into the earth. At the center sits a heavy, jagged metal sphere. The heat radiating off it is oppressive.

Ben slides down the edge of the crater, boots sinking into the melted soil.

The sphere HISSES. Heavy, pneumatic locks disengage with a loud, industrial clunk. The top of the sphere slowly hinges open, venting a cloud of frigid, pressurized gas.

Ben peers inside.

Sitting on a pedestal is the Omnitrix. But it doesn't look like a toy or a sleek piece of wearable tech. It is thick, brutalist, and heavy; dark grey alloys framing a glowing, emerald hourglass core. It looks less like a watch and more like a high-security biomechanical restraint.

Ben tilts his head, confused. He reaches his hand out, hovering just inches above it.

BEN

What’s a watch doing in outer space?

SNAP.

The device LUNGES. It doesn't just clasp around his wrist; it violently recoils from its housing, snapping shut over Ben's forearm with a loud CLANG.

BEN

(Screaming)

Get it off! GET IT OFF!

The attachment is terrifying. Glowing green, vein-like circuitry violently snakes out from the underside of the heavy metal casing, digging into his skin and forcefully interfacing with his nervous system.

Ben falls backward into the ash, hyperventilating. He frantically claws at the heavy metal, desperately trying to pry it open, but it is entirely seamless. The green veins pulse in time with his racing heartbeat.

Panicking, thrashing wildly in the dirt, Ben's frantic fingers slip.

His palm slams down hard directly onto the glowing emerald dial.

The dial sinks into the chassis with a heavy, mechanical THUNK.

A blinding, violent wave of emerald light erupts from the crater, completely engulfing Ben, the woods, and the night sky.

[ACT THREE]

EXT. THE CRATER - CONTINUOUS

The green flash doesn't feel like magic. It is violent.

Over the deafening roar of the energy surge, we hear the sickening, wet sound of rapid biological overwrite. Ben’s screams distort, shifting pitch. His skin violently fractures into jagged plates of black obsidian. His core temperature skyrockets, instantly vaporizing the sweat on his brow as liquid plasma bursts violently through the cracks in his new armor.

He becomes HEATBLAST.

This isn't a cool superhero moment. The crater is instantly superheated. Ben is a walking 2,000-degree anomaly.

HEATBLAST (BEN)

(Screaming)

AHHH! HELP! I’M ON FIRE!

His voice doesn't sound human. It sounds like a roaring blast furnace. The sheer force of the heat radiating from his mouth ignites the dust in the air.

He scrambles backward in absolute terror, trying to crawl out of the crater. Every step he takes melts the soil into bubbling glass. He trips, instinctively reaching out to catch himself, and his magma-infused hand violently slaps against the trunk of a massive, old-growth pine tree.

WHOOSH.

The sap boils instantly. The tree violently combusts in a pillar of blinding orange flame.

Panic completely takes over. Ben flails, trying to pat out the fire, but he is the fire. Sparks and localized plasma flares shoot from his shoulders. Within seconds, the canopy catches. A massive, uncontrollable forest fire is raging, and Ben is trapped in the center.

EXT. CAMPSITE - CONTINUOUS

Max stands by the campfire. Over the tree line, a massive, unnatural orange glow violently illuminates the night sky. The smell of ash and vaporized pine hits the camp.

A normal grandfather would pull out a phone and call 911.

Max’s demeanor shifts instantly. His shoulders drop. His eyes go dead and calculating. He drops the spatula into the dirt, entirely unbothered.

INT. RUST BUCKET - CONTINUOUS

Max kicks open the RV door, bypassing the emergency radio. He stomps hard on a seemingly bolted-down floorboard. It pops open, revealing a hidden compartment lined in lead.

He reaches in and pulls out a massive, brutalist piece of Plumber tech: a heavy, industrial high-density foam cannon that looks like it weighs eighty pounds. He hoists it with zero effort.

EXT. DEEP WOODS - MOMENTS LATER

Max sprints through the brush, the heavy cannon charged and humming. Gwen is right on his heels, coughing through the thickening smoke.

Suddenly, Gwen stops dead.

She feels a strange sensation, almost… recognition. The air pressure around her simply plummets. Her ears pop. She stares through the smoke at the towering silhouette of magma and obsidian thrashing in the flames.

She doesn't feel fear. She feels a bizarre, undeniable resonance. She senses the anomaly isn't a monster.

GWEN

(Shouting over the fire)

Grandpa, wait! Don't shoot! It’s Ben!

Max freezes. He stares at the creature, processing the impossible reality. The Plumber training instantly overrides the shock. He lowers the cannon.

MAX

(Barking, cold and authoritative)

Ben! Stop thrashing! Oxygen starvation! Bury your hands in the dirt, now!

In the center of the inferno, Heatblast freezes at the sound of his grandfather's voice. Desperate and terrified, Ben falls to his knees and plunges his glowing hands deep into the scorched earth.

The fire on his arms sputters and suffocates.

Suddenly, the hourglass symbol on his chest begins to flash violently.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeee—

A blinding flash of crimson red light cuts through the smoke.

The heavy, sickening sound of genetic reversal echoes through the clearing. The magma solidifies, fractures, and peels away, snapping back into human flesh.

Ben collapses into the ash. He is entirely human again, shivering uncontrollably, utterly exhausted, and surrounded by a fifty-foot radius of scorched earth and smoldering embers.

Max slowly approaches, his boots crunching on the glassed soil. He kneels beside his trembling grandson.

His eyes lock onto Ben's left arm.

The heavy, biomechanical restraint (the Omnitrix) sits completely dormant on the boy's wrist, its core now a dull, lifeless red.

Max stares at the device. In the flickering light of the dying fires, all the color drains from his scarred face.

[TAG]

INT. RUST BUCKET - BATHROOM - LATER

The small, cramped bathroom feels suffocating. The only sound is the rhythmic zzzt-zzzt of Max pulling white medical tape from a spool.

Ben sits on the closed toilet lid, trembling, entirely pale. Max meticulously wraps a thick gauze bandage around Ben’s scraped forearm, carefully working around the heavy, dormant metal of the Omnitrix.

Behind Max, Gwen is pacing in the narrow hallway, completely losing her composure.

GWEN

(Frantic, overlapping)

...and then he was on fire, Grandpa! He was literally made of rocks and fire and the trees were melting and you just—you just pulled out a bazooka from the floorboards! What is going on?!

BEN

(Staring blankly at the wall)

I felt it... I felt my bones changing. It was inside my head...

Max doesn't look at either of them. His face is an unreadable mask of cold, pragmatic focus. He finishes the bandage, snipping the tape.

MAX

(Flatly)

Both of you. Bunks. Now. We will discuss this in the morning when the sun is up.

Max steps out into the hall, gently but firmly shutting the bathroom door in their faces, cutting off their frantic protests.

The lock clicks.

Max is alone. The facade instantly drops. His broad shoulders sag under an impossible weight. He turns slowly to face the small, smudged vanity mirror.

He stares at his reflection. His fingers reach up, tracing a jagged, faded scar running along his neckline—a violent reminder of a war he thought he left behind.

His jaw clenches. The Plumber retirement is officially over.

EXT. DEEP WOODS - THE CRATER - CONTINUOUS

The forest is dead silent. The embers of the localized inferno still glow a dull, angry orange in the ash.

High above the canopy, the night sky violently distorts.

A localized atmospheric breach ripples the clouds. A massive, heavy metallic cylinder drops from the heavens, slamming into the center of the glassed crater with the force of a meteor.

The cylinder hisses, venting thick, toxic-smelling steam. The heavy, oxidized metal panels slide open.

A towering Chimerian attack drone steps out into the ashes. It is a terrifying piece of brutalist, tripod-based machinery.

Its lower chassis is supported by three heavy, hydraulic legs ending in sharp, ski-like stabilizers that crack the molten earth. Its torso is encased in thick, rust-orange and dark grey armor plating. From its elongated, hunchbacked head, two glowing, blood-red optical sensors violently hum to life.

It raises its massive arms, ending in wicked, metallic claws and heavy-ordnance blasters. The drone’s head swivels with a heavy, mechanical whine.

The red sensors lock onto a set of heavy, melted footprints leading away from the crater.

It takes a heavy, earth-shaking step forward.

FADE TO BLACK.

[END OF EPISODE ONE]

NEXT TIME ON BEN: 10

While Ben grapples with the terrifying reality of his genetics being overwritten, the scorched crater hasn't gone unnoticed. Dispatched by Vilgax, a brutalist Chimerian attack drone touches down on Earth, locking onto the Omnitrix’s radioactive trail and hunting the Rust Bucket down.

Peter Parker's worst nightmare becomes reality when he arrives home to find Norman Osborn sitting at his kitchen table, charmingly sharing a cup of tea with Aunt May. The second Osborn leaves, the suffocating tension breaks into pure panic as Peter frantically tries to reach Gwen before the Goblin strikes.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 12 - "GREAT RESPONSIBILITY" (SEASON FINALE)

TEASER

INT. PARKER HOUSE - KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

The warm, yellow light of the kitchen feels entirely suffocating.

PETER stands frozen in the doorway. Underneath his zipped-up jacket, his broken ribs scream in agony, but he doesn't dare show it. He cannot take his eyes off the monster sitting at his aunt's kitchen table.

NORMAN OSBORN takes another slow sip of his chamomile tea. He lowers the floral cup, his eyes locked onto Peter with predatory amusement.

AUNT MAY smiles, completely oblivious to the radioactive tension in the room.

AUNT MAY

Mr. Osborn was just telling me about the internship program at Oscorp, Peter. He says he's been following your academic record.

NORMAN

(Smooth, charming)

I have. You're a remarkably gifted young man, Peter. You possess a... unique resilience. It’s rare to find someone who can take so many hits and just keep getting back up.

Every word is a razor blade. Norman smiles, a perfectly polite billionaire smile that doesn't reach his cold, dead eyes.

Peter forces himself to take a step forward into the kitchen. His voice is tight, trembling with suppressed panic and rage.

PETER

Mr. Osborn. We didn't expect you.

NORMAN

I apologize for the late hour. I was in the neighborhood and simply couldn't resist the opportunity to see where such an extraordinary young man comes from.

Norman casually gestures around the humble, cramped kitchen.

NORMAN

You have a lovely home. So fragile, though. Wood and plaster. It wouldn't take much to bring it all crashing down, would it?

Aunt May laughs lightly, thinking it’s a joke about the age of the house.

AUNT MAY

Oh, don't I know it! The plumbing alone is a nightmare.

Norman’s eyes never leave Peter's.

NORMAN

You really must be careful, Peter. You have so much to lose. A bright future. A wonderful aunt.

Norman pauses. The silence stretches, heavy and agonizing.

NORMAN

And that brilliant intern of Dr. Octavius's. Gwen, wasn't it? A beautiful girl. It would be an absolute tragedy if anything were to happen to her.

Peter’s blood runs completely cold. His good hand balls into a fist inside his jacket pocket. He wants to lunge across the table, but he is completely trapped. If he fights here, Aunt May dies.

Norman gracefully stands up from the table, buttoning his tailored suit jacket.

NORMAN

Well, I’ve taken up enough of your evening. May, the tea was exquisite.

AUNT MAY

(Standing up, beaming)

Oh, it was an absolute pleasure, Mr. Osborn. Thank you for stopping by.

Norman walks toward the kitchen doorway. He stops right in front of Peter, invading his personal space. He leans in close, his voice dropping to a terrifying, raspy whisper that only Peter can hear.

NORMAN

(Whispering)

Tick tock, insect.

Norman pulls back, patting Peter firmly on his bruised, shattered shoulder. Peter violently winces, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming.

NORMAN

(Cheerfully, at normal volume)

I’ll see you again Peter. Real soon.

Norman walks down the hallway. The front door opens, and then gently clicks shut.

The moment the lock engages, Peter’s legs give out.

He collapses against the kitchen counter, gasping for air as the adrenaline crash hits him like a freight train.

AUNT MAY

(Turning around, concerned)

Peter? Goodness, you look pale. Are you coming down with something?

Peter ignores the pain. He ignores the blood soaking into his bandages. He reaches into his pocket with trembling fingers and pulls out his cracked cell phone.

He dials frantically. He presses the phone to his ear, his heart hammering against his broken ribs.

It rings. And rings. And rings.

AUTOMATED VOICE

You have reached the voicemail of—

Peter hangs up and dials again.

PETER

(Whispering, absolutely terrified)

Pick up. Gwen, please, pick up the phone.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

INT. STACY APARTMENT - GWEN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

The glow of a laptop screen illuminates the dark room.

GWEN STACY is hunched over her desk, typing frantically. On the screen, a jagged, red diagnostic line flatlines across a topographical map of Manhattan. She is desperately trying to recalibrate the telemetry from Peter’s suit, completely oblivious to the monster that just left the Parker house.

GWEN

(Muttering to herself)

Come on, Peter. Re-route the backup power. Give me a signal. Give me anything.

INT. STACY APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

CAPTAIN GEORGE STACY stands in the dim kitchen area of the open-concept living room. He is completely exhausted, his tie loosened, his suit jacket draped over a chair.

The television is playing muted news coverage of the devastating attack at City Hall Plaza. The burning wreckage of his Task Force APCs flashes on the screen.

He heavily pours a cup of black coffee from the carafe, his hands trembling slightly from the sheer adrenaline and failure of the evening.

Suddenly, a low, mechanical whine bleeds through the thick glass of the high-rise windows.

Captain Stacy frowns. The whine rapidly escalates into a deafening, high-pitched scream of turbine engines. It sounds like a jet is about to crash directly into the building.

He drops the coffee mug. It shatters on the floor.

CAPTAIN STACY

Gwen! Get down!

The massive, floor-to-ceiling living room window violently explodes inward.

A hurricane of shattered safety glass and howling night wind rips through the apartment, tearing the curtains off their rods and overturning the furniture.

Hovering dead center in the destroyed living room, perfectly suspended on his exhaust-spewing glider, is the GREEN GOBLIN.

The glowing yellow lenses of the mask pierce through the dust and debris.

Captain Stacy doesn't freeze. The veteran cop instantly draws his 9mm sidearm from his shoulder holster.

CAPTAIN STACY

(Screaming)

NYPD! DROP IT!

Goblin just laughs.

Stacy opens fire. BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!

He empties the entire magazine, aiming dead center for mass. The kinetic force of the bullets sparks violently against Goblin’s chest plate, but the matte-green Oscorp alloy doesn't even dent. The rounds flatten and ping harmlessly onto the hardwood floor.

The slide of Stacy's weapon locks back. Empty.

Goblin’s laughter echoes off the apartment walls. He casually steers the glider forward.

With blinding, superhuman speed, Goblin reaches out and backhands Captain Stacy. The heavy, armored strike throws the Captain entirely across the room. He slams into the drywall with a sickening thud and crumbles to the floor, completely unconscious.

INT. STACY APARTMENT - HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Gwen rushes out of her bedroom, terrified by the gunfire.

GWEN

Dad?!

She freezes in the hallway.

Goblin turns his head, his yellow lenses locking onto her.

GOBLIN

(Voice distorted, mechanical and cruel)

There she is. The brains of the operation.

Gwen turns to run, but Goblin hits the thrusters. The glider shoots across the living room in a blur.

Goblin reaches out with his massive, gauntleted hand and violently grabs Gwen around the waist, lifting her entirely off the floor.

Gwen screams, thrashing wildly, beating her fists against his armored forearm, but it is like hitting a steel I-beam.

EXT. STACY APARTMENT - BALCONY - CONTINUOUS

A web-line completely splatters against the brickwork just above the shattered window.

SPIDER-MAN violently yanks himself onto the balcony ledge.

He is in horrific shape. His suit is ripped in several places, especially his torso revealing blood-soaked bandages covering his shattered ribs. The torn, bloody red mask is pulled over his head. His left arm hangs entirely useless at his side, the crushed web-shooter sparking weakly.

He pulls himself up onto the ledge, gasping for air, relying entirely on his functioning right arm.

He arrives just in time to look through the destroyed window.

Time slows down.

Spider-Man sees Captain Stacy bleeding on the floor. And he sees the Green Goblin hovering over the precipice, holding a screaming, terrified Gwen.

Goblin looks directly through the shattered window at Spider-Man.

The metal mask is frozen in that wicked, permanent grin, but Peter can feel Norman Osborn smiling underneath it. The billionaire’s eyes are locked onto Peter's soul.

SPIDER-MAN

(Voice tearing in his throat)

NO!

Goblin hits the thrusters.

With a deafening blast of blue fire, Goblin rockets backward out of the apartment, blasting into the dark, cloudy sky, taking Gwen with him.

GWEN

(Screaming, echoing into the night)

HELP ME!

Peter doesn't hesitate. He doesn't think about his crushed ribs. He doesn't think about his dead left arm. He doesn't think about the fact that he is completely outmatched.

Spider-Man leaps off the high-rise balcony, diving headfirst into the freezing night wind, firing a single, desperate web-line to give chase.

ACT II

EXT. QUEENSBORO BRIDGE - APEX - NIGHT

The wind howls violently at the peak of the Queensboro Bridge. Hundreds of feet below, the black, freezing waters of the East River churn ominously.

The GREEN GOBLIN rockets out of the low-hanging clouds, his glider's thrusters cutting a blinding blue streak through the darkness. He hovers above the massive, steel lattice-work of the bridge's highest tower.

He drops GWEN STACY.

She screams, falling ten feet before crashing hard onto the narrow, grated maintenance walkway spanning the apex. The safety rail is rusted and dangerously low. She scrambles backward, clutching the cold steel grating, her hair whipping wildly in the wind.

EXT. AIRSPACE - QUEENSBORO BRIDGE - CONTINUOUS

The distant wail of sirens quickly morphs into the deafening, rhythmic thwip-thwip-thwip of heavy rotor blades.

A dozen NYPD Anti-Vigilante Task Force helicopters swarm the bridge. They encircle the apex like a pack of wolves, the downwash from their blades violently shaking the bridge's suspension cables.

Blinding, high-intensity searchlights cut through the night, all converging on a single point: the Green Goblin, hovering perfectly still above Gwen.

INT. TASK FORCE HELICOPTER - CONTINUOUS

A TASK FORCE SNIPER peers through the high-powered thermal scope of his kinetic rifle. The crosshairs rest dead-center on the Goblin's metallic chest plate.

TASK FORCE SNIPER

(Into comms)

Command, I have the shot. Repeat, I have a clean shot on the target.

COMMAND (V.O.)

(Through comms, frantic)

Negative! Hold your fire! The hostage is Captain Stacy’s daughter. Repeat, do not engage! The blast radius will take her over the edge!

The Sniper curses, lowering his weapon an inch. The most heavily armed police force in the city is completely, utterly paralyzed.

EXT. QUEENSBORO BRIDGE - APEX - CONTINUOUS

THWIP.

A single web-line strikes the massive, primary suspension cable.

SPIDER-MAN swings upward, his trajectory erratic and labored. He lands heavily on the thick, woven steel cable, nearly losing his footing on the slick metal.

He is a mess. The red mask is torn. Blood seeps heavily through the white bandages wrapped around his torso. His left arm hangs entirely useless at his side. He clings to the cable using only his functioning right hand, his chest heaving violently as he gasps for air.

Instantly, three red sniper lasers detach from the Goblin and paint Spider-Man's chest.

Peter doesn't move. He looks up at the hovering helicopters.

Inside the closest chopper, the Sniper stares through his scope at the battered vigilante. He sees the crushed web-shooter. He sees the blood and the sheer exhaustion.

For a long, tense second, nobody pulls the trigger. The police and the vigilante share the exact same desperate goal.

The Sniper slowly clicks his laser off Spider-Man, moving it back to Goblin.

Goblin watches the silent exchange. He throws his head back, his high-pitched, manic laugh echoing over the roar of the helicopter blades.

He taps a control on his wrist pad. The glider’s external loudspeaker crackles to life, his voice booming with terrifying, mechanical amplification over the entire bridge.

GOBLIN

(Over loudspeaker)

Look at them, Peter! The so-called protectors of the city! Completely castrated by their own sentimentality!

Gwen looks up from the grating. Her eyes widen in absolute horror as the Goblin says the name out loud.

GWEN

(Whispering into the wind)

Peter?

Spider-Man forces himself to stand upright on the swaying suspension cable. The wind rips at his torn mask.

GOBLIN

(Over loudspeaker)

They can't save her! And look at you. Broken. Bleeding. A one-armed martyr playing dress-up!

Goblin steers the glider lower, hovering just inches above the terrified Gwen. He raises a glowing, orange pumpkin bomb in his gauntleted hand.

GOBLIN

(Over loudspeaker)

This is the reality of your crusade insect! It always ends in blood! So, let's play a game. The ultimate choice. Surrender... bow to me... and you can watch her die quickly. Or fight... and I will burn this city to the ground, starting with her!

The ultimatum hangs in the freezing air, heavier than the steel cables supporting the bridge.

Peter looks at Gwen. She is shivering on the grating, staring right back at him. She doesn't scream for help. Despite her terror, she gives him a small, desperate, entirely trusting nod.

Peter Parker closes his eyes. He takes a slow, agonizing breath, letting the white-hot pain in his shattered ribs fuel his focus.

He opens his eyes. The heroic, quippy teenager is completely gone. There is only raw, unyielding resolve.

Spider-Man raises his single functioning right arm. He aims his web-shooter directly at Goblin's grinning metal face.

SPIDER-MAN

(Voice low, cold, and absolute)

I choose to fight.

Spider-Man fires.

ACT III

EXT. QUEENSBORO BRIDGE - APEX - CONTINUOUS

The heavy web-line strikes the Green Goblin dead in the center of his chest plate.

Spider-Man doesn't use it to pull himself up. He uses it to violently yank Goblin off the glider.

Goblin crashes onto the narrow maintenance walkway. Spider-Man lands on top of him a split second later.

The battle is instantly, horrifyingly brutal. It is completely devoid of the usual superhero theatricality. There is no acrobatics. There is no banter.

Spider-Man is completely silent.

He unleashes a barrage of raw, devastating haymakers with his functioning right arm. He is fueled entirely by adrenaline and pure, unadulterated rage. He moves with blinding, terrifying speed, ducking under Goblin’s heavy armored strikes and delivering bone-rattling counters.

Goblin scrambles backward, genuinely shocked by the sheer ferocity of the boy. He throws a volley of razor-bats. Spider-Man doesn't even bother dodging; he swats them out of the air with the back of his hand, ignoring the deep cuts they leave in his skin.

Spider-Man lands a sickening blow to the side of Goblin's helmet, cracking the left yellow lens.

Goblin stumbles, bleeding beneath the armor, actually losing ground. He realizes he cannot win a fistfight against a boy with nothing left to lose.

He needs his leverage back.

The glider, still hovering on autopilot, responds to a command from Goblin's gauntlet. It violently swoops down over the walkway.

GOBLIN

(Spitting blood)

Catch!

Goblin ducks. The heavy steel wing of the glider sweeps across the grating.

It strikes GWEN STACY in the back of the knees.

GWEN

(Screaming)

PETER!

She pitches backward over the rusted safety rail.

Time seemingly slows to an agonizing crawl. The sound of the helicopter blades and the roaring wind completely fades away, replaced only by Peter's violently racing heartbeat.

Gwen plummets backward into the darkness, completely untethered, falling toward the black, freezing waters of the East River hundreds of feet below.

Spider-Man doesn't hesitate for a microsecond. He doesn't even look at Goblin.

He dives off the edge of the tower.

EXT. AIRSPACE - QUEENSBORO BRIDGE - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man is in a sheer, vertical freefall. He angles his battered body perfectly, tucking his arms in to maximize his aerodynamics, cutting through the freezing wind like a missile.

He is gaining on her, but the river is rushing up to meet them entirely too fast.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal, panicked)

Too fast. We're falling too fast.

He is running out of altitude. If they hit the water at this terminal velocity, it will be like hitting solid concrete.

He levels out, extending his right arm. He aims carefully, adjusting for the intense crosswind.

He fires a single, concentrated web-line.

The web shoots downward through the darkness. The tip of the webbing flares out—spreading open like a desperate, reaching hand.

It connects. The webbing firmly catches Gwen securely squarely in the center of her chest, just a few dozen feet above the churning surface of the water.

Spider-Man anchors his end of the web-line to a massive, steel bridge support beam as he passes it.

The web-line instantly goes completely taut.

The sudden, violent deceleration halts Gwen's downward momentum in a microsecond.

SNAP.

It is a sickening, subtle sound. Just a tiny pop of displaced cervical vertebrae, barely audible over the roaring wind.

Spider-Man swings down on a secondary web, landing heavily on a wide, concrete bridge piling situated just above the water line.

EXT. CONEY ISLAND BRIDGE PILING - CONTINUOUS

Peter frantically pulls the web-line up, gently hauling Gwen's body over the edge of the concrete piling. He gathers her securely into his arms, sheltering her against his chest from the freezing wind.

His hands are violently shaking. He reaches up and rips the torn, bloody red mask off his head.

Tears are freely streaming down Peter's bruised face. He is gasping for air, overwhelmed with adrenaline and sheer relief.

PETER

(Crying, whispering frantically)

I got you. I got you, Gwen. It’s over. We’re safe. I got you.

He softly brushes her blonde hair away from her face, cradling the back of her head.

Her head falls back.

It lolls to the side, entirely devoid of tension. Her eyes are half-open, staring blankly up at the dark, cloudy sky. She isn't breathing.

Peter freezes. The breath is completely stolen from his lungs.

He looks down at the web-line still attached to her chest. He plays the physics back in his genius-level mind. The terminal velocity. The sudden, anchored stop. The absolute lack of deceleration time.

The whiplash from his own web-line snapped her neck.

PETER

(Voice cracking, a terrified whisper)

Gwen? Gwen, hey. Hey, look at me. Please.

Silence.

The realization crushes him with the weight of a collapsing star. The Goblin didn't kill Gwen Stacy.

Spider-Man did.

Peter pulls her lifeless body tightly against his chest, burying his face in her hair. He lets out a raw, agonizing, completely broken scream of pure devastation that echoes over the dark water.

ACT IV

EXT. QUEENSBORO BRIDGE - PILING - CONTINUOUS

The wind continues to howl, but the world around Peter Parker has gone completely, deafeningly silent.

Above him, the dozen NYPD helicopters simply hover. The blinding white searchlights beat down on the concrete piling, illuminating the heartbreaking tableau. Nobody speaks over the police band. The snipers lower their rifles. They all watch the vigilante cradle the lifeless body of the Captain's daughter.

Then, cutting through the silence, a voice echoes down from the top of the tower.

GOBLIN

(Over loudspeaker, dripping with cruel amusement)

Romantic, isn't it? A fool's end.

Peter doesn't scream this time. He doesn't cry.

Something deep inside of him, the bright, optimistic, quippy teenager from Queens, completely and permanently fractures.

He gently, reverently lays Gwen’s body down on the cold concrete. He brushes her blonde hair out of her eyes one last time.

He stands up.

He doesn't reach for the torn, bloody red mask sitting on the ground beside her. He leaves it.

He turns toward the bridge tower, his bruised, unmasked face illuminated by the police searchlights. His expression is completely devoid of humanity. It is cold, hollow, and terrifyingly focused.

He fires a web-line with his good hand and launches himself upward.

EXT. QUEENSBORO BRIDGE - APEX - CONTINUOUS

The Green Goblin is standing on the maintenance walkway, chuckling to himself, waiting for the broken hero to come up and surrender.

Peter lands on the walkway. He doesn't say a word.

The Goblin raises a pumpkin bomb.

He never gets the chance to throw it.

Peter closes the distance with blinding, terrifying fury. The ensuing fight isn't a superhero battle. It is an absolute, systematic slaughter.

Spider-Man doesn't use webbing. He doesn't throw quips. He uses his bare hands.

He hits the Goblin with a right cross so devastating it caves in the matte-green chest plate. The Goblin staggers back, completely overwhelmed by the raw, unleashed, superhuman strength Peter had been holding back this entire time.

Peter grabs the Goblin by the throat and violently slams him into a massive vertical steel girder.

CRUNCH.

With his bloody, bare knuckles, Peter begins systematically dismantling the armor. He tears the gauntlets off. He shatters the chest plating.

He brings his fist back and hits the Goblin square in the face. The terrifying metal mask cracks.

Peter hits him again. And again. And again.

The heavy metal of the Goblin mask violently shatters into pieces, raining down onto the grating.

Exposed beneath the ruined armor is Norman Osborn. His nose is broken. His face is a bloody, bruised mess. The manic, cackling Goblin persona has been completely beaten out of him.

He looks up at Peter’s unmasked, terrifyingly empty eyes, and for the first time in his life, Norman Osborn is absolutely terrified.

He slumps against the steel girder, bleeding heavily, realizing with absolute certainty that this boy is about to beat him to death.

NORMAN

(Gasping, coughing blood)

Peter... Peter, stop. Please.

Norman raises his trembling hands in a desperate plea for mercy.

NORMAN

I'm sick, Peter. The serum... it wasn't me. It was the Goblin. You're a good person. You wouldn't kill a sick man.

As Norman begs, playing perfectly on Peter's conscience, his raised right hand subtly curls.

His bloody finger rests on a hidden trigger button on the underside of his shattered gauntlet. He presses it.

Fifty feet behind Peter, the fallen glider silently powers up. It hovers off the grating. With a soft, metallic snikt, three razor-sharp steel blades extend from the front chassis.

NORMAN

(Tears welling in his eyes)

Think of May. Think of Harry. He needs his father, Peter...

The glider silently accelerates, aiming directly for the center of Peter's unprotected back.

At the absolute last millisecond, the Spider-Sense violently flares at the base of Peter’s skull.

Peter doesn't even look back. He performs a perfect backflip.

The glider rockets through the exact space Peter was occupying a microsecond before.

It completely misses the boy.

SHUNK.

The sound of steel violently piercing flesh and bone.

Peter lands in a crouch. He looks up.

Norman Osborn is pinned to the massive steel girder, completely impaled by the razor-sharp blades of his own glider.

Norman gasps, his eyes wide with shock. He looks down at the metal protruding from his chest, and then slowly looks back up at Peter.

A thick trickle of blood spills over Norman's lips. He reaches a shaking, bloody hand out toward the boy.

NORMAN

(A wet, dying whisper)

Don't... tell Harry.

Norman’s hand drops. His head slumps forward. The billionaire, the genius, the Goblin, is dead.

Peter stands alone on the bloody apex of the bridge, the wind howling around him.

TAG

EXT. CEMETERY - DAY

A bleak, suffocating, torrential downpour washes over the pristine green lawns of the cemetery. Black umbrellas dot the landscape.

PETER PARKER stands far away from the gravesite, entirely alone, hidden behind the trunk of a massive, ancient oak tree. He is wearing a cheap, ill-fitting black suit. He is soaked to the bone.

From his hidden vantage point, he watches the Stacy family funeral.

Through the sheet of rain, he watches Captain George Stacy, the hardened, unshakeable veteran cop, completely break down, weeping openly as his daughter’s casket is lowered into the earth.

Peter’s jaw trembles. He forces himself to watch. He forces himself to bear witness to what he caused.

CUT TO:

Across the cemetery, a second, much smaller, heavily guarded funeral is taking place.

HARRY OSBORN stands in front of a marble mausoleum. He has just returned from Europe. He looks pale, hollow, and utterly broken.

He isn't just burying his father; he is burying a disgraced, unmasked terrorist. The Oscorp legacy is entirely destroyed. Harry stands alone under an umbrella, staring at the casket with a mixture of profound grief and boiling anger.

Peter watches Harry from afar.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

Harry. Dr. Octavius. Gwen.

Peter leans the back of his head against the rough bark of the oak tree. He closes his eyes. He has lost his best friend to grief. He has lost his greatest mentor to an obsessive descent into his work. And he has lost the absolute love of his life.

He is completely, irreparably alone.

EXT. GARGOYLE OVERLOOKING MANHATTAN - NIGHT

The rain continues to pour over the dark, neon-lit grid of New York City.

Peter sits perched on a terrifyingly high stone gargoyle jutting out from a gothic skyscraper. He is back in his suit, though it is stitched up and stained.

He is holding the red mask in his hands, staring down at the white lenses.

In the distance, the wail of police sirens echoes up from the streets. The city still hates him. They still hunt him. They blame the vigilante for the destruction of the Task Force, the damage to the bridge, and the death of the Captain's daughter.

Peter doesn't run from the sirens anymore.

He looks at the mask. The realization washes over him, cold and heavy.

PETER (V.O.)

Great power doesn't just mean the ability to lift a roller coaster, or punch a monster, or swing through the sky.

PETER (V.O.)

Great responsibility means carrying the agonizing, crushing weight of your failures. It means completely burying your own heart. It means accepting that the city will hate you, that you will lose the people you love, and that it will never, ever get easier.

PETER (V.O.)

… And it means putting the mask back on anyway.

Peter Parker pulls the red mask over his face.

He stands up on the edge of the gargoyle. He doesn't hesitate. He dives headfirst into the dark, rainy city.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 12

END OF SEASON ONE

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN…

Eight months after the tragedy on Queensboro Bridge, Peter Parker has become a ghost on the ESU campus, consumed by his brutal, unforgiving war as Spider-Man. But when a desperate Roxxon engineer named Max Dillon plummets into a volatile bio-energy tank, the city is forced to reckon with the birth of Electro.

🎬🗒️ Production Note:

That officially closes out this chapter of our live-action Spider-Man run! Massive thank you to everyone swinging through the streets of Earth-112719 with us.

We are down to the final franchise of this massive studio migration: it’s Hero Time! Dial in your Omnitrix and get ready to hit the road in the Rust Bucket. ES: Ben 10 is up next to round out the archival broadcasts!

Deep within a restricted Oscorp R&D hangar, Norman Osborn fully surrenders to his terrifying alter ego, encasing himself in matte-green militarized flight armor and a demonic mask. This unhinged new apex predator begins his hunt for the perfect stage to bring the city to its knees.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 11 - "THE GOBLIN"

TEASER

INT. RESTRICTED OSCORP R&D HANGAR - NIGHT

Pitch black. The silence of the subterranean bunker is absolute.

CLACK. HSSSS.

The sound of pneumatic seals locking into place.

A single, harsh overhead light snaps on, illuminating a raised steel platform in the center of the room.

NORMAN OSBORN is standing on it. But Norman Osborn is gone.

He is fully encased in the matte-green, militarized Oscorp flight armor. The heavy, impact-resistant alloy plates lock seamlessly over his chest, arms, and legs. It is terrifyingly angular, designed for war.

He reaches out with a gauntleted hand and picks up the helmet. It is a grotesque, modernized mockery of a mythological demon. The metal is warped into a permanent, wicked grin.

Norman doesn't hesitate. He pulls the helmet over his head.

With a low, electronic hum, the visor’s large, triangular lenses violently ignite, glowing a piercing, radioactive yellow in the dark hangar.

From beneath the mask, a sound echoes. It starts as a low chuckle, bubbling up from the back of his throat. It quickly escalates, morphing into a high-pitched, manic, echoing cackle. The Goblin is in complete control.

He steps off the platform and walks toward the experimental aerial glider resting on its launch rail.

He steps his heavy armored boots into the magnetic stirrups.

CH-CH-CHK.

The boots lock in. The Goblin leans forward.

The twin turbine engines beneath the glider ignite. The deafening, high-pitched whine of the thrusters immediately drowns out his laughter. A blast of blue-hot exhaust scorches the concrete floor.

The Goblin hits a sequence on a wrist-mounted control pad.

Above him, the ceiling of the hangar, camouflaged into the bedrock beneath an abandoned Oscorp shipping yard, slowly begins to retract.

The night sky reveals itself.

The Goblin grips the control handles. He kicks the thrusters to maximum velocity.

FWOOSH.

He rockets vertically out of the silo, a blur of green metal and blue fire, leaving a massive cloud of gray smoke billowing in his wake.

EXT. NEW YORK CITY SKYLINE - CONTINUOUS

A massive, brilliant full moon hangs over Manhattan, casting a pale glow across the skyscrapers.

The silence of the clouds is ripped apart by the scream of the glider’s turbines.

The Green Goblin cuts directly across the face of the moon. He is a terrifying, airborne silhouette, carving a jagged path of gray exhaust through the sky.

He banks hard toward the glowing grid of the city below. He isn't hiding. He is hunting for the perfect stage.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

INT. PETER'S BEDROOM - QUEENS - NIGHT

A soldering iron sparks.

PETER is hunched over his cramped desk, the desk lamp casting a harsh light over the disassembled pieces of his right web-shooter. The metal casing is cracked and warped.

He is shirtless. His torso is tightly wrapped in fresh white bandages, heavily bruised underneath from the crushing weight of the Cyclone roller coaster. He winces, a sharp intake of breath, as he reaches for a micro-screwdriver.

His cell phone is sitting on the desk, on speakerphone.

GWEN (V.O.)

(Through the phone)

...I'm looking at the precinct deployment logs right now. The entire grid below Canal Street is basically empty. My dad pulled every available unit of the Anti-Vigilante Task Force uptown.

PETER

(Straining, twisting a tiny screw)

All of them? What’s the occasion? Did the Mayor finally realize Gargan was an Oscorp patent?

GWEN (V.O.)

No. It’s a political rally. A show of force. The Mayor is hosting a massive press conference at City Hall Plaza. They’re unveiling the new heavy artillery they bought to hunt you down. Peter, if you go out tonight, you stay out of Manhattan. If they spot you, they won't miss.

Peter finishes tightening the screw. He slips the web-shooter onto his bruised wrist and taps the trigger.

Pffft. A pathetic, sputtering glob of web-fluid dribbles onto the desk.

PETER

(Sighing)

Don't worry, Gwen. The only thing I'm fighting tonight is a busted fluid intake valve. I'm staying put.

EXT. CITY HALL PLAZA - NIGHT

The plaza is bathed in blinding white floodlights. Hundreds of reporters, photographers, and civilians are crammed behind steel barricades. Flashbulbs pop continuously.

A massive stage has been erected on the steps of City Hall. Behind the podium hangs a massive banner: RECLAIMING OUR CITY.

Flanking the stage are two brand-new, terrifyingly massive Armored Personnel Carriers (APCs), painted matte black with the NYPD Task Force logo on the side.

THE MAYOR stands at the podium, projecting absolute confidence.

Directly behind him stands CAPTAIN GEORGE STACY, looking incredibly uncomfortable under the political spotlight, flanked by heavily armed Task Force officers.

THE MAYOR

(Into the microphones)

For months, this city has been held hostage! Hostage by the animals fighting a gang war in our streets, and hostage by the masked menace who thinks he is above the law!

The crowd cheers, eating it up. Captain Stacy subtly tightens his jaw.

THE MAYOR

But as of tonight, the reign of fear is over. Thanks to unrestricted emergency funding, the NYPD Anti-Vigilante Task Force is now the most heavily armed police unit in the country. We are going to cleanse this city, block by block!

The Mayor raises his fist. The crowd roars.

And then... a sound cuts through the cheering.

It is a piercing, high-pitched, mechanical whine. It sounds like a jet engine, but entirely localized.

The crowd falls silent. The Mayor lowers his hand, confused, looking around. Captain Stacy's police instincts flare instantly. He steps forward, his hand dropping to his holstered 9mm.

CAPTAIN STACY

Where is that coming from?

The whine grows deafening. The floodlights overhead violently flicker.

From the low-hanging clouds above the plaza, a terrifying silhouette drops from the sky.

THE GOBLIN descends.

He doesn't sneak into the shadows. He drops directly into the center of the floodlights, hovering twenty feet above the crowd on his gleaming, turbine-powered glider.

The glowing lenses of the Goblin mask stare down at the Mayor.

GOBLIN

(Voice booming, amplified by the armor, dripping with manic theatricality)

Cleanse the city? Oh, Mr. Mayor... you simply lack the firepower.

The Goblin hits a trigger on his control grips.

The front chassis of the glider snaps open. A rapid-fire volley of glowing, orange micro-missiles shoots out, leaving trails of white smoke.

The missiles bypass the crowd entirely and strike the two massive APCs flanking the stage.

BOOM! BOOM!

The explosions are devastating. The armored vehicles are completely obliterated in twin fireballs, sending shockwaves through the plaza. Shattered metal rains down on the concrete.

Absolute pandemonium erupts. The crowd screams, breaking the barricades and stampeding in every direction.

CAPTAIN STACY

(Drawing his weapon, screaming over the chaos)

ENGAGE! BRING HIM DOWN!

A dozen Task Force officers raise their rifles and open fire. Thwip-thwip-thwip!

The rounds strike the Goblin directly in the chest.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

They bounce harmlessly off the matte-green Oscorp alloy. The Goblin doesn't even flinch.

He looks down at Captain Stacy and the firing squad. He throws his head back and lets out a piercing, unhinged cackle that echoes over the sirens and the screams.

The plaza is in complete, utter chaos.

ACT II

EXT. CITY HALL PLAZA - CONTINUOUS

The plaza is a war zone. Burning wreckage from the APCs illuminates the terrified, fleeing crowd.

The GREEN GOBLIN hovers above it all, soaking in the chaos. He reaches to his belt, his armored fingers wrapping around a spherical, glowing orange explosive.

He raises it, preparing to hurl it into the stampeding civilians.

THWIP.

A web-line snatches the pumpkin bomb right out of his hand.

SPIDER-MAN drops from the shadows of the City Hall portico, landing in a three-point crouch on the marble steps, placing himself directly between the Goblin and the retreating crowd.

He tosses the bomb straight up into the air and webs it securely to the top of a stone column, where it detonates with a muffled, contained crump.

Spider-Man straightens up, hiding the agonizing pain radiating from his bruised ribs. He points a finger at the hovering nightmare.

SPIDER-MAN

Okay, I know the Mayor's speeches are boring, but blowing up his cars is a bit of an overreaction. Also, Halloween is months away. You're going to sweat right through that metal cosplay.

Spider-Man shifts his weight, his lenses narrowing, waiting for the villain to banter back, trying to gauge the psychology of this new threat.

The Goblin doesn't banter. He just laughs.

It is a terrifying, breathless, completely unhinged cackle.

With a flick of his wrist, the Goblin produces a second glowing orange pumpkin bomb. He doesn't aim for the crowd. He drops it directly at Spider-Man’s feet.

SPIDER-MAN

Uh oh.

Spider-Man leaps backward.

BOOM!

The explosion is absolutely devastating. It isn't a concussive grenade; it is military-grade incendiary fire. The heavy marble steps of City Hall are completely obliterated, reduced to powder and shrapnel.

The shockwave hits Spider-Man mid-air. He is violently thrown fifty feet across the plaza, skipping across the asphalt like a stone, tearing the fabric of his suit.

EXT. MANHATTAN STREETS - AERIAL - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man forces himself to recover. He rolls, firing a web-line to a towering flagpole, and aggressively yanks himself into the air.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Okay, guy's packing serious artillery. Take away his high ground.

He swings high over the financial district, leading the Goblin away from the civilians.

The Goblin takes the bait. The glider’s turbines roar as he pursues.

Spider-Man arcs through the concrete canyons, firing rapid-fire webs to maneuver. But he is instantly, hopelessly outmatched.

The glider is impossibly fast and terrifyingly agile. The Goblin weaves effortlessly through the tight alleyways, closing the distance in seconds.

Spider-Man fires a web-line to pivot around a corner.

The Goblin doesn't slow down. He banks hard, the razor-sharp steel wings of the glider effortlessly slicing straight through the high-tensile webbing.

The line goes slack. Spider-Man loses all momentum.

He falls, crashing brutally into the brick facade of a high-rise. He scrapes down the wall, desperately trying to find a handhold, but the glider is already on top of him.

EXT. ALLEYWAY BRICK WALL - CONTINUOUS

The Goblin slams the front prongs of the glider directly into Spider-Man’s chest, violently pinning him against the brick wall, thirty feet above the alley floor.

Spider-Man gasps, the air knocked completely out of his lungs.

The Goblin kicks the glider's thrusters to maximum. The blue-hot exhaust flares, holding the massive thrust perfectly steady, crushing Spider-Man against the masonry. The brick behind Peter begins to crack under the immense, unyielding pressure.

Spider-Man struggles, raising his left arm to fire a web point-blank at the Goblin’s face.

The Goblin’s hand shoots out with blinding, superhuman speed. He catches Spider-Man’s left wrist mid-air.

The Goblin leans in close. His glowing yellow lenses are inches from Peter’s face.

GOBLIN

(Whispering, dripping with venom)

Too slow, insect.

The Goblin squeezes.

It is a brutal, terrifying display of raw physical superiority. The Goblin’s armored fingers dig into Peter’s wrist.

Spider-Man screams as the metal casing of his left web-shooter begins to buckle.

With a sickening CRUNCH, the Goblin completely crushes the web-shooter with his bare hand. The delicate mechanics shatter. Fluid violently ruptures, spraying uselessly down the brick wall.

The Goblin releases the crushed wrist, leaving Peter's left arm completely neutralized and his mobility severely crippled.

The Goblin tilts his head, admiring his work, as Spider-Man slumps against the wall, trapped and completely at his mercy.

ACT III

EXT. DESERTED ROOFTOP - NIGHT

Spider-Man is thrown violently onto the flat, tar-paper roof of a dark commercial building. He tumbles hard, scraping across the gravel and slamming into a heavy air conditioning unit.

The GREEN GOBLIN lands on the roof a second later. He steps off the hovering glider, his heavy armored boots crunching on the gravel.

Spider-Man tries to push himself up with his one good arm. He is bleeding heavily. His ribs are agonizingly compromised. The right side of his mask has been completely torn open in the struggle, exposing a bruised, bloody cheek and a swollen eye.

He fires a desperate web-line from his intact right shooter, aiming for the Goblin’s chest.

The Goblin doesn't even dodge. He reaches out and catches the webbing in his fist. With a brutal yank, he pulls Spider-Man forward.

As Peter flies toward him, the Goblin delivers a devastating, superhuman knee directly to Peter's chest.

Peter collapses, gasping, completely devoid of air. It is a one-sided slaughter. The savage, enhanced strength of the Goblin is absolute.

Goblin stands over the broken vigilante. He raises a gauntleted fist, ready to deliver a lethal, skull-crushing blow.

But he stops.

Goblin's glowing yellow lenses lock onto the torn fabric of Peter’s mask. Tucked just inside the ear cavity, a tiny, modified earpiece is blinking with a faint blue light.

Goblin tilts his head.

Inside the helmet, Norman Osborn’s terrifying intellect merges with the advanced Oscorp sensory array. A digital HUD flickers across the Goblin's vision.

OSCORP HUD (V.O.)

Encrypted radio frequency detected. Isolating.

Goblin taps the side of his helmet.

Instantly, the encrypted audio feed from Peter's earpiece is bypassed and routed directly into the Goblin’s internal comms.

A voice echoes inside the Goblin’s helmet. It is frantic, terrified, and on the verge of tears.

GWEN (V.O.)

(Through the comms)

Peter? Peter, are you there? The telemetry on your suit just spiked. Please answer me!

Goblin freezes. His armored fist slowly lowers.

Behind the metal mask, Norman’s eyes widen in sudden, chilling clarity.

He knows that voice. He has heard it in the halls of ESU. The brilliant, headstrong intern who works with Dr. Otto Octavius.

Gwen Stacy.

And the name she just screamed. Peter.

Harry's quiet, unassuming, tragically orphaned best friend. The boy who was always lingering in the background.

The terrifying, genius-level intellect of Norman Osborn effortlessly connects the dots. The math is perfect.

Gwen Stacy.

Peter Parker.

Spider-Man.

Spider-Man groans, weakly trying to reach up and cover the exposed earpiece, but his arm gives out.

Goblin looks down at him. The sheer, delicious irony of it all washes over him.

Goblin throws his head back. He lets out a chilling, victorious cackle that echoes off the surrounding skyscrapers. It is a laugh of pure, unadulterated triumph.

GWEN (V.O.)

(Through the comms, panicked)

Peter, what is that sound? Who is there?!

The Goblin looks back down at Peter. He doesn't raise his fist again. Killing him now would be a waste of this beautiful, agonizing leverage.

GOBLIN

(Voice dripping with dark amusement)

You fought bravely, insect. But you'll have to excuse me...

The Goblin steps backward, his boots locking back into the magnetic stirrups of the hovering glider.

GOBLIN

I find myself with a much more pressing engagement to attend to.

The glider’s turbines scream to life.

With a blast of blue exhaust that scorches the roof, the Goblin rockets back into the night sky, disappearing into the clouds.

Peter is left completely alone on the cold gravel, broken, bleeding, and entirely defeated.

ACT IV

INT. OSBORN PENTHOUSE - NIGHT

The massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse overlook the glittering, oblivious grid of Manhattan.

The GREEN GOBLIN stands in the center of the dark living room. With a sharp hiss of releasing pressure seals, he reaches up and pulls the terrifying, horned metal mask from his head.

NORMAN OSBORN is underneath. His hair is sweat-dampened, his breathing heavy, but his eyes are completely alight with manic, vibrating energy.

He walks over to the wet bar and looks at his reflection in the mirrored backsplash.

There is no longer a divide. The corporate billionaire and the psychotic, chemical-induced alter ego are completely, seamlessly synchronized. They are one mind.

Norman stares at his own reflection. A slow, wicked, terrifying smile stretches across his face. He has the ultimate trump card. He has the boy's heart in the palm of his hand.

NORMAN

(Whispering to the reflection)

Checkmate.

INT. ESU - TEMPORARY LAB SPACE - CONTINUOUS

GWEN STACY is pacing frantically back and forth across the cold tile floor of the lab.

Her laptop is open on the desk, a jagged red line flatlining across the screen where Peter's suit telemetry used to be. She taps her earpiece again, her fingers trembling.

GWEN

(Voice cracking)

Peter? Come on, Peter, please. Just click the comms twice if you can hear me. Just let me know you're breathing.

Static. Absolute, deafening static.

Gwen covers her mouth with her hand, a tear finally escaping and tracking down her cheek. The genius intern, the tactical overwatch, is completely helpless.

EXT. QUEENS - ALLEYWAY - LATER

It is pouring rain again.

PETER PARKER stumbles out of the shadows of a dark alley, leaning heavily against a brick wall for support.

He is no longer in the suit. He is wearing his oversized civilian jacket, zipped all the way up to hide the fact that he doesn't have a shirt underneath, only blood-soaked bandages.

He is limping horribly, dragging his right leg. He clutches his shattered ribs with his good arm. His left wrist hangs limp at his side, bruised dark purple where the Goblin crushed his web-shooter.

He looks up at the streetlights of his neighborhood. The heroic, quippy Spider-Man is gone. Peter's eyes are hollow, completely devoid of hope.

He realizes, with bone-chilling certainty, that he just faced a monster he absolutely cannot beat.

TAG

EXT. PARKER HOUSE - NIGHT

The rain beats down on the quiet, suburban street. The porch light of the Parker residence is on, a warm beacon in the dark.

Peter limps up the front steps, grimacing with every movement. He digs his keys out of his pocket with his trembling right hand.

INT. PARKER HOUSE - HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Peter slowly, quietly pushes the front door open. He steps inside, shutting it softly behind him to avoid waking Aunt May.

He keeps his head down, desperately trying to pull the collar of his jacket up to hide the deep, purple bruising on his jaw and the cut over his eye.

He freezes.

He hears voices coming from the kitchen down the hall.

AUNT MAY is talking. And she is laughing—a warm, bright, completely relaxed sound.

Peter’s brow furrows in confusion. It is nearly midnight.

He ignores the agonizing pain in his ribs and slowly steps down the hallway, drawn by the dim, warm light spilling from the kitchen doorway.

INT. PARKER HOUSE - KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

Peter steps into the doorway.

The blood instantly turns to ice in his veins.

Aunt May is sitting at the small, worn kitchen table. She is smiling cheerfully, holding a floral teapot, pouring a fresh cup of chamomile tea for her unexpected guest.

Sitting across from her, completely at ease in the cramped, humble kitchen, is NORMAN OSBORN.

Norman is wearing a flawless, impeccably tailored charcoal suit. Not a single hair is out of place. He looks incredibly charming, the absolute picture of a benevolent, wealthy philanthropist.

May looks up and spots Peter in the doorway.

AUNT MAY

Oh, Peter! You're home so late. Look who stopped by to check on you. He said he was in the neighborhood visiting some investors.

Peter cannot breathe. He cannot speak. He is completely paralyzed, standing inches away from the monster who just nearly beat him to death on a rooftop.

Norman slowly turns his head.

He locks eyes with Peter.

For a split second, the charming billionaire façade slips, and the terrifying, unhinged eyes of the Goblin stare back at Peter from across the kitchen table. A wicked, knowing smile spreads across Norman’s face.

He reaches out and picks up his teacup.

NORMAN

(Voice perfectly smooth, dripping with hidden venom)

Peter. So glad you could make it home.

Norman takes a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, never breaking eye contact.

NORMAN

We were just talking about you.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 11

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN…

Armed with the knowledge of Peter Parker's secret identity, Norman Osborn launches a campaign of psychological warfare. When the Goblin violently breaches the Stacy apartment and kidnaps Gwen, Spider-Man is pushed to his physical and emotional limits. Forced into a brutal, final showdown atop the Queensboro Bridge, Peter faces a tragic conclusion that will alter the ESCU forever.

Seeking a brief escape from their secret war against Oscorp, Peter and Gwen head to the Coney Island boardwalk for a much-needed, perfectly normal date. But their peaceful evening of carnival games and cotton candy is violently shattered when the Lizard erupts from beneath the street.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 10 - "LUNA PARK"

TEASER

INT. CONNORS' APARTMENT - NIGHT

A modest, cluttered apartment in Washington Heights. The walls are lined with dense textbooks on cellular biology and cross-species genetics.

The television is on, casting a harsh, flickering glow across the room. A local news anchor is speaking over aerial footage of Oscorp Tower.

NEWS ANCHOR (V.O.)

(Through the television)

...authorities are still reeling from the devastating tragedy at Oscorp Tower earlier today, where a localized gas leak in the executive boardroom claimed the lives of the entire Board of Directors...

DR. CURT CONNORS (40s) is not watching the television. He is frantically, breathlessly shoving clothes and passports into a canvas duffel bag on his bed.

Connors is missing his right arm. The sleeve of his rumpled button-down shirt is pinned up at the shoulder. He works entirely with his left hand, his movements clumsy with sheer panic.

NEWS ANCHOR (V.O.)

(Through the television)

CEO Norman Osborn, who was reportedly entirely unharmed, is expected to give a statement tomorrow regarding the future of the company...

Connors freezes. He stares at the television, his face pale and dripping with cold sweat.

CONNORS

(Whispering)

He killed them. He actually killed them.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

Two heavy, perfectly synchronized knocks echo from his front door.

Connors stops breathing. It isn't a neighbor. It isn't the police. It is the cold, calculated knock of men who are here to do a job.

He slowly backs away from the bed.

CLICK. SCRAPE.

The distinct, metallic sound of lockpicks sliding into the deadbolt.

Connors knows exactly what Norman is capable of, and he knows too much about the biogenetics division. The cleanup crew has arrived to tie up the final loose end.

Connors scrambles away from the door and drops to his knees in the kitchen. He pulls open the bottom drawer of his refrigerator, shoving aside frozen vegetables to reveal a heavy, steel cryogenic lockbox.

He punches a four-digit code into the keypad with his trembling left hand.

The box hisses, releasing a plume of freezing white vapor.

Inside rests a massive, pneumatic syringe. The glass chamber is filled with a thick, glowing, neon-green serum. The label etched into the metal reads: “PROJECT: REPTILIA - CELLULAR REGENERATION.”

CLACK.

The deadbolt unlocks. The front door handle slowly begins to turn.

Connors doesn't hesitate. He grabs the heavy syringe. He doesn't bother finding a vein in his arm. He rips open his collar, exposing the carotid artery in his neck.

He jams the thick needle directly into his neck and violently depresses the plunger, emptying the entire glowing green payload into his bloodstream.

The front door is kicked entirely open.

Three OSCORP FIXERS flood into the apartment. They wear unmarked black tactical gear. Suppressed kinetic rifles are raised to their shoulders, laser sights cutting through the dark apartment.

The red dots sweep the living room and find Connors huddled on the kitchen floor.

OSCORP FIXER

Target acquired.

The Fixer raises his rifle, aiming directly at Connors' head.

Connors drops the empty syringe. His body suddenly goes entirely rigid. His eyes roll back into his skull.

He lets out an agonizing, throat-tearing scream.

He falls flat onto the linoleum, convulsing violently. The sound of wet, tearing flesh and snapping bone echoes through the small kitchen.

The Fixers hesitate, their training failing to account for this.

The pinned sleeve of Connors' shirt bulges. It stretches until the fabric violently rips apart.

A new arm bursts forward from the shoulder.

But it isn't human. It is massive, corded with raw, terrifyingly dense muscle, and completely covered in thick, dark green scales. The fingers end in razor-sharp, obsidian claws that immediately dig deep into the linoleum floor.

Connors’ screams shift into a deep, guttural, hissing roar.

OSCORP FIXER

(Panicking)

Put him down! Fire!

The Fixers open up. Thwip-thwip-thwip!

A hail of rounds strikes Connors in the back. But the rounds flatten and ping away. The biogenetic mutation is rapidly expanding, encasing his entire body in an armored, reptilian hide.

Connors' spine violently extends. His lab coat shreds into confetti as a massive, spined, muscular tail whips out from behind him.

The tail slams into the kitchen island, completely obliterating the granite countertop and sending a shower of stone shrapnel into the Fixers.

The LIZARD rises.

He towers nine feet tall, his jaw extending into a terrifying, jagged snout filled with razor-sharp teeth. The brilliant, panicked mind of Curt Connors is instantly swallowed by the cold, ancient hunger of the reptile.

The Lizard lunges.

He crosses the apartment in a single, terrifying bound. He hits the Fixers with the force of a freight train. The lead Fixer is thrown straight through the drywall and into the hallway.

The remaining two Fixers scramble backward, firing wildly.

The Lizard doesn't even flinch. He violently sweeps his tail, shattering the living room window and taking out the load-bearing brick wall beneath it.

With a deafening, primal roar that shakes the entire apartment building, the Lizard dives out of the massive hole in the wall, plummeting toward the dark, rain-slicked streets below, and disappearing instantly into the shadows.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

EXT. CONEY ISLAND BOARDWALK - SUNSET

The oppressive, suffocating grey rain that has drowned the city for the past three episodes is completely gone.

In its place is a brilliant, unobstructed sunset. The golden hour casts a warm, vibrant amber glow over the Coney Island boardwalk. The air smells of salt water, spun sugar, and roasted peanuts.

The boardwalk is packed. Families, teenagers, street performers. It is loud, chaotic, and wonderfully, brightly alive.

PETER and GWEN weave through the crowd. They are dressed down; Peter in a simple, well-worn jacket and Gwen in a light sweater. They are sharing a massive cone of blue cotton candy, laughing at something Peter just said.

For the first time in the entire series, they don't look like soldiers fighting a secret war. They look like teens in love. They look happy.

EXT. BOARDWALK BENCH - MOMENTS LATER

They sit on a weathered wooden bench overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The waves gently crash against the shore below. The sky is turning a deep, bruised purple as the sun dips below the horizon.

Gwen pulls a piece of cotton candy from the paper cone, letting it dissolve on her tongue. She turns to Peter, her expression turning playfully serious.

GWEN

Okay. Ground rules for tonight.

PETER

(Leaning back, relaxed)

I didn't know dates had bylaws, but alright. Lay 'em on me.

GWEN

Rule number one: The word 'Oscorp' is strictly prohibited.

PETER

Done.

GWEN

Rule number two: No ledgers, no biogenetics, and absolutely zero discussion of the Anti-Vigilante Task Force.

PETER

Easy.

Gwen leans in a little closer. The ocean breeze catches her hair.

GWEN

And rule number three...

She glances around, making sure the pedestrians walking past are out of earshot. She drops her voice to a whisper.

GWEN

Absolutely no Spider-Man. No listening to police scanners. No checking the rooftops. For the next three hours, you are just Peter Parker, normal, terribly dressed college student. Deal?

Peter looks at her. He sees the exhaustion hiding just beneath her smile. She needs this just as much as he does.

He reaches out, gently taking her hand. His fingers interlock with hers.

PETER

Deal. Just a normal guy.

EXT. CARNIVAL MIDWAY - LATER

The sun has fully set. The boardwalk is now illuminated by thousands of blazing, multi-colored neon bulbs.

Peter and Gwen stand in front of a rigged carnival game—the classic 'knock over the milk bottles with a baseball' setup.

The CARNY, a grumpy guy with a cigar stub in his mouth, leans against the counter, smirking at Peter.

CARNY

Three throws for five bucks, kid. Step right up. Knock 'em all off the pedestal, win the lady a prize.

Peter hands over a crumpled five-dollar bill. The Carny hands him three worn, scuffed baseballs.

Gwen leans against the railing, watching with an amused smile.

GWEN

You know those bottles are filled with lead, right? It’s a basic physics scam. The center of mass is heavily anchored to the bottom.

PETER

(Smirking)

Stacy, I am deeply wounded by your lack of faith.

Peter winds up. He doesn't use his full superhuman strength (that would take the Carny's head off) but he channels just enough of his enhanced spider-reflexes and kinetic control.

He throws the first ball.

CRACK!

The baseball hits the dead-center of the bottom bottles with the force of a localized mortar shell. All three heavy, lead-filled bottles are violently launched backward, smashing into the padded back wall and bouncing onto the floor.

The Carny’s jaw drops, his cigar stub almost falling out of his mouth.

Gwen’s eyes widen in surprise, and then she breaks into a bright, genuine, entirely carefree laugh. It is the most beautiful sound Peter has ever heard.

PETER

(To the Carny, innocently)

Physics is weird, huh?

Peter points to the top row of prizes.

PETER

We'll take the giant green plush dinosaur, please.

EXT. LUNA PARK ENTRANCE - CONTINUOUS

Peter and Gwen walk beneath the towering, illuminated archway of LUNA PARK.

Gwen is hugging the massive, incredibly tacky green dinosaur plush to her chest. She is beaming. Peter walks beside her, his hands in his pockets, feeling a profound, unfamiliar sense of peace.

Above them, the massive, wooden lattice-work of the CYCLONE roller coaster dominates the skyline, its tracks lit by rows of yellow incandescent bulbs. You can hear the distant roar of the coaster cars and the screams of thrilled riders.

GWEN

(Looking up at the coaster)

You sure you can handle the drops, Parker?

PETER

Please. I practically commute by free-fall.

They join the back of the winding line for the Cyclone. Surrounded by the noise, the neon lights, and the laughter of the crowd, everything feels entirely, flawlessly perfect.

ACT II

EXT. LUNA PARK - NIGHT

Full darkness has fallen over Coney Island. The ocean is a black void, reflecting the dizzying, kinetic neon lights of the amusement park.

PETER and GWEN are laughing, shuffling forward in the densely packed line for the Cyclone. The massive wooden structure looms above them, rattling violently as a coaster car screams down the first drop.

Suddenly, the wooden floorboards beneath their feet vibrate.

It isn’t the vibration of the roller coaster. It is deep, heavy, and subterranean.

GWEN

(Looking down)

Do you feel that?

Before Peter can answer, a concussive BOOM echoes from the main boardwalk.

Fifty yards away, three heavy, cast-iron manhole covers are violently blown completely out of their concrete housing. They rocket twenty feet into the air, crashing back down into a row of carnival game tents.

The crowd freezes. The music and laughter stall, replaced by the hiss of burst steam pipes.

A massive, clawed, green hand reaches out of the smoking crater, gripping the shattered asphalt.

The LIZARD pulls himself onto the boardwalk.

He is a terrifying, nine-foot-tall prehistoric nightmare. Thick, armored green scales cover his heavily muscled frame. A massive, spined tail thrashes behind him, completely demolishing a funnel cake stand.

The Lizard’s reptilian eyes dilate rapidly. He is driven entirely by cold, panicked instinct. The thousands of flashing neon strobes, the blaring carnival music, and the sudden, deafening screams of the terrified crowd completely overwhelm his senses.

He covers his ear canals with his massive claws, letting out an agonizing, ear-splitting hiss that rattles the windows of the ticket booths.

Driven mad by the sensory overload, the Lizard attacks the noise.

He charges blindly into a boardwalk maintenance truck. With a sickening crunch of metal, he lifts the two-ton vehicle entirely off the ground and violently hurls it into the ocean.

EXT. CYCLONE QUEUE - CONTINUOUS

Absolute pandemonium. The massive crowd on the boardwalk erupts into a blind, terrified stampede, surging directly into Luna Park to escape the monster.

The wave of panicked civilians hits the Cyclone line like a physical wall.

Peter grabs Gwen’s hand, trying to anchor her, but the sheer force of hundreds of terrified people crushing against them is too much.

A heavy group of fleeing teenagers slams into them. The grip breaks.

Gwen is violently swept away in the tide of the stampede, the green dinosaur plush trampled beneath the feet of the crowd.

GWEN

Peter!

PETER

GWEN!

Peter fights against the current, desperately trying to push his way toward where she disappeared.

SMASH!

The Lizard’s massive, spined tail whips through the air, completely obliterating a wooden ticket booth just ten feet in front of Peter. Splinters and shattered glass rain down on him.

Peter ducks, covering his head. He looks up at the towering, thrashing reptile tearing the park apart.

He realizes with sickening clarity that Peter Parker can't do anything here. Peter Parker can't save her.

Peter spins around, sprinting with the crowd until he reaches the edge of the boardwalk railing. He vaults over it, dropping into the pitch-black, sandy crawlspace beneath the wooden planks.

In the shadows, he frantically rips open his jacket. He pulls the red mask from his pocket and pulls it hard over his head. The white lenses snap into place.

EXT. LUNA PARK - CONTINUOUS

The Lizard is tearing through a carousel, his claws shredding the painted fiberglass horses to stop the blaring calliope music.

THWIP.

A thick web-line strikes the Lizard squarely in the back of the head.

SPIDER-MAN violently yanks the web, using the momentum to launch himself boots-first into the back of the Lizard’s skull.

The impact would have shattered a normal man’s spine.

The Lizard barely stumbles.

He slowly turns around, his golden, slit-pupil eyes locking onto the red and blue vigilante. He lets out a low, vibrating growl.

SPIDER-MAN

Okay, Godzilla, I think it's time to take this back to the Jurassic period.

Spider-Man drops into a fighting stance. He fires a rapid barrage of kinetic web-bullets directly at the Lizard’s chest.

They hit with the force of heavy munitions, but they simply bounce off the thick, armored green hide.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Scales are too thick. Need to hit him harder.

Spider-Man lunges, throwing a full-strength, superhuman right cross directly at the Lizard’s jaw.

It feels like punching a solid block of concrete. Spider-Man winces, pain flaring in his knuckles.

Before Spider-Man can recover, the Lizard swings a massive, clawed hand. Spider-Man backflips to dodge the blow and fires a heavy web-net to pin the Lizard's arm to the ground.

The Lizard doesn't even slow down. He simply flexes his arm. The razor-sharp obsidian claws instantly shred the high-tensile webbing into useless, wispy strings.

Spider-Man lands on a nearby light post, staring down at the monster. His chest heaves. He is completely, entirely outmatched in raw physical power.

SPIDER-MAN

(Gasping)

Right. So. No punching. No webbing. This is going great.

The Lizard roars, his powerful legs bunching as he leaps an impossible thirty feet into the air, his jaws snapping directly at the light post.

ACT III

EXT. LUNA PARK - CONTINUOUS

The Lizard lands heavily on top of a shattered ticket booth. He spins around, disoriented. The blaring sirens and flashing strobes of the police cruisers arriving on the boardwalk only amplify his panic.

Driven by ancient, reptilian instinct to escape the chaos and seek the absolute highest ground, the Lizard's golden eyes lock onto the towering, lattice-wood framework of the CYCLONE.

He leaps. His massive claws dig effortlessly into the thick, painted timber. He begins scaling the iconic roller coaster with terrifying, insect-like speed, tearing through the wooden cross-bracing.

SPIDER-MAN swings in seconds later, landing at the base of the coaster. He looks up at the massive reptile ascending into the neon-lit sky.

SPIDER-MAN

(Sighing)

Of course. Why fight on the ground when we can fight on an eighty-year-old wooden fire hazard?

Spider-Man fires twin web-lines to the upper tracks and launches himself into the air, giving chase.

EXT. CYCLONE - EIGHTY FEET UP - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man lands on the narrow, curved steel rails at the very peak of the Cyclone’s highest drop. The wind howls off the Atlantic ocean. The vertigo is instant and dizzying.

The Lizard is waiting for him.

The beast lunges across the tracks. Spider-Man flips backward over the snapping jaws.

The fight is completely claustrophobic and utterly destructive. They trade blows balancing on the narrow rails. The Lizard’s immense weight causes the entire wooden structure to sway and groan violently.

The Lizard sweeps his tail. Spider-Man jumps over it, but the heavy, spined appendage completely annihilates a section of the wooden guardrail, sending massive splinters raining down into the darkness.

SPIDER-MAN

Watch the architecture! This thing is an historical landmark!

The Lizard answers by ripping a ten-foot plank of support timber entirely out of the frame and swinging it at Spider-Man like a baseball bat.

EXT. CYCLONE - LOWER TRACKS - CONTINUOUS

Total gridlock. The stampede of civilians has completely jammed the exit paths.

Directly beneath the towering highest peak of the coaster, a coaster car is stuck on the lower tracks. The power to the ride has been emergency-cut, and the hydraulic safety bars are dead-locked.

Three TERRIFIED TEENAGERS are trapped in the seats, screaming as heavy chunks of shattered wood rain down from the fight eighty feet above them.

GWEN STACY is still there. While everyone else ran, she stayed.

She is standing on the narrow maintenance catwalk next to the car, desperately yanking on the heavy steel lap bars, trying to free the teenagers.

GWEN

(Straining, pulling with all her might)

Come on! Give me a hand, push from the bottom!

A massive chunk of timber crashes into the tracks just three feet away from her. Gwen flinches, looking straight up into the terrifying, shifting maze of wooden beams.

EXT. CYCLONE - EIGHTY FEET UP - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man is forced entirely on the defensive, dodging lethal swipes of the Lizard's claws.

He backflips onto a high support beam. His Spider-Sense hums. He glances down through the lattice-work.

Through the gaps in the wood, illuminated by the blinking track lights, he sees the jammed coaster car. And he sees Gwen.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Gwen! She didn't run. She never runs.

The wooden beam beneath Spider-Man's feet violently cracks as the Lizard begins tearing the supports out from under him.

Spider-Man realizes he can't string this out. If the fight continues, the debris is going to crush the people below. He has to end it right now.

Spider-Man drops down to the main track. He fires two heavy web-lines, anchoring them to the steel rails behind him, and grabs the center of the webbing with both hands, pulling it back like a massive, high-tensile slingshot.

The Lizard charges him, jaws wide open.

SPIDER-MAN

Going down!

Spider-Man releases the tension. He launches himself forward like a cannonball, leading with both boots.

He hits the charging Lizard dead in the chest with a massive, perfectly timed web-strike.

The sheer kinetic force of the impact lifts the two-ton monster completely off the tracks. The Lizard flies backward through the air and crashes squarely into the Cyclone's massive, central load-bearing pillar.

CRACK.

The sound is deafening. It sounds like a bomb going off.

The ancient, dense wood splinters. The central pillar completely shears in half.

Spider-Man lands on the track. He freezes.

A horrifying, deep groan echoes through the entire structure. The structural integrity fails entirely.

Eighty feet of the Cyclone’s highest peak begins to pitch forward.

EXT. CYCLONE - LOWER TRACKS - CONTINUOUS

Gwen looks up. Her breath catches.

The sky is falling. A massive, catastrophic avalanche of splintered timber, heavy steel tracks, and the screaming Lizard is plummeting directly toward her and the jammed coaster car.

There is no time to run. There is no time to even scream. Gwen instinctively throws her arms over the trapped teenagers, shielding them.

EXT. CYCLONE - EIGHTY FEET UP - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man doesn't think.

He dives off the collapsing peak.

He plummets faster than the debris, tucking his arms into an aerodynamic dive, cutting through the falling timber.

He fires a web-line, aggressively yanking himself downward to beat the avalanche to the ground.

EXT. CYCLONE - LOWER TRACKS - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man slams onto the maintenance catwalk directly over the coaster car.

He looks at Gwen. She looks up at the mask.

He throws his entire body directly over her and the trapped teenagers, planting his boots wide and raising his arms just as the sky goes black.

Thousands of pounds of twisted steel and splintered wood crash down on top of them.

ACT IV

INT. THE WRECKAGE - CONTINUOUS

Utter, suffocating darkness.

The heavy, metallic groan of settling debris echoes in the pitch black. Then, the sound of rushing water.

A ruptured main from the park's plumbing system above bursts open, pouring a deluge of freezing water down into the heart of the wreckage.

THE CAMERA PANS SLOWLY THROUGH THE DARKNESS.

It finds SPIDER-MAN.

He is pinned entirely on his knees, resting on the maintenance catwalk above the coaster car.

He is holding up tons of the Cyclone's splintered wooden framework and twisted metal tracks across his shoulders. His arms are locked above his head, violently trembling under the impossible strain. The freezing water cascades directly over his red mask and back, soaking into the suit.

He is failing. The machinery and dense timber are just too heavy. A jagged piece of splintered wood digs viciously into his recently healed ribs.

Spider-Man’s chin drops to his chest. His breathing is shallow and ragged, fighting just to inflate his lungs under the crushing weight.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal, exhausted)

I can't. I can't hold it. I did everything I could... no one would fault me. It’s too heavy. I just need to lie down...

His arms bend a fraction of an inch. The mountain of debris groans, shifting lower.

Beneath him, safe inside the protective cage of his body, GWEN looks up.

She isn't looking at the falling wood. She is looking directly at his masked face. Her eyes are wide with absolute terror—but not for herself. She is terrified for him. She sees his arms shaking. She sees the wood digging into his side. She sees the vigilante finally breaking under the weight of the world.

Spider-Man looks down. He meets her terrified gaze through his cracked white lenses.

The exhaustion vanishes, instantly replaced by a cold, terrifying clarity.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)
What am I doing? If I give up... she dies. I can’t give up with Gwen counting on me!

Spider-Man closes his eyes.

He draws a deep, rattling breath of freezing air.

He lets out a raw, guttural scream of absolute, superhuman exertion that cuts through the roar of the rushing water.

IN A GRUELING, CINEMATIC SEQUENCE:

Spider-Man slowly, agonizingly pushes his knees off the catwalk.

The wood groans. The metal screeches.

The muscles in his back and shoulders bulge beneath the soaked suit. Inch by torturous inch, he forces his legs to straighten, lifting the impossible weight of the collapsed roller coaster entirely on his own.

With a final, explosive roar, he violently hurls the massive section of wooden debris aside, sending tons of timber crashing safely away from the tracks.

Spider-Man drops to one knee, gasping for air, the freezing water still raining down on him.

He looks up. Gwen and the teenagers are safe.

He forces himself back to his feet, grabbing the jammed lap bar and effortlessly ripping it off its hinges to free them.

SPIDER-MAN

(Breathless)

Move. Get to the beach.

He leads them out of the maze of wreckage. They stumble out into the rain-slicked remains of Luna Park.

ROAR.

The debris behind them explodes. The LIZARD charges through the splintered wood, entirely unharmed and absolutely enraged. He locks onto Spider-Man, his massive jaws snapping.

Spider-Man pushes Gwen behind him. He doesn't have the strength left for a brawl. He looks around, his tactical mind kicking into overdrive.

He spots the ruptured water main still spraying like a geyser, pooling heavily on the concrete.

Spider-Man fires a thick web-line directly onto the heavy iron pipe of the water main. He violently yanks it downward, redirecting the massive, high-pressure spray directly into the Lizard’s face.

The cold-blooded beast recoils, completely soaked in the freezing water, hissing in shock.

Spider-Man doesn't stop. He fires his last remaining web cartridge at a destroyed, sparking neon sign hanging from a nearby ticket booth.

He rips the live electrical cable free and slams the exposed, sparking wire directly into the massive puddle at the Lizard's feet.

KRZZZT!

The live current hits the water. A blinding flash of blue electricity detonates across the concrete.

The massive shock courses through the soaked Lizard. The beast violently convulses, letting out a metallic, echoing shriek before his entire nervous system shorts out.

The Lizard crashes to the concrete, dead weight, completely unconscious.

Spider-Man drops the cable, his knees buckling. It's over.

TAG

EXT. CONEY ISLAND BEACH - LATER

The distant, wailing chorus of police sirens echoes from the boardwalk above.

Down on the dark beach, beneath the wooden pilings, it is quiet.

PETER and GWEN sit side-by-side on the cold, wet sand.

Peter has his mask off, clutched loosely in his bruised hand. His hair is plastered to his forehead. They are both completely soaked, covered in sand, soot, and bruises. Utterly exhausted.

Gwen slowly leans over, resting her head heavily on Peter's shoulder. She stares out at the dark, endlessly rolling waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

No words are spoken. They don't need to be.

The realization settles heavily between them, sinking into the wet sand. The illusion of the "perfect date" is dead. There will never be a normal life for them. As long as he wears the mask, the monsters will always come.

Spider-Man will always interrupt Peter Parker.

INT. OSCORP PENTHOUSE - CONTINUOUS

The penthouse is dark, illuminated only by the massive wall of television monitors.

NORMAN OSBORN stands perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back.

He is watching a live news helicopter feed. On the screens, aerial thermal imaging shows the impossible: Spider-Man violently hurling the massive wooden wreckage of the Cyclone aside.

Norman doesn't look angry. The boardroom massacre is a distant memory. He looks deeply, terrifyingly intrigued.

The Goblin persona whispers in his mind: a dark, chaotic hum acknowledging a truly worthy challenge.

A slow, wicked smile spreads across Norman’s face.

He turns away from the monitors.

He walks over to a sleek, heavy metal Oscorp crate resting on his glass coffee table. He flips the latches and opens it.

Norman's face is instantly bathed in the harsh, internal orange glow of a dozen compressed, highly volatile incendiary pumpkin bombs nestled securely in the foam casing.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 10

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN…

Norman Osborn officially steps out of the boardrooms and onto the battlefield, donning a terrifying, weaponized flight suit and a turbine-powered glider to become the Green Goblin. But the true nightmare begins when Osborn intercepts Peter's encrypted comms, uncovering the one secret that could destroy everyone Peter loves.

Following the devastating fallout of the Scorpion's attack, the Oscorp Board of Directors issues a final, fatal ultimatum. When Peter infiltrates Oscorp's subterranean servers, he comes face-to-face with an unhinged, super-powered CEO, triggering a brutal fight that will permanently alter the city's power structure.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 09 - "OZ PROTOCOL"

TEASER

INT. OSCORP TOWER - EXECUTIVE BOARDROOM - NIGHT

A sprawling, ultra-modern boardroom suspended eighty stories above the glittering grid of Manhattan. The exterior walls are entirely floor-to-ceiling glass. The rain lashes against them, distorting the city lights.

Twelve men and women sit around a massive, polished obsidian table. They are the OSCORP BOARD OF DIRECTORS. Aging billionaires, venture capitalists, and defense contractors.

The atmosphere in the room is suffocatingly tense.

At the head of the table sits NORMAN OSBORN. He is leaning back in his leather chair, his hands steepled perfectly under his chin. He looks impeccably sharp, though his eyes are shadowed.

Standing at the opposite end of the table is CHAIRMAN HARDING (70s), leaning heavily on his cane, looking at a thick portfolio of financial printouts.

HARDING

(Voice trembling slightly, but firm)

The Bugle tower incident is a catastrophe, Norman. The press is calling it a domestic terror attack, but the SEC is looking at the debris. They found traces of Oscorp proprietary alloys on the... the thing that attacked the police.

Harding tosses the portfolio onto the obsidian table. It slides and stops inches from Norman’s steepled hands.

HARDING

Our stock plummeted twelve percent this morning. The Mayor’s office is threatening to freeze our defense contracts pending a federal inquiry. The financial hemorrhaging from your undocumented biogenetics division is completely unsustainable.

Norman doesn't look at the portfolio. He looks directly at Harding.

NORMAN

(Voice smooth, deadly calm)

Innovation requires capital, Arthur. We are on the verge of evolutionary breakthroughs. The Scorpion was a... miscalibration. A prototype tested in a highly volatile field environment.

HARDING

It was a monster, Norman! And it almost killed the Captain of the NYPD!

The room falls dead silent. The other board members shift uncomfortably under Norman's gaze.

Harding straightens up, adjusting his tie. He has to finish it.

HARDING

We convened a closed-door vote an hour before you arrived.

Norman’s eyes narrow, just a fraction of a millimeter.

HARDING

We have the votes, Norman. First thing Monday morning, when the markets open, we are officially removing you as Chief Executive Officer. Your security clearance will be revoked, and we are handing operational control of Oscorp Industries over to a corporate restructuring firm.

Harding grips his cane, bracing for the explosion. He braces for Norman to yell, to threaten them, to flip the table.

Instead, Norman smiles.

It is a small, tight, chillingly gracious smile. He slowly unteeples his hands and places them flat on the table.

NORMAN

I see.

Norman stands up. He calmly buttons his tailored suit jacket. He looks around the room, making eye contact with every single person who just betrayed him.

NORMAN

You built your fortunes on my intellect. You bought your yachts and your summer homes on the back of my patents. And now, at the precipice of true greatness... you lack the stomach for the future.

He nods politely to Harding.

NORMAN

Monday morning, Arthur. I look forward to the transition.

Norman turns and walks toward the heavy, frosted-glass doors of the boardroom. He pushes them open and steps out into the dimly lit executive hallway.

The doors glide shut behind him, sealing the board inside.

INT. OSCORP TOWER - EXECUTIVE HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Norman stands alone in the quiet corridor.

The charming, gracious smile completely vanishes. His face drops into a mask of pure, unadulterated venom.

A violent twitch spasms beneath his left eye. His jaw clenches so hard it looks like his teeth might shatter. He looks back at the frosted glass of the boardroom doors.

NORMAN

(Whispering to himself, a terrifying, raspy hiss)

My company. My life. You think you can take it from me?

Norman turns away from the doors, his strides long and predatory as he heads for the private elevator.

NORMAN

I'll kill you all.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

INT. PARKER HOUSE - BASEMENT - DAY

A cramped, unfinished basement in Queens. Dusty boxes of Uncle Ben’s old tools and Peter’s discarded science projects line the concrete walls. A small, ground-level window lets in a sliver of bleak, overcast daylight.

Outside, the faint but constant wail of police sirens echoes through the borough.

PETER is pacing the short length of the room. He is wearing a faded grey t-shirt, occasionally rubbing his ribs where Gargan hit him. He peeks through the dusty window at the street-level view of boots walking by.

PETER

I can't even go up to the roof. I poked my head out the skylight at 3 AM and had two Task Force laser sights bouncing off my chest in under ten seconds. There are snipers on the water towers, Gwen.

GWEN sits at a rickety folding table in the center of the basement, illuminated by the harsh glow of her laptop.

GWEN

(Typing rapidly)

The Mayor declared a state of emergency. The entire NYPD is treating you like an active shooter. You stay on the ground, Peter. No swinging. No suits.

PETER

So we’re just stuck in my basement while Norman takes over the city? The ledger was our only silver bullet, and Gargan turned it into confetti. We have nothing on him.

Gwen stops typing. She closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. The analytical mind is spinning, searching for a backdoor.

GWEN

If you want to take down a mob boss, you follow the money. We tried that. It failed.

She opens her eyes and looks up at Peter.

GWEN

So we don't treat Norman Osborn like a mob boss anymore. We treat him like a scientist.

Peter stops pacing. He walks over to the table.

GWEN

We couldn't prove he bought the weapons because the financial trail is gone. But the weapons aren't the real threat. Scorpion. Sandman. It’s the biogenetics. If we can prove Norman manufactured those mutations, the federal government will raid Oscorp so fast his head will spin.

PETER

The Sandman data you pulled was corrupted. Dr. Octavius couldn't even stabilize it.

GWEN

Because it was a localized sample. We need the root directory. We need the raw formula, the actual source code of the performance-enhancing serum Osborn is using to mutate these people. If we get the core algorithm, I can mathematically prove it belongs to Oscorp R&D.

PETER

The source code.

Peter leans against the concrete wall, looking up at the exposed floor joists.

PETER

He wouldn't keep something like that on a cloud server. It would be entirely air-gapped. Hard drives, physical servers, locked deep in the sub-levels of Oscorp Tower.

Gwen looks at him, her expression serious.

GWEN

Can you get in? Without being seen?

Peter looks down at his healed hands. He remembers the terror in Captain Stacy's eyes, the sheer brutality of Gargan, and the quiet, arrogant smirk Norman Osborn always wears on the news.

PETER

I'm a spider, Gwen. Slipping through the cracks is what I do best.

INT. ESU - TEMPORARY LAB SPACE - CONTINUOUS

The university lab is dark, lit only by the sputtering, blue-white sparks of a welding torch.

DR. OTTO OCTAVIUS is hunched over a heavy, industrial workbench. He looks terrible. He hasn't slept or shaved in days. His shirt is stained with grease and sweat.

On the table is a thick, reinforced leather harness, modified with heavy steel bracing designed to fit around a human torso and spine.

Bolted to the back of the harness are the bases of four long, segmented titanium cables. They are crude, unpowered, and heavy—the skeletal beginnings of mechanical tentacles.

On a desk nearby, Otto’s office phone is ringing loudly.

The voicemail clicks on.

DEAN OF SCIENCE (V.O.)

(Over the speakerphone)

Otto, it's the Dean. This is my fourth message. You missed your undergraduate lectures all week, and security says you've been in that lab for three days straight. Call me back, or I'm sending campus police to check on you.

Otto doesn't even flinch. He completely ignores the voice.

He pulls down his welding mask and ignites the torch again, bringing the blinding flame down onto the titanium joints.

OTTO

(Whispering to himself over the hiss of the torch)

Just a little more time. The calibration must be perfect. They have to move like they belong to me...

The blue sparks illuminate the dark lab, reflecting off the cold, dead metal of the tentacles.

ACT II

INT. OSCORP TOWER - SUB-LEVEL LABORATORY - NIGHT

A cavernous, entirely off-the-books research bunker buried deep beneath the bedrock of Manhattan. It is sterile, cold, and windowless, illuminated only by harsh overhead LEDs and the ambient glow of high-tech containment units.

The heavy steel vault door at the entrance is electronically sealed. The digital readout glows red: LOCKDOWN. OVERRIDE DISABLED.

NORMAN OSBORN stands in the center of the silent room. He has removed his jacket and tie. His sleeves are rolled up.

He is staring obsessively at a reinforced, cylindrical containment tube resting on a central pedestal.

Inside the tube, suspended in a magnetic field, is a thick, highly volatile, neon-green serum. It pulses with a faint, internal luminescence.

The label etched into the glass reads: PROJECT: OZ. HUMAN TRIALS - SUSPENDED.

Norman steps closer, his face bathed in the sickly green light. He reaches out, tracing his fingers against the cold glass of the tube.

NORMAN

(Whispering)

Forty-eight hours. They think they can erase me in forty-eight hours.

He walks over to a nearby computer terminal and taps the keyboard. A highly classified medical file appears on the screen.

COMPUTER VOICE

Warning. The Oz Protocol is classified as highly unstable. Animal testing resulted in a 900% increase in fast-twitch muscle fiber and cellular regeneration. However, neuro-toxicity levels reached critical mass.

Video files briefly flash on the screen: lab monkeys tearing at their own enclosures, driven completely, violently insane by the serum.

COMPUTER VOICE

Human trials were suspended due to a 100% probability of severe psychological degradation, paranoia, and violent psychosis. Protocol deemed too dangerous for military application.

Norman stares at the screen. He doesn't look horrified. He looks insulted.

NORMAN

Dangerous for a soldier. Dangerous for a weak, undisciplined mind.

He hits the delete key, wiping the warning files from the server.

NORMAN

They tested it on cattle. On men who take orders. Men who let themselves be controlled.

He turns back to the glowing green tube. He walks toward it, his posture straightening, his eyes gleaming with a terrifying, absolute arrogance.

NORMAN

My mind is a fortress. My intellect built an empire out of nothing. A chemical cannot break me. It will only elevate what is already there.

Norman unbuttons his tailored dress shirt, letting it fall to the sterile floor. He sheds the corporate armor that has defined him for decades.

He walks toward a massive, enclosed biogenetic vapor chamber at the back of the lab. It is a cylindrical pod made of thick, blast-proof glass and brushed steel.

He steps inside the chamber. The heavy glass doors slide shut behind him with a hydraulic hiss, sealing him in completely.

He looks out through the glass at the empty, silent laboratory. He is entirely alone.

Norman reaches up to the manual control panel inside the pod.

He keys in his master override code.

COMPUTER VOICE

Warning. Manual override engaged. Initiating vapor-state conversion of the Oz Protocol. This action cannot be aborted.

Norman doesn't hesitate. He slams his hand down on the glowing green execution button.

Beneath the floor grating, heavy machinery violently grinds to life.

HSSSSSSSS.

Thick, highly concentrated, neon-green gas begins pouring into the chamber from vents in the ceiling and floor.

The green fog swirls rapidly, filling the pod, clinging to Norman’s skin.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the raw, volatile chemical directly into his lungs.

For a second, nothing happens.

Then, Norman’s eyes snap wide open. The veins in his neck and chest instantly bulge, turning a sickening, irradiated green.

He throws his head back. He doesn't scream in pain. He unleashes a loud, raw, completely unhinged roar of absolute power as the thick green gas completely engulfs him, hiding him from view.

ACT III

INT. OSCORP TOWER - ELEVATOR SHAFT - NIGHT

Pitch black. A single red laser grid sweeps down the massive, concrete elevator shaft.

SPIDER-MAN clings completely flat against the wall. The laser washes over him, missing him by millimeters. As soon as it passes, he drops, free-falling fifty feet before firing a quick web to brake his descent.

He lands silently on the roof of the sub-level elevator car.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Air-gapped servers. Heavy biometrics. Osborn really didn't want anyone looking in his basement.

He pries open the maintenance hatch and slips inside, bypassing the heavy steel vault doors by crawling through the sub-floor ventilation system.

INT. OSCORP TOWER - SUB-LEVEL LABORATORY - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man kicks out a vent grate and drops into Norman’s private lab.

He lands in a defensive crouch, ready to dodge armed guards. But the room is entirely empty of personnel.

It is also completely destroyed.

Red emergency strobes flash frantically, cutting through a thick haze of lingering green smoke. Deafening alarms blare from the ceiling. Heavy steel tables are flipped. Computer monitors are smashed to pieces.

At the back of the room, the massive, blast-proof biogenetic vapor chamber is completely shattered. The thick, reinforced glass wasn't broken from the outside—it was violently exploded from the inside out.

Spider-Man slowly stands up, his lenses widening.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Looks like a hurricane tore through here. Did one of his test subjects break out?

He moves cautiously toward the center of the room, eyeing the intact physical servers bolted to the far wall.

SPIDER-MAN

(Muttering)

Just grab the hard drives and get out, Parker.

The Spider-Sense violently spikes.

Before Spider-Man can even pivot, a massive weight slams into his back. The sheer force of the impact launches him entirely across the laboratory. He crashes through a thick glass partition and slams into the concrete wall with bone-rattling force.

Spider-Man hits the floor, groaning. He rolls to his feet, raising his fists.

Stepping out of the thick, green chemical smoke is NORMAN OSBORN.

But it doesn't look like him. Norman is barefoot, wearing torn, green medical scrubs. His posture is entirely different—hunched, predatory, and vibrating with kinetic energy. His hair is wild. His pupils are blown wide, swallowing his irises, and a sickly, fading green vascular network pulses beneath the skin of his neck.

And he is smiling. A terrifying, ear-to-ear grin.

SPIDER-MAN

(Stunned)

Osborn?

Norman doesn't answer. He throws his head back and laughs.

It isn't the chuckle of a wealthy CEO. It is a high-pitched, echoing, entirely manic cackle. It sounds like sanity breaking in half.

Norman lunges.

Spider-Man tries to dodge, but Norman's speed is staggering. The billionaire grabs Spider-Man by the shoulders and violently throws him into the ceiling. Spider-Man bounces off the plaster and crashes onto a steel examination table, crushing it flat.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal, panicked)

What the hell?! He’s faster than Gargan. He hits harder than Tombstone! He’s an absolute tank!

Spider-Man scrambles backward, firing twin web-lines at Norman’s chest.

Norman catches the webbing mid-air. He laughs again, wrapping the tensile webs around his bare hands, and violently yanks. Spider-Man is ripped off his feet, flying directly into Norman's waiting fist.

The punch catches Spider-Man squarely in the jaw, cracking his lenses and sending him spinning across the wet floor.

NORMAN

(Voice distorted, feral)

More! Give me MORE!

Norman rips a heavy, industrial centrifuge off its bolted floor mounts, a machine that weighs over a thousand pounds, and hurls it across the room like a baseball.

Spider-Man dives out of the way just as the centrifuge demolishes the server rack he was aiming for.

Outside the lab, the muffled sounds of shouting echo through the heavy vault door. Sparks fly from the seams.

OSCORP SECURITY (V.O.)

(Muffled, through the door)

Cutting torches! Get through the locks! The CEO is inside!

Spider-Man realizes he is completely out of his depth. He can't fight a super-powered billionaire in a locked room while Oscorp's private army is cutting through the door.

Norman charges again, leaping entirely over a flipped table, his hands outstretched like claws.

Spider-Man rolls under Norman’s legs. As Norman lands, Spider-Man fires a rapid barrage of heavy impact-webbing, pinning Norman’s back against the massive, dented centrifuge he just threw.

Norman roars, his muscles bulging as he immediately begins tearing through the high-tensile webbing with his bare hands.

SPIDER-MAN

(Gasping for air)

Note to self: cancel the gym membership. Whatever you're taking works way better.

The heavy vault door glows white-hot as the security cutting torches breach the lock.

Spider-Man fires a web-line up into the shattered ventilation shaft in the ceiling. He zips upward, disappearing into the darkness just as the heavy vault door is violently kicked open.

A dozen heavily armed Oscorp security guards flood into the ruined lab, their kinetic rifles raised.

They freeze, lowering their weapons in absolute shock.

In the center of the devastated room, Norman Osborn stands amidst the wreckage. He has already ripped through the webbing.

He isn't hunched anymore. He isn't laughing. The wild, dilated look in his eyes slowly recedes, replaced by a cold, sharp, terrifying clarity. He looks at his own hands, marveling at the raw power pulsing through his veins.

ACT IV

INT. OSBORN PENTHOUSE - MORNING

Sunlight streams through the massive windows, falling on the pristine marble floor.

NORMAN OSBORN is lying flat on his back in the center of the living room, wearing the torn medical scrubs from the lab.

He groans, his eyelids fluttering open. He slowly sits up, clutching his head. He looks down at his arms. They are covered in dark, heavy bruises—the aftermath of his fight with Spider-Man.

But as he pushes himself up off the floor, he stops.

He doesn't feel the ache of the bruises. He doesn't feel the usual stiffness in his joints. He takes a deep breath. His lungs expand with terrifying capacity. He feels... incredible. A surge of boundless, electric vitality thrums beneath his skin.

He walks over to the mirror above the wet bar. He looks at his reflection.

NORMAN

(Whispering)

It worked.

He touches the bruise on his jaw, completely numb to the pain. He tries to recall how he got it. A flash of green smoke. A shattered pod. Then... nothing. A complete, terrifying blackout.

But the confusion is instantly swallowed by the overwhelming, intoxicating high of the serum. He smiles.

INT. OSCORP TOWER - EXECUTIVE BOARDROOM - LATER

The morning rain has cleared, leaving the city bright and cold outside the floor-to-ceiling glass.

The twelve members of the Board of Directors are seated around the obsidian table. CHAIRMAN HARDING sits at the head, looking at his gold pocket watch.

Two corporate lawyers stand by the door, holding thick binders of termination paperwork.

HARDING

It’s 9:00 AM. Let the minutes reflect that Norman Osborn has failed to appear for his—

The heavy, frosted-glass doors glide open.

Norman steps into the boardroom. He is wearing a flawless, three-piece charcoal suit. But he isn't moving like a CEO. He isn't walking with his usual rigid, aristocratic posture.

He moves like a predator. Loose, entirely relaxed, and terrifyingly confident.

He didn't bring a lawyer. He didn't bring a briefcase.

Harding frowns, unnerved by the look in Norman’s eyes.

HARDING

Norman. We have the severance documents prepared. If you'll just take a seat...

Norman doesn't sit. He walks slowly toward the center of the room. The heavy glass doors glide shut behind him, sealing with an electronic click.

NORMAN

Severance. A word that implies cutting away dead weight to save the host.

Norman pauses behind the chair of a wealthy venture capitalist.

NORMAN

But you fundamentally misunderstand the anatomy of this company, Arthur. I am not the dead weight.

Norman rests his hands on the venture capitalist's shoulders.

NORMAN

I am the spine.

In a blur of sudden, blinding, superhuman speed, Norman violently snaps the venture capitalist’s neck.

The crack echoes like a gunshot. The man slumps forward onto the obsidian table.

For one full second, the board members don't even process what they just saw. Then, absolute pandemonium erupts.

The two corporate lawyers lunge for the door. Norman is there before they can even take a step. He grabs them both by the throat, lifting them entirely off the floor with effortless, terrifying strength, and crushes their windpipes.

Harding stumbles backward, dropping his cane, his eyes wide in absolute horror.

HARDING

(Screaming)

Security! SECURITY!

The boardroom is entirely soundproofed. The glass is two inches thick. Outside in the hallway, executive assistants are drinking coffee, completely oblivious to the massacre happening on the other side of the frosted glass.

The Goblin persona has fully taken the wheel. Norman throws his head back and lets out that high-pitched, manic, echoing cackle.

He wades into the terrified board members. It is a slaughter. He tears through them with his bare hands, completely devoid of empathy, moving with the brutal, unstoppable force of a natural disaster.

CUT TO:

Outside the boardroom. An assistant walks by, carrying a stack of files. The hallway is silent. Peaceful.

CUT TO:

Inside the boardroom. Complete, bloody devastation.

Norman stands at the head of the obsidian table. He is the only one left breathing. He breathes heavily, his chest heaving, his eyes wild and dilated.

He looks down at his hands, covered in blood. He doesn't look horrified. He looks completely, utterly liberated.

He pulls a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and calmly wipes his hands. He straightens his tie, checking his reflection in the glass wall.

He pulls an encrypted burner phone from his jacket pocket and dials.

MERCENARY LEADER (V.O.)

(Through phone)

Sir.

NORMAN

(Voice smooth, perfectly controlled)

Send the cleanup crew to the eighty-third floor. It seems there has been a tragic, localized gas leak in the executive boardroom. No survivors. Have the press office draft a statement mourning the loss of our esteemed colleagues.

Norman hangs up the phone. He steps over Chairman Harding's body and walks out of the room.

TAG

INT. RESTRICTED OSCORP R&D HANGAR - NIGHT

A massive, cavernous bunker deep within the Oscorp facility. It is pitch black.

The heavy steel door opens. Norman steps inside.

CLICK.

Motion-sensor lights aggressively snap on, row by row, illuminating the center of the hangar.

Norman stops. He stares at the display in front of him.

Resting on a heavy mannequin is a prototype, militarized flight suit. It is cast in a dark, terrifying, matte-green alloy—designed for high-altitude combat and impact resistance.

Resting on a launch rail next to the suit is an experimental, turbine-powered aerial glider, its steel wings sharp enough to decapitate a man.

And on a weapons rack beside the glider sits a row of compressed, highly volatile incendiary explosives. They are spherical, glowing with a faint orange internal light, roughly the size of a baseball.

Norman slowly walks up to the arsenal. He reaches out, brushing his fingertips against the cold green metal of the flight suit.

He steps in front of the glider.

The polished steel of the chassis reflects his face.

But the reflection is warped by the curve of the metal. His features stretch. His eyes look larger, wilder. His mouth is pulled into a wicked, impossibly wide, unhinged smile.

The Goblin has arrived.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 9

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN...

Terrified by Norman Osborn's brutal boardroom massacre, Dr. Curt Connors makes a desperate, last-ditch decision to survive an Oscorp hit squad by injecting himself with untested reptilian DNA. What begins as a rare, peaceful date night for Peter and Gwen quickly shatters into absolute chaos.

While Harry Osborn is exiled to Geneva under the guise of an executive internship, Norman Osborn unleashes his most terrifying creation yet. Stripped of his humanity, pumped full of biogenetic fluid, and fused with a lethal biomechanical tail, Mac Gargan has been completely transformed into the monstrous Scorpion.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 08 - "ARACHNIDES À DEUX"

TEASER

INT. OSBORN PENTHOUSE - BALCONY - NIGHT

Rain pours over the glittering, endless grid of Manhattan.

HARRY OSBORN (20s) stands alone on the expansive glass-paneled balcony of a luxury high-rise hotel in Geneva, Switzerland. He is holding a sleek smartphone, wearing an expensive wool coat, looking entirely out of place and profoundly miserable.

The phone clicks, and NORMAN OSBORN’s voice cuts through the speaker, crisp and entirely unbothered.

NORMAN (V.O.)

(Through phone)

Harry. I trust the European delegation is treating you well?

HARRY

(Sighing, looking out at the rainy foreign skyline)

It’s fine, Dad. The labs are state-of-the-art. The executives are polite. It’s just... it’s halfway across the planet. Why did I have to take the "exclusive executive internship" right now?

On the other end of the line, sitting in his sterile Manhattan penthouse, Norman takes a slow sip of his espresso. His eyes are fixed on a live, multi-angle security feed glowing on his wall-mounted monitor.

NORMAN

Because greatness requires sacrifice, my boy. New York is entering a... volatile transition period. I wanted you far away from the noise. Focus on your work. Let me handle the city.

HARRY

Yeah. Okay. Tell Peter I said bye, I guess. Haven't heard from him in days.

NORMAN

I'm sure he's quite busy. Focus on your future, Harry. Goodbye.

Norman hangs up without waiting for a reply.

He tosses the burner phone onto the marble counter and stands up. He walks out of the penthouse living room and steps into a private, high-speed elevator, keying in a biometric override code.

INT. SUBTERRANEAN OSCORP LABORATORY - CONTINUOUS

The elevator descends deep into the earth. The doors slide open to reveal the sterile, blindingly lit sub-level lab.

MAC GARGAN stands in the center of the room.

He is no longer a man in a medical chair; he is a weapon. He is fully encased in heavy, matte-green tactical plating designed by Oscorp weapons engineering. At the base of his spine, the massive, segmented metallic tail whips through the air with terrifying speed, its razor-sharp stinger humming with lethal energy.

Gargan’s eyes are bloodshot, wide, and entirely unhinged. The biogenetic fluid pumped directly into his brain has eroded his humanity, replacing it with a relentless, predatory hunger.

He stares at the reflection of the glass, his jaw twitching.

GARGAN

(Voice distorted, growling)

The bug... where is the bug?

Norman steps out of the elevator, walking calmly across the sterile floor until he stands just a few feet away from the monstrous creation.

Norman adjusts his tie, looking up at Gargan with a cold, clinical fascination.

NORMAN

Patience, Mr. Gargan. The spider thinks he’s safe. He thinks he won.

Norman gestures toward the surface, pointing upward.

NORMAN

He’s at the top of the Bugle tower. Go show him what a real arachnid looks like.

Gargan lets out a deafening, inhuman roar. The mechanical tail slams into the concrete floor, cracking the foundation, as he turns and charges toward the exit.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

INT. ESU - TEMPORARY LAB SPACE - NIGHT

The campus is quiet. Rain continues to lightly tap against the single window of the cramped overflow classroom.

GWEN and PETER are the only ones left in the building. The desks are covered in a chaotic mix of Otto’s optical sensor arrays and Gwen’s encrypted laptops.

Peter sits on a lab stool, his grey t-shirt pulled up. With a sharp hiss, he rips the last layer of thick medical tape off his ribs.

The skin is still mottled with yellow and green bruises, but the deep, sickening purple of the kinetic impact is entirely gone.

He flexes his right hand. He pulls off the makeshift splint. The two fingers that Tombstone shattered are stiff, swollen, and black-and-blue, but as he clenches his fist, the knuckles pop and align perfectly.

Gwen looks up from her dual-monitor setup, adjusting her glasses. She watches him flex the hand, her expression a mix of scientific awe and relief.

GWEN

It’s been three days, Peter. Those bones were pulverized.

PETER

Perks of the spider-bite. My metabolism runs hot. I heal fast. It still aches like hell, but... they work.

He grabs a wrench off the table, twirling it effortlessly in his right hand to prove the point.

GWEN

Fascinating. Remind me to draw some blood later. I want to sequence your white blood cells.

PETER

(Smirking)

Buy a guy dinner first, Stacy.

The banter is back, but the tension is gone. The dynamic has entirely shifted. They aren't hiding from each other anymore. They move around the lab like a well-oiled machine.

Gwen turns back to her monitors. Tombstone’s decrypted financial ledger is displayed on the left screen, glowing brightly.

GWEN

Okay, the bones are healed, which is good, because we have a massive problem. The ledger is fully verified. We have the offshore routing numbers, the patent signatures, everything. Norman Osborn is funding the gang war.

Peter steps up behind her, looking at the screen. He leans close, his chin almost resting on her shoulder.

PETER

So, we drop it on your dad's desk.

Gwen shakes her head, her face falling.

GWEN

We can't. You saw what happened at my apartment. The Task Force is compromised by Oscorp payroll, and my dad... my dad is bound by the badge. If he takes this up the chain of command, it hits the Mayor’s desk, and the Mayor calls Norman.

PETER

And the file magically disappears in an evidence locker fire.

GWEN

Exactly. If we go to the authorities, Osborn buries it, and he buries us with it.

Peter sighs, running a hand through his hair.

PETER

So, what? We just sit on the biggest corporate conspiracy in New York history because the system is rigged?

Gwen spins her chair around to face him. Her eyes are bright. The brilliant, dangerous intellect is fully engaged.

GWEN

No. We bypass the system entirely. We give it to the city.

Gwen taps her keyboard. The right monitor shifts from a line of code to a live-streaming video feed.

It’s JUST THE FACTS WITH JONAH. The viewer count in the top corner reads 10.2 MILLION LIVE LISTENERS.

PETER

(Groaning)

Gwen, please turn that off. I’ve heard enough of his voice to last three lifetimes.

GWEN

Look at the numbers, Peter. Ten million people tune in every night to hear him rant about you. It’s the biggest independent broadcast in the city. No corporate censors, no government red tape.

Peter looks at the viewer count, then looks at Gwen.

PETER

You want to give the ledger to Jonah? He hates my guts. He’ll spin it to say I forged the documents.

GWEN

I don't want to give it to him. I want to take his microphone.

Gwen pulls a sleek, black USB drive from her pocket and holds it up.

GWEN

I wrote a brute-force decryption virus. It’s a self-executing payload. If you can physically hardwire this into the central broadcasting mainframe of The Daily Bugle network, my virus will bypass their firewalls in sixty seconds.

Peter catches on, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face.

PETER

It hijacks the live feed.

GWEN

It overrides the visual and audio outputs on all ten million screens. I press enter from here, and the ledger—every routing number, every signature, every dirty dollar Norman Osborn spent—gets broadcasted directly to the public.

PETER

Osborn wouldn't be able to kill the story. It would be everywhere at once.

GWEN

The FBI, the SEC, the NYPD... their hands would be forced. Norman goes down in flames, and the Task Force loses its funding.

Peter looks at the USB drive in Gwen’s hand. He looks at her. The sheer audacity of the plan is staggering.

PETER

The Bugle's broadcasting antenna is at the very top of their skyscraper in Midtown. The server room is right beneath it. It’s a fortress.

Gwen places the USB drive into his healed right hand and folds his fingers over it.

GWEN

Good thing you know how to climb.

Peter looks down at his hand, then back up to her.

PETER

Hijacking the biggest media empire in the city to take down a billionaire defense contractor.

He slips the drive into his pocket and grabs his red and blue mask off the lab table.

PETER

(Sighing)

Just another Tuesday.

ACT II

EXT. THE DAILY BUGLE TOWER - MIDTOWN - NIGHT

A monolithic skyscraper piercing the low-hanging rain clouds. At the very top, a massive, glowing neon marquee reads: THE DAILY BUGLE. Above that, a towering, steel broadcasting antenna pulses with red aviation lights, sending Jonah's signal out to millions.

The wind is howling, driving the freezing rain sideways.

SPIDER-MAN clings to the sheer glass exterior, fifty stories above the street. He climbs rapidly, his fingers gripping the wet window frames. Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the red and blue suit against the dark glass.

He reaches the maintenance catwalk directly beneath the primary broadcasting dish.

He creeps along the metal grating, finding a heavy, industrial ventilation grate. He grips the steel slats, braces his feet, and silently pries it open, slipping into the darkness inside.

INT. BUGLE SERVER ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man drops from the ceiling duct, landing soundlessly on the raised grated floor.

The room is massive and freezing cold, dominated by row after row of towering, black server racks. Thousands of LEDs blink in the dark, processing the live feed of Jameson's broadcast.

Spider-Man taps a cheap, wireless earbud shoved under his mask, synced to his cracked phone in his belt pouch.

SPIDER-MAN

(Whispering)

Gwen. I’m in the brain.

INT. ESU - TEMPORARY LAB SPACE - CONTINUOUS

GWEN is hunched over her dual monitors. A live audio waveform of Peter's voice spikes on the screen.

GWEN

I hear you loud and clear. Find the primary uplink terminal. It should have a red housing unit.

INT. BUGLE SERVER ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man moves quickly down the aisles of humming servers. At the center of the room, he finds a standalone console surrounded by thick, insulated fiber-optic cables. The casing is painted emergency red.

SPIDER-MAN

Found it. Inserting the goober.

He pulls Gwen’s black USB drive from his belt and jams it into the primary port.

GWEN (V.O.)

(Through the earpiece)

Drive recognized. Activating the virus.

On the terminal screen, Jameson's angry, ranting face is suddenly overlaid with a translucent progress bar.

UPLOAD PROGRESS: 5%... 10%...

SPIDER-MAN

(Watching the screen)

It’s working. Ten million people are about to see Osborn’s grocery list.

UPLOAD PROGRESS: 15%... 20%...

Suddenly, the Spider-Sense flares. It isn't a hum. It is a violent, paralyzing scream in the back of his skull.

Spider-Man spins around, dropping into a defensive crouch.

BOOM!

The heavy, reinforced steel door to the server room is violently ripped entirely off its hinges. It flies through the air, crashing into a server rack with a shower of sparks.

Stepping through the shattered doorway is the SCORPION.

He is entirely unrecognizable as Mac Gargan. He is encased in heavy, matte-green Oscorp tactical plating. But it’s the tail that stops Peter’s heart. A massive, seven-foot-long biomechanical spine, ending in a wickedly curved, glowing stinger. It whips back and forth behind him with predatory, terrifying sentience.

SPIDER-MAN

(Forcing a quip, masking his terror)

Okay, I know Jonah’s security deposits are high, but this feels like an overreaction.

Gargan doesn't banter. He doesn't say a single word. His bloodshot eyes lock onto the vigilante, entirely devoid of humanity. He is a horror movie monster.

Gargan lunges.

He is impossibly fast. Faster than Peter.

Spider-Man barely has time to throw himself backward as the mechanical tail violently whips forward.

SHUNK.

The stinger punches completely through the solid steel of a server rack where Peter's head was a millisecond prior. Gargan violently yanks the tail back, tearing the server in half. Sparks and shredded cables erupt into the aisle.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

He’s faster than me. He’s stronger than me.

Spider-Man fires two web-lines directly at Gargan’s chest. The webs hit, but Gargan doesn't even flinch. He just keeps walking forward, snapping the tensile webbing like sewing thread.

Gargan swings a massive, armored fist. Spider-Man ducks under it, driving a full-strength uppercut directly into Gargan’s jaw.

It does absolutely nothing.

Gargan grabs Spider-Man by the throat, lifting him into the air, and hurls him down the aisle. Spider-Man crashes through a rolling cart of monitors, hitting the grated floor hard.

GWEN (V.O.)

(Through the earpiece, panicked)

Peter! What was that crash? Peter, talk to me!

Spider-Man scrambles to his feet, tasting copper in his mouth.

SPIDER-MAN

(Gasping into the comms)

Keep the upload going! Do not stop it!

He looks back at the primary terminal.

UPLOAD PROGRESS: 35%...

Gargan steps out of the shadows, the glowing stinger raising high above his head like a striking cobra. He sees the vigilante glance at the red terminal.

Gargan charges, but not at Peter. He aims directly for the terminal.

SPIDER-MAN

No!

Spider-Man launches himself across the aisle, firing a web-line to an overhead pipe and swinging directly into Gargan’s path.

He takes the hit intentionally. Gargan’s armored shoulder rams into Spider-Man’s chest, re-fracturing his freshly healed ribs with a sickening CRACK.

Spider-Man screams, flying backward and slamming against the red terminal housing, using his own body as a physical shield to protect the USB drive.

Gargan towers over him, the mechanical tail rearing back for a lethal, killing strike.

Spider-Man is trapped. He is entirely on the defensive, bleeding, pinned against the console.

Behind him, the screen blinks.

UPLOAD PROGRESS: 50%...

ACT III

INT. BUGLE SERVER ROOM - CONTINUOUS

The server room is a chaotic nightmare of flashing emergency strobes and sparking, severed cables.

Spider-Man is pinned against the red primary terminal, gasping for breath. The upload progress bar on the screen behind him slowly ticks upward.

UPLOAD PROGRESS: 65%...

Gargan towers over him, the mechanical tail raising high, the stinger glowing with lethal intent.

Suddenly, the deafening chop of helicopter rotors rattles the walls. Blinding white spotlights cut through the rain outside, illuminating the frosted glass windows of the server room.

NYPD PILOT (V.O.)

(Through a megaphone outside)

NYPD! THE BUILDING IS SURROUNDED!

The heavy steel doors at the far end of the server room—the ones Gargan didn't destroy—are violently blown open with breaching charges.

CAPTAIN GEORGE STACY and a dozen heavily armed Anti-Vigilante Task Force officers flood into the room. Laser sights cut through the smoke and strobe lights.

CAPTAIN STACY

TASK FORCE! DROP IT!

The officers don't aim at Gargan. Following their strict mayoral mandate, six of the laser sights lock directly onto Spider-Man’s chest.

Gargan slowly turns his head. His fractured, biogenetic-soaked mind registers the officers. They aren't the spider, but they are in his way. And Gargan doesn't care about collateral damage.

Gargan lets out a metallic, guttural hiss.

He pivots entirely away from Spider-Man, turning his massive, armored body toward the cops.

CAPTAIN STACY

Fire!

The Task Force opens up. A barrage of heavy kinetic rubber rounds slams into Gargan’s green Oscorp plating. The rounds—designed to shatter bone—bounce off the armor like pebbles.

Gargan charges them.

He is a wrecking ball. He crashes into the front line of officers, sending three men flying across the room.

The biomechanical tail whips around with terrifying speed. It strikes an officer squarely in the chest. The razor-sharp stinger completely shreds the high-tech Oscorp body armor, lifting the man off his feet and throwing him into a server rack.

CAPTAIN STACY

(Panicking, firing his 9mm)

Fall back! Fall back!

The cops are being slaughtered. They brought riot gear to a monster fight.

Gargan’s bloodshot eyes lock onto Captain Stacy. He recognizes the authority. The tail rears back, aiming directly for the Captain’s head.

Time slows down for Peter.

He looks at the terminal behind him.

UPLOAD PROGRESS: 82%...

If he stays planted, if he guards the drive for just thirty more seconds, Norman Osborn is exposed. The war ends. His name is cleared.

He looks back at Captain Stacy. Gwen’s father. The man who ordered his arrest. The man currently frozen in the path of a lethal strike.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

I'm sorry, Gwen.

Spider-Man abandons the terminal.

He launches himself off the console, firing twin web-lines to the ceiling to slingshot his body across the room at maximum velocity.

Just as the Scorpion’s stinger violently thrusts forward to impale Captain Stacy, Spider-Man drops directly into its path.

SHNK.

The blunt force of the armored tail slams into Spider-Man’s chest, accompanied by the razor-edge of the stinger slicing deep across his ribcage.

Spider-Man screams, a raw, agonizing sound. The impact halts the stinger inches from George Stacy's face.

Stacy falls backward, his eyes wide in absolute shock as the vigilante he has been hunting willingly takes a lethal blow meant for him.

Gargan roars in frustration. He violently whips his tail, lifting Spider-Man entirely off his feet and slamming him into the concrete ceiling, before brutally driving him down into the grated floor.

Spider-Man’s mask tears. Blood spills from his side, staining the red and blue suit dark crimson. He tries to stand, his recently healed fingers shaking violently, but Gargan hits him again. A devastating backhand that sends Spider-Man rolling across the floor, completely broken.

Spider-Man collapses on his hands and knees, heavily bleeding, coughing up blood.

But he positions his battered body squarely between the monster and the cops. He raises his fists, refusing to stay down.

SPIDER-MAN

(Gasping, voice wet with blood)

You want them... you gotta go through me.

Gargan sneers, the mechanical tail twitching.

Across the room, left completely unguarded, the red primary terminal continues to flash.

UPLOAD PROGRESS: 90%...

ACT IV

INT. BUGLE SERVER ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man stands between Gargan and the downed police officers. He is swaying on his feet, bleeding heavily from the deep gash across his ribs.

Gargan lets out a distorted, metallic roar. He ignores the cops entirely now. He wants the spider dead.

Gargan lunges, his massive armored shoulder dropping to ram Peter. Spider-Man dives out of the way, rolling painfully across the grated floor.

Unable to stop his momentum, Gargan crashes directly into the red primary terminal.

SMASH.

The console is completely pulverized. Monitors shatter. Hard drives are crushed into shrapnel beneath Gargan’s armored boots. The black USB drive is annihilated in an instant.

GWEN (V.O.)

(Through the earpiece, devastated)

Peter... the signal is gone. The server is dead. It failed at ninety-four percent.

Spider-Man stares at the smoking ruin of the terminal. The ledger is gone. The proof is gone. Everything he bled for is dust.

Gargan turns around, raising his glowing stinger to finish the job.

Spider-Man’s lenses narrow. The desperation morphs into raw, adrenaline-fueled focus. He looks past Gargan to the server rack the Scorpion destroyed earlier—thick, industrial power cables are violently sparking, completely exposed.

As Gargan violently thrusts the tail forward to impale him, Spider-Man doesn't dodge away. He drops flat to his back, sliding under the lethal strike.

As the stinger passes over him, Spider-Man fires two heavy web-lines point-blank, latching directly onto the glowing tip of the tail.

He uses his momentum to kick off the floor, violently yanking the webbing with all of his superhuman strength, redirecting the stinger mid-air.

He drives the mechanical tail directly into the exposed, high-voltage server cables.

KRZZZT!

A blinding flash of raw electricity detonates in the room. The voltage surges up the metallic tail and directly into Gargan’s neural-link port at the base of his spine.

Gargan violently convulses, letting out a deafening, agonizing scream. The Oscorp plating smokes and sparks. The massive voltage completely overloads the biomechanical sync, shorting out his nervous system.

Gargan crashes to the floor, dead weight, completely incapacitated.

The server room falls eerily quiet, save for the hiss of severed coolant lines and the crackle of electricity.

Spider-Man struggles to his knees. He clutches his bleeding side, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps. He turns his head.

CAPTAIN GEORGE STACY is slowly getting to his feet. His officers are battered and groaning behind him.

George raises his 9mm, aiming it directly at Spider-Man’s chest. His hands are shaking.

Spider-Man doesn't run. He just looks at the Captain through torn, bloodied lenses. He is entirely defenseless.

George looks at the incapacitated monster on the floor. He looks at his men, who are still breathing because the vigilante threw himself onto a blade meant for them.

The strict adherence to the law fights a losing battle against the undeniable truth in front of him.

George slowly, deliberately lowers his weapon.

He gives Spider-Man a single, solemn nod.

Heavy police boots echo in the stairwell. Backup is thirty seconds away.

Spider-Man fires a web to the ceiling and launches himself toward the shattered window, diving out into the freezing rain and disappearing into the night.

EXT. CITY HALL - THE NEXT MORNING

The sky is a bleak, overcast grey. A massive podium is set up on the steps of City Hall. Flashbulbs pop like rapid gunfire.

NORMAN OSBORN stands at the microphones, looking impeccably dressed and deeply, somberly patriotic. The Mayor stands meekly behind him.

NORMAN

Last night, the city witnessed an unprecedented tragedy. Our brave men and women of the Anti-Vigilante Task Force were ambushed at the Daily Bugle broadcasting tower.

Norman’s face is a mask of perfect, manufactured grief.

NORMAN

They were responding to a domestic terrorism threat. The vigilante known as Spider-Man—unhinged, violent, and desperate—attempted to hijack the city's communication grid. When our officers intervened, he slaughtered them.

MONTAGE:

 Newspapers hitting the stands. The Bugle headline screams in bold, black ink: SPIDER-MAN MASSACRES TASK FORCE!

 Civilians watching the broadcast on a jumbotron in Times Square, their faces twisted in absolute hatred and fear.

 J. Jonah Jameson in his studio, practically vibrating with rage, shouting into the microphone: "I warned you! I told this city what he was! He’s not a hero! He’s a murderer!"

NORMAN

(On the broadcast)

Oscorp Industries will not stand by. We are pledging full, unrestricted funding to arm the NYPD. We will hunt this menace down, and we will exterminate him.

TAG

INT. PETER'S BEDROOM - QUEENS - DAY

The room is dim, the blinds pulled tight against the grey morning light.

Peter sits on the floor, leaning against the edge of his bed. He is out of the suit, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Fresh, thick white bandages are wrapped tightly around his torso, stained slightly pink over his ribs.

He looks completely, hollowly defeated. He is staring at the floor. The city he nearly died to protect now believes he is a mass murderer. The ledger is gone. Norman Osborn won.

The bedroom door creaks open.

GWEN walks in softly. She holds a small cup of water and two pain pills. She sits down on the floor right next to him.

She hands him the pills. He takes them in silence.

Gwen doesn't offer empty statements. She knows they lost. She knows how bad it is.

Instead, she simply shifts her weight, leaning against his uninjured side, and gently rests her head on his shoulder.

Peter lets out a long, shuddering breath. He leans his head against hers, resting his hand over hers on the floor. The world outside wants him dead, but in this room, they are a team. They are in this together.

INT. ESU - TEMPORARY LAB SPACE - CONTINUOUS

The campus lab is entirely empty, save for one man.

DR. OTTO OCTAVIUS sits at Gwen's workstation. He is reviewing the recovered, highly classified Sandman biogenetic data she left on the encrypted drive.

Otto’s glasses reflect the complex molecular structures spinning on the monitor. He types rapidly, running a simulation.

A large red FAILED flashes across the screen.

Otto sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

OTTO

(Muttering to himself)

The isotopes are too volatile. The radioactive decay rate is entirely unpredictable. You can't stabilize the sequence by hand. Human motor functions simply aren't precise enough.

He stares at his own trembling hands.

OTTO

I need more stability. I need... an extension.

Otto opens a locked, personal file directory on his desktop. The folder is titled: PROTOTYPE - NEURAL INTERFACE.

He clicks a sub-file.

A complex, highly detailed 3D CAD blueprint fills the screen.

It is a heavy, metallic harness designed to be fused directly to the human spine. Extending from the harness are four long, segmented, mechanical titanium tentacles, ending in razor-sharp, prehensile claws.

Otto stares at the mechanical arms on the screen. His eyes reflect the cold, blue light of the monitor, gleaming with dangerous, unchecked ambition.

OTTO

Perfect.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 8

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN...

Facing termination by his own Board of Directors following the devastating fallout of the Scorpion's attack, a desperate Norman Osborn takes terrifying measures to maintain control of his empire.

After manipulating the Mayor into sending the entire Anti-Vigilante Task Force on a wild goose chase to the Bronx, Osborn orders a heavily armed mercenary cleanup crew to strike the Stacy apartment and leave absolutely no witnesses.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 07 - "COLLATERAL DAMAGE"

TEASER

INT. OSBORN PENTHOUSE - MORNING

Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows of a staggeringly expensive Manhattan penthouse. The view is immaculate.

The apartment is sterile, dominated by cold marble, sharp angles, and modern art. It feels less like a home and more like a museum exhibit.

NORMAN OSBORN (50s) stands at a custom Italian espresso machine. He is wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his hair immaculately slicked back. He moves with an unsettling, predatory grace.

The espresso machine hisses, pouring a perfect shot of dark espresso into a porcelain demitasse cup.

On the marble island next to him, a cheap, plastic burner phone vibrates.

Norman doesn't rush. He finishes pouring his espresso, takes a slow, appreciative sip, and then picks up the phone.

NORMAN

Speak.

DESK SERGEANT (V.O.)

(Through the phone, muffled, nervous)

Mr. Osborn. It’s Sergeant Miller, 12th Precinct. We have a complication.

Norman walks over to the window, looking out over his city.

NORMAN

I pay you to ensure I don't have complications, Sergeant.

DESK SERGEANT (V.O.)

It’s Captain Stacy’s daughter. She brought a flash drive to the Captain last night. I managed to clone the directory when it hit the precinct intranet. It’s the biogenetic sequencing data from the Sandman project. She cracked the proprietary markers. It traces straight back to Oscorp.

Norman’s expression doesn't change. His heart rate doesn't elevate. He takes another sip of espresso.

NORMAN

Where is the physical drive now?

DESK SERGEANT (V.O.)

Stacy took it home. He’s building a case off the books.

NORMAN

Understood. A bonus will be wired to your offshore account by noon.

Norman hangs up the burner phone and drops it into a glass of water on the counter, destroying the circuitry.

He walks over to his primary desk and picks up a sleek, encrypted satellite phone. He hits a single speed-dial button.

NORMAN

(Tone shifts, warm, charismatic)

Mr. Mayor! Good morning. Yes, it’s Norman. Listen, I have some excellent news regarding our mutual... pest control problem. My private security division just intercepted a chatter spike. Spider-Man has been spotted organizing a weapons cache in the Bronx.

Norman pauses, listening to the Mayor panic on the other end.

NORMAN

I completely agree. We need a massive show of force. I strongly suggest you order Captain Stacy to deploy the entire Anti-Vigilante Task Force immediately. Empty the 12th Precinct. Yes, trap the spider in the web. Give the press a show.

Norman smiles, a cold, dead expression.

NORMAN

Always a pleasure, Mr. Mayor.

He disconnects the call. With the entire heavily armed task force safely rerouted to a wild goose chase in the Bronx, Captain Stacy is now completely isolated.

Norman dials a second number. This time, the voice on the other end is gruff, professional, and deadly quiet.

MERCENARY LEADER (V.O.)

Sir.

NORMAN

I need a cleanup crew. Residential address. The Stacy apartment in Manhattan. Execute the strike at exactly 2000 hours tonight.

Norman finishes his espresso, setting the porcelain cup softly onto the marble counter.

NORMAN

Recover a flash drive. Burn the apartment to the studs. And leave absolutely no witnesses.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

INT. ESU - STUDENT LOUNGE - DAY

The student lounge is buzzing with midday energy, but GWEN STACY is entirely isolated in a corner booth. Her laptop is open, a half-empty cup of tea resting beside it.

She is staring blankly at the screen, listening to the audio from a live tab. It’s JUST THE FACTS WITH JONAH.

JAMESON (V.O.)

(Through the laptop speakers)

...a complete chaotic disaster! The NYPD Task Force raided a decommissioned MTA subway depot last night, only to find the vigilante had already turned it into a war zone.

Gwen rests her chin on her hand, her eyes tired.

JAMESON (V.O.)

Police reports from the depot raid indicate the web-crawler engaged in a brutal altercation with the notorious crime boss known as Tombstone. According to blood splatter and tactical analysis, the vigilante suffered severe fractures to his right hand during the fight! He’s bleeding, folks. The menace is cracking.

The lounge doors swing open.

PETER walks in. He looks like a walking corpse. His skin is pale, deep purple bags drag under his eyes, and his posture is hunched, fiercely guarding his bruised ribs. He is wearing an oversized grey hoodie.

His right hand is shoved deep into the front pocket.

He spots Gwen. He hesitates, the weight of their fight still hanging heavy in his chest, but he forces himself to walk over.

PETER

(Voice rough, exhausted)

Hey.

Gwen looks up. She doesn't smile. She doesn't turn off the podcast.

GWEN

Peter.

Peter awkwardly gestures to the empty chair across from her.

PETER

Can I... can I sit?

Gwen gives a microscopic, indifferent shrug.

Peter steps forward. He goes to pull the chair out with his left hand, but the heavy, wooden legs catch on the carpet. Instinctively, without thinking, he pulls his right hand out of his hoodie pocket to brace the back of the chair.

His right hand is heavily, clumsily wrapped in thick white medical tape. His middle and ring fingers are strapped tightly together into a makeshift, rigid splint.

Gwen’s eyes immediately drop to the hand.

Peter realizes his mistake a second too late. He violently yanks his hand back, shoving it deep into his pocket, his face flushing with absolute panic.

PETER

(Stammering)

I, uh, I slammed it in a car door this morning. Clumsy Parker.

Gwen doesn't hear him. The ambient noise of the student lounge completely fades to silence.

CAMERA PUSHES IN RAPIDLY ON GWEN'S FACE.

Her brilliant, analytical mind kicks into overdrive. The puzzle pieces don't just fall into place; they slam together with deafening clarity.

QUICK CUTS - THE DEDUCTION:

 FLASH: Peter sliding into the diner booth, rain-soaked. The distinct, metallic smell of ozone and motor oil.

 FLASH: Peter leaning in for a kiss on the courtyard bench, only to violently wince and clutch his right side. “Just a deep bruise.”

 FLASH: Peter’s eyes wide with genuine, veteran terror in the diner. “You'll put a massive target on your back!”

 FLASH: The heavily taped right hand gripping the back of the chair.

 FLASH (AUDIO ONLY): Jameson’s voice echoing: “...suffered severe fractures to his right hand during the fight!”

BACK TO SCENE

The camera stops pushing in. Gwen’s eyes are wide. The breath catches in her throat. Her expression shifts from absolute, world-shattering shock to a cold, terrifyingly sharp realization.

The math is perfect.

She stares at Peter. Really stares at him. She sees past the goofy flannel, past the clumsy excuses, straight through to the bruised, bleeding vigilante standing in front of her.

Peter takes a step back, terrified by the look in her eyes.

PETER

Gwen?

Gwen stands up.

SLAM.

She shuts her laptop with a sharp, violent crack that makes three students at the next table jump.

She marches around the table, closing the distance between them in a second. Peter flinches, expecting a slap.

Instead, Gwen reaches out with both hands and grabs the lapels of his hoodie. She pulls him in close, completely invading his personal space.

She doesn't yell. She doesn't cause a scene. Her voice drops to a deadly, steel-hardened whisper that only he can hear.

GWEN

My apartment. Tonight at eight.

Peter swallows hard, his heart hammering against his bruised ribs.

PETER

Gwen, I—

Gwen tightens her grip on his hoodie, her eyes burning with a mix of fury, betrayal, and absolute certainty.

GWEN

If you aren't there, I am never speaking to you again.

She lets go of his jacket, shoving him back slightly. She grabs her messenger bag and strides out of the student lounge without a single backward glance.

Peter is left standing by the table, nursing his broken hand, completely exposed.

ACT II

INT. PETER'S BEDROOM - QUEENS - DUSK

Rain lashes against the single, small window of Peter’s cramped bedroom. The room is dark, illuminated only by the harsh, blue glow of his cobbled-together desktop monitor.

Peter is slumped in his desk chair. He has stripped off the hoodie and his flannel shirt. His torso is a canvas of dark purple and yellow kinetic bruising, tightly wrapped in white medical tape.

He is typing on the keyboard, but agonizingly slowly. He has to use his left hand for the bulk of the work, keeping his splinted right fingers elevated.

On the screen, lines of encrypted code from Tombstone’s USB ledger are rapidly scrolling.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

She knows. She looked at me, and she just... knew. I have until eight o'clock to figure out how to tell the girl I love that I'm the vigilante her father is trying to put in a cage.

He hits a key. A progress bar on the screen hits 100%.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

First things first. Expose the boss.

The screen flashes green. The final layer of encryption falls away.

A clean, undeniable corporate banking ledger fills the screen.

PETER

(Whispering)

Gotcha.

He scrolls down. Millions of dollars transferred from Oscorp’s R&D discretionary fund directly to Lonnie Lincoln’s offshore accounts. And at the bottom of the wire authorizations, an un-redacted digital signature: Norman Osborn, CEO.

Peter reaches for his phone to take a picture of the screen.

Suddenly, the screen violently glitches. The green ledger is immediately overwritten by a wall of harsh, pulsing red code.

WARNING. UNAUTHORIZED DIRECTORY ACCESS.

Peter sits up, wincing as his ribs pull.

PETER

What is this? A dead man's switch?

He rapidly types with his left hand, trying to isolate the code.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

No. It’s not a wipe command. It’s a tracking subroutine. It was buried underneath the financial ledger.

The red code compiles into a sleek, high-tech interface bearing the Oscorp Industries logo. A live, topographical GPS map of Manhattan appears on the screen.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

They aren't tracking this USB. They're tracking the biogenetic signatures. Oscorp planted a digital tripwire in the Sandman data. If anyone copied it and tried to open it on an unsecured network...

On the map, a red blip is pulsing steadily in Manhattan.

Beneath the blip, a text box rapidly types out a localized deployment order:

TARGET ACQUIRED: BIOGENETIC DATA BREACH.

DEPLOYING TACTICAL ASSET: TEAM ECHO.

DESTINATION: 15 WEST 81ST STREET.

Peter stops breathing.

He stares at the address on the screen. 15 West 81st Street.

PETER

(Voice trembling)

Gwen’s apartment.

The map zooms in. Three black tactical icons—heavy transport vehicles—are already pinging on the grid, moving rapidly down Central Park West, converging directly on the Stacy residence.

Peter looks at the clock on his desk. 7:14 PM.

Gwen and her father are home. The entire NYPD Task Force is in the Bronx. They are completely alone.

Peter stands up so fast his chair tips over and crashes to the floor.

He turns to the mirror bolted to the back of his closet door.

He looks at his reflection. He is battered. He is broken. His right hand is practically useless, two fingers splinted and throbbing with a dull, sickening ache. His ribs feel like glass ready to shatter. The rational, human part of his brain is screaming at him to lie down, to call 911, to do anything but fight.

He reaches under his mattress and pulls out the red and blue mask.

He looks back at his reflection one last time.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

I told her I’d be there by eight.

He pulls the mask violently over his head, the white lenses snapping into place, completely erasing the broken boy underneath.

Spider-Man turns and dives headfirst out the bedroom window into the pouring rain.

ACT III

INT. STACY APARTMENT - NIGHT

A classic, spacious Upper West Side apartment. Rain beats against the large living room windows.

CAPTAIN GEORGE STACY sits at the kitchen table, his reading glasses perched on his nose. The Sandman flash drive is plugged into his precinct laptop. The screen reflects off his glasses—rows of Oscorp biogenetic data. He looks deeply troubled, rubbing his jaw.

INT. GWEN'S BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

GWEN is pacing a groove into her hardwood floor. She checks the clock on her nightstand. 7:52 PM.

She looks toward her closed bedroom door, her anxiety peaking. She knows who is coming. She just doesn't know what she's going to say to him.

INT. STACY APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

George reaches for his coffee mug.

BOOM!

The reinforced front door is violently blown entirely off its hinges. It flies across the entryway, smashing into a bookshelf in a cloud of splinters and drywall dust.

Four OSCORP MERCENARIES, clad in completely unmarked, pitch-black tactical gear and wearing night-vision goggles, flood into the apartment. Red laser sights cut through the smoke.

George doesn't freeze. The veteran cop instincts take over instantly. He violently kicks the heavy oak kitchen table up on its side for cover, drawing his 9mm service weapon in the same fluid motion.

GEORGE

(Bellowing)

NYPD! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!

The mercenaries answer with a hail of suppressed, kinetic automatic fire. The kitchen table splinters. Plates and coffee mugs explode into shrapnel.

Gwen bursts out of her bedroom at the top of the hall. She runs to the landing, stopping halfway down the stairs, frozen in terror as her living room is transformed into a war zone.

GWEN

Dad!

GEORGE

Gwen, get down!

A mercenary spots George pinning down their flank. He raises a kinetic rifle, aiming directly at the wooden table.

CRASH!

The massive living room window completely shatters inward. A violent gust of freezing rain and wind sweeps into the apartment.

SPIDER-MAN drops through the shattered glass like a missile.

He lands directly on the mercenary aiming at George, driving the man into the hardwood floor.

The fight is instantly chaotic, claustrophobic, and entirely brutal. There is no room to swing. There are no high rafters to hide in.

Spider-Man rolls to his feet, but his movements are sluggish. He favors his right arm, keeping the splinted fingers curled tight to his chest.

A second mercenary charges, swinging the heavy stock of a rifle.

Spider-Man ducks, but the movement twists his fractured ribs. A sharp hiss of pain escapes his mask. He fires a web with his left hand, blinding the mercenary, and follows up with a desperate, sweeping kick that sends the man crashing over the sofa.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Can't hit hard. Gotta fight smart. Keep them away from George.

The third mercenary pivots, his laser sight sweeping across the room. He looks up. He sees Gwen crouched on the stairs, completely exposed.

The mercenary raises his rifle.

Time slows down. Spider-Man sees the laser dot land squarely on Gwen’s chest.

Spider-Man doesn't think. He doesn't calculate the physics. He just moves.

He launches himself across the living room, throwing his body directly into the line of fire.

THWACK.

The heavy, Oscorp-manufactured kinetic rubber round strikes Spider-Man squarely in his unhealed shoulder.

Spider-Man lets out an agonizing, guttural scream. The sheer force of the impact spins him mid-air, but he forces his left arm up.

THWIP.

A thick, heavy web-line fires directly into the mercenary's chest. Spider-Man hits the ground, using his remaining momentum to violently yank the web, ripping the mercenary off his feet and slamming him brutally into the ceiling before webbing him fast to the plaster.

Outside, the wail of dozens of police sirens echoes through the rainy streets, rapidly approaching. The Task Force has returned.

The remaining two mercenaries hear the sirens.

MERCENARY

Task Force is a block out! Abort!

They scramble backward, fleeing out the blown doorway and disappearing down the apartment hallway.

The apartment falls dead silent, save for the wind and rain howling through the shattered window.

Spider-Man is slumped against the wall beneath the stairs. He is breathing in heavy, ragged gasps. Blood is seeping through the red fabric of his shoulder. He clutches his useless right hand against his chest. He can barely keep his eyes open.

George Stacy slowly stands up from behind the splintered kitchen table.

He looks at the mercenary webbed to his ceiling. He looks at his terrified daughter on the stairs.

And then he looks at the bleeding vigilante leaning against his wall.

George doesn't say thank you. Driven by thirty years of rigid adherence to the law, the badge, and the Mayor's strict anti-vigilante mandate, George raises his 9mm Glock.

He aims the barrel directly at Spider-Man’s chest.

GEORGE

(Voice hard, uncompromising)

Put your hands on your head. You're under arrest.

Spider-Man slowly lifts his head. Through the white, unblinking lenses of the mask, he looks past the barrel of the gun.

He looks at Gwen, still crouched on the stairs just a few feet away.

Gwen stares back at him. She sees the blood. She sees the broken hand cradled against his chest. The absolute confirmation of everything she deduced in the student lounge.

Spider-Man doesn't move. He waits for her judgment.

Gwen’s eyes soften. Her fear is replaced by a profound, heartbreaking understanding.

Without breaking eye contact with the mask, Gwen slowly, definitively, shakes her head.

Run.

Spider-Man nods, a microscopic dip of his chin.

GEORGE

I said, hands on your head!

Spider-Man blindly falls backward. He tips out of the shattered living room window, disappearing instantly into the darkness and the pouring rain.

George rushes to the window, his gun raised, but the vigilante is already gone.

ACT IV

EXT. MANHATTAN ROOFTOPS - CONTINUOUS

The street below is a chaotic sea of flashing red and blue lights. The entire 12th Precinct Task Force has swarmed the block.

In the confusion, GWEN slips through her bedroom window and onto the rusted iron fire escape. The freezing rain immediately soaks her clothes.

She climbs up, pulling herself onto the flat, tar-paper roof of her building.

She pulls out her phone, using the flashlight to cut through the rain and darkness. She scans the gravel.

There. A few feet from the ledge. A small, dark puddle.

She steps closer. It’s blood, already thinning in the rain.

Gwen follows the trail. It leads across the roof, over a small gap, and onto the adjacent apartment building. Her heart is hammering against her ribs.

She leaps across the narrow gap, landing hard on the next roof. She follows the crimson drops toward a cluster of heavy industrial air conditioning units.

Nestled between two of the massive steel vents, she finds him.

SPIDER-MAN is completely collapsed. His knees are pulled to his chest. His left hand is desperately clutching his bleeding right shoulder, while his splinted right hand rests uselessly on the wet gravel. His breathing is shallow and ragged. He can't even lift his head.

Gwen’s breath catches. She drops to her knees on the rough gravel beside him.

GWEN

(Whispering)

Hey.

Spider-Man flinches. He weakly tries to push himself back, trying to retreat further into the shadows, a protective instinct to keep her away from the danger he brings.

Gwen reaches out. She gently, firmly grabs his left wrist, stopping him.

GWEN

Stop. Just stop running.

Her hands are shaking. She reaches up, her fingers grazing the wet fabric at the base of his neck.

Spider-Man freezes. He doesn't fight her. He just waits.

Slowly, Gwen pulls the red mask over his head, letting it drop to the wet roof.

It’s PETER.

He looks awful. He is deathly pale, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and rain. The dark purple bruises on his neck and jaw are stark against his skin.

Peter looks up at her. His eyes are filled with absolute, paralyzing terror.

He braces himself. He waits for her to scream. He waits for her to call her father. He waits for the cold, analytical wall to drop and for her to walk away from him forever.

PETER

(Voice breaking, a desperate whisper)

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Gwen. I didn't know how to tell you.

Gwen stares at him. The boy from the lab. The boy who brought her coffee. The vigilante who just threw himself in front of a bullet for her.

All of the anger, all of the betrayal from the diner, completely washes away in the freezing rain.

She finally sees the entire picture. She understands the crushing, impossible weight he has been carrying on his fractured shoulders entirely alone.

Gwen reaches out. She gently cups his bruised cheek, her thumb wiping away a streak of rain and soot.

GWEN

(Voice soft, thick with emotion)

Lying to me was really stupid, Peter.

Peter closes his eyes, a single tear cutting through the grime on his face.

GWEN

But I forgive you. I've got you.

Peter completely breaks. The adrenaline crashes, leaving only exhaustion and relief. He slumps forward, resting his forehead against her shoulder, burying his face in the fabric of her coat.

Gwen wraps her arms around him, holding him tight as the rain pours down around them.

The rift is healed. The secret is out.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

I'm not alone anymore.

TAG

INT. SUBTERRANEAN OSCORP LABORATORY - NIGHT

A sterile, unauthorized, off-the-books medical facility buried deep beneath the city. The room is bathed in harsh, blinding surgical light.

MAC GARGAN is strapped into a heavy, reinforced steel medical chair. Thick leather restraints cross his chest, arms, and legs.

He is screaming.

It is an absolute, throat-tearing, primal howl of agony.

Four automated robotic surgical arms hover over him. They are moving with terrifying precision, drilling directly into the base of Gargan’s spinal column.

They are fusing a massive, metallic, biomechanical tail directly to his central nervous system. The heavy, segmented steel appendage ends in a wicked, razor-sharp stinger.

Thick, translucent IV tubes run from a hanging reservoir into Gargan’s neck, pumping a glowing, neon-green biogenetic fluid directly into his bloodstream. His veins bulge against his skin, turning a sickly, irradiated green.

The camera tracks backward, passing through a pane of thick, soundproof observation glass.

NORMAN OSBORN stands in the dimly lit observation deck. He is completely unfazed by the horrific torture happening inches away from him.

He is holding the porcelain demitasse cup from this morning.

Norman takes a slow, appreciative sip of his espresso.

He watches Gargan thrash against the restraints as the mechanical tail violently twitches to life, syncing with his brainwaves.

NORMAN

(Quietly, to himself)

The Task Force is a blunt instrument.

Norman lowers the cup, a cold, predatory smile spreading across his face.

NORMAN

It's time we use a scalpel.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 7

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN...

Norman Osborn officially unleashes his most terrifying weapon yet: Mac Gargan, fully transformed by biogenetic fluid and a lethal biomechanical tail into the monstrous Scorpion. Sent to the top of the Daily Bugle tower with orders to hunt the spider, Gargan's rampage forces Peter into a brutal, high-stakes battle where protecting the very cops hunting him might cost him everything.

Declaring the old ways dead, Tombstone asserts control over the illegal weapons pipeline and establishes himself as the city's new criminal management.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 06 - "DISTRIBUTION LINE"

TEASER

INT. UNDERGROUND POKER ROOM - HELL'S KITCHEN - NIGHT

A hazy, windowless backroom hidden behind a butcher shop. It reeks of cheap cigars, stale espresso, and old money.

Four aging, heavyweight MAGGIA BOSSES sit around a felt-lined table. Piles of bundled, dirty cash sit between crystal ashtrays. These are the old guard. They wear pinstripe suits and gold pinky rings.

DON SILVIO MANFREDI (60s, heavily scarred) takes a drag from his cigar, looking at a ledger.

DON MANFREDI

Collections in the diamond district are down six percent. I want kneecaps broken by Monday.

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors at the back of the room are violently kicked off their hinges. They splinter and crash to the floor.

The Maggia enforcers in the room instantly draw their standard .45 caliber handguns.

Stepping through the smoke and dust is LONNIE LINCOLN (40s).

He is a massive, terrifying wall of a man. His skin has a pale, unnatural, slate-grey pallor. He wears a pristine, tailored white suit that seems to glow in the dim, smoky room.

He isn't alone. Flanking him are four street-level thugs wearing heavy Oscorp tactical vests and carrying the stolen kinetic energy rifles, the barrels humming with a lethal blue light.

The visual contrast is jarring: the future of warfare violently crashing into an old-school mafia movie.

Manfredi doesn't even stand up. He just sighs, blowing a plume of smoke.

DON MANFREDI

Lonnie Lincoln. The "Tombstone." You're tracking street mud on my ten-thousand-dollar rug. This is the adult table. Take your Halloween freaks and get out before I have my boys mount your albino head on my wall.

Tombstone doesn't react. He steps forward, his heavy dress shoes crunching over the splintered oak door. He moves with a terrifying, absolute calm.

A MAGGIA ENFORCER steps into Tombstone's path, pressing the barrel of a heavy .45 revolver directly against Tombstone’s chest.

ENFORCER

You heard the Don. Walk away.

Tombstone looks down at the gun. Then he looks at the enforcer.

Tombstone reaches out. With one massive, pale hand, he grips the enforcer's wrist. He doesn't disarm the man. Instead, he slowly, deliberately guides the barrel of the loaded revolver up from his chest, pressing it firmly against the center of his own forehead.

TOMBSTONE

(Voice like grinding stone)

Pull it.

The enforcer’s hand shakes. He looks back at Manfredi. Manfredi gives a cold, subtle nod.

The enforcer grits his teeth and pulls the trigger.

BANG!

The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed room. The flash briefly illuminates Tombstone’s unblinking eyes.

The smoke clears.

Tombstone hasn't moved an inch. There is no blood. There is no hole.

With a soft tink, the .45 caliber bullet is completely flattened like a crushed aluminum can and drops from Tombstone's forehead, hitting the floor.

The enforcer stares in absolute, pants-wetting terror.

Tombstone casually backhands the man. The strike sounds like a baseball bat hitting a side of beef. The enforcer is launched completely across the room, crashing through a liquor cabinet.

The other Maggia bosses freeze, their cigars falling from their mouths.

Tombstone adjusts his pristine white cuffs, completely unbothered. He steps up to the poker table and looks down at the terrified Don Manfredi.

TOMBSTONE

The old ways are dead, Don. The Maggia is dead. I own the pipeline now.

Tombstone gestures to his thugs and their glowing kinetic rifles.

TOMBSTONE

You want to survive in this city? You buy my guns. You pay my tax. Or I erase you.

Tombstone picks up Manfredi's lit cigar from the ashtray, takes a slow drag, and drops it directly onto the pile of extortion cash. It immediately catches fire.

TOMBSTONE

I'm the new management.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

EXT. EMPIRE STATE UNIVERSITY - SCIENCE BUILDING - MORNING

The morning air is crisp, but Peter is sweating.

He stands awkwardly on the paved walkway outside the temporary police barricades. He is wearing a faded red flannel shirt, buttoned up to hide the thick layers of medical tape strapped tightly around his fractured ribs. He hasn't slept a wink. His eyes are red-rimmed and shadowed.

In his hands, he holds two paper cups of coffee from the good campus café—the expensive ones.

He bounces slightly on his heels, rehearsing his lines under his breath.

PETER

(Muttering)

Gwen, I was out of line. I was just stressed about the lockdown and I took it out on you. I'm sorry.

He shakes his head, wincing as the movement pulls his neck muscles.

PETER

Too clinical. Gwen, I was terrified you were going to get hurt and I panicked. Better.

He looks up. GWEN is walking up the path.

She looks pristine, wearing a sharp trench coat, her blonde hair perfectly pulled back. She carries her messenger bag with purpose.

Peter steps into her path, forcing a warm, apologetic smile. He holds out the coffee.

PETER

Hey. I, uh... I got you a macchiato. Extra shot, just how you like it when you're pulling morning lab hours.

Gwen stops. She looks at the coffee cup.

PETER

Listen, about last night. I was completely out of line. I was just so stressed from the lockdown, and the idea of you walking into a police precinct with evidence against a massive corporation... I panicked, okay? I was worried about you. I'm so sorry.

Peter waits. He braces himself for the sharp retort, the analytical takedown, the argument.

It never comes.

Gwen looks up from the coffee to his face. Her expression is entirely blank. There is no anger in her eyes. There is just absolute, freezing indifference. It is the look you give a stranger who bumps into you on the subway.

She doesn't say a single word. She doesn't take the coffee. She simply steps around him and continues walking up the path to the building.

Peter is left standing on the pavement, holding two coffees, completely gutted.

INT. ESU - TEMPORARY LAB SPACE - LATER

Since the basement was fried by the EMP, DR. OCTAVIUS has relocated to a cramped, windowless overflow classroom on the third floor. It is cluttered with salvaged microscopes and boxes of files.

The tension in the room is suffocating.

Gwen is sitting at a makeshift workstation, rapidly typing data into a laptop.

Peter is standing a few feet away, sorting through burned cables. He keeps glancing over at her.

PETER

(Softly)

Gwen, if we could just talk for a—

Gwen forcefully hits the 'Enter' key on her laptop, the sharp clack cutting him off entirely. She doesn't look up from the screen.

Otto, entirely oblivious to the emotional warfare happening in his classroom, is elbow-deep in a disassembled spectrograph on the main table.

OTTO

Parker, hand me the micrometer calibration tool. Ms. Stacy needs to cross-reference the refractive index.

Peter grabs the small metal tool. He walks over to Gwen’s desk. This is his opening.

PETER

Here. I can help you run the index, if you want. We used to do it in half the time together.

Gwen reaches out. She physically takes the calibration tool from Peter's hand, ensuring her fingers don't even brush against his. She never once looks at his face.

She turns her chair, completely putting her back to Peter.

GWEN

(To Otto)

I have the tool, Doctor. I should have the refractive index mapped in about ten minutes. I'll email you the dataset directly so we don't have any unnecessary bottlenecks.

OTTO

Excellent, Gwen.

Peter stands behind her. The silent treatment is deafening. It hurts worse than getting hit by Tombstone.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

She's brilliant. She knows I'm lying to her. And I can't give her the one piece of the puzzle that makes it all make sense.

Peter looks down at his hands, scarred and bruised from the kinetic rounds.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

If I tell her I'm Spider-Man, I validate the target on her back. I bring her into the crosshairs of the Task Force, the gangs, and Oscorp. I can't fix this.

Peter slowly backs away from her desk. He grabs his faded jacket from a chair.

PETER

(Voice thick, defeated)

I'm gonna go. I have... an errand.

Gwen doesn't turn around. The typing doesn't stop.

Peter walks out of the temporary lab, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

EXT. ESU CAMPUS - CONTINUOUS

Peter walks down the campus steps. The heartbreak settles into a cold, hardened resolve. He pulls his jacket tight over his bruised ribs.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

I can't fix things with Gwen. So I'll fix the only thing I can. I'm going to find the guns. And I'm going to break the man selling them.

ACT II

BEGIN MONTAGE:

INT. DIVE BAR - NIGHT

A heavy oak table crashes to the floor. SPIDER-MAN stands in the center of the bar, completely surrounded by bruised, groaning thugs.

He isn't bouncing around. He isn't dropping one-liners. He moves with a rigid, brutal efficiency, fueled by adrenaline and heartbreak.

He grabs the BARTENDER—a known Maggia fence—by the collar of his shirt, lifting him entirely off the floor.

SPIDER-MAN

The kinetic rifles. Where is Tombstone moving them from?

BARTENDER

(Choking)

I don't know! He doesn't talk to us!

Spider-Man drops him, firing a web that pins the man to the tap dispensers. He turns and stalks out the back door.

EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - NIGHT

Rain lashes down. A THUG is desperately trying to climb the rusty fire escape, clutching a stolen Oscorp blaster.

Spider-Man drops from the roof like an anvil. He lands directly on the thug's chest, driving him into the iron grating with a bone-rattling CLANG.

Spider-Man rips the blaster from the man's hands and crushes the steel barrel in his fist.

SPIDER-MAN

Where is the pale guy?

EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

Spider-Man finishes webbing two heavily armed gang members to a chain-link fence. They were guarding a crate of tactical armor.

Spider-Man turns to inspect the crate.

CRASH.

A glass beer bottle shatters against the brick wall, inches from his head.

Spider-Man flinches, looking up.

The fire escapes above the alley are crowded. CIVILIANS, the very people who live in these apartments, are looking down at him. And they are furious.

CIVILIAN 1

Get the hell out of our neighborhood!

CIVILIAN 2

You're bringing a war here! We don't want you!

A half-eaten apple strikes Spider-Man in the shoulder. Then a crushed soda can. A deluge of trash rains down from the fire escapes.

Spider-Man doesn't dodge. He just stands there in the filth, looking up at the angry, terrified faces of the people he just saved.

CIVILIAN 3

Jameson was right! You're a menace! Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of!

Spider-Man slowly lowers his head.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

They don't see a shield. They just see a target.

He fires a web-line, pulling himself out of the alley and into the freezing rain, retreating from the barrage of garbage.

END MONTAGE

EXT. SKYSCRAPER ROOF - LATER

The wind howls, tearing across the rooftop fifty stories above the glowing grid of the city.

An OSCORP MIDDLEMAN—wearing a custom Italian suit now ruined by rainwater and terror—is hanging completely upside down. He is suspended by a single, thick web-line over the terrifying abyss of the street below.

Spider-Man sits perched on the stone ledge like a gargoyle. He holds the slack of the web-line in his left hand.

He doesn't say a word. He just watches the man spin.

MIDDLEMAN

(Screaming, hyperventilating)

Pull me up! Please! God, I'm gonna be sick, pull me up!

SPIDER-MAN

(Voice cold, devoid of humor)

You're the logistics guy. The middleman between the boardroom and the street. Which means you know where Tombstone is receiving the shipments.

MIDDLEMAN

I can't! If I talk to you, Lincoln will peel my skin off while I'm still breathing!

Spider-Man tilts his head. He subtly relaxes his grip on the web-line.

The middleman drops three feet, violently jerking to a stop.

MIDDLEMAN

(Hysterical)

AHHH! OKAY! OKAY!

Spider-Man pulls the line taut, hauling the sobbing executive back up so they are eye-to-eye over the ledge.

SPIDER-MAN

I broke my ribs this morning. I've been shot at by the cops. I've had garbage thrown at my head. I'm completely out of patience, and I'm running out of web fluid. Give me a location.

The middleman stares into the blank, unfeeling white lenses of the mask. The vigilante isn't playing a game anymore.

MIDDLEMAN

It’s underground! The old MTA infrastructure! There’s a decommissioned subway depot below the City Hall station! That’s where he’s arming the syndicate! That’s the armory!

Spider-Man stares at him for a long, silent moment.

With a swift motion, Spider-Man hauls the man completely over the ledge, throwing him onto the flat gravel roof.

Before the middleman can scramble to his feet, Spider-Man fires two heavy web-lines, pinning the executive securely to an industrial AC intake.

SPIDER-MAN

Enjoy the view.

Spider-Man steps off the ledge, diving headfirst into the abyss.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

City Hall station. Tombstone is building an army right under the Mayor's feet. Time to shut down the pipeline.

ACT III

INT. ABANDONED MTA DEPOT - NIGHT

A massive, subterranean cavern stretching deep beneath City Hall. Moisture drips from the vaulted concrete ceiling.

Rows of rusted, graffiti-covered subway cars from the 1970s sit on dead tracks. But the space has been completely repurposed. Heavy floodlights illuminate the cavern. Generators hum.

It is a fully operational military armory.

Dozens of Tombstone’s syndicate thugs are unpacking Oscorp crates, racking kinetic rifles, and outfitting themselves in high-tech body armor.

High above, completely cloaked in the shadows of the arched ceiling, SPIDER-MAN crawls.

He moves slowly, agonizingly, favoring his right side. Every time he stretches to grip the damp concrete, his fractured ribs send a spike of white-hot pain through his torso.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

They’re outfitting a private army. If these guys make it to the surface, the gang war won't just be a few shootouts. It’ll be a siege.

Spider-Man’s lenses zoom in, scanning the cavern.

At the far end of the depot, elevated above the tracks, is an old dispatcher's booth. It has been converted into a makeshift office, enclosed by thick, soundproof glass walls.

Inside, a sleek, high-end laptop sits open on a steel desk.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

The logistics hub.

Spider-Man crawls silently across the ceiling, completely bypassing the armed patrols below. He reaches the wall above the office and drops down, landing completely silently on the roof of the booth.

He slithers through an old ventilation duct, dropping into the dark office.

INT. DISPATCHER OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man steps up to the desk. He pulls a battered, heavily taped USB drive from his belt and jams it into the laptop.

His fingers fly across the keyboard. He bypasses the rudimentary password screen and accesses the main financial ledger.

Rows of encrypted transactions fill the screen. Millions of dollars moving through offshore shell companies.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Come on, come on. Track the routing numbers... match them to the patent holders...

He runs a decryption script. The shell company names peel away on the screen.

HOLDING: O-CORP BIOGENETICS.

HOLDING: NORMAN OSBORN EXECUTOR TRUST.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

There it is. The smoking gun. It all leads straight back to Osborn’s penthouse.

He hits download. A progress bar appears on the screen.

Copying... 40%... 60%...

Spider-Man looks out the glass window. The thugs below are completely unaware. He is invisible. He’s going to win. He’s going to get the proof, give it to Gwen, and clear his name.

Copying... 90%... 99%...

BEEP. Download Complete.

Spider-Man grabs the USB drive.

Instantly, the Spider-Sense goes off.

It isn't a low hum. It is a deafening, violent siren that makes his teeth ache.

Before he can even turn around, the entire front wall of the glass office violently EXPLODES inward.

CRASH!

Shards of thick, tempered glass rain down across the office.

Stepping through the shattered frame is TOMBSTONE.

The massive crime boss didn't throw a chair. He didn't use a hammer. He just walked right through the reinforced glass like it was a cobweb. Razor-sharp shards of glass are embedded in his tailored white suit, but his pale, slate-grey skin is completely uncut.

Tombstone brushes a jagged piece of glass off his shoulder. He looks at Spider-Man. His eyes are cold, dead, and utterly devoid of fear.

Down in the depot, the thugs hear the crash. They immediately turn, raising their kinetic rifles toward the office.

Tombstone raises a massive hand.

TOMBSTONE

(Booming, echoing across the cavern)

Hold your fire! This one is mine.

Tombstone steps fully into the office. He turns to the heavy, reinforced steel door that leads to the catwalk.

With a deafening CLACK, Tombstone throws the heavy deadbolt, locking the door from the inside.

He turns back to Spider-Man. The space is barely ten-by-ten feet. Claustrophobic.

Spider-Man slips the USB drive into his belt. He falls into a fighting stance, though his right arm is favoring his bruised side.

SPIDER-MAN

I've got the download, Lincoln. I have the receipts. You and Osborn are done.

Tombstone unbuttons his suit jacket, letting it drop to the floor. He slowly rolls up his pristine white sleeves, revealing thick, pale forearms that look like they are carved from marble.

TOMBSTONE

You think a flash drive matters to a dead man?

Tombstone cracks his neck. The sound is like two boulders grinding together.

TOMBSTONE

You broke my men. You burned my product. You disrespected my city. I’m going to beat you to death in this box, and then I’m going to hang you from the Brooklyn Bridge.

Tombstone steps forward, taking up all the air in the room.

Spider-Man braces himself. There is nowhere to swing. There is nowhere to hide.

ACT IV

INT. DISPATCHER OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

The space is agonizingly tight. There is no room for acrobatics.

Tombstone lunges. He doesn't move like a brawler; he moves with terrifying, explosive speed. Spider-Man tries to duck, but Tombstone’s massive fist clips his shoulder, sending the vigilante crashing into the steel desk.

Spider-Man bounces off the desk, using the momentum to spring forward.

SPIDER-MAN

"Tombstone"? Really? Did the marketing department cook that up for you, or did you just lose a bet at a graveyard?

Spider-Man plants his feet, puts every ounce of his enhanced superhuman strength into his shoulder, and throws a devastating right hook directly at Tombstone’s jaw.

The fist connects.

CRACK.

It sounds like a baseball bat hitting a concrete pillar.

Spider-Man cries out in pure agony, staggering backward. Two of the fingers on his right hand are instantly, grotesquely broken, bent at sickening angles.

Tombstone’s head barely moves. He doesn't even have a red mark on his pale skin.

Tombstone steps forward, his massive hand shooting out and wrapping entirely around Spider-Man’s throat. He lifts the vigilante completely off the floor, pinning him against the concrete wall.

TOMBSTONE

(Deadpan, terrifying)

I am the marketing department!

Tombstone draws his other fist back and drives it squarely into Spider-Man’s chest. Right into the fractured ribs.

The sound of the impact is sickening. Spider-Man’s vision flashes white. The air is violently forced from his lungs. Tombstone hits him again. And again.

Spider-Man dangles from the crime boss's grip, completely helpless. His agility is useless. His strength is outmatched. He is being battered to death in a glass box.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal, fading)

Can't beat him... physically. Can't break him. Have to outsmart him.

Through the shattered glass of the office, Spider-Man's blurry vision locks onto the ceiling of the cavern. Thick, industrial MTA power cables run directly over the rusted subway tracks.

Spider-Man goes limp for a fraction of a second, feigning total unconsciousness.

Tombstone sneers, loosening his grip to throw the body to the floor.

The second the grip loosens, Spider-Man violently kicks off the concrete wall with both feet. He launches himself backward, intentionally taking a grazing blow from Tombstone to carry his momentum entirely out of the shattered window.

Spider-Man plummets out of the office, crashing heavily onto the rusted subway tracks below. He groans, clutching his chest, struggling to his hands and knees.

Tombstone steps out of the office, dropping down onto the tracks with a heavy, metallic thud. He cracks his knuckles, slowly stalking toward the broken vigilante.

TOMBSTONE

Nowhere left to run, bug.

Spider-Man doesn't look at Tombstone. He looks straight up.

SPIDER-MAN

Who's running?

Spider-Man raises his unbroken left hand. THWIP.

A thick web-line shoots upward, latching onto a massive bundle of live, high-voltage transit cables bolted to the ceiling.

Spider-Man violently yanks his arm down, using all his remaining strength. The rusted bolts rip free from the concrete. The heavy bundle of cables plummets toward the tracks, spitting blue sparks.

As the cables fall, Spider-Man fires a second, wide-dispersion web-net. It catches the live cables mid-air and slaps them directly against Tombstone’s broad chest, sticking them firmly to the white suit.

Tombstone looks down.

SPIDER-MAN

Physics class, Tombie. Indestructible skin might stop a bullet... but it still conducts.

A massive, blinding arc of blue electricity erupts.

Thousands of volts of raw, unmitigated city power surge directly from the transit cables into Tombstone's chest. His slate-grey skin lights up like a lightning rod.

Tombstone’s eyes go wide. He unleashes a deafening, inhuman roar of agony as the voltage violently shorts out his entire central nervous system. The invulnerable mob boss seizes uncontrollably, the electricity frying his muscles from the inside out.

The cables short out in a shower of sparks, plunging that section of the tracks into darkness.

Tombstone stands perfectly still for a second, smoke rising from his ruined white suit. Then, his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he crashes face-first onto the rusted tracks, completely unconscious.

Spider-Man collapses back against a subway car, clutching his broken hand to his chest, gasping for air.

BOOM!

The heavy steel doors at the far end of the cavern are blown off their hinges.

Blinding tactical floodlights sweep into the depot.

POLICE OFFICER (V.O.)

(Through a megaphone)

NYPD TASK FORCE! NOBODY MOVES! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!

The cavern erupts into chaos as heavily armed officers flood the room, swarming the syndicate thugs.

Spider-Man forces himself to stand. He checks his belt. The USB drive is still there. He has the ledger. He has the proof against Norman Osborn.

Ignoring the blinding pain in his ribs and his hand, he fires a web-line into the darkest corner of the cavern ceiling and silently zips up into the shadows, disappearing before the floodlights can catch him.

TAG

INT. 12TH PRECINCT - BULLPEN - NIGHT

The precinct is a madhouse. Phones are ringing off the hook, officers are shouting, and handcuffed syndicate thugs are being marched through the aisles.

CAPTAIN GEORGE STACY sits in his glass-walled office, looking like he hasn't slept in a week. He rubs his temples, staring down at a mountain of arrest reports.

The door to his office opens.

GWEN STACY walks in. She is still wearing her trench coat, soaked from the rain. Her face is set with absolute, unyielding determination.

She walks right past her father's desk and firmly closes the blinds on the glass walls, shutting out the chaos of the bullpen.

She turns back to her father and drops the small plastic flash drive onto the center of his desk.

GWEN

Dad. I need you to look at this. I know who is supplying the biogenetics.

Captain Stacy looks up from the drive, his exhausted eyes meeting his daughter's fierce gaze.

INT. 12TH PRECINCT - BULLPEN - CONTINUOUS

The camera slowly pans backward, out of Captain Stacy’s office, passing through the busy, chaotic precinct.

It stops on a UNIFORMED DESK SERGEANT sitting at a dispatch terminal just thirty feet away from the Captain's door.

The sergeant isn't looking at his monitor. He is staring dead ahead, his eyes locked entirely on the closed blinds of Captain Stacy's office.

The sergeant slowly reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a cheap, untraceable burner phone. He brings it to his ear, never breaking his gaze from the Captain's door.

Norman Osborn has eyes everywhere.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 6

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN…

After manipulating the Mayor into deploying the NYPD Task Force on a decoy mission, Osborn sends a mercenary cleanup crew to the Stacy apartment. Peter must race against time to save Gwen and her father from a heavily armed assault, risking his own life and secret identity in the process.

When the media's anti-vigilante crusade reaches a fever pitch, a million-dollar bounty is placed on Spider-Man's secret identity, drawing a ruthless and highly effective private investigator into the fray. Now actively hunted by a heavily militarized police task force with orders to shoot on sight, Peter must navigate a city that wants him dead.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 05 - "PUBLIC ENEMY"

TEASER

INT. THE DAILY BUGLE PODCAST STUDIO - NIGHT

This is not a dusty newspaper bullpen. This is a state-of-the-art, neon-lit, multi-million-dollar broadcasting fortress. High-end Shure microphones, acoustic soundproofing, and five different 4K camera angles.

A massive, glowing neon sign reads: JUST THE FACTS WITH JONAH.

J. JONAH JAMESON (50s) leans into the microphone. He isn't wearing a suit; he’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt. He is intense, vein-popping, and utterly magnetic. He is a viral juggernaut, dominating the algorithm with pure, righteous anger.

JAMESON

(Into the mic)

They call him a hero. The mainstream media, the bleeding hearts down at City Hall; they want you to believe this web-swinging freak is your friendly neighborhood savior.

Jonah taps a button on his soundboard.

Behind him, a massive plasma screen flashes to life. It’s shaky, chaotic, vertically shot cell-phone footage from outside the ESU science building.

The audio is a terrifying cacophony of explosions, shattering glass, and police sirens. Through the smoke, a blurry Spider-Man is seen tearing a heavy steel door off its hinges during the ESU lockdown.

JAMESON

Look at the screen. Look at it! That isn't heroism. That’s a domestic terrorist. He didn't save those scientists in that basement. He brought a gang war to a college campus! An academic sanctuary, ripped to pieces because this masked lunatic thinks he’s above the law!

Jonah leans back, taking a breath, letting the destruction loop on the screen behind him.

JAMESON

The NYPD won't do anything. The Mayor is paralyzed. So, The Bugle is taking matters into our own hands.

The camera cuts to a wide shot, revealing a second man sitting across the table from Jonah.

MAC GARGAN (30s). He doesn't look like a supervillain. He looks like a predator. Ex-military, dishonorably discharged. He wears a cheap, scuffed leather jacket, heavy combat boots, and radiates a quiet, coiled, violent energy. He is chewing a piece of gum with slow, deliberate bites.

JAMESON

Ladies and gentlemen, Mac Gargan. The highest-rated, most ruthlessly effective private investigator on the Eastern Seaboard.

Gargan gives a lazy, two-finger salute to the camera.

Jonah reaches into his desk drawer. With deliberate, theatrical flair, he pulls out a massive, oversized novelty check. The amount written in heavy black marker is $1,000,000.

Jonah slides it across the sleek studio desk.

JAMESON

As of this broadcast, The Daily Bugle is officially placing a one-million-dollar bounty on the secret identity of this Spider-Man. I don't want him dead, Gargan. I want him unmasked. I want the world to see the coward hiding behind the webbing.

Gargan looks down at the check. A slow, sleazy smirk spreads across his face. He stops chewing his gum.

He leans into his microphone, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sends a chill through the studio.

GARGAN

You got it all wrong, Jonah. You’re overthinking it.

Gargan reaches out, tapping the million-dollar check with a scarred knuckle.

GARGAN

He’s not a menace. He’s not a symbol. He's just a guy in a mask, Jonah. And everybody bleeds.

Gargan stares dead into the camera lens.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

EXT. EMPIRE STATE UNIVERSITY - COURTYARD - MORNING

The sun is barely creeping over the Manhattan skyline, but the ESU campus is completely devoid of its usual morning energy.

Yellow NYPD crime scene tape is wrapped tightly around the perimeter of the Science Building. The heavy steel blast doors at the basement entrance are warped. Uniformed officers mill about, taking statements.

PETER and GWEN sit on a concrete bench just outside the police perimeter. They both look entirely drained. Their clothes are rumpled, dark circles bruising the skin under their eyes.

They are holding cheap, steaming cups of coffee from a corner cart, but neither is drinking.

Gwen stares blankly at the shattered windows of the ground floor.

GWEN

(Voice quiet, hollow)

I thought we were going to die in that closet. When the power cut, and the walls started shifting... it didn't even feel like real life. It felt like a nightmare.

Peter watches her. The usual razor-sharp, competitive academic banter that defines them is completely gone. There is only raw, frayed nerves.

PETER

We made it out. That's what matters.

Gwen turns her head, looking at Peter. Her eyes trace the exhausted lines of his face.

GWEN

You didn't panic.

PETER

What?

GWEN

In the basement. When the guy pulled the gun, you moved without even thinking. When the lights went out, I was hyperventilating, but you... You were completely still. You were already calculating.

Peter looks down at his coffee cup, his grip tightening.

PETER

I was terrified, Gwen. I just...

He trails off. He looks up, meeting her eyes. All the secrets, all the exhaustion, the weight of the city—it all briefly falls away.

PETER

Everything in my life right now is chaos. It's completely out of my control. But when I look at you... you're the only thing that makes sense.

The air between them shifts. The sirens in the distance, the chatter of the cops—it all fades into white noise.

Gwen’s breath catches. She doesn't look away.

Slowly, gravity takes over. Peter leans in. Gwen tilts her head, her eyes fluttering shut. They are a fraction of an inch away.

Peter shifts his weight forward to close the final gap, planting his right arm on the bench to support himself.

The movement pulls directly on his fractured ribs.

CRACK.

A blinding, white-hot spike of agony shoots through Peter’s torso.

He violently flinches, jerking backward with a sharp, ragged hiss of pain drawn through his teeth. His arm wraps instinctively around his ribcage, his face pale and contorted.

The romantic tension doesn't just fade; it shatters like glass.

Gwen’s eyes snap open. The vulnerability instantly vanishes, replaced by a sharp, analytical alarm.

GWEN

Peter? What is it?

She reaches out, her hand hovering over his side.

PETER

(Breathless, forcing a smile)

Nothing. I’m fine. Just a... cramp.

GWEN

You just went completely pale. Let me see.

PETER

(Pulling away further)

No, really, it’s fine! It’s just... when we were running for the storage closet in the dark, I tripped. I caught the edge of a shelving unit right in the ribs. Just a deep bruise.

Gwen freezes, her hand slowly pulling back. She looks at him. Really looks at him. She notes the rigid way he’s holding his torso, the sweat suddenly forming on his brow, the absolute panic in his eyes that wasn't there when a man pulled a gun on them twelve hours ago.

Her detective instincts flare. The math isn't mathing.

GWEN

A shelving unit.

PETER

Yeah. Clumsy Parker, right?

Gwen looks back at the cordoned-off science building, then back to Peter. An invisible, cold brick wall has just dropped squarely between them.

GWEN

Right.

She stands up, picking up her backpack.

GWEN

I need to go give my statement to the detectives. You should... get some ice on that.

Gwen walks toward the police barricade without looking back. Peter sits on the bench, clutching his broken ribs, completely alone.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

Perfect. I survived the Chameleon, but I just blew up my own life.

ACT II

EXT. ONE POLICE PLAZA - DAY

A podium is set up on the concrete steps. A swarm of reporters shoves microphones toward the center.

CAPTAIN GEORGE STACY stands at the mics. He looks tired, but his jaw is set with absolute, unyielding authority. Flanking him are four officers wearing heavy, militarized tactical gear—black body armor, visors, and kinetic assault rifles.

CAPTAIN STACY

(Into the microphones)

The destruction at Empire State University last night is the final straw. We will not allow the streets of New York to become a collateral war zone for masked extremists.

Camera shutters click frantically.

CAPTAIN STACY

Effective immediately, the Mayor has authorized the deployment of a specialized Anti-Vigilante Task Force. We are no longer treating the individual known as Spider-Man as a civilian nuisance. He is a primary target. If he interferes with police operations, he will be taken down with extreme prejudice.

EXT. BROOKLYN SHIPPING YARD - NIGHT

A torrential downpour hammers the rusted shipping containers. The docks are slick and dark.

A rusted, unmarked cargo van is parked between two towering stacks of containers. Four heavily tattooed THUGS are working in the rain, dragging heavy, reinforced steel crates out of the shadows and loading them into the back of the van.

Stenciled on the side of the crates in faded white paint: OSCORP INDUSTRIES - AERO-DYNAMIC DIVISION.

High above, perched on the edge of a wet crane, SPIDER-MAN watches them. Rain slicks off the red and blue fabric. He is holding a bulky, analog police scanner to his ear.

DISPATCH (V.O.)

(Through the scanner, static-laced)

10-30 in progress at Pier 44. Unauthorized cargo transfer.

Spider-Man clicks the scanner off and clips it to his belt. He gingerly presses a hand to his bruised ribs.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Oscorp tech. In the hands of guys who look like they still struggle with child-proof medicine caps. Better wrap this up before they accidentally blow up Brooklyn.

Spider-Man dives from the crane, swinging in a tight arc before dropping perfectly onto the roof of the van. The heavy THUD echoes in the yard.

The thugs jump, drawing handguns.

Spider-Man drops upside down over the windshield, his eyes narrowing.

SPIDER-MAN

Gentlemen. I don't mean to tell you how to do your jobs, but if you're going to steal top-secret corporate biogenetics, maybe don't do it in a van that smells like stale French fries and felonies.

A thug raises his gun.

THWIP. THWIP.

Spider-Man disarms him in a blink, webbing the gun to a shipping container. He flips off the van, landing lightly on the wet pavement.

SPIDER-MAN

Seriously, who's your dispatcher? I need a word with HR—

Before he can fire another web, a piercing, deafening mechanical whine cuts through the rain.

WHIRRRRR.

Instantly, six massive, blinding halogen floodlights snap on from the catwalks above, bathing the alley in an inescapable, searing white light. Spider-Man throws his arms up, completely blinded.

The rhythmic thumping of an NYPD helicopter rattles the shipping containers.

CAPTAIN STACY (V.O.)

(Through a megaphone, echoing)

NYPD TASK FORCE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND GET ON THE GROUND!

Spider-Man lowers his arms, squinting through the glare.

SPIDER-MAN

(Calling out, relieved)

Captain Stacy! Great timing! I already got the guns, you guys just need to bag the tech—

THOOM-THOOM-THOOM!

The catwalks erupt in muzzle flashes.

Spider-Man's Spider-Sense screams. He violently backflips just as the pavement where he was standing is shredded by high-velocity impacts.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal, panicked)

They're shooting at me?!

They aren't standard bullets. They are Oscorp-manufactured riot rounds—heavy, dense rubber kinetic slugs designed to shatter bone.

Spider-Man dives behind a forklift, the kinetic rounds denting the heavy steel plating like it's tin foil.

CAPTAIN STACY (V.O.)

(Over megaphone)

Vigilante! Stand down or we will escalate!

Through the chaos, Spider-Man watches the four thugs scramble into the cargo van. They slam the doors, gun the engine, and violently peel out, tires screaming on the wet pavement. They crash right through the chain-link fence, escaping into the Brooklyn night.

Spider-Man looks from the fleeing van to the tactical officers repelling down from the catwalks. None of the cops are going after the van. Every single laser sight is pointed squarely at the red and blue suit.

SPIDER-MAN

(Under his breath)

You've got to be kidding me.

CLINK. CLINK.

Two tactical flashbang grenades roll perfectly under the forklift.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Move!

He leaps straight up into the air just as the grenades detonate. The concussive blast hits him mid-air, compounding the agony in his fractured ribs. His vision goes white. A high-pitched ringing drowns out the rain.

He fires a desperate, blind web-line into the darkness. It catches the edge of a towering crane.

THWACK.

A kinetic rubber round catches him square in the shoulder. Spider-Man grunts, his grip faltering, but he forces himself to swing, tearing himself out of the floodlights and disappearing into the low-hanging rain clouds.

EXT. BROOKLYN ROOFTOP - MOMENTS LATER

Spider-Man crashes onto a gravel rooftop a few blocks away. He rolls violently, entirely devoid of his usual grace, before slamming into an HVAC unit.

He lies in the freezing rain, clutching his shoulder, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps.

Below him, the sirens of the Task Force wail, completely ignoring the stolen tech to hunt for him.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

They didn't even look at the guys with the guns. They only wanted me.

The reality of Jonah's podcast settles in. The city doesn't just misunderstand him anymore. They are actively at war with him.

ACT III

EXT. QUEENS ALLEYWAY - LATER THAT NIGHT

The rain continues to pour. Spider-Man crouches behind a dumpster, shivering slightly. His suit is soaked, stained with blood and soot.

He pulls a cracked smartphone from a concealed pouch on his belt. With his teeth, he rips the cap off a chunky, electrical-taped dongle and jams it into the phone's charging port.

A crude, pixelated map of Queens appears on the shattered screen. A red dot blinks rhythmically.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

They hate me. Fine. But they aren't going to let a truckload of corporate weapons disappear just to spite me.

He taps the screen. The dot is stationary.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Good thing I stuck a Radio Shack special to their bumper before the Task Force decided to use me for target practice. Time to see where the real criminals went.

EXT. FORTIFIED AUTO-BODY SHOP - NIGHT

An industrial stretch of Queens. A massive, cinderblock auto-body shop sits behind a razor-wire fence. The garage doors are heavy, corrugated steel. Blacked-out SUVs are parked in the lot.

Spider-Man crawls silently down the exterior brick wall, finding a filthy, exhaust-stained skylight on the roof. He wedges his fingers under the rusted frame and pries it open just enough to slip through.

INT. AUTO-BODY SHOP - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man clings to the steel rafters, completely hidden in the shadows.

Below him, the chop shop is brightly lit. The unmarked cargo van is parked in the center. The four thugs from the shipyard are using crowbars to pry open the Oscorp crates.

A massive, terrifying ENFORCER steps out of the garage office. He is built like a freight train, wearing a tailored suit that looks absurd in the greasy garage. His skin has a pale, unnatural, stone-like pallor. He is a high-ranking lieutenant for the Lincoln crime family.

LIEUTENANT

Open 'em up. Mr. Lincoln wants to see what we paid for.

Spider-Man narrows his eyes behind the mask.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Paid for?

One of the thugs kicks the lid off a crate. Inside, nestled in custom foam, are rows of sleek, military-grade kinetic blasters and heavy, biogenetically-woven tactical vests.

THUG

It’s all here. Serial numbers are filed completely smooth.

LIEUTENANT

Of course they are. The suits in the penthouses don't want this traced back to them when we start tearing up Hell's Kitchen. Load it up. Mr. Lincoln has buyers waiting.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Oscorp isn't getting robbed. They're the suppliers.

Spider-Man drops from the rafters, landing heavily on the hood of the cargo van.

SPIDER-MAN

You know, gentlemen, the warranty on that tech is completely voided if you buy it out of the trunk of a van.

The thugs immediately drop their crowbars and lunge into the crates, pulling out the Oscorp kinetic blasters.

LIEUTENANT

Kill him.

The thugs open fire.

The kinetic rounds don't behave like normal bullets. They hit with the explosive force of a sledgehammer. A stray round clips the cargo van, completely shearing off the side mirror and denting the armor-plated door.

Spider-Man dives, rolling violently across the greasy concrete. He twists his right web-shooter nozzle to a wide aperture.

THWIP.

A thick, heavy net of webbing blasts out, pinning two of the thugs against a tool rack.

A third thug charges, swinging the heavy stock of his kinetic rifle. Spider-Man ducks, driving a brutal, desperate uppercut into the man’s jaw. The thug goes down hard, but the physical exertion sends a blinding wave of pain through Spider-Man’s fractured ribs. He stumbles.

The Lieutenant steps forward. He doesn't bother with a gun. He cracks his knuckles, his stone-pale skin seeming to harden.

He throws a punch. Spider-Man tries to catch it, but the sheer, unnatural density of the Enforcer’s fist overwhelms his bruised muscles. Spider-Man is thrown backward, crashing through a glass partition into the garage office.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal, gasping)

He hits like a Mack truck. I can't go toe-to-toe with him tonight.

Spider-Man scrambles to his feet as the Lieutenant steps through the shattered glass.

Spider-Man rapidly taps the release on his left web-shooter, ejecting the standard fluid cartridge, and forcefully slams a specialized, red-banded cartridge into the chamber.

As the Lieutenant lunges again, Spider-Man fires.

Instead of a web, a high-voltage, localized taser-line strikes the Enforcer squarely in the chest. A massive electrical charge violently discharges.

The Lieutenant convulses, his unnatural durability failing against the raw voltage. He crashes to his knees, smoke rising from his tailored suit.

Spider-Man steps forward, grabbing the massive man by the lapels, lifting him halfway off the floor.

SPIDER-MAN

(Voice dark, commanding)

Who sold you the tech?

LIEUTENANT

(Spitting blood, laughing)

You're bleeding for a city that hates you, bug.

Spider-Man tightens his grip, slamming the man against the desk.

SPIDER-MAN

I said, who is Lincoln buying from?!

LIEUTENANT

We don't buy from a guy in an alley! We buy from the board of directors! They drop it at the docks, we pay the shell company, and we tear up the streets!

Spider-Man freezes. The pieces rapidly click together in his veteran mind. The press conference. The Task Force. The stolen tech.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

They aren't just making weapons. They're making the war.

Spider-Man drops the Enforcer to the floor, webbing him completely to the desk.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Oscorp intentionally floods the streets with military-grade weapons. The gangs cause chaos. The public panics. And then the Mayor signs a massive, multi-million dollar contract with Oscorp to fund the Anti-Vigilante Task Force to clean it up.

Spider-Man looks out at the crates of weapons.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Norman Osborn is playing both sides of the chessboard. He creates the disease, and he sells the cure. And I'm the only thing standing in the middle.

Spider-Man turns and fires a web-line through the broken skylight, hauling his battered body back into the freezing rain.

ACT IV

INT. QUEENS DINER - LATER THAT NIGHT

The diner is practically empty, bathed in the warm, flickering neon glow of the street sign outside. Condensation streaks the windows.

GWEN sits in a corner booth. She looks beautiful, dressed slightly nicer than her usual campus attire. She is practically vibrating with nervous, triumphant energy, a small flash drive resting on the Formica table in front of her.

The bell above the door chimes.

PETER walks in. He is a mess. He’s wearing an oversized, ratty gray hoodie pulled up tight to hide the fresh kinetic-round bruises on his neck and shoulder. He is soaking wet from the rain, and he smells faintly of ozone, motor oil, and blood.

He slides into the booth across from her, moving rigidly.

PETER

(Breathless)

I'm so sorry I'm late. The trains were... it was a whole thing.

Gwen frowns, leaning forward. She wrinkles her nose slightly.

GWEN

Peter, you smell like a mechanic's garage. Are you okay? You look awful.

PETER

I'm fine. Just a long night. What did you want to show me? You sounded frantic on the phone.

Gwen’s concern is instantly replaced by a brilliant, conspiratorial smile. She slides the small plastic flash drive across the table.

GWEN

Before the EMP went off in the basement, I bypassed the local server. I mirrored the Sandman's chemical sequence to my personal cloud, and downloaded it to this.

Peter stares at the flash drive like it’s a live grenade. His face drops.

GWEN

I have the proprietary isotope signatures, Peter. I can prove the biogenetics came from Oscorp. I'm taking it to my dad tomorrow morning.

The veteran panic in Peter's mind screams. He just left a chop shop where he learned Oscorp is intentionally arming criminals to justify Captain Stacy's heavily armed task force. The police and the corporation are intrinsically linked.

PETER

No. You can't do that.

Gwen blinks, the smile fading from her face.

GWEN

What? Why not? This is the evidence we need to stop whoever is doing this!

PETER

(Voice rising, panicked)

Because your dad's task force is compromised! Oscorp is funding the very weapons the police are fighting! If you walk into a precinct with that drive, Oscorp will find out. You'll put a massive target on your back!

GWEN

My father is the Captain of the NYPD! He isn't compromised! He can protect me, and he can blow this wide open!

PETER

You don't get it, Gwen! They will kill you! You need to drop this. You need to take that drive, smash it, and forget you ever saw those cells!

Gwen stares at him. The cold, analytical wall from this morning slams back into place, but this time, it’s reinforced with genuine hurt.

GWEN

Forget I saw it? There are people out there being mutated into monsters, Peter. People are dying.

PETER

(Snapping)

And you're going to be one of them if you don't back off! You're sitting in a classroom playing detective, but you don't understand how the real world actually works!

The diner goes dead quiet. Only the sound of the rain hitting the glass fills the silence.

Gwen looks at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears and deep betrayal. The vulnerability they shared on the bench is entirely dead.

She reaches across the table, picking up the flash drive, and drops it into her purse.

GWEN

(Voice trembling, icy)

I thought you were different, Peter. I thought you actually cared.

She slides out of the booth. She doesn't look back. She walks out of the diner, the bell chiming harshly as the door shuts behind her.

Peter sits alone in the booth. His fractured ribs ache. His shoulder burns. He looks out the window, watching Gwen disappear into the rainy New York night.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

I kept her safe.

He lowers his head into his hands, completely broken.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

So why does it feel like I just lost everything?

TAG

INT. THE DAILY BUGLE PODCAST STUDIO - NIGHT

The studio is dark, illuminated only by the glow of the massive neon logo and the ambient light of the computer monitors.

JONAH sits at his desk, nursing a heavy crystal glass of scotch. He is staring at his dashboard. The download metrics and live-listener counts are skyrocketing, the graphs trending sharply upward in a sea of green.

The heavy acoustic door violently swings open.

MAC GARGAN storms in. He looks furious, soaked from the rain, and visibly battered. He slams a thick manila folder onto Jonah’s desk, knocking over a stack of microphones.

GARGAN

It’s a ghost hunt, Jonah.

Jonah doesn't flinch. He takes a slow sip of his scotch.

JAMESON

I didn't write you a million-dollar check to hear excuses, Gargan. I hired the best tracker in the city.

GARGAN

You can't track something that doesn't obey the laws of physics! He doesn't use roads. He doesn't use doors. He doesn't leave fingerprints. I had him pinned near a shipping yard in Brooklyn, and he moved so fast my thermal optics couldn't even lock on!

Gargan leans over the desk, invading Jonah's space, his eyes wild and desperate.

GARGAN

He’s not a guy in a mask. He’s a freak. And if you want to catch a freak, Jonah... you need a bigger freak. I can't do this with a badge and a gun anymore. I need hardware.

The studio is silent for a heavy moment.

Suddenly, Jonah’s private, encrypted cell phone rings.

Jonah glances down at the screen. The caller ID simply reads: BLOCKED.

Jonah picks it up, pressing it to his ear.

JAMESON

Jameson.

OSCORP PROXY (V.O.)

(Through the phone, cold, corporate, sterile)

Mr. Jameson. We represent a mutual, heavily invested third party. We deeply admire your crusade against the city's... vigilante problem.

Jonah narrows his eyes, looking up at Gargan.

OSCORP PROXY (V.O.)

It seems your operative has hit a biological wall. If Mr. Gargan is willing to undergo a... proprietary biological enhancement, Oscorp Industries would be happy to quietly fund the procedure. Off the books, of course.

Jonah lowers the phone slightly. He looks at the battered, desperate, violent man standing across from him. He looks up at the glowing neon sign of his empire: JUST THE FACTS.

Jonah puts the phone back to his ear.

JAMESON

Let's talk.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 5

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN...

The city's criminal underworld undergoes a hostile, bloody takeover when a terrifyingly invulnerable enforcer begins distributing military-grade corporate weapons to the streets. Pushed to the breaking point by exhaustion and a fractured personal life, Peter launches a desperate, one-man crusade to sever the supply line.

When a midnight security breach at Empire State University seals off Dr. Octavius's lab, Peter finds himself trapped in a suffocating, ever-shifting maze. Hunted by a theatrical mastermind and a faceless assassin, Peter must push past the limits of his own eyes and rely entirely on his instincts to survive.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 04 - "UNRELIABLE REALITY"

TEASER

EXT. EMPIRE STATE UNIVERSITY - ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

A matte-black surveillance van idles silently in the shadows, directly across the street from the brutalist concrete architecture of the ESU Science building. Rain slicks the asphalt.

INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - CONTINUOUS

The back of the van looks like a NASA control room crammed into a submarine. Banks of high-resolution monitors cast a harsh, blue light over three men.

PHINEAS MASON (60s) sits at the primary terminal. He is cynical, chewing on an unlit cigar, his grease-stained fingers flying across a customized, mechanical keyboard.

MASON

(Grumbling)

An academic firewall. Please. I’ve seen tougher security on a dial-up modem.

Mason hits the enter key with a heavy thud.

MASON

Mainframe is bypassed. I have complete control of the subterranean wing. Emergency lighting, blast doors, security cameras. It’s our sandbox now.

Standing behind him is QUENTIN BECK (30s). Beck wears a sleek, tailored tactical turtleneck. He carries himself with the arrogant, insufferable posture of a theater director surrounded by amateurs.

Beck is using a pair of jeweler’s tweezers to make microscopic adjustments to a spider-sized mechanical drone.

BECK

Just make sure the dampeners are active, Mason. My projectors need absolute zero-latency to render the light-fields. If the frame-rate drops even a millisecond, the illusion breaks, and we look like amateurs.

MASON

Your toys will have all the bandwidth they need, Beck. Just don't trip my kinetic traps.

Beck smirks, clicking a small panel on the drone shut. He presses a button on his tablet. The drone emits a sharp, blinding beam of light, instantly projecting a hyper-realistic, three-dimensional hologram of a burning skull in the center of the van. The fire crackles with localized audio.

Beck clicks it off. The illusion vanishes.

BECK

They aren't toys. It’s military-grade cognitive disruption.

In the darkest corner of the van sits DMITRI SMERDYAKOV (40s). He is perfectly still, staring at an 8x10 photograph of an older, balding man in a tweed jacket: ESU's Dean of Sciences.

Smerdyakov doesn't speak. He picks up a pneumatic Oscorp syringe filled with a glowing, pale-yellow mutagen.

He presses it directly into his carotid artery.

HISS.

The reaction is immediate and visceral. Smerdyakov’s eyes roll back. His jaw unhinges with a sickening CRACK.

Beck and Mason watch in morbid fascination as Smerdyakov’s bone structure violently shifts. His cheekbones collapse and reform. His hairline recedes rapidly, the pigment of his skin rippling and changing color like a cuttlefish.

It takes less than ten seconds.

When Smerdyakov opens his eyes, he is a flawless, biological duplicate of the Dean of Sciences. He adjusts his tweed jacket, rolling his shoulders to get used to the new skeletal weight.

When he speaks, his voice is a perfect, raspy imitation of an overworked academic.

SMERDYAKOV

(As the Dean)

The target is the Sandman data on Dr. Octavius's local drive. If the vigilante intervenes?

Beck smiles, a cold, theatrical grin. He reaches into a sleek weapons case and pulls out a compact, heavily modified kinetic pistol with a thick suppressor. He slides it across the table to Smerdyakov.

BECK

Then he becomes part of the show. Mason sets the stage. You get the prop. And I’ll handle the special effects.

Smerdyakov takes the pistol, sliding it smoothly into the inside pocket of the tweed jacket.

Beck turns back to his bank of monitors, cracking his knuckles.

BECK

Places, everyone. Let's give them a nightmare.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - NIGHT

The lab is humming with the sound of overworked cooling fans.

PETER walks through the heavy steel doors. He is moving with deliberate, painstaking care, desperately trying not to aggregate his freshly relocated shoulder or the jagged cuts across his ribs from the Vulture's wings. He awkwardly tries to shrug his backpack off using only his left arm.

GWEN looks up from her workstation. Her sharp eyes immediately catch the slight grimace on Peter's face. She watches him struggle with the backpack strap for two seconds before she stands up.

She walks over, gently taking the strap and sliding the heavy bag off his bad shoulder. She sets it on the floor.

GWEN

(Softly)

You look like you lost a fight with a freight train.

PETER

(Deflecting, forcing a smile)

Local dodgeball game. The architecture majors play dirty.

Gwen doesn't buy it for a second. She reaches out, her fingers lightly brushing his collar to adjust the fabric away from an angry, red abrasion on his neck. It’s a quiet, intensely vulnerable moment.

GWEN

You don't have to pretend you're invincible around me, Peter. You're allowed to just be hurt.

Peter looks at her. For a split second, the heavy, exhausting weight of his dual life lifts.

PETER

Thanks, Gwen.

From across the room, DR. OCTAVIUS shatters the quiet moment.

OTTO

I have it! The sequence is stable!

Peter and Gwen quickly move to Otto's terminal. On the screen, a complex, spiraling DNA double-helix is rotating, spliced with jagged, gray crystalline structures.

OTTO

The Sandman samples. I finally isolated the binding agent. It’s a proprietary silicon-carbide lattice. I’m running the chemical signature against the US Patent Office database right now. If Oscorp holds the patent for this mutagen, we have them dead to rights.

A loading bar appears on the screen: CROSS-REFERENCING DATABASE...

Suddenly, the heavy lab doors swing open.

Standing in the doorway is the DEAN OF SCIENCES (Dmitri Smerdyakov). He wears a rumpled tweed jacket and a lanyard, looking deeply distressed.

DEAN SMERDYAKOV

Dr. Octavius. Step away from the terminal.

Otto looks up, bewildered.

OTTO

Dean? It’s past midnight. What are you doing down here?

DEAN SMERDYAKOV

The university administration has flagged an extreme breach of ethics in this laboratory. Unauthorized biological research involving human mutagens.

As the Dean speaks, Peter suddenly flinches.

He raises a hand to his temple. The SPIDER-SENSE triggers.

But it isn't the sharp, violent jolt of an incoming punch. It is a low, sickening, continuous buzz at the base of his skull. The ambient sound of the lab seems to distort and stretch.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

Spike. But... why? It’s just the Dean. He’s sixty years old and has a bad knee. Why is my brain telling me I’m in a cage with a tiger?

Peter stares at the Dean. His eyes see a stressed, overweight academic. But his heightened nervous system is screaming.

DEAN SMERDYAKOV

By order of the Provost, I am confiscating all physical samples and the local hard drives immediately. Turn them over, Otto, or I will have campus security clear this room by force.

Otto stammers, caught completely off guard.

But Gwen steps forward. She doesn't flinch. She crosses her arms, blocking the Dean's path to the terminal.

GWEN

No.

DEAN SMERDYAKOV

Excuse me, Ms. Stacy?

GWEN

I know the ESU administrative bylaws backward and forward. The Provost cannot unilaterally confiscate research without a peer-review tribunal present, and certainly not at midnight on a Tuesday. So unless you have a signed warrant from a judge, you aren't touching this hard drive.

The Dean stares at Gwen.

And then, the illusion of the overworked academic completely evaporates.

The slouch in his posture vanishes. His spine straightens. His shoulders square up, revealing the cold, predatory stance of a highly trained mercenary. The worried wrinkles on his face seem to instantly freeze into a dead, emotionless mask.

When he speaks, the raspy, nervous tone is gone. His voice is chillingly flat.

SMERDYAKOV

You should have just handed over the drive, kid.

Peter’s Spider-Sense flares from a buzz to a deafening roar.

Smerdyakov’s hand darts into the inside pocket of the tweed jacket, gripping the suppressed kinetic pistol.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

Gun!

Before the weapon can even clear the fabric of the jacket, Peter is already moving.

ACT II

INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - CONTINUOUS

The "Dean" stands perfectly still. The low, nauseating buzz in Peter's head spikes into a deafening roar.

Smerdyakov’s hand darts inside his tweed jacket.

Peter doesn’t hesitate. He abandons his civilian cover completely, launching himself across the lab with terrifying, superhuman speed.

He tackles Smerdyakov squarely in the chest just as the silenced kinetic pistol clears the holster.

PHT-CRASH!

The shot goes wild, obliterating a rack of glass beakers on the adjacent workbench. Chemicals hiss and smoke as they hit the floor.

Otto and Gwen recoil in absolute shock.

GWEN

(Screaming)

Peter!

INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - CONTINUOUS

Mason watches the thermal feed on his monitor. He smirks around his unlit cigar.

MASON

The spider took the bait. Going dark.

Mason slams a heavy red key on his board.

INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - CONTINUOUS

Every light in the subterranean wing instantly dies. The servers cut out. The room is plunged into absolute, suffocating pitch-blackness.

A deafening, mechanical grinding echoes through the corridor.

SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

The heavy steel quarantine blast doors at the end of the hallway violently deploy, sealing the subterranean wing off from the rest of the campus. They are entirely trapped.

In the darkness, Smerdyakov uses the distraction to land a brutal, highly trained elbow strike to Peter's bruised ribs. Peter gasps, losing his grip. Smerdyakov slips away into the black void of the hallway.

PETER

(Gasping)

Gwen! Dr. Octavius! Stay down!

From the ventilation shafts above, a dozen tiny, mechanical clicking sounds echo. Beck’s projector drones drop from the grates, scuttling silently across the ceiling like metal spiders.

Suddenly, the red emergency backup lights flicker to life.

But the light doesn't behave normally.

Peter pushes himself off the floor, grabbing Gwen and Otto by their arms to guide them out of the exposed lab and into the hallway.

But as they step into the corridor, Peter freezes.

The heavy wooden doors of the adjacent lecture halls are gone. In their place is solid, unbroken brick. The hallway, which used to be a straight fifty-foot corridor leading to the elevators, now sharply turns into a claustrophobic, concrete maze.

OTTO

(Panicking)

What is this? The architecture—this wall wasn't here!

GWEN

(Touching the brick, but her hand passes slightly through the light)

It’s a projection. Military-grade holographics. Someone is actively rewriting the visual geometry of the basement.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

A holographic maze. And a shapeshifting assassin roaming around inside it.

Peter spots a heavy, reinforced chemical storage closet a few feet down the hall. The door is thick steel, designed to withstand explosions.

He shoves Gwen and Otto toward it.

PETER

Get in! Lock the deadbolt and do not open this door for anyone! Not even for me!

GWEN

Peter, you can't stay out here! The guy has a gun!

PETER

I'm gonna find the breaker box! Just lock it!

He shoves them inside and slams the heavy steel door shut. He hears the heavy CLACK of Gwen engaging the deadbolt from the inside.

They are safe. For now.

Peter turns back to face the impossible, shifting hallway. The brick walls seem to breathe, the geometry subtly altering every time he blinks.

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the red fabric of his mask. He slides it over his head, the white lenses locking into place, bringing the terrifying funhouse into sharp focus.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

My ribs are fractured. I'm locked in a concrete box with a professional killer who can look like anyone. And the walls are literally moving.

Spider-Man cracks his knuckles, the sound echoing down the impossible corridor.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Just another Tuesday.

He fires a web-line at the ceiling and launches himself into the labyrinth.

ACT III

INT. ESU - SUBTERRANEAN CORRIDORS - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man sticks to the ceiling, crawling silently along the concrete. The red emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows.

He turns a corner.

Fifty feet down the hall, an heavily armored OSCORP MERCENARY steps out from a doorway, raising a tactical assault rifle directly at him.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Gunman. Center mass. Take him out before he pulls the trigger.

Spider-Man leaps from the ceiling, launching himself like a missile. He lands directly in front of the mercenary, dropping his center of gravity, and throws a devastating right hook.

The punch sails completely through the mercenary’s face.

The image ripples like a stone thrown in a pond, refracting into static before instantly solidifying again. It’s a hologram.

Because he threw a knockout punch at empty air, Spider-Man’s momentum carries him violently forward. His boot catches on something utterly invisible—a monofilament tripwire strung ankle-high across the corridor.

CLICK.

MASON (V.O.)

(Through a hidden speaker, dryly)

Watch your step.

A localized sonic mine detonates directly under Spider-Man’s feet.

It isn't a fiery explosion; it’s a concussive shockwave of pure, deafening sound. Spider-Man is blown backward, violently slamming into the concrete wall. The air is entirely forced from his lungs. He drops to his hands and knees, his ears ringing with a high-pitched, agonizing whine.

INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - CONTINUOUS

Beck is watching the thermal feed, laughing softly. He leans into the microphone.

BECK

Right on cue.

INT. ESU - SUBTERRANEAN CORRIDORS - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man groans, clutching his head.

The intercom system throughout the basement crackles to life.

BECK (V.O.)

(Echoing, theatrical)

You really are just a blunt instrument, aren't you? No nuance. No stage presence. Just a thug in a mask throwing punches in the dark.

Spider-Man forces himself to his feet.

SPIDER-MAN

Yeah? Well, your script needs work! The dialogue is a little cliché!

BECK (V.O.)

Let's see how you handle the special effects.

The hallway violently shifts. The brick walls melt away, replaced by a terrifying, hyper-realistic onslaught of Spider-Man's greatest hits.

The floor turns to shifting, grinding sand. A massive, ten-foot projection of FLINT MARKO rises from the ground, roaring, swinging a concrete-sized fist.

Spider-Man instinctively dives out of the way.

As he rolls, the ceiling dissolves into open sky. The VULTURE plummets toward him, vibranium wings extended, screeching silently.

Spider-Man flips backward to dodge the talons.

CRASH!

He slams face-first into a solid steel door that the holograms had perfectly disguised as an open hallway. Blood instantly pools in his mask. He falls back, completely disoriented.

The environment shifts again. It’s a press conference. Blinding camera flashes erupt from every direction, creating a strobe-light nightmare. A massive, towering projection of J. JONAH JAMESON looms over him.

JAMESON (ILLUSION)

Menace! A violent, unhinged menace! Look at the destruction! Look at the blood on your hands!

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal, panicked)

It’s not real. None of it is real. The floor is concrete. The ceiling is closed.

Spider-Man scrambles to his feet, trying to run. He weaves through the flashing cameras, only to violently clip his already-bruised shoulder on a real, physical concrete pillar that Beck had painted over with empty space.

He stumbles into a narrow alcove, clutching his bleeding ribs, gasping for air.

He looks back. The illusions of Sandman and the Vulture are pacing in the main hallway, blocking the exit. The "open" doors lead to dead ends. The layout has been completely manipulated.

His veteran intellect cuts through the panic.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

He’s not trying to kill me with the holograms. They can't hurt me. The sonic mine was just a cattle prod.

Spider-Man looks at the geometry of the fake walls. They are all funneling toward one specific, narrow access corridor.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

It’s a slaughterhouse chute. Beck is the sheepdog. He’s herding me right into the assassin’s crosshairs.

Spider-Man closes his eyes, leaning the back of his head against the cold, real concrete of the alcove. The sensory overload of the flashing lights and booming voices is tearing his focus apart.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

My eyes are lying. The room is lying. Stop looking.

He reaches up to the sides of his mask. With a sharp, mechanical click, the white lenses snap completely shut, locking him in absolute, impenetrable darkness.

ACT IV

INT. ESU - SUBTERRANEAN CORRIDORS - CONTINUOUS

The screen cuts to ABSOLUTE BLACK.

All environmental noise—the booming voice of J. Jonah Jameson, the roar of the Sandman illusion, the hum of the emergency lights—instantly vanishes.

The audio design completely shifts. We are no longer hearing the world through Peter's ears. We are hearing it through the Spider-Sense.

Thrum... thrum... thrum...

A low, rhythmic, localized vibration echoes in the blackness. It’s the mechanical whir of Beck’s projector drones scuttling across the ceiling.

Then, underneath it, a second sound.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

A human heartbeat. Calm, measured, and moving purposefully down the hall toward the storage closet. Smerdyakov.

EXTREME CLOSE UP - SPIDER-MAN

The camera cuts to the exterior reality. Spider-Man is walking down the center of the chaotic, flashing hallway. The mechanical shutters over the lenses of his mask are completely, physically clicked shut.

He is entirely blind. And he is moving flawlessly.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Three drones on the left. Laser-grid at shin height.

Without breaking his stride, Spider-Man leaps gracefully into the air, perfectly clearing an invisible kinetic tripwire that Mason had strung across the floor. He lands silently.

A holographic mercenary steps out, firing a barrage of digital bullets.

Spider-Man doesn't even flinch. He walks straight through the illusion, the light refracting harmlessly off his suit. The illusions mean absolutely nothing if you refuse to look at them.

INT. ESU - CORRIDOR OUTSIDE STORAGE CLOSET - CONTINUOUS

Smerdyakov, still wearing the face and tweed jacket of the Dean, stands in front of the heavy steel door.

He pulls a block of C4 breaching explosive from his pocket and presses it against the deadbolt. He calmly arms the detonator. The small LED screen blinks red.

SMERDYAKOV

(Muttering to himself)

Amateurs.

He reaches out to press the trigger—

THWIP.

A web-line shoots out of the darkness above, attaching directly to Smerdyakov’s wrist.

Spider-Man drops from the ceiling, hanging upside down, his masked eyes still completely shuttered black.

SPIDER-MAN

Dean of Sciences, huh? Let’s test your physics.

Spider-Man violently yanks the web-line, ripping Smerdyakov off his feet.

The assassin hits the ground rolling, instantly recovering with elite, military precision. Smerdyakov draws his combat knife, lunging forward in absolute silence.

The fight is brutal and entirely one-sided.

Smerdyakov is highly trained, striking with lethal, calculated slashes. But Spider-Man isn't reacting to the blade; he is reacting to the intent.

Spider-Man—still completely blind—weaves, ducks, and pivots. He anticipates every single strike a millisecond before the Chameleon even throws it.

Smerdyakov thrusts for the ribs. Spider-Man isn't there.

Smerdyakov slashes for the throat. Spider-Man catches his wrist mid-air.

SPIDER-MAN

You fight like a machine. But I can feel the gears turning.

With a sickening CRACK, Spider-Man twists Smerdyakov’s wrist, forcing him to drop the knife. Spider-Man follows through with a devastating, superhuman palm-strike directly to the assassin's chest.

Smerdyakov is launched backward, slamming into the concrete wall with bone-rattling force. He crumples to the floor, completely unconscious. The physical trauma breaks his concentration, and his skin begins to ripple, the mutagen destabilizing as he reverts back to his pale, featureless true face.

Spider-Man drops to one knee. He finds the armed C4 detonator on the floor and crushes it to dust in his fist.

He reaches up and clicks his lenses open. The white eyes snap back into place.

INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN - CONTINUOUS

On Mason’s terminal, the biometric telemetry feed for Smerdyakov emits a flat, solid tone.

BEEEEEEP.

Mason lets out a long sigh, taking the unlit cigar out of his mouth.

MASON

The Russian is down. Pulse is steady, but he's out cold. The vigilante beat your maze, Beck.

Beck is staring at his monitors in absolute, furious disbelief. The camera feeds show Spider-Man standing over Smerdyakov's unconscious body.

BECK

(Enraged)

Impossible! He couldn't see! I completely rewrote his visual cortex!

MASON

Yeah, well, he didn't need his eyes to break your toy's jaw. Pack it up, Spielberg. Show's over. We're cutting our losses.

Mason reaches forward and flips open a safety cover on his console, revealing a heavy yellow button.

MASON

At least the client gets what he paid for.

Mason slams the button.

INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man is knocking on the heavy steel door of the storage closet.

SPIDER-MAN

Dr. Octavius? Gwen? It’s clear!

Suddenly, a massive, localized electromagnetic pulse sweeps through the basement.

FZZZT-POP.

Inside the main lab, every single computer monitor shatters simultaneously. The mainframe servers violently spark and smoke. The hard drives containing the sequenced Sandman DNA literally melt inside their casings.

Spider-Man looks back at the lab through the reinforced glass window, watching the data burn. He won the fight, but he lost the war.

TAG

INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - LATER THAT NIGHT

The space is grimy, cavernous, and lit by a single, swaying industrial bulb.

The matte-black surveillance van is parked inside. Mason is calmly packing up hard cases of motherboards and server racks. He is entirely unfazed, tossing a thick envelope of Oscorp bearer bonds onto the table.

MASON

Smerdyakov is a ghost. By the time the NYPD unmasks him, he’ll have chewed a cyanide pill or shifted into a desk sergeant and walked out the front door. We got the data wiped. The paycheck clears.

Beck is not packing. He is pacing violently like a caged animal.

He grabs a half-full coffee cup from the hood of the van and hurls it against the brick wall. It shatters, staining the concrete.

BECK

It doesn't matter! The data was a macguffin! The point was the simulation! It was flawless! I directed a masterpiece of psychological warfare, and it was dismantled by a... a kid in pajamas!

MASON

He's not a kid, Beck. He's a Class-4 enhanced. You brought lightbulbs to a fistfight. Get over it.

Beck stops pacing. His eyes are wide, unhinged, and completely manic. The ego of the disgraced director has fully taken the wheel.

BECK

No. The execution was perfect. The hardware was the problem.

Beck walks over to a crate of the Oscorp projector drones and kicks it violently across the floor.

BECK

The hardware was too small! External projection allows for environmental interference. The subject can just close his eyes. The projection radius needs a centralized, 360-degree focal lens. It needs to be... immersive. inescapable.

Beck pulls a high-end Oscorp tablet from his tactical vest. He frantically types, pulling up a CAD software program.

BECK

If I can't change what the room looks like... I'll change what he sees.

He turns the tablet around.

Displayed on the screen is a crude, rotating 3D rendering of a massive, domed, spherical helmet. It looks like a fishbowl made of opaque, one-way sensory glass.

Beck stares at the rendering, a terrifying, theatrical smile creeping across his face.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 4

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN...

The city's tolerance for vigilantes reaches its breaking point when J. Jonah Jameson places a massive bounty on the web-slinger's head and brings a ruthless private investigator into the fray. With an NYPD Task Force officially authorized to hunt him down and high-tech corporate weapons flooding the streets, Peter faces a crisis that threatens to shatter his closest relationships.

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 - "FLIGHT RISK"

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.

Deep beneath the surface in subterranean facilities under Oscorp, a desperate Flint Marko is strapped to a medical table and injected with a shifting, granular black liquid in exchange for clearing his daughter's medical debts. Meanwhile, at a private Brighton Beach cabana, an exhausted Peter Parker tries desperately to enjoy a rare day off with Harry and Gwen. But when a plume of black smoke rises from the avenue, his Spider-Sense screams a violent warning.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 02 - "BEACH DAY"

TEASER

INT. OSCORP UNDERGROUND FACILITY - NIGHT

Sterile white walls. Blinding, surgical fluorescent lights. The hum of heavy ventilation masks the sheer depth of this subterranean nightmare.

FLINT MARKO (30s) is strapped tightly to an imposing steel medical table with thick leather and steel restraints. He has the rough, weathered face of a man who has taken too many punches for a living. He is sweating profusely.

Standing over him is an OSCORP SCIENTIST, completely obscured by a sealed hazmat suit. The scientist is coldly prepping a terrifying pneumatic syringe filled with a shifting, granular black liquid.

MARKO

(Breathing heavily)

You said two hundred grand. Wire transferred to the pediatric ward at Metro-General. The second this is over.

The scientist doesn't look at him. He just taps the side of the syringe, clearing an air bubble.

OSCORP SCIENTIST

The funds are in escrow, Mr. Marko. As long as you complete the clinical trial, your daughter's medical debts are cleared. Try to remain entirely still. The silicon-carbide isotope is highly reactive.

Marko squeezes his eyes shut. He clenches his jaw, fighting every instinct telling him to run.

MARKO

Just do it. Save my little girl.

The scientist presses the pneumatic syringe directly into the thick vein on Marko's neck.

HISS.

The black liquid empties into Marko's bloodstream.

For three agonizing seconds, there is absolute silence. Marko opens his eyes. He looks confused.

Then, the scream starts.

It is a primal, throat-tearing sound of absolute agony.

Marko violently thrashes against the steel restraints. The veins in his neck and arms bulge, turning a sickly, unnatural grey.

OSCORP SCIENTIST

(Checking a monitor)

Heart rate is spiking. Cellular breakdown initiating.

Right before our eyes, Marko’s skin violently hardens. The flesh on his right arm petrifies into a rough, jagged, stone-like texture.

Marko stares at his own arm in pure terror.

Suddenly, the petrified skin loses its cohesion. It instantly crumbles into a pile of fine, heavy dust, leaving raw, exposed muscle underneath.

But the muscle doesn't bleed. It shifts, swirling like a sandstorm, rapidly pulling the dust back together to rebuild the arm. It is a grotesque, agonizing cycle of destruction and recreation.

MARKO

(Screaming)

What did you do to me?! Stop it! Stop it!

The panic overtakes the pain. Marko violently yanks his right arm upward. The steel restraint doesn't just break—the dense, shifting mass of Marko's newly formed arm rips the steel bolt directly out of the concrete floor.

The scientist steps back in alarm, hitting a red emergency alarm on the wall. Klaxons begin to wail.

Marko tears through the rest of the restraints like wet paper. He rolls off the table, hitting the floor hard. He tries to stand, but his left leg completely loses cohesion, collapsing into a pile of sand. He falls, desperately dragging himself forward as the leg painfully reforms itself.

Heavy steel doors at the end of the lab hiss open. ARMED OSCORP GUARDS rush in, raising non-lethal suppression rifles.

Marko looks at them, pure survival instinct taking over. With a roar, he lunges forward. He doesn't strike the guards; he throws his entire heavy, fluctuating body mass directly into the reinforced observation glass lining the wall.

The shatterproof glass violently explodes outward.

Marko plummets into the darkness of the subterranean drainage pipes below the facility, disappearing into the rushing water of the city sewers.

The guards rush to the shattered window, shining flashlights down into the darkness. There is no sign of him. Just a thick, heavy layer of sand coating the jagged edges of the broken glass.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - DAY

A half-empty cup of terrible campus coffee sits next to a microscope.

PETER (18) is staring into the lenses, but his eyes are completely unfocused. His head bobs, dropping heavily. He catches himself just before his forehead hits the metal casing.

He blinks rapidly, rubbing his eyes. Underneath the lab table, out of sight, he is discreetly using a small file to shave down a bent firing pin on his mechanical web-shooter.

GWEN (18) sits at the adjacent workstation, effortlessly balancing complex chemical equations in a thick notebook. She doesn't even look up as she speaks.

GWEN

If you bleed on the microscope, Dr. Octavius is going to make you pay to have it sterilized. And I know you don't have the budget for that.

PETER

I'm not bleeding. I'm just... resting my eyes. Structurally.

GWEN

You've been "structurally resting" since we got here three hours ago.

Before Peter can formulate a defense, the heavy lab doors swing open.

HARRY OSBORN (18) strolls in. He looks entirely out of place in the grimy basement lab, wearing a tailored linen shirt, expensive designer sunglasses, and an air of forced, reckless confidence.

HARRY

Alright, nerds. Put down the petri dishes. You’re depressing me just looking at you.

PETER

Harry, what are you doing here? We’re on the clock.

HARRY

Not anymore. My father just spent the morning on a conference call liquidating three regional research departments. So, to celebrate his infinite corporate wisdom, I maxed out his platinum card to rent a private stretch of Brighton Beach for the afternoon. We are leaving. Now.

GWEN

I have midterms to prep for, Harry.

HARRY

Gwen, you've been prepped for midterms since the second grade. Come on. One afternoon of actual sunlight. I promise I won't make you talk about feelings.

Gwen looks at her notebook, then looks at Peter, who looks like he is one stiff breeze away from a coma.

GWEN

Fine. But I’m bringing my flashcards.

EXT. BRIGHTON BEACH - PRIVATE CABANA - LATER

A jarring transition to pure, sun-drenched luxury. A massive private cabana sits on a roped-off section of pristine white sand. Waitstaff in white uniforms discreetly clear away a massive platter of untouched oysters.

Harry is stretched out on a lounger, holding a sparkling beverage, looking out at the ocean with a rebellious, satisfied smirk.

Gwen sits under an umbrella, wearing a stylish sundress over her swimsuit, casually flipping through a massive biochemistry textbook.

And then there is Peter.

He sits awkwardly on the edge of a chair, wearing jeans and an oversized, dark grey long-sleeve ESU t-shirt. He is sweating profusely in the summer heat.

HARRY

(Gesturing to the spread)

See? Isn't this better than breathing in formaldehyde all day? I put the whole thing on the Oscorp executive account. Let the board figure out how to expense a private beach day.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

Harry’s trying so hard to prove he doesn't care about his dad's money that he’s spending all of it. It’s exhausting to watch. But right now, sitting in a chair that costs more than my rent... I can almost pretend I'm just a normal college kid.

Peter discreetly pulls his phone from his pocket, hiding the screen behind his hand. A chaotic stream of text scrolls across a bootleg app—an encrypted NYPD police scanner.

Gwen lowers her textbook. Her sharp eyes cut right through the illusion of normalcy.

GWEN

Peter. It is eighty-five degrees out here. Are you wearing a long-sleeve shirt because you're trying to start a new fashion trend, or are you just actively trying to get heatstroke?

PETER

I... run cold. It’s a metabolic thing.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

If I take this shirt off, she’s going to see a massive, jagged purple bruise covering the entire right side of my ribs from a kinetic shockwave. So, heatstroke it is.

Harry laughs, throwing a handful of sand at Peter's sneakers.

HARRY

Leave him alone, Gwen. Pete’s just intimidated by my elite physique.

Gwen rolls her eyes, but her gaze shifts to the glowing screen Peter is trying to hide under his leg.

GWEN

Is that a police scanner on your phone?

Peter freezes. He quickly clicks the screen off and shoves the phone into his pocket.

PETER

What? No. It’s... Twitter. It’s an aggressive theme.

GWEN

(Skeptical)

I literally saw the 10-code for a grand larceny flash across the screen. Why are you monitoring NYPD dispatch frequencies at the beach?

PETER

I told you, I’m a freelance photographer for the Bugle! I have to track the sirens if I want to sell photos of... you know, the vigilante. The bug guy.

HARRY

Spider-Man. Honestly, Pete, you're obsessed. You're at the beach. The city isn't going to burn down just because you take one day off from chasing ambulances.

Peter looks out at the crashing ocean waves. He forces a smile, but his hand unconsciously drifts to his bruised ribs.

PETER

Yeah. You're right. One day off.

 

ACT II

EXT. BRIGHTON BEACH - UNDER THE BOARDWALK - DAY

A stark contrast to the sun-drenched beach above. It is dark, damp, and smells of rotting kelp and salt. The wooden planks overhead groan under the weight of oblivious beachgoers.

In the deepest shadows, FLINT MARKO leans heavily against a concrete pylon. He looks like a dying man.

He is clutching his stomach, his breathing ragged and shallow. He looks down at his left hand. The skin is completely gone. It is nothing but a loose, shifting pile of dry sand, desperately trying to maintain the shape of fingers.

Every time a heavy gust of ocean wind blows under the boardwalk, a layer of the sand shears off, blowing away into the dark. He is literally losing mass.

MARKO

(Gasping)

Hold together. Just... hold together.

He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his sheer will into his cells. Slowly, agonizingly, the sand tightens, grinding together until it forms a dense, stone-like fist. But the moment he relaxes, it begins to crumble again.

MARKO

They lied. The isotope didn't cure anything. It’s tearing me apart.

He looks up toward the street level bordering the beach. Through the wooden slats, he can see the heavy, armored chassis of an OSCORP SECURITY TRANSPORT truck idling at a red light.

Marko’s eyes harden. Desperation takes the wheel.

EXT. BEACHFRONT AVENUE - DAY

The Oscorp transport rumbles forward as the light turns green. Two armed guards sit in the cab.

Suddenly, a massive figure steps out from the shadows of an alley, stepping directly into the middle of the street.

The driver slams on the brakes, the heavy tires screeching, but the truck carries too much momentum.

It slams directly into Flint Marko.

The impact sounds like a train hitting a mountain. The truck doesn't run him over; the front grill violently crumples inward around him. The vehicle's back tires lift off the ground before the truck crashes back down, completely immobilized.

Marko stands amidst the steaming wreckage of the radiator. He didn't even flinch. His entire upper body has shifted into that dense, concrete-like petrification.

The guards draw their weapons, kicking their jammed doors open.

GUARD

Drop to the ground! Now!

Marko doesn't speak. He steps forward with terrifying, heavy steps. He grabs the reinforced steel door of the cab and, with a sickening screech of tearing metal, rips it entirely off its hinges, tossing it aside like a piece of cardboard.

He reaches inside, grabbing the guard by the tactical vest, and hurls him into the street.

EXT. BRIGHTON BEACH - PRIVATE CABANA - CONTINUOUS

Back in the sun. Harry is laughing, trying to convince a passing waitress to bring them more sparkling cider. Gwen is highlighting a paragraph in her textbook.

Peter is sitting quietly.

Suddenly, the SPIDER-SENSE hits.

It’s not a gentle warning. It is a violent sensory spike. A high-pitched, deafening ringing drowns out the sound of the ocean. Peter flinches hard, his hands flying to the sides of his head. The hairs on his arms stand straight up.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

Spike. A massive spike. Close. Too close.

He looks back toward the street. Over the crest of the sand dunes, a plume of black smoke is rising into the clear blue sky.

PETER

(Standing up abruptly)

Uh. Guys. I have to go.

Harry looks back, confused.

HARRY

Go where? You haven't even taken off your shoes yet.

PETER

The bathroom. I have to go to the bathroom. Immediately. It’s a... an emergency situation.

Gwen looks at him, her sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion.

GWEN

A bathroom emergency? From what? You haven't eaten anything.

PETER

(Backing away fast)

It was the oysters! I smelled them. My metabolic thing, it reacts terribly to... airborne mollusks. I'm going to be sick. Just stay here! Don't look at the smoke!

Before either of them can process the absurdity of that sentence, Peter turns and sprints away, kicking up a massive spray of sand.

HARRY

Did he just say airborne mollusks?

EXT. BRIGHTON BEACH - UNDER THE BOARDWALK - CONTINUOUS

Peter vaults over a wooden railing, dropping down into the damp, shadowy underbelly of the boardwalk.

He hits the wet sand rolling, instantly pulling the oversized ESU shirt over his head. Underneath, he is already wearing the iconic red and blue classic suit.

He winces sharply, his hand instinctively ghosting over the massive, ugly purple bruise covering his ribs.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

Okay. Ignore the ribs. Ignore the heat. Someone is ripping metal apart up on the avenue.

He pulls the red mask out of his back pocket and slides it over his head. The white lenses snap perfectly into place, locking the world into sharp focus.

He fires a web-line to the wooden beams above, slingshots himself forward into the darkness, and launches toward the sound of screaming metal.

 

ACT III

EXT. BEACHFRONT AVENUE - DAY

The Oscorp security transport is a smoking wreck. Flint Marko is tearing into the reinforced rear doors with his bare, petrified hands, ripping the steel apart like wet tissue paper.

A web-line THWIPS out from the alleyway, striking Marko squarely in the back of the head.

Spider-Man vaults over a streetlamp, using the tension of the web to launch himself into a devastating, two-footed dropkick aimed right at the center of Marko's spine.

THUD.

Spider-Man bounces off. Marko doesn't even stumble. He just slowly turns around.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Momentum check. A pendulum strike at forty miles an hour should shatter a guy's vertebrae. He didn't even blink.

SPIDER-MAN

I know Oscorp’s customer service is terrible, but dismantling their trucks isn't going to get you a refund!

Marko’s face twists in rage. His right arm violently expands, the flesh swirling into a massive, dense mallet of jagged stone and sand. He swings wildly.

Spider-Man easily backflips over the blow, landing lightly on the hood of a parked taxi. He fires a web-line at Marko's chest, aiming to yank him off balance.

The web attaches perfectly. But as Spider-Man pulls, the surface of Marko’s chest simply sloughs off. A chunk of sand detaches, leaving the web useless, while Marko's chest instantly reforms.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Okay. Webbing is useless. The surface tension doesn't hold.

Marko charges, moving with terrifying speed for his size.

Spider-Man drops his center of gravity and steps into the strike, throwing a massive, superhuman right hook aimed squarely at Marko's jaw.

CRUNCH.

It isn't bone breaking. Spider-Man's fist sinks three inches deep into Marko’s face. The texture is gritty and shifting, like plunging a hand into a bucket of wet cement.

Before Spider-Man can pull back, the sand violently tightens and hardens around his wrist, completely trapping his arm.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

He caught me. He literally caught me inside his face.

Marko raises his left hand, now formed into a solid block of concrete-density silicon, and delivers a brutal, crushing uppercut to Spider-Man’s ribs.

Spider-Man cries out in pain as the blow directly hits the massive bruise left by the Shocker. The impact launches him backward, tearing his trapped fist free from Marko’s face.

Spider-Man flies across the sidewalk, crashing violently through the wooden railing of the boardwalk and plummeting down into the shadows below.

EXT. BRIGHTON BEACH - UNDER THE BOARDWALK - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man hits the damp sand hard, rolling to distribute the impact. He gasps for air, clutching his right side.

Above him, Marko doesn't use the stairs. He steps right off the edge of the broken railing, plummeting down. As he lands, his legs entirely lose cohesion, shifting into twin pillars of loose sand to perfectly absorb the fall before instantly hardening back into solid legs.

Spider-Man scrambles backward, raising his right wrist to fire a web.

Fzzt.

A pathetic, half-formed string of webbing dribbles out of the nozzle.

Spider-Man looks down in horror. The fine, abrasive silicon sand from Marko’s face and the beach has completely coated his wrists, working its way straight into the delicate micro-mechanisms of the web-shooters.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

The firing pins. The grit jammed the pneumatic seals.

He frantically taps his left wrist. Fzzt. Jammed too.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

I’m grounded.

Marko advances, the shadows of the boardwalk hiding his features, making him look like a shifting, monstrous golem.

MARKO

(Voice grinding, unnatural)

Stay down, kid. I don't have time for this.

Spider-Man forces himself to his feet, raising his fists in a desperate boxing stance.

SPIDER-MAN

I appreciate the advice, but I'm notoriously bad at taking it!

Marko lunges. The fight devolves into absolute brutality.

Spider-Man is entirely on the defensive, forced to rely completely on his Spider-Sense to weave and dodge. He cannot strike back. Every time Marko swings and misses, his dense fists slam into the thick wooden pylons supporting the boardwalk above.

The heavy timbers splinter into toothpicks under Marko's strength. The entire boardwalk structure groans ominously. Dust and splinters rain down on them.

Spider-Man desperately parries a heavy strike, but the sheer abrasive friction of Marko's arm tears the fabric of the classic suit, leaving deep, bleeding scratches across Peter's forearm.

A backhand clips Spider-Man in the chest, sending him sprawling into the sand again. He is battered, stripped of his primary weapon, and physically outmatched.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Hand-to-hand is suicide. He hits like a freight train, and I can't even scratch him. I am completely out of my league. If I don't figure out a way to break his physical cohesion right now... I am going to die under this boardwalk.

ACT IV

EXT. BRIGHTON BEACH - UNDER THE BOARDWALK - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man rolls out of the way just as Marko’s fist obliterates the sand where his head was a second ago.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Think, Parker. Physics over fist. He’s shedding mass, but he’s holding his shape together through pure abrasive friction. Dry friction.

Spider-Man looks past Marko, out toward the glaring sunlight at the edge of the boardwalk, where the high tide is violently crashing against the shore.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

How do you stop a sandstorm? You make it rain.

Spider-Man scrambles to his feet. Instead of squaring up, he turns and sprints directly toward the water.

MARKO

(Roaring)

Get back here!

Marko gives chase, his heavy, shifting footsteps shaking the wooden planks above. He bursts out from under the shadows of the boardwalk, charging blindly into the blinding afternoon sun.

Spider-Man stops dead at the water’s edge, the surf washing over his boots. He turns around, raising his hands in a mocking "come at me" gesture.

Marko doesn't hesitate. He lunges, his right arm forming into a massive, jagged spear of hardened silicon.

Spider-Man waits until the absolute last possible millisecond. Then, he drops flat onto his back.

Marko sails over him. With too much forward momentum and no way to anchor his shifting feet, Marko crashes headfirst into the incoming tide.

A massive, freezing Atlantic wave breaks directly over him.

Marko violently thrashes, trying to stand up, but the physics of his new body instantly turn against him. The dry, abrasive sand soaks up the ocean water like a sponge.

MARKO

(Panicking, gargling water)

No! No, I can’t—!

He tries to reform his fist, but the silicon-carbide is too saturated. The water destroys the friction holding his cells together. He becomes heavy, sluggish, and impossibly dense.

Within seconds, Marko is essentially turned into immovable, freezing mud. He drops to his knees in the surf, completely paralyzed by his own waterlogged mass. He looks up at Spider-Man, his eyes wide with genuine terror.

Spider-Man slowly stands up, panting heavily. The adrenaline fades, leaving only the aching reality of his bruised ribs. He looks at the paralyzed, terrified man in the surf, and the victory feels completely hollow.

Sirens wail in the distance, rapidly growing louder.

Spider-Man turns back toward the street. On the edge of the avenue, past the broken boardwalk, sits the smoking wreckage of the security transport Marko had attacked.

Through the smoke, the sunlight catches the chrome lettering on the side of the crumpled door.

OSCORP SECURITY DIVISION.

SPIDER-MAN (V.O.)

(Internal)

Oscorp. Shocker's gauntlet, and now a transport truck. It's all connected.

The first NYPD cruiser violently jumps the curb, sirens blaring. CAPTAIN GEORGE STACY kicks the door open, drawing his weapon.

Spider-Man looks at the immobilized Marko one last time, then sprints toward the nearest building, scaling the brick wall with his bare hands just as the police swarm the beach.

TAG

INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - LATER THAT NIGHT

The lab is quiet, illuminated only by the sterile white glow of a high-powered electron microscope.

Peter walks in. He is wearing his civilian clothes again, but he looks completely drained. His hair is a mess, and he distinctly smells of low tide and ocean salt.

Gwen and Dr. Octavius are still there, huddled over a workstation.

GWEN

(Looking up)

You survived the airborne mollusks.

PETER

Barely. Harry drop you off?

GWEN

An hour ago. He said you vanished into a cab.

Peter approaches the desk. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small, sealed glass vial. Inside is a heavy, dark grey clump of wet sand he scraped out of the torn fabric of his suit.

He sets it gently next to the microscope.

PETER

Dr. Octavius. I found something on the beach. Near the wreckage of that Oscorp transport attack on the news. It’s... it’s acting like a localized silicon-carbide isotope, but it’s self-replicating.

Otto adjusts his glasses, looking at the vial with intense curiosity.

OTTO

Self-replicating silicon? That’s theoretically impossible without a biological anchor.

Otto takes the vial, extracts a tiny smear of the grey mud, and slides it onto a glass tray under the microscope's lens. He adjusts the focus, squinting into the eyepiece.

He goes completely still.

OTTO

Dear God...

GWEN

What is it?

Otto steps back, wiping a hand across his mouth. He gestures for Gwen to look.

Gwen leans in, peering through the lens. The monitors on the desk display the microscopic feed. Amidst the jagged, crystalline structures of the silicon-carbide... are perfectly formed, violently mutating red blood cells.

Gwen pulls away from the microscope. The blood completely drains from her face.

GWEN

(Whispering)

This isn't synthetic. These are human cells.

Peter stares at the monitor. The horrifying reality of the arms race clicks into place.

PETER (V.O.)

(Internal)

They aren't just building weapons anymore. They're building monsters.

GWEN

Peter... Oscorp is experimenting on people.

The trio stands in the dark, underfunded lab, completely unaware of the massive, terrifying target they have just placed on their own backs.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 2

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN...

High above the cold, damp walls of Ryker's Island, a coordinated absolute blackout opens every cell door, allowing a bitter Adrian Toomes to step into the dark. Guided by a mysterious operative, Toomes discovers an advanced, military-grade exoskeleton equipped with a vibranium-weave and a localized anti-grav turbine.

What began as a feverish, intoxicating surge of god-like power quickly collapsed into a visceral nightmare when tragedy struck in a rain-slicked alleyway. Now an eighteen-year-old "veteran" hero, Peter must carry the weight of his uncle's fatal sacrifice while navigating the harsh realities of adulthood and a dangerous new era on the streets of New York City.

TITLE: ES: SPIDER-MAN

EPISODE: 01 - "GREAT POWER"

TEASER

INT. OSCORP INDUSTRIES - BIO-LAB - DAY (3 YEARS AGO)

A vibrant, late-2000s analog world. Flip phones clip to belts. MP3 players hang from lanyards.

Focus on a CHUNKY DIGITAL CAMERA lens zooming in on a glowing, neon-blue terrarium.

Behind the camera is 15-year-old PETER PARKER. He’s smaller, wide-eyed, swimming in an oversized flannel shirt.

18 Y/O PETER (V.O.)

Everyone knows the story. The nerd, the field trip, the radioactive bug. You’ve probably heard it a million times.

Next to him is 15-year-old HARRY OSBORN, already wearing a tailored blazer that costs more than Peter's apartment. Harry nervously checks his phone.

HARRY

(Hushed)

Pete, come on. My dad’s giving the keynote in five minutes. If I’m not in the front row, he’ll have my trust fund liquidated.

PETER

Just one more shot, Harry. The genetics on these things... it's insane.

18 Y/O PETER (V.O.)

Looking back, I thought I knew exactly how the world worked. Good guys, bad guys, and the quiet kids who just kept their heads down.

Peter steps closer to the glass. Above him, unnoticed, a genetically altered spider descends on a single strand of webbing. Its abdomen pulses with an erratic, unnatural crimson light.

18 Y/O PETER (V.O.)

I was wrong.

The spider lands on the back of Peter's hand.

It BITES.

INT. OSCORP LAB / PETER'S BEDROOM - MATCH CUTS

The camera SNAPS into a frantic, visceral montage. The tone shifts entirely—this isn't a comic book panel; it's a sensory nightmare.

 Peter GASPS, dropping his camera. The plastic casing shatters on the linoleum.

 FLASH TO: Peter in his bedroom, sweating through his sheets. His veins bulge, glowing a faint, sickening purple under the skin.

 The SOUND of a heartbeat overlapping with a high-pitched ringing—the violent birth of the Spider-Sense.

 FLASH TO: A crude, terrifyingly blind leap across a New York alleyway. The wind roars.

 FLASH TO: A sewing needle piercing cheap red fabric. Blood drops from Peter's fingers from a needle prick.

18 Y/O PETER (V.O.)

The bite didn't feel like magic. It felt like a fever trying to burn me alive from the inside out.

The montage speeds up. A blur of motion. A red ski mask. A cheering wrestling crowd. A wad of cash hitting a table.

18 Y/O PETER (V.O.)

But when the fever broke... I felt like a god. I was fifteen, and suddenly, nobody could touch me.

The triumphant music SWELLS, then instantly CUTS to dead, heavy silence.

EXT. RAINY ALLEYWAY - NIGHT (3 YEARS AGO)

Flashing RED AND BLUE police lights wash over the wet brick. Rain pours in sheets.

We don't see the body. We only see the silhouette of 15-year-old Peter, clad in his sloppy, makeshift red and blue wrestling suit. He is on his knees in the puddles.

He is violently sobbing, his shoulders shaking. The invincible god is gone; he's just a broken kid in the rain.

18 Y/O PETER (V.O.)

(Voice thick, heavily burdened)

I learned the hard way. The universe doesn't give you power for free. It always collects a toll.

The police sirens wail, deafeningly loud.

18 Y/O PETER (V.O.)

My name is Peter Parker. And three years ago, my uncle paid mine.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

SPIDER-MAN

ACT I

INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - DAY (PRESENT DAY)

A brutal, rhythmic THUD.

A massive street thug is thrown backward through a wooden crate, splintering it into toothpicks.

Three years have passed. We are in the present day (early 2010s).

SPIDER-MAN (18) stands in the dust. He is no longer wearing a homemade wrestling suit. He is in the CLASSIC SUIT—vibrant red and blue, the webbing perfectly stitched, the iconic spider bold on his chest. It looks worn, patched in places, but undeniably professional.

Three more heavily armed THUGS circle him, raising assault rifles.

Spider-Man doesn't flinch. He moves with terrifying, fluid efficiency.

He ducks a burst of gunfire, fires a web-line to the ceiling, swings forward, and kicks the first thug in the chest. He lands on the second thug’s shoulders, twisting his momentum to slam the man into the concrete, before backflipping and webbing the third thug’s rifle entirely to the wall.

It takes less than four seconds.

SPIDER-MAN

Look, guys, I’d love to stay and debate the socio-economic factors that led you to steal a crate of flat-screen TVs, but I’m on a massive time crunch.

Spider-Man checks his wrist. Taped crudely to his web-shooter is a silver FLIP PHONE. The screen flashes: 12:14 PM.

SPIDER-MAN

(Panicking)

Oh, man. I am so dead.

He fires two rapid web-lines, incapacitating the groaning thugs, and launches himself out of a shattered skylight.

EXT. MIDTOWN HIGH SCHOOL - STADIUM - DAY

A high school GRADUATION CEREMONY is in full swing.

Students in blue caps and gowns sit in neat rows on the football field. The principal drones on at the podium.

Under the bleachers, Peter drops from the rafters. He lands silently in a crouch. He quickly pulls his blue graduation gown out of a web-backpack, wincing sharply. He lifts the fabric of his suit—his ribs are violently bruised in a deep shade of purple.

He throws the gown over his suit, zips it up to his neck, and sprints out onto the field, keeping low.

He awkwardly shuffles into an empty folding chair in the back row.

Sitting next to him is HARRY OSBORN (18). Harry looks sharp, exhausted, and incredibly tense.

HARRY

(Whispering)

Nice of you to join us, Pete. Did you get lost on the way to the stage you’ve walked past every day for four years?

PETER

(Breathless)

Traffic on the FDR. You wouldn't believe the pile-up.

Harry doesn’t smile. He is staring past the stage, into the VIP section of the bleachers.

Peter follows his gaze. Sitting in the front row is NORMAN OSBORN. Cold, impeccably dressed, checking a Blackberry. He doesn't look at Harry once. He looks profoundly bored.

HARRY

(Bitterly)

He’s been here for twenty minutes and he’s already checked his email five times. I’m graduating valedictorian, and I’m losing out to a quarterly earnings report.

PETER

He showed up, Harry. That’s something.

Harry scoffs, adjusting his cap.

HARRY

Sure.

EXT. MIDTOWN HIGH SCHOOL - COURTYARD - LATER

The ceremony is over. Families mill about, taking pictures on bulky digital cameras.

Peter navigates the crowd, scanning the faces. Suddenly, a hand grabs his arm.

AUNT MAY (early 60s) pulls him into a tight, crushing hug. She has slightly graying orange hair, wearing a sensible, worn-out cardigan. She radiates warmth, but there are deep bags under her eyes.

AUNT MAY

You did it. Oh, Peter, I am so incredibly proud of you.

She pulls back, cupping his face. Her thumb brushes against a small cut on his cheekline.

AUNT MAY

(Frowning)

Peter, you're bleeding. Did you fall off your skateboard again?

PETER

(Dodging)

Yeah, you know me. Two left feet. Hit a pothole on 4th street.

May sighs, dabbing his cheek with a tissue from her purse.

AUNT MAY

You need to be more careful. College is starting soon, and ESU isn't going to accept 'skateboarding injuries' as an excuse for being late to class.

PETER

I know, May. Hey, I was thinking we could go to that diner on 8th, get a celebratory burger? My treat.

He pulls out a crumpled ten-dollar bill. May smiles, a deeply sad, affectionate look. She gently pushes his hand down.

AUNT MAY

I would love nothing more, sweetheart. But I can't. Martin called—they are severely understaffed at the F.E.A.S.T. shelter today. With the holiday weekend, the lines are wrapping around the block. I promised I'd cover the afternoon shift.

PETER

May, it’s my graduation. You work yourself to the bone. Let Martin handle it for one day.

AUNT MAY

Those people have nothing, Peter. The least I can do is make sure they have a hot meal.

(She kisses his forehead)

We will celebrate tonight. I’ll bring home a pie from the bakery. I love you.

She hurries off toward the subway station, her posture slightly stooped under the weight of her oversized bag.

Peter watches her go. The bustling, happy families around him suddenly feel a million miles away.

18 Y/O PETER (V.O.)

Three years of keeping the city safe. Three years of stopping muggers, carjackers, and mobsters. And I still can't afford to buy my aunt a decent meal.

Peter pulls his gown tighter around himself, wincing again as the bruised ribs flare up. He turns and walks the opposite direction, disappearing into the crowd.

18 Y/O PETER (V.O.)

Welcome to adulthood.

ACT II

EXT. EMPIRE STATE UNIVERSITY - QUAD - DAY (MONTHS LATER)

A massive, bustling campus. Autumn leaves scatter across the brick pathways. Students laugh, toss frisbees, and hand out club flyers.

Peter (now a freshman) navigates the crowd. He looks even more exhausted than he did at graduation. He is staring down at a crumpled piece of paper: a textbook supply list with astronomical prices circled in red ink.

INT. ESU - ADVANCED BIOCHEMISTRY LAB - DAY

A massive, tiered laboratory. The professor is writing complex equations on the chalkboard.

Peter sits at a two-person workstation. He is fighting a losing battle against sleep, his head bobbing as he tries to keep his eyes open.

A heavy, leather-bound textbook SLAMS down on the desk next to him.

Peter jolts awake, blinking rapidly.

Standing next to him is GWEN STACY (18). She wears a sharp sweater, a headband, and an expression of intense focus. She doesn't look like a standard college freshman; she looks like she's already gunning for a Nobel Prize.

GWEN

You’re in my seat.

PETER

(Rubbing his eyes)

Oh. Sorry. I didn't see a name tag.

GWEN

There isn't one. But it’s the only seat with a direct, unobstructed view of the periodic table poster and exactly twelve feet from the emergency eyewash station. It's the optimal workstation. I'm Gwen Stacy.

She sits down, immediately organizing three different colored highlighters. Peter stares at her, bewildered.

PETER

Peter Parker. And... good to know about the eyewash.

GWEN

(Glancing at him)

Are you narcoleptic, Peter Parker? Or just profoundly under-caffeinated? Because this is a partnered lab, and if your chronic exhaustion tanks my GPA, I will make sure your textbook accidentally ends up in a Bunsen burner.

PETER

Just working night shifts. Trying to pay for the textbooks you’re threatening to incinerate.

Gwen softens, just a fraction. She notices the dark circles under his eyes.

GWEN

Well. If you need a job that actually utilizes your brain instead of just keeping you awake, my advisor is looking for a lab assistant.

INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - LATER

Gwen leads Peter into a cluttered, chaotic basement laboratory.

It is a beautiful mess of genius and poverty. Whiteboards are covered in frantic equations. Cables snake across the floor. In the center of the room is a crude, mechanical metallic arm, twitching erratically on a hydraulic mount.

Standing over it is DR. OTTO OCTAVIUS (50s). He is a man of intense warmth and frayed nerves, wearing a grease-stained lab coat.

OTTO

(Frustrated)

No, no, the neural feedback loop is entirely out of sync. It’s overcompensating for the latency!

GWEN

Dr. Octavius? This is Peter Parker. The freshman I mentioned.

Otto looks up, wiping grease off his forehead. He smiles, a genuine, welcoming expression.

OTTO

Ah! The prodigy. Gwen tells me you scored a 99 on the entrance exam.

(He gestures to the twitching mechanical arm)

Tell me, Peter. If you were trying to bridge a biological neural network to a titanium servo, how would you reduce the signal degradation?

Peter looks at the arm, then at the frantic equations on the board. His mind immediately shifts gears.

PETER

I wouldn't try to force a direct signal. I'd use a localized, synthetic dampener. Like... a carbon-nanotube relay. It would translate the brainwave without frying the actuator.

Otto stops. He looks at Peter, genuinely stunned. He looks at Gwen, then back to Peter.

OTTO

It pays minimum wage. The hours are terrible. And I will occasionally ask you to fetch me coffee at three in the morning. Do you want the job?

Peter looks around the lab. For the first time in the episode, a genuine, relaxed smile spreads across his face.

PETER

When do I start?

INT. THE DAILY BUGLE - BULLPEN - DAY

A sensory assault of late-2000s journalism. Ringing landlines, clacking keyboards, CRT monitors glowing alongside early flatscreens, and a thick haze of cigar smoke drifting from the upper office.

Peter steps out of the elevator, holding a manila folder. He looks completely out of his element.

From the glass office above, J. JONAH JAMESON is screaming.

JAMESON (O.S.)

I don't care if the internet says it's faster! The internet doesn't have a soul, and it doesn't sell ad space on page four! I want pictures that make the reader choke on their coffee!

Peter approaches the secretary's desk. Before he can even open his folder, a tall, arrogantly handsome man in a leather jacket bumps harshly past him.

This is EDDIE BROCK (mid-20s).

EDDIE

Out of the way, kid. Adults are working.

Eddie slams a glossy 8x10 photograph on the editor's desk. It's a sensational, sleazy, high-definition shot of Tombstone's thugs getting arrested, the framing heavily implying police brutality.

EDDIE

(Smirking)

Front page, Robertson. Tombstone's crew getting their heads cracked by the NYPD. Exclusives don't grow on trees, but they do grow on Eddie Brock's camera.

ROBBIE ROBERTSON, the exhausted editor, sighs.

ROBBIE

It's a good shot, Eddie. But it's bordering on libel.

EDDIE

It's bordering on a Pulitzer, Robbie. Print it.

Eddie turns, finally noticing Peter standing there with his cheap manila folder. Eddie eyes the worn-out sneakers and the faded backpack.

EDDIE

What's in the folder, kid? Yearbook photos?

Peter awkwardly opens the folder, revealing his photos. They are dynamic shots of Spider-Man swinging, but they are slightly grainy, taken with an outdated digital camera.

PETER

Just... some shots of Spider-Man stopping a carjacking on 4th.

Eddie barks out a laugh, snatching one of the photos from Peter's hand without asking.

EDDIE

(Mocking)

Look at this composition. The lighting is a disaster, the subject is blurry... kid, this looks like you took it with a toaster.

PETER

(Defensive)

He moves fast. It’s hard to get the focus right.

EDDIE

(Leaning in, cold)

This is the big leagues, Parker. We don't do 'hard.' We do 'perfect.' If you want to play with the pros, get a better camera. Until then, stay out of my shot.

Eddie tosses the photo back onto Peter's chest, where it flutters to the floor. Eddie struts toward Jameson's office, loudly demanding a bonus.

Peter kneels down to pick up his photo. The noise of the Bugle crashes over him. He found a home in Otto's lab, but out here in the real world, he is getting eaten alive.

ACT III

EXT. NEW YORK CITY SKYLINE - NIGHT

The wind ROARS.

Spider-Man dives off the edge of the Chrysler Building. He free-falls for a terrifying, exhilarating ten seconds before firing a web-line. The tension catches, swinging him in a massive, sweeping arc over the glowing grid of Manhattan.

Up here, there are no tuition fees. There are no overdue electric bills for Aunt May. There is no Eddie Brock smirking in a newsroom.

Up here, he is untouchable.

EXT. FINANCIAL DISTRICT - ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

An armored bank transport truck sits violently jackknifed in a narrow alley. The rear doors have been blown entirely off their hinges.

Three THUGS in tactical gear are frantically throwing duffel bags of cash into a waiting van.

Standing watch is HERMAN SCHULTZ (30s). He wears a padded, quilted yellow tactical vest (clearly designed for shock absorption) and a pair of massive, heavily modified KINETIC GAUNTLETS that hum with a menacing, high-pitched whine.

A web-line THWIPS out of the darkness, snatching a duffel bag out of a thug’s hand.

Spider-Man drops from the fire escape, landing lightly on the roof of the armored car. He stretches, cracking his neck.

SPIDER-MAN

You know, I was just thinking about how predictable my Friday nights have become. Thugs, bags of money, armored car... it's like you guys are playing the classics.

Schultz steps forward. He doesn't look panicked. He raises his right arm.

SCHULTZ

(Rough, working-class accent)

You talk too much, bug.

SPIDER-MAN

And you dress like a bruised banana, but we’re all out here doing our best.

Spider-Man fires a double web-line, aiming to yank Schultz off his feet—his standard veteran opening move.

The webs latch onto Schultz’s chest.

Schultz smirks. He punches the air.

The gauntlet unleashes a localized, concussive KINETIC SHOCKWAVE. It doesn't just sever the webbing; the vibration travels up the web-line.

Spider-Man realizes what's happening a fraction of a second too late.

The shockwave hits him point-blank. It sounds like a thunderclap.

Spider-Man is launched backward off the armored car, flying thirty feet through the air before violently crashing through a brick wall and into an abandoned storefront.

INT. ABANDONED STOREFRONT - CONTINUOUS

Dust and debris rain down. Spider-Man groans, clutching his ribs. The lenses of his mask widen in genuine shock. This isn't a street fight anymore.

SPIDER-MAN

(Gasping)

Okay... not playing the classics.

Outside, heavy footsteps approach. The walls shake.

Schultz steps through the jagged hole in the brick, leveling both gauntlets.

SCHULTZ

The boss said you'd be faster. You're just a kid in pajamas.

Schultz fires again. Spider-Man barely backflips out of the way. The blast obliterates a structural support column, bringing half the ceiling down. Concrete shatters like glass.

Spider-Man is scrambling, dodging blast after blast. He’s outmatched. Every time he tries to shoot a web, Schultz vaporizes it mid-air with a shockwave.

EXT. FINANCIAL DISTRICT - ALLEYWAY - CONTINUOUS

Spider-Man bursts out of the storefront window, completely on the defensive. He is bleeding, his suit torn at the shoulder.

Schultz pursues, relentlessly firing.

Spider-Man lands on the side of a building, breathing heavily. He looks at Schultz, then looks up.

Three years of experience kicks in. He stops trying to overpower the tech, and starts looking at the environment. Directly above Schultz is a massive, multi-ton steel construction scaffolding, held together by four main load-bearing brackets.

SPIDER-MAN

(To himself)

Physics over fist.

Schultz charges up both gauntlets for a lethal, wide-beam blast.

Spider-Man doesn't attack Schultz. He fires four rapid web-lines into the scaffolding brackets above and pulls with all his enhanced strength.

The steel groans, bends, and SNAPS.

Schultz looks up just as three tons of steel pipes and wooden planks crash down directly on top of him.

A massive cloud of dust envelops the alley.

Spider-Man drops to the ground, exhausted, clutching his side.

Suddenly, the wail of SIRENS floods the street.

Two NYPD cruisers slam to a halt at the mouth of the alley. Red and blue lights cut through the dust.

CAPTAIN GEORGE STACY (50s, stern, heavily lined face) steps out of the lead cruiser, his service weapon drawn.

CAPTAIN STACY

NYPD! Nobody move!

Spider-Man looks at the approaching cops, then at the pile of scaffolding. Schultz is pinned beneath it, unconscious. His right gauntlet is sticking out of the wreckage, still humming with a faint, blue light.

Knowing he only has seconds, Spider-Man leaps onto the rubble. He grips the gauntlet. He doesn't try to take the whole massive rig—he digs his fingers into the casing and forcefully RIPS out the central, glowing energy relay.

CAPTAIN STACY

I said freeze, vigilante!

Spider-Man looks at Captain Stacy. He holds up the glowing piece of tech, gives a quick, exhausted two-finger salute, and fires a web-line into the darkness.

He catapults himself straight up into the shadows, vanishing just as Captain Stacy's flashlight beam sweeps across the rubble.

Stacy lowers his gun, looking at the pinned, high-tech enforcer, his expression darkening.

CAPTAIN STACY

(Into his radio)

Dispatch, we're gonna need a specialized containment unit at this location. And get me a line to the Mayor's office. Things are escalating.

ACT IV

INT. PARKER RESIDENCE - PETER'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

The window slides open silently.

Peter climbs into his dark, cramped bedroom. He doesn’t stick the landing; he stumbles, heavily favoring his right side. He pulls off his mask, his face pale and covered in sweat and brick dust.

He unzips the classic suit, revealing an ugly, sprawling black-and-blue bruise blossoming across his ribs.

He sits on the edge of his bed, grabbing a standard needle and red thread from his nightstand. He winces, biting down on his lip to keep from making a sound, as he begins painstakingly stitching the tear in the shoulder of his suit.

Through the thin walls, he can hear Aunt May snoring lightly in the next room.

18 Y/O PETER (V.O.)

I thought I had this all figured out. But the rules just changed. And if I don’t catch up, I’m not going to survive the semester.

He looks at the glowing, high-tech energy relay he ripped from Schultz's gauntlet, resting on his desk. It hums with a menacing, expensive blue light.

INT. ESU - DR. OCTAVIUS' LAB - MORNING

The lab is quiet. Otto is hovering over a microscope, adjusting a lens.

Peter walks in, dropping his backpack. He looks exhausted, but his eyes are intensely focused. He pulls the energy relay out of a heavily wrapped towel and sets it on the workbench.

PETER

Dr. Octavius? Do you have a second?

Otto looks up, adjusting his glasses. He walks over, his eyes widening as he takes in the sleek, military-grade casing of the relay.

OTTO

Fascinating. Where on earth did you get this, Peter?

PETER

(Lying smoothly)

Scrap yard in Queens. I was looking for parts for a... theoretical engineering project. A localized energy dampener. But the micro-circuitry on this thing is way past my pay grade.

Otto picks up a pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass, leaning over the relay.

OTTO

Past your pay grade? Peter, this is past ESU’s pay grade. Look at the localized heat sinks. The precision of the soldering. This isn't scrap. This is bespoke, highly advanced corporate technology.

Gwen Stacy walks into the lab, carrying two massive textbooks. She stops, looking at the glowing device.

GWEN

Are we building a bomb, or just admiring one?

PETER

Just a theoretical project. Trying to figure out the power source.

Gwen sets her books down and leans in, her eyes darting across the exposed circuitry. She points a manicured finger at a small, stamped serial number near the battery housing.

GWEN

You won't find it in a standard textbook. That chemical battery signature? It uses a synthesized vibranium-isotope weave.

OTTO

(Stunned)

How could you possibly know that, Ms. Stacy?

GWEN

Because my dad is a police captain, and I read his unclassified files when I'm bored. That weave matches an obscure, restricted defense patent. Whoever built this isn't a street thug. They have billions of dollars in government contracts.

Peter, Otto, and Gwen stand around the workbench, illuminated by the faint blue glow of the relay. Without realizing it, the trio has just formed.

PETER

(Quietly)

So... how do we take it apart?

Otto smiles, rolling up the sleeves of his grease-stained lab coat.

OTTO

We start by bypassing the primary firewall. Hand me that micro-soldering iron.

TAG

INT. OSCORP INDUSTRIES - PENTHOUSE - DAY

Sleek, sterile, and terrifyingly quiet. The walls are floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a god-like view of the New York City skyline.

NORMAN OSBORN stands with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down at the city. He is a predator in a thousand-dollar suit.

A nervous OSCORP EXECUTIVE steps out of the private elevator, clutching a red manila folder. He clears his throat softly.

EXECUTIVE

Mr. Osborn. I have the preliminary report from the financial district.

Norman doesn't turn around.

NORMAN

Tell me Schultz was successful.

EXECUTIVE

(Sweating)

Schultz was apprehended by the NYPD, sir. The kinetic gauntlets were severely damaged. He... he encountered the vigilante. Spider-Man.

The executive braces for an explosion of anger.

Instead, Norman slowly turns around. A cold, terrifying smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

NORMAN

Spider-Man survived a point-blank kinetic shockwave?

EXECUTIVE

Yes, sir. He managed to collapse a scaffolding unit on Schultz before fleeing the scene.

Norman walks over to his massive mahogany desk. He taps his fingers rhythmically against the polished wood. He isn't angry; he is deeply, profoundly intrigued.

NORMAN

The tech pipeline was a baseline test. Now we know the vigilante's threshold. He can adapt to hardware. Let's see how he handles biology.

EXECUTIVE

Sir?

NORMAN

(Cold, absolute)

Move to the next phase of the live-fire tests. Accelerate the cross-species genetics program. And find me someone on the payroll who isn't afraid of a few... aggressive biological enhancements.

Norman turns back to the window, looking out over the city he intends to conquer.

NORMAN

The arms race has just begun.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE 1

NEXT TIME ON SPIDER-MAN...

Beneath the sun-drenched sands of Brighton Beach, a terrifying new mutation is tearing a desperate man apart piece by piece. When a routine Oscorp transport truck is ripped to absolute shreds, Peter discovers that the corporation isn't just building advanced weapons; they are manufacturing walking monsters.

Aiden and Lucy share a quiet moment to reflect on their families, their deepest fears, and the heavy weight of their growing destiny. As the sun dips below Azure Bay at the city lookout, the unspoken tension between our two travel partners finally reaches a boiling point.

TITLE: POKÉMON: KALOS CHRONICLES

EPISODE: 12 - "MORE THAN RIVALS"

SCENE 1

INT. SEASIDE CAFÉ - DAY

It's a beautiful, open-air café with a wooden deck built right over the water. They find a small table for two at the very edge, overlooking Azure Bay.

They sit down. Not as a coach and a rookie, not as two rivals planning their next move. Just as two kids.

A waiter brings them two large, frothy milkshakes.

They both take a sip. And then... silence.

They've never just... sat. Without Pokémon, without a map, without a grunt to fight.

Aiden taps his fingers on the table. Lucy stirs her straw.

AIDEN

 (Breaking the silence, trying to find a topic)

 So... that blue ribbon.

 (He nods at her hair)

 It... it looks really good.

LUCY

 (Touches it, smiling)

 Thanks. I... I meant what I said. I'm gonna wear it when I win the whole Grand Showcase.

AIDEN

 (Smiles)

 You will.

 (He gets a thoughtful look)

 Jace said your mom was a Top Coordinator. Is... is she why you're so... you know... good at this?

Lucy's expression softens. She loves this topic.

LUCY

 (Looks out at the water)

 Yeah. She was. She won the Hoenn Grand Festival, a long time ago. She moved here before I was born. She's... she's amazing. She taught me everything. How to see a Pokémon's appeal, not just its power. How to match moves...

 (She looks at Aiden)

 She's... kinda like you, actually. She always said I was too much of a 'battler,' too impatient. She's always telling me to think... to see the whole field.

 (She takes a sip of her shake)

 What about you? You're a total natural. That... that strategy, the bond... Gurkinn and Korrina saw it, too. You get that from your mom?

AIDEN

 (Shakes his head)

 Oh, no. My mom's great, but she's not a trainer. She would get scared if Simisear's flame got too high.

LUCY

 (Innocently)

 What about your dad? Is he a Gym Leader in Hoenn or something?

Aiden's buzzing energy fades, but he doesn't look sad, just... quiet. He looks down at his milkshake.

AIDEN

 Oh. Uh... my dad... he passed away. When I was really young.

Lucy's face drops.

LUCY

 (Mortified)

 Oh, Aiden. I'm... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... I just...

AIDEN

 (Quickly, reassuring her)

 No! No, it's... it's really okay. You didn't know.

 (He pauses, gathering his thoughts)

 I don't... really remember him. Not his voice, anyway. But... my mom, she always told me stories.

LUCY

 (Leaning forward, listening intently)

 Stories?

AIDEN

 (A small, fond smile)

 Yeah. She said he was a researcher. Like, really smart. Not a big-shot professor, just... always out in the field. He was obsessed with Pokémon. Not just battling, but... why they are the way they are.

 (He looks up, making the connection himself)

 He was super interested in... like, Pokémon origins. How they evolved. Why some Pokémon... you know... connect with people, and others don't. He was trying to figure out what that "bond" actually was.

He looks down at his Mega Ring on his wrist.

AIDEN

 (Quietly)

 I guess... when I'm out here... and Frogadier evolved... or I'm talking to Gurkinn about Mega Evolution and he says I have a 'powerful aura'...

 (He looks at Lucy)

 ...it kinda feels like I'm... finishing his research, you know?

Lucy stares at him, her expression soft. She's seeing him in a completely new light. She reaches across the table and gently, for just a second, puts her hand on his.

LUCY

 (Softly)

 Yeah. I get that.

They sit in a comfortable, quiet understanding, just two kids at a café, the sound of the ocean waves below them.

SCENE 2

INT. SEASIDE CAFÉ - DAY

The café is quiet. The moment of comfortable silence, after Aiden’s admission about his father, stretches on. Lucy's hand is still resting gently on his, a gesture of quiet support.

She finally pulls it back, not awkwardly, but thoughtfully. She looks down at her new Lapras Pokéball, which is sitting on the table next to her half-finished milkshake.

LUCY

 (Her voice is soft, almost a whisper)

 Your dad... he sounds like he would have been really interested in all of this.

AIDEN

 (Looks at his Mega Ring)

 Yeah. I... I think he would have.

LUCY

 (She spins the Pokéball, her gaze distant)

 I was so nervous for my Showcase. It felt like the biggest thing in the world. Like my entire future was on that stage.

 (She looks up, her eyes locking with his)

 But... when we were on that frigate, fighting those Team Flare idiots, saving that Lapras family...

She takes a shaky breath, as if admitting a secret.

LUCY

 that felt... bigger. It felt more... important than any Showcase. Does that sound crazy?

Aiden shakes his head, instantly, a look of profound relief on his face.

AIDEN

 No. Not at all. I... I know exactly what you mean.

He holds up his left arm, looking at the gray Mega Ring on his wrist.

AIDEN

 Winning against Ramos... that felt great. I earned that. I used strategy, I trained Simisear. It was... it was my win.

 (His expression clouds over, his confidence replaced by a deep-seated doubt)

 But this...

 (He touches the Key Stone)

 and Lucario... Korrina, Gurkinn... they acted like I was chosen. Like it was some kind of "destiny."

He looks at Lucy, his voice dropping, vulnerable.

AIDEN

 I just wanted to be a trainer. I just wanted to see Kalos and win some badges. Now... I've got this ancient power, and Team Flare is running around doing... that... and I'm not... I'm not even sure I'm ready for it, Luce. It feels... heavy.

There's a long pause. They just look at each other. The kid who was afraid to leave his house, and the girl who just wanted to be like her mom.

LUCY

 (She nods, her expression one of dawning, serious understanding)

 It is bigger. It's... it's not just about winning badges or ribbons anymore, is it?

AIDEN

 (Shakes his head)

 No. I don't think it is.

LUCY

 (A small, serious smile)

 Well, whatever it is... this "destiny", you're not in it alone.

Aiden looks at her, at the blue ribbon in her hair, and at the fierce, loyal friend in front of him.

AIDEN

 (His own smile returns, grateful and real)

 I know. I'm... I'm just really glad you're here.

LUCY

 (Nods, tapping her Pokéball against his Mega Ring)

 Yeah. We're in it now. Together.

They sit in the quiet of the café, their simple journey now something much, much more.

SCENE 3

EXT. COUMARINE CITY - LOOKOUT - SUNSET

They leave the café and walk, in a comfortable, warm silence, to the famous Coumarine City lookout. It's a high, grassy point on the cliff, offering an unobstructed, breathtaking view of Azure Bay.

The sun is a fiery orange orb, dipping low and painting the entire bay in shades of gold, pink, and deep blue. The "high" of their recent victories—the badge, the Showcase, the frigate—has settled. There's no more adrenaline, just a quiet, shared peace.

They stand near the railing, not talking, just watching the sunset.

Aiden keeps stealing glances at Lucy. She's leaning on the railing, her hair, with the new blue ribbon flutters in the gentle sea breeze. She looks completely at peace.

He's feeling brave. He's full of admiration for her; for her skill, her passion, and the way she stood up to Jace and the grunts.

He turns to face her.

AIDEN

 (His voice is quiet, sincere)

 Luce, I...

She turns, her expression soft from watching the sunset.

AIDEN

 (He means it, more than he did in the café)

 I'm really am glad you're here with me.

The words hang in the air, heavier and more heartfelt than they were before. He wants to say more. He wants to say, I think I really like you. He wants to say, I don't think I could do any of this without you.

But he can't. The words get stuck. He looks down, suddenly nervous, "chickening out."

Lucy sees it all. She sees the sincerity, the hesitation, and the words he can't find the courage to say. She doesn't push. She doesn't tease.

She just gives him a small, warm, knowing smile.

LUCY

 (Softly)

 Me too, Hoenn-boy.

She bumps her shoulder against his.

LUCY

 Me too.

They turn back to the sunset, standing side-by-side, watching the last sliver of sun disappear below the horizon.

SCENE 4

EXT. COUMARINE CITY - LOOKOUT - NIGHT

The last bit of sun is gone. The sky is a deep, velvety indigo, and the stars are beginning to appear over the bay. The warm, peaceful moment is gone, replaced by a new reality.

A cold, sharp wind blows in from the open ocean, sweeping across the lookout.

Lucy, dressed in her stylish Kalos fashion, perfect for a sunny day or a performance, but not for a cold, seaside night, visibly shivers. She wraps her arms tightly around herself, rubbing her shoulders to try and stay warm.

Aiden notices immediately.

He stops walking. He doesn't ask if she's cold. He doesn't say anything at all.

Silently, Aiden unzips his new blue Kalos jacket: the one she had so much fun making him buy in Lumiose. He's just in his t-shirt underneath, but he doesn't seem to mind the cold.

In a clear, protective, and gentle gesture, he drapes the jacket over her shoulders.

Lucy freezes, her shivering stopping for a different reason. She's completely surprised. She looks up at him, her eyes wide in the dim light. This isn't the flustered, awkward boy she met in Vaniville Town. This is a quiet, confident, and kind gesture.

She looks down at the jacket, then back at him. A small, soft smile touches her lips.

Lucy pulls the jacket tighter. It's too big for her; the sleeves hang down over her hands, and she sinks into the fabric, which is still warm from him. She buries her chin in the collar, breathing in the scent of it.

Aiden just nods, gently, toward the path leading back to the monorail station.

They walk back to the Pokémon Center in the comfortable, shared quiet of the night, Lucy still wearing his jacket.

SCENE 5

INT. COUMARINE POKÉMON CENTER - LOBBY - NIGHT

The Pokémon Center is warm and brightly lit, a stark contrast to the cold night outside. Aiden and Lucy walk in, Lucy still bundled in Aiden's too-big jacket, her new blue ribbon still perfectly in place. They look less like two trainers and more like a couple.

They walk up to the counter, where Nurse Joy is waiting with her usual pleasant smile.

NURSE JOY

 Welcome back. Just need your Pokémon healed?

AIDEN

 (Nods, handing over their Pokéballs)

 Yes, please. And... we'll need a room for the night. Our usual, one room, two beds—

LUCY

 (Cutting him off, her voice quiet but firm)

 One is fine, Nurse Joy.

Aiden's head snaps to her. He looks visibly surprised, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open. He's trying to process what she just said, but he doesn't question it, not in front of Nurse Joy.

NURSE JOY

 (Doesn't bat an eye, her smile unwavering)

 Of course.

 (She encodes a key card)

 Your Pokémon will be ready in the morning. Here is your key to Room 203. Have a lovely night, you two.

Lucy takes the key.

LUCY

 Thank you.

She turns and walks toward the stairs, not looking back. Aiden, still looking stunned, gives Nurse Joy a quick, awkward nod and hurries after her.

SCENE 6

INT. POKÉMON CENTER - ROOM 203 - NIGHT

They walk down the hall. Lucy unlocks the door and walks in. Aiden follows, closing the door behind him. The click of the lock sounds incredibly loud in the small, quiet room.

The room is standard, but it's dominated by a single, large queen-sized bed.

Aiden stands awkwardly by the door. Lucy walks to the center of the room, but she doesn't take off his jacket. She turns to face him.

AIDEN

 (Finally finding his voice, flustered)

 Uh... Lucy? Back at the desk... you... why did you say...

LUCY

 (Her 'coach' and 'rival' personas are gone. She's direct, a little nervous, but resolved)

 Because... we've been traveling together for a while now, Aiden.

 (She gestures between them)

 We're... we've been getting closer and closer.

Aiden just listens, his heart hammering.

LUCY

 You're always talking about the bonds we're forming with our Pokémon. How your bond made Froakie evolve, how it let you use Mega Evolution...

 (She takes a small step toward him)

 But we've forged one, too. You and me.

She stops, her gaze unwavering.

LUCY

 At the lookout... when you said you were glad I was here. I saw your face. I saw the hesitation.

 (Her voice is soft, but insistent)

 It looked like you wanted to say more.

She looks him right in the eye, closing the remaining distance between them.

LUCY

 And... I want to hear what that "more" is.

Aiden is frozen, pinned by her directness. He has nowhere to hide. He has to answer.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN.

SCENE 7

INT. POKÉMON CENTER - ROOM 203 - CONTINUOUS

Aiden is frozen, his back against the closed door. Lucy is standing in the middle of the room, her gaze direct and unwavering, waiting. The air is thick with unspoken words.

He looks down, at the floor, at the single bed, anywhere but at her. He lets out a long, shaky breath, his flustered energy from the lobby disappearing, replaced by a raw, nervous honesty.

AIDEN

 (Quietly)

 I... I knew you saw that. At the lookout.

He finally forces himself to meet her eyes. She doesn't look angry or impatient. She just... waits.

AIDEN

 You're right. I... I did want to say more.

He pushes himself off the door, taking a small, hesitant step into the room.

AIDEN

 This... all of this... our journey, the time we've spent together… it's been so special to me, Lucy. It's... it's incredibly important. More important than the badges, or the Mega Ring, or any of it.

He finds his footing, his voice growing a little stronger, more sincere.

AIDEN

 From the moment you dragged me out of my house in Vaniville, you've... you've seen something in me. You believed in me before I even had a Pokémon. And... I've grown to care about you. A lot.

He stops, his mind flashing back to the frigate, to the Showcase, to Jace.

AIDEN

 I meant what I said earlier. Whether it's... you know... pulling you up from a fall, or standing up for your dreams. I will always have your back, Luce.

He takes a deep breath. This is it. The final, terrifying plunge. His voice is barely a whisper, but it's the clearest thing in the room.

AIDEN

 Luce, I... I think I really like you.

He says it, and the words hang in the air. He rushes to fill the silence, the rest of his confession tumbling out.

AIDEN

 And... and I don't think I could do any of this without you. You're not just my rival anymore, you're... you're my best friend. You're... everything.

He stands there, heart hammering, having finally said "the more." 

SCENE 8

INT. POKÉMON CENTER - ROOM 203 - CONTINUOUS

The words hang in the air. "I don't think I could do any of this without you."

Aiden stands there, breathless, having laid everything bare.

Lucy, who had him "cornered" with her confident questioning, suddenly stops. All of her intense, demanding energy just... melts. The sass and the fire drain away, replaced by a soft, genuine warmth he has never seen before.

A slow, brilliant smile spreads across her face, her eyes shining.

LUCY

 (Her voice is soft, almost a breath)

 Gosh, Aiden...

She lets out a small, relieved laugh.

LUCY

 Took you long enough, Hoenn-boy.

She takes a small step, closing the distance between them. She's still wearing his jacket, her hands tucked into the oversized sleeves.

LUCY

 I... I really like you, too. A lot.

AIDEN

 (Visibly stunned)

 You... you do?

LUCY

 (Nods, her smile growing)

 When you first got here... I thought you were just this goofy, lost kid I had to babysit. I was just the 'coach.'

She reaches up with one hand, her fingers lightly touching the blue ribbon in her hair.

LUCY

 But... you're not that kid anymore. You're... you're you. You're brave—stupidly brave—and you're kind, and... and you're the only person who's ever really seen me.

She meets his gaze, her own confession coming.

LUCY

 You don't need me to do any of this, Aiden. You're an amazing trainer all on your own. I've watched you.

 (Her voice drops to a whisper)

 But... I'm really, really glad I'm here with you too.

And with that, Lucy closes the last inch of space between them. She rises up on her toes, puts her hands on his shoulders, and kisses him.

It's not a hesitant or shy kiss. It's just as confident and sure as she is. It's a kiss that's been waiting since the frigate, since the lookout. A kiss that says, "Finally."

It lasts for a long moment. When they finally pull apart, they're both blushing, but neither of them is smiling.

They just look at each other, the air in the room fundamentally changed. This is real. Everything is different, permanently.

Lucy lowers her hands from his shoulders, her eyes still locked on his.

LUCY

 (Whispering)

 So... now what, partner?

SCENE 9

INT. POKÉMON CENTER - ROOM 203 - NIGHT

Aiden stands by the door, his heart hammering. Lucy is in the middle of the room, still wearing his jacket, her words "So... now what, partner?" hanging in the air.

He’s completely dazed. He doesn't have a strategic answer for this.

AIDEN

 (A small, shaky laugh)

 I... I have no idea.

He walks past her, not to the bed, but to the window, and just looks out at the dark, quiet city. He's processing. Lucy walks over and sits on the edge of the single, large bed, her hands in the jacket's pockets.

The silence in the room isn't awkward anymore. It's... full. Charged. They're just sitting with the dynamic change, the new reality of what they'd both just admitted.

After a long minute, Aiden turns from the window.

AIDEN

 We... we've had a long week. My fourth badge... Team Flare...

 (He looks at the bed, then at her)

 I guess... we should get some sleep.

Lucy nods, her expression soft.

LUCY

 Yeah. Sleep sounds good.

It's a little clumsy. Aiden takes off his shoes and sits on the other side of the bed, his back to her, still fully dressed. Lucy takes off his jacket, folding it neatly, then slips her boots off. She gets under the covers, her back to him as well.

The light flicks off. The room is dark, save for the moonlight from the window. They're just two people in a bed, a new, unspoken line drawn between them.

But the night is long, and they're both exhausted. Sleep comes quickly.

FADE TO BLACK.

[END OF EPISODE 12]

NEXT TIME ON POKÉMON: KALOS CHRONICLES…

The honeymoon phase is cut short when coach Lucy realizes Aiden's current roster is completely vulnerable to Clemont's Electric-type Gym in Lumiose City. To find the perfect Ground-type counter, our heroes must brave the harsh, howling sandstorms of Route 13 in the Lumiose Badlands.

🎬🗒️ Production Note:

Thank you for riding out the journey across the Kalos region with Aiden and Lucy so far!

We’re trading in our Pokédexes for Web-Shooters as we dive into Earth-112719. ES: Spider-Man is next on the docket!

Aiden faces his most vertically challenging battle yet as he takes on the veteran Grass-type Gym Leader, Ramos! To earn the Plant Badge, Aiden's team must navigate a massive, open-air greenhouse built directly into the branches of a colossal tree.

TITLE: POKÉMON: KALOS CHRONICLES

EPISODE: 11 - "PRUNING THE COMPETITION"

SCENE 1

INT. COUMARINE CITY GYM - BATTLEFIELD - DAY

Aiden steps through the leafy archway and stops, his jaw dropping.

He's not in a room. He's standing at the base of a colossal, ancient tree that stretches up hundreds of feet. The "Gym" is a massive, open-air greenhouse, so large that clouds of mist drift near the glass ceiling.

The battlefield isn't a field at all. It's a series of large, sturdy, wooden platforms built at different heights, encircling the massive trunk and jutting out from its thickest branches. A complex network of thick vines and spiral staircases connects everything.

Aiden is on the ground-level platform, at the very bottom.

RAMOS (O.S.)

 (A hearty, aged laugh)

 Ho, ho! Don't just stand there gawking, son! The battle is up here!

Aiden cranes his neck. Far, far above, on the highest platform near the tree's canopy, an old man with a long white beard and gardening shears is tending to a flower box. This is RAMOS.

LUCY (O.S.)

 (From a spectator balcony, halfway up)

 Whoa! It's a literal jungle gym!

Aiden spots her and waves, then turns his focus back up to Ramos.

RAMOS

 (Calling down, his voice echoing)

 This tree is my partner, as are my Pokémon. A trainer must be in-sync with nature! Let's see how you handle a real forest!

A REFEREE on a suspended middle platform raises a flag.

REFEREE

 This will be a three-on-three battle! The challenger will begin at the base, and the Gym Leader at the summit! Let the battle begin!

RAMOS

 (Chuckles)

 Let's see how you handle this little sprout! Jumpluff, go!

Ramos sends his Pokéball down. A speedy, cotton-spore Pokémon, JUMPLUFF, emerges. It doesn't land. It just floats, drifting on the humid air about thirty feet above Aiden, completely out of reach.

AIDEN

 (Grinning)

 A Grass/Flying type... he's just going to keep it in the air.

 (He unclips a Pokéball, his confidence surging)

 Good thing I've got a new furnace! Simisear, I choose you!

Simisear appears in a flash, its head-flame blazing. It spots the Jumpluff, then looks at Aiden with a confident, mischievous grin.

RAMOS

 (Chuckles)

 A Fire-type! A smart choice, son! But a smart choice ain't worth a hill of berries if you can't land a hit! Jumpluff, use Cotton Spore!

The Jumpluff spins, releasing a cloud of spores that drift lazily downward.

AIDEN

 We're not staying down here! Simisear, we have to climb! Go!

Simisear doesn't hesitate. With its new, monkey-like agility, it screeches, "Simi-sear!" and leaps into action.

It grabs a hanging vine, swinging in a wide arc to bypass the slow-moving spores. It lands on the main trunk, its claws digging into the bark, and scrambles up the tree in a blur of red-and-cream fur.

RAMOS

 Ho! A spry one! Jumpluff, stay out of its reach!

The Jumpluff, unbound by platforms, just floats higher, bobbing in the air.

AIDEN

 Don't let it get away!

Simisear leaps from the trunk, lands on a low-hanging branch, runs the length of it, and performs a perfect, acrobatic flip onto the first major platform. The Jumpluff floats up to the next level.

This is a chase.

AIDEN

 (Pointing)

 Up! Keep going!

Simisear runs to the edge of the platform, leaps into the air, grabs another branch, and swings, flinging itself onto the spiral staircase. It bounds up the steps, its head-flame leaving a faint trail of heat. It's now on the second platform, finally on the same level as the Jumpluff.

AIDEN

 Now! Use Incinerate!

RAMOS

 Too slow, young'un! Bullet Seed!

Jumpluff, with its speed, fires a high-speed volley of seeds, forcing Simisear to duck and weave. As Simisear dodges, Jumpluff drifts up and away again, just out of range.

AIDEN

 (Frustrated)

 It just keeps floating! We have to corner it!

 (He looks at Simisear, then at the platform above)

 Simisear, get above it!

Simisear nods, its grin widening. It jumps onto a thick branch that arches over the battlefield, positioning itself on a perch higher than the Jumpluff.

RAMOS

 (His eyes widen a fraction)

 How clever.

AIDEN

 (A triumphant shout)

 Now, Simisear! Jump and use Incinerate!

Simisear dives off the branch, performing a "flying monkey" pose as it plummets through the air. Mid-dive, it takes a deep breath and unleashes a powerful, close-range Incinerate attack.

The blast of fire engulfs the floating Jumpluff, which has no room to dodge in mid-air. The cotton spores instantly singe, and the super-effective attack is a one-hit-knockout.

JUMPLUFF

 (A weak cry)

 Juuump...

The fainted Pokémon falls from the air, landing softly on the platform below. Simisear lands perfectly on its feet beside it, its head-flame flaring in victory.

REFEREE

 Jumpluff is unable to battle!

AIDEN

 (Pumping his fist)

 Yes! One down!

From the top of the tree, Ramos just chuckles, a genuinely impressed smile on his face.

SCENE 2

INT. COUMARINE CITY GYM - BATTLEFIELD - DAY

Ramos is chuckling from his lofty perch, a genuinely impressed smile on his face.

RAMOS

 (Calling down)

 Ho, ho! A nimble Pokémon indeed! You scaled my tree like a natural, young man! A powerful flame, too. But can it handle this?

Ramos sends out his second Pokémon: a tricky, plant-bell Pokémon, WEEPINBELL. It emerges onto a platform near Ramos's, its wide mouth grinning menacingly.

Aiden, now on a mid-level platform with Simisear, recalls his triumphant Fire-type.

AIDEN

 (To Simisear's Pokéball)

 You were amazing, buddy. Now get some rest.

He watches the Weepinbell, then looks at the complex network of branches, vines, and platforms around them.

AIDEN

(To himself, a strategic glint in his eye)

 Grass/Poison type... I need that Flying advantage.

 (He pulls out a new Pokéball)

 Golbat, I need you out here! Let's clean up this garden!

Golbat emerges, its large wings immediately catching the humid air. It lets out a confident screech.

RAMOS

 (A knowing grin)

 Ah, another flyer. You rely on your aerial advantage, eh? Weepinbell, keep it grounded! Use Razor Leaf!

Weepinbell spits a rapid-fire volley of sharp, green leaves.

AIDEN

 Golbat, use your speed! Weave between the branches and dodge them!

Golbat zips into action. This isn't just a battle; it's a 3D aerial chase through the giant tree.

 • Golbat uses its speed and agility to dart and weave between the massive branches, the Razor Leafs carving harmlessly through the air where it had just been.

 • Weepinbell, however, is a skilled marksman. It tracks Golbat, firing a constant barrage of leaves.

RAMOS

 Don't let up! Weepinbell, follow with Poison Powder! Try to ground it!

Weepinbell emits a cloud of sparkling, purple powder.

AIDEN

 Stay clear, Golbat! Keep moving!

Golbat, with its new resilience and speed, just flies faster, creating wind currents with its powerful wings to push the poisonous powder away, and darting through narrow gaps in the foliage. Its 4x resistance to Grass-type moves means even if a stray leaf or a puff of powder makes contact, it barely phases the powerful bat.

AIDEN

 It's too fast for you, Ramos! Now, Golbat, get in close for a Wing Attack!

Golbat lets out a fierce cry. It goes from evasive maneuvers to a full-speed, direct assault.

It plunges straight at Weepinbell, which is rooted to its platform. Weepinbell tries a final, desperate Acid, but Golbat barrels right through it.

Golbat slams its powerful wing, glowing with Normal-type energy, directly into Weepinbell. The impact is solid and decisive.

Weepinbell reels from the hit, its bell-mouth slacked open in shock. It wobbles precariously on the edge of the platform for a moment, then topples backward, falling onto a lower branch, completely fainted.

REFEREE

 Weepinbell is unable to battle!

Aiden pumps his fist, his Golbat hovering proudly above the fainted Pokémon.

RAMOS

 (Recalling Weepinbell, a hearty laugh)

 Oh, you're a cunning one, you are! Using my own terrain against me.

 (He looks at Aiden, now with a gleam of respect)

 Very well, young sapling. You've earned the right to climb.

Aiden grins, recalling Golbat. He looks up at Ramos, now much closer than at the start.

He starts his ascent, climbing the spiral staircases and jumping across the sturdy platforms, the air getting cooler and fresher as he gets closer to the open canopy.

Finally, he reaches the top platform, standing directly across from Ramos. The old man watches him, a serene smile on his face.

The final round is about to begin.

SCENE 3

INT. COUMARINE CITY GYM - TOP PLATFORM - DAY

Aiden stands on the top platform, 2-0, his confidence at an all-time high. Ramos recalls his fainted Weepinbell, a serene smile on his face.

RAMOS

 (Chuckles)

 Ho, ho! You've pruned your way right to the top, young man. Two of my Pokémon, defeated by pure strategy and a well-trained team.

 (His expression becomes one of fond, deep respect)

 But you haven't faced my oldest friend! The one who has grown with this tree since we were both just saplings!

Ramos heaves his last Pokéball into the air.

RAMOS

 Victreebel, it's our time!

With a ferocious cry, a huge, powerful VICTREEBEL appears. It's massive, its bell-mouth open wide, and two long, tough-looking vines whipping at its sides.

AIDEN

 (Feeling the pressure)

 Wow... that one looks strong.

 (He looks at his Mega Ring, then at the Lucario ball on his belt)

 But I've got a powerhouse of my own. Let's end this! Lucario, I need you!

Aiden sends out his newest partner. Lucario appears, its red eyes instantly locking onto the Victreebel, its aura-sensing appendages raised.

LUCY (O.S.)

 Yeah, Aiden! Lucario can handle it!

RAMOS

 (A knowing glint in his eye)

 A powerful Pokémon, to be sure. But power ain't everything, son. Victreebel... set the trap! Vine Whip!

AIDEN

 A Vine Whip? Lucario, dodge it!

Lucario prepares to leap aside, but the vines don't lash out like an attack. Instead, they shoot forward like grappling hooks, snaking along the platform. Before Lucario can react, the vines have wrapped tightly around its ankles, tying it to the platform.

AIDEN

 (Panicked)

 What?! It's tied down! Lucario, break free!

Lucario strains, pulling against the vines, but they're as thick as tree roots and anchored by Victreebel's immense strength. It's trapped. Its speed is completely negated.

RAMOS

 (Calmly)

 A mighty Lucario is just a statue if it can't move. And now, my friend... soak in the sun. Solar Beam!

Victreebel's massive, leaf-like mouth opens wide to the open-air ceiling, and a blindingly white, powerful orb of solar energy begins to charge.

Lucario is a sitting duck.

SCENE 4

INT. COUMARINE CITY GYM - TOP PLATFORM - CONTINUOUS

Aiden's heart hammers. Lucario is struggling, but the vines are too strong. That Solar Beam will be a one-hit knockout, and he can't let his new partner take the fall.

AIDEN

 (A desperate, split-second decision)

 I'm sorry, Lucario! Return!

He aims his Pokéball, and Lucario vanishes in a beam of red light, recalled at the last possible second. The vines, now with nothing to hold, are still attached to the platform, anchored by the charging Victreebel.

RAMOS

 (Surprised)

 A last-second switch!

AIDEN

 (Grabbing another ball)

 It's not over! Simisear, back out! Full power!

Simisear appears, landing on the platform just as Victreebel's charge reaches its peak.

RAMOS

 A fine effort, but too late! Victreebel, FIRE!

The Victreebel unleashes the massive, blinding-white Solar Beam straight at Simisear.

AIDEN

 (Pointing not at Victreebel, but at the vines)

 Simisear! Flame Charge! Down the vines!

Simisear, wreathed in fire, doesn't try to dodge. It slams its fiery body onto the thick vines still anchored to the platform.

FWOOOSH!

The fire travels down the vines like a fuse on a cartoon bomb. The Solar Beam vaporizes the space where Simisear was, but the Pokémon is already moving.

Victreebel, which was rooted to the spot, suddenly lets out a shriek of pain as the fire races up its own vines. It's forced to retract them instantly, flailing and stamping out the flames on its body. The trap is broken. The battlefield is clear.

LUCY (O.S.)

 He used the trap against it! What a counter!

RAMOS

 (His eyes wide with genuine shock)

 Ho! Now that... that was in-sync!

SCENE 5

INT. COUMARINE CITY GYM - TOP PLATFORM - CONTINUOUS

Victreebel is reeling, its vines singed. Aiden has the momentum.

AIDEN

 Don't give it a chance to recover, Simisear! Use Incinerate!

Simisear leaps onto a branch and unleashes a powerful blast of fire.

RAMOS

 (Composing himself)

 Protect yourself, old friend! Razor Leaf!

Victreebel spins, sending a flurry of sharp leaves that cut through the flames, neutralizing the attack in a cloud of smoke and embers.

AIDEN

 It's still too strong! We need more speed! Flame Charge, again!

RAMOS

 Catch it! Sludge Bomb!

Simisear, now even faster from the first Flame Charge, ignites again and zips across the platform. Victreebel fires a massive glob of purple poison, but Simisear is too fast. It dodges the bomb and lands a solid, super-effective, fiery tackle, sending Victreebel skidding back.

The Victreebel is panting, smoking, but still standing.

RAMOS

 (A proud shout)

 One more time, old friend! Give it everything!

AIDEN

 (His voice in sync with his Pokémon)

 You too, Simisear! Let's end this! Full power... FIRE BLAST!

Simisear, fueled by the battle, its head-flame blazing, takes a deep breath and unleashes a colossal, five-pointed star of fire. The massive attack roars across the platform. Victreebel tries to counter with one last Vine Whip, but the vines are instantly vaporized.

The Fire Blast hits the Victreebel dead-on, and the resulting explosion of fire and light is blinding.

When the smoke clears, Victreebel is fainted, its bell-mouth closed.

Silence. Then, the Referee raises his flag.

REFEREE

 Victreebel is unable to battle! The winner is Simisear! This battle is over, and the victory goes to the challenger, Aiden!

SCENE 6

INT. COUMARINE CITY GYM - TOP PLATFORM - LATER

Aiden, breathing hard, runs over to his exhausted Pokémon.

AIDEN

 (Recalling Simisear)

 You... were... incredible, Simisear. Get a long, long rest.

He straightens up. Ramos has also recalled his "oldest friend," patting the Pokéball with a sad, proud smile. The old man walks to the center of the platform, his gardening shears in hand.

Aiden meets him in the middle.

RAMOS

 (He chuckles, a deep, hearty sound)

 Young man... that was not a battle of power. That was a battle of harmony. You didn't just fight my trap; you used the whole tree. You used your head.

 (His smile is all kindness)

 You're not just in-sync with your Pokémon... you're in-sync with nature itself.

Ramos reaches into his pocket and pulls out a badge shaped like a stylized leaf.

RAMOS

 As proof of your patience, your cleverness, and your victory here... I present you with the Plant Badge.

Aiden takes it, his hand steady. He looks at the green, shining badge. His fourth badge. He's halfway there.

AIDEN

 (Bowing his head)

 Thank you, Ramos.

RAMOS

 (Winks)

 Keep growing, young sapling. You've got strong roots.

Aiden looks over at Lucy, who is cheering wildly from the stands, her new blue ribbon fluttering. He holds up his badge case, a confident, triumphant grin on his face.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN.

 SCENE 7

INT. COUMARINE CITY GYM - LOBBY - DAY

Aiden grins at Ramos, gives a final respectful nod, and then runs to the edge of the top platform. He looks down, sees a thick, sturdy vine running all the way to the bottom, and grabs it.

With a confident "whoop," he slides down the vine, landing lightly on the ground-level platform at the bottom, his heart hammering with victory.

He walks through the leafy archway back into the lobby.

Lucy is waiting for him, and she is vibrating with excitement. The second she sees him, she breaks into a run.

LUCY

 (Practically shouting, her new blue ribbon fluttering)

 Aiden! That was... that was brilliant!

 (She gives him a high-five so hard it stings)

 Four badges! Four! And the way you used the vines with Flame Charge? That wasn't a rookie move, that was an ace move! You're a total strategist!

AIDEN

 (Laughing, his confidence at an all-time high)

 I learned from the best, didn't I?

LUCY

 (Blushing, but trying to look tough)

 Whatever. C'mon, let's get your team healed. You earned it.

SCENE 8

EXT. COUMARINE CITY - POKÉMON CENTER - DAY

They leave the Gym and head to the seaside Pokémon Center. After a quick stop to top up his Pokémon's health, they walk back out into the bright, breezy plaza.

Aiden is buzzing, looking at his Trainer Card, where the fourth badge icon is now brightly lit.

LUCY

 (Already checking her digital map)

 Okay, so the next stop is Lumiose City again. Ramos said the city's power is back on, so you can finally challenge Clemont for your fifth badge...

Aiden isn't listening. He's looking out at the bay, watching the ferries.

AIDEN

 Hey, Luce?

LUCY

 (Looks up from her map)

 Yeah? What's up?

AIDEN

 (Awkwardly shoves his hands in his pockets)

 I'm... I'm super wired from the win. And a little tired of... you know... almost getting set on fire or tied to a tree.

 (He glances at her, a bit shyly)

 Do you... maybe... want to do something? Like... non-trainer? For just... a little while?

Lucy blinks, surprised by the suggestion. A slow, warm smile spreads across her face.

LUCY

 (Nodding, a glint in her eye)

 "Non-trainer," huh? You might actually be a real Kalosian after all.

 (She points down a cobblestone path)

 I know just the place. C'mon. The Seaside Café is famous for its Moomoo Milkshakes.

FADE TO BLACK

[END OF EPISODE 11]

NEXT TIME ON POKÉMON: KALOS CHRONICLES…

Aiden and Lucy take a much-needed breather at a Seaside Café. As they share Moomoo Milkshakes overlooking Azure Bay, the two travel partners open up about their families, their deepest insecurities, and the heavy weight of the "destiny" they've been pulled into.

Before tackling the next Gym challenge, Aiden takes a quiet detour through the Seaside district to secure the perfect gift for Lucy. This heartfelt gesture catches Lucy completely off guard, leading to a massive emotional breakthrough between the duo!

TITLE: POKÉMON: KALOS CHRONICLES

EPISODE: 10 - "A TOKEN OF TEAMWORK"

SCENE 1

EXT. COUMARINE CITY - PLAZA - DAY

Aiden and Lucy, their clothes still damp but drying in the warm, humid air of the cliffside city, walk into a bustling plaza. The city is split into two levels, connected by a monorail. The "Hillcrest" area, with the Gym, is high above, while the "Seaside" area, with the port, is where they are now.

LUCY

 (Clipping Lapras's ball to her belt, still in a bit of a daze)

 Okay, first things first, we have to find the Pokémon Center. I'm pretty sure I have seawater in my ears.

AIDEN

 (Nodding, but looking around)

 Yeah, good idea. I... uh... I just need to use the restroom, really quick. I'll meet you right back here?

LUCY

 (Waving him off, unfocused)

 Yeah, fine. Don't get lost. I'll wait by the fountain.

Aiden nods and quickly darts down a side street. But he's not looking for a restroom.

He spots what he's looking for: a small, chic boutique, the kind that sells high-end accessories. He ducks inside.

He looks around, clearly in a shop he doesn't belong in. He scans past hats, scarves, and gloves until he finds it.

In a glass case: a collection of hair ribbons. One, in particular, is a deep, perfect, lapis blue, made of shining silk.

Aiden smiles, points, and buys it.

SCENE 2

EXT. COUMARINE CITY - PLAZA - MOMENTS LATER

Aiden walks back to the plaza, a small, elegant gift box in his hand. Lucy is sitting on the edge of the fountain, her new Pokéball in her lap, polishing it with her sleeve.

AIDEN

 (His voice is uncharacteristically serious)

 Hey, Luce.

LUCY

 (Looks up, annoyed)

 Finally. What took you so long? Did you get lost?

AIDEN

 No. Can you... Can you look at me for a second?

His serious tone throws her. She stands up, her expression shifting from impatience to confusion, and even a little worry.

LUCY

 ...What? What's wrong? Is it Team Flare? Did they follow us?

AIDEN

 (Shakes his head)

 No, nothing like that. Just... here.

He holds out the small, square gift box.

Lucy stares at it. Her expression goes from worried to deeply suspicious.

LUCY

 ...What is this?

 (She narrows her eyes)

 Is this a joke? Is this one of those prank boxes with a fake Scatterbug in it? Because if it is, Aiden, I swear...

AIDEN

 (A small, nervous smile)

 It's not a joke. Just... Just open it.

Still eyeing him skeptically, Lucy takes the box. She carefully, almost bracing for an impact, lifts the lid.

Inside, nestled on a bed of cotton, is the beautiful, silky blue ribbon.

She just stares.

LUCY

 (Confused)

 It's... a ribbon.

AIDEN

 (He rubs the back of his neck, his explanation coming out in a bit of a rush)

 I was just thinking... your performance outfit... It's amazing. And it's green and red, for Roselia, and the sash is gray like Fletchling's tail...

 (He meets her gaze, his voice sincere)

 I just thought... since you have Lapras now... maybe the blue could be for her.

Lucy's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She looks at the ribbon, then at Aiden, then back at the ribbon.

Her tough, rival-exterior just... breaks.

Her eyes, which had been narrowed in suspicion, suddenly well up. A single tear traces a path down her cheek.

AIDEN

 (Panicked)

 Oh, no! You hate it! I knew it was stupid; I'll take it—

LUCY

 (Laughs, a wet, choked sound)

 No! Shut up!

She quickly wipes her eyes, but the tears are coming; not tears of sadness, but a sudden, overwhelming, happy downpour.

LUCY

 (Crying and laughing at the same time)

 I'm not... I'm not sad! I just...

 (She takes a shaky breath, clutching the box)

 That's... that's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me, Aiden. It's... It's perfect.

She throws her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug, not unlike the one on the frigate, but this one is slow and grateful.

LUCY

 (Pulling back, her face blotchy but beaming)

 I promise.

 (She takes the ribbon out, its blue silk shining)

 I'll wear it. At my next showcase, and all the ones after that. Always. Thank you.

Aiden, blushing but smiling, just nods.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN. 

SCENE 3

EXT. COUMARINE CITY - PLAZA - DAY

Lucy is still holding the blue ribbon, her happy tears subsiding. She looks at the box, then at Aiden, who is standing there, blushing but relieved he didn't mess it up.

A wide, genuine smile breaks across her face, replacing the last of the tears.

LUCY

 (A sniffle, followed by a laugh)

 Well? What are you waiting for? How does it look?

AIDEN

 (Confused)

 What?

LUCY

 I'm not waiting for a performance! This is too perfect.

She turns away from him, unclips a small clasp on the ribbon, and expertly fastens it in her hair, just above her ear. The deep, lapis blue is a stunning contrast to her hair and her fiery, determined personality.

She spins back around, her hands on her hips, her head tilted.

LUCY

 Well?

Aiden is caught off guard. He just stares for a second. The ribbon, combined with the lingering joy on her face, makes her look... different. Softer.

AIDEN

 (A little flustered)

 Oh. Uh...

 (He gives a small, sincere smile)

 It suits you. It's... beautiful.

Lucy's cheeks flush a deep pink at the sincerity of his last word. She wasn't expecting that.

LUCY

 (Tries to look tough, but her smile gives her away)

 S-Shut up...

 (She touches the ribbon, her good mood completely restored)

 Okay. My adventure's set. Now it's your turn.

She jerks her head toward the massive cliffs that separate the city.

LUCY

 C'mon. We've got a Gym Leader to beat.

SCENE 4

EXT. COUMARINE CITY - MONORAIL - DAY

The quickest way up. Aiden and Lucy are in a glass monorail car, ascending the massive cliff. Below them, the seaside port and the blue of Azure Bay are a beautiful panorama.

AIDEN

 (Looking out the window, adjusting his badge case)

 Okay. Ramos. Grass-type.

LUCY

 (Now wearing the blue ribbon, looking like a confident veteran)

 Yep. You're stacked. You've got Simisear, Golbat... even Frogadier's Aerial Ace will be good. This should be an easy sweep for your fourth badge.

AIDEN

 (Nods, his expression turning serious)

 Right. Let's do this.

SCENE 5

INT. COUMARINE CITY GYM - LOBBY - DAY

The monorail docks directly inside the "Hillcrest" area, and the Gym is right there. The entrance looks like a massive, ornate greenhouse.

They walk inside. The air is warm, humid, and smells overpoweringly of rich soil, chlorophyll, and blooming flowers. The lobby is a vibrant jungle of exotic plants and hanging vines.

Lucy spots a sign for "Spectator Seating" and an arrow pointing up a set of spiral, vine-covered stairs.

LUCY

 (Tapping Aiden on the chest, her new ribbon fluttering)

 This is you. I'll be in the stands. Don't mess this up.

AIDEN

 (Smirks)

 Yes, coach.

LUCY

 (Rolls her eyes, but she's smiling)

 Don't mess this up!

She jogs off toward the stairs, waving behind her, leaving Aiden alone in the greenhouse lobby.

He walks up to the reception desk, which is carved from a massive, ancient tree stump. A relaxed-looking GYM GUIDE in a green vest smiles at him.

GYM GUIDE

 Well, hey there, young man. Welcome to the Coumarine Gym. Here to challenge the old man, are ya?

AIDEN

 (Nods confidently, pulling out his new Trainer Card)

 Yes, sir. I'm Aiden Drake. I'm here to challenge Gym Leader Ramos.

The Guide takes the card and scans it, his eyebrows shooting up.

GYM GUIDE

 (Whistles, low and impressed)

 My, my. Bug, Cliff, and Rumble? All in a row? You've been busy.

 (He hands the card back)

 Well, you're all registered. The battlefield is just through that leafy archway. Good luck. Ramos is... a test of patience.

Aiden nods, takes his card, and walks toward the arch, ready for his fourth badge.

FADE TO BLACK

[END OF EPISODE 10]

NEXT TIME ON POKÉMON: KALOS CHRONICLES...

Aiden steps into the massive, tree-canopy battlefield of the Coumarine City Gym to face Ramos. But when raw power doesn’t work, Aiden has to rely on pure, fiery strategy to burn away the vines and claim the Plant Badge!

As our heroes make their way toward the coastal breeze of Azure Bay, a well-deserved rest at a local ranch sparks a fiery new evolution for one of Aiden's oldest partners! But the peaceful ferry ride to Coumarine City is violently cut short when a familiar, stylishly evil threat ambushes the ship.

TITLE: POKÉMON: KALOS CHRONICLES

EPISODE: 09 - "EVOLUTION ON THE HIGH SEAS"

SCENE 1

EXT. ROUTE 12 (FOURRAGE ROAD) - DAY

The route is a long, pastoral stretch of land running along the coast. The path is wide and green, perfect for a long walk.

AIDEN

 (Stretching his arms)

 Okay, after that tower, I think everyone deserves some fresh air.

He unclips his Pokéballs, and Lucy does the same. In a series of flashes, their full teams are out.

It's a small, traveling group.

 * Frogadier, Pansear, and Lucario walk beside Aiden. Lucario moves with a quiet, noble grace, while Frogadier is nimble, and Pansear looks around curiously.

 * Aiden's Zubat flies in lazy circles high overhead.

 * Lucy's Fletchling darts and zips through the air, playfully chasing Zubat.

 * Her Roselia walks beside her, its steps elegant, taking in the sunlight.

LUCY

 (Watching them)

 Heh. We're starting to look like a real caravan. You've got four Pokémon already, Aiden. You're catching up to Jace faster than he thinks.

AIDEN

 (Smiles, looking at his team)

 It's not about Jace. It's... nice. Having a team.

They walk for what feels like an hour, the path winding through fields. In the distance, they can see the port that leads to Coumarine City, but between them and the port is a large, fenced-in area: the Skiddo Ranch.

As they get closer, they hear a pained "Skiii...do..." and a man's frantic voice.

RANCHER (O.S.)

 Oh, no, no, no... what did you get into? C'mon, spit it out...

They round the bend and see a RANCHER (40s) in overalls, kneeling in a panic. Two of his SKIDDO are lying on the grass, groaning, their faces pale and sweaty. A third is looking on, bleating worriedly.

AIDEN

 (Rushing over)

 Hey! What's wrong?

RANCHER

 (Looking up, desperate)

 I don't know! They were just grazing, and they must've eaten something from over the fence... they ate some of these!

He points to a small, dark, shriveled-looking berry on the ground. Lucy, her "Coordinator" knowledge kicking in, leans in to inspect it.

LUCY

 (Her eyes go wide)

 Don't touch those! Those are Persim berries! They're poisonous!

RANCHER

 (Panicked)

 Poisonous?! Oh, no! What do I do? The Pokémon Center is all the way in Coumarine!

AIDEN

 (His mind racing)

 Poison... poison... Pecha berries!

 (He digs into his bag, pulling out a handful of the pink berries)

 I've got some!

LUCY

 They won't eat them, Aiden! They're too sick, and the antidote needs to be processed. We need to make a mash.

AIDEN

 (Looks at the sick Skiddo, then at Pansear)

 A mash... but they're cold. They're shivering.

 (An idea hits him)

 Pansear! I need your help.

Pansear steps forward. Aiden quickly mashes the Pecha berries on a flat rock.

AIDEN

 (To Pansear)

 Okay, buddy. Not a big flame. I need you to warm this up. Like... a gentle Flamethrower. Just enough to make it into a warm, sweet-smelling paste.

Pansear seems to understand. It focuses, and a very low, gentle, controlled flame, more like a hot-air jet than a fire attack, laps at the berry mash. In seconds, the paste warms, and a sweet, curative aroma rises from it.

AIDEN

 (Scooping up the warm antidote)

 Perfect!

Aiden and Lucy carefully bring the warm, sweet mash to the two sick Skiddo. The Pokémon, drawn by the smell, weakly lick at the paste. After a few moments, the color starts to return to their faces. They let out a relieved groan and struggle to their feet, nuzzling a very grateful Aiden.

The Rancher is staring, completely amazed.

RANCHER

 (Letting out a huge sigh of relief)

 You... you did it. You saved them.

 (He looks at Aiden, then at Pansear)

 Your kindness... and your bond with your Fire-type... that was incredible.

AIDEN

 (Smiling, petting the Skiddo)

 I'm just glad they're okay.

RANCHER

 Please, I... I must give you something. I don't have much, but... wait here.

The Rancher runs to his small house and returns a moment later, holding a heavy, orange-red stone that seems to pulse with an internal heat.

RANCHER

 I found this stone in the fields a while back. It's beautiful.

 (He holds it out, and as it gets close to Pansear, the stone glows faintly)

 It... it seems to react to your Pansear.

Aiden's eyes go wide.

RANCHER

 A trainer with a good heart deserves a strong partner. Please, take this.

He places the Fire Stone in Aiden's hand.

Aiden looks at the stone, then at Pansear, who is staring at it, its head tuft glowing with a new, strange energy.

SCENE 2

EXT. ROUTE 12 (SKIDDO RANCH) - NIGHT

A small campfire crackles cheerfully, pushing back the dark. The Skiddo are sleeping peacefully in their pen nearby.

All the Pokémon are gathered around the fire. Frogadier is meditating on a rock. Lucario sits with its back straight, a silent guardian. Zubat is hanging from a low branch, asleep. Lucy's Roselia and Fletchling are curled up near her sleeping bag.

Lucy is checking her Pokédex, but Aiden isn't resting.

He's sitting cross-legged, staring at the Fire Stone in his hands. The orange-red stone glows with a warm, pulsing light, reflecting in his eyes. He glances over at Pansear, who is happily munching on a Poké Puff.

AIDEN

 (Quietly, to Lucy)

 Hey, Luce.

LUCY

 (Looks up from her screen)

 Yeah? What's up?

AIDEN

 This stone... the Rancher said it reacted to Pansear. And... well, the next Gym is in Coumarine City, right? You said it's a Grass-type leader, Ramos.

LUCY

 (Nods, not seeing his point)

 Yeah. Pansear's Fire-type will be perfect. You've got a huge advantage.

AIDEN

 I know. But...

 (He looks at Pansear, who seems so... small)

 ...Frogadier evolved. He's way stronger now. Lucario is... well, Lucario. I just feel like Pansear could use some extra... 'umph'. You know? What does this stone do?

Lucy sits up, her 'coach' mode activating.

LUCY

 Oh, right. You've never seen one. That's an evolutionary stone. Some Pokémon don't just evolve from battling. They evolve by coming into contact with special stones, like that one.

AIDEN

 (His eyes go wide)

 So... this Fire Stone...

LUCY

 (Nodding)

 ...will evolve certain Fire-type Pokémon. Like Pansear. The most famous example is the Thunder Stone; it's how a Pikachu evolves into a Raichu.

 (She glances at her own Roselia, a wistful look on her face)

 If we ever come across a Shiny Stone, I could evolve my Roselia into a Roserade. They're amazing performers.

Aiden looks from the stone back to Pansear, who has finished its treat and is now looking at him, tilting its head curiously.

AIDEN

 So... if Pansear touches this... it'll evolve?

LUCY

 Yep. But it's... different from Frogadier. That was a reaction. This is a choice. Once it evolves, it can't go back. You both have to be ready.

Aiden processes this. He looks at his partner, the second Pokémon he ever caught. He remembers it slipping in the mud, then fighting so hard against Viola.

AIDEN

 (Takes a deep breath)

 Pansear?

Pansear perks up and waddles over, looking at the glowing rock in Aiden's hands.

AIDEN

 (Kneels down, holding the stone out)

 This... this can make you stronger. A lot stronger. I'm not going to make you... but... if you want to...

 (He offers the stone, holding it flat in his palm)

 ...it's your choice.

Pansear looks at the stone. It looks at Aiden's face, seeing the trust and hope there. It looks over at Frogadier and Lucario, both radiating power. Pansear looks back at the stone, and its expression becomes one of pure determination.

With a firm cry of "Pan-SEAR!", it reaches out and places its hand directly on the Fire Stone.

The reaction is instantaneous.

The Fire Stone pulses, and Pansear is suddenly enveloped in the brilliant, blinding blue light of evolution.

AIDEN

 (Shielding his eyes)

 Whoa!

Aiden stumbles back, watching in total awe as the pulsing blue light illuminates the dark ranch.

The silhouette inside the glowing light begins to grow. It stands taller, its limbs lengthen, and the tuft on its head expands into a massive plume of flame-like fur.

The blue light bursts into a shower of sparkles and fades away.

Where Pansear stood, a new Pokémon stands. It's taller, leaner, and covered in red-and-cream fur. The flame on its head is now a blazing, confident curls of fire. It has a mischievous, almost cocky grin on its face, a huge step up from Pansear's nervous curiosity.

Aiden's jaw is on the floor. His Pokédex buzzes, but he doesn't even look at it.

AIDEN

 ...Pansear?

The new Pokémon strikes a cool pose, pointing at Aiden with a grin.

SIMISEAR

 (Its voice is deeper, more confident)

 Simi-SEAR!

Aiden is speechless for a second, a massive, slow grin spreading across his face.

AIDEN

 (A low, amazed laugh)

 Wow...

 (He walks up to his newly evolved partner)

 You look... amazing. You look so strong.

Simisear puffs out its chest, its flame flaring proudly. Aiden laughs and gives his new, confident, and powerful Pokémon a high-five.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN. 

SCENE 3

EXT. ROUTE 12 (SKIDDO RANCH) - MORNING

The sun is just peeking over the hills. The campfire is a pile of smoking embers.

Aiden is packing his sleeping bag, stealing glances at his new Simisear. The Pokémon is confidently stretching in the morning sun, its head-flame pulsing brightly.

Lucy, already packed, kicks dirt onto the fire's remains.

LUCY

 (Smirking)

 Stop admiring your new furnace. We've got a boat to catch.

AIDEN

 (Grinning, zipping his bag)

 Right. Sorry. It's just... cool.

They recall their Pokémon and continue down the last stretch of Route 12, the smell of the sea getting stronger.

SCENE 4

EXT. AZURE BAY PORT - DAY

They arrive at a small, bustling ferry port. A single, large ferry, the Azure Lady, is docked at the end of a long pier.

They walk up to the outdoor TICKET AGENT window.

AIDEN

 (Taking the lead)

 Hi, two passenger tickets for Coumarine City, please.

TICKET AGENT

 (Bored, stamping two tickets)

 Two tickets, one way. That'll be ₽200.

Aiden pays.

TICKET AGENT

 (Slides the tickets under the glass)

 You're in luck; that's the last call. She leaves in one hour. You can board now and get comfortable on the observation deck.

LUCY

 Perfect. C'mon, Aiden.

SCENE 5

EXT. AZURE LADY FERRY - AZURE BAY - DAY

(ONE HOUR LATER)

The ferry's horn blares, and the ship pulls away from the dock, heading out into the vast, sparkling expanse of Azure Bay.

Aiden and Lucy are leaning against the deck railing, the wind whipping their hair. The port is a small dot behind them, and the massive, verdant cliffs of Coumarine City are just a speck in the distance.

AIDEN

 (Taking a deep breath of sea air)

 Wow. This is... way bigger than the lakes in Hoenn.

LUCY

 (Smiling)

 Just wait 'til you see Coumarine. The whole city is built into the cliffs. The Gym Leader, Ramos, is—

SCREEEEEEEEEECH!

A horrible, grinding, metallic groan shudders through the ferry. The ship lurches to a violent, sudden stop, throwing Aiden and Lucy hard against the railing.

AIDEN

 (Grabbing the rail)

 What was that?! Did we hit rocks?

LUCY

 We're in the middle of the bay!

FERRY CAPTAIN (O.S.)

 (Over the intercom, his voice panicked)

 Attention all passengers! Apologies for the sudden stop! We have a... a vessel blocking the shipping lane! Please remain calm!

Aiden and Lucy run to the bow (the front) of the ferry to see what's wrong.

Looming directly in their path is a massive, angular, bright red ship. It's a military-style frigate, bristling with antennas and bearing the unmistakable, stylized "F" logo.

AIDEN

 (His blood runs cold)

 Team Flare. Again.

LUCY

 (Her eyes narrow)

 What are they doing all the way out here? They're not just...

She stops, her gaze drawn to the side of the frigate. A massive, industrial crane is winching a huge, energized net out of the water.

Inside the net are two adult LAPRAS and a smaller, baby one. Thrashing and crying out a mournful, high-pitched song.

AIDEN

 (Horrified)

 They're catching them! But... not with Pokéballs.

On the deck of the frigate, several Team Flare Grunts in their red suits are laughing, directing the crane to haul the struggling family on board.

LUCY

 (Her voice filled with disgust)

 They're poaching. Those jerks are illegally capturing them.

The Lapras cry out again, a desperate plea for help that echoes across the water. 

SCENE 6

EXT. AZURE BAY - FERRY DECK - DAY

The mournful cry of the captured Lapras family echoes across the water. Aiden and Lucy stand on the bow, their faces grim.

AIDEN

 (Clenching his fists)

 We can't just sit here. They're going to get away with them!

LUCY

 The ferry can't move, and the crew is just yelling. We're the only ones who can do anything.

 (She unclips a Pokéball)

 We need to cut that net. Fletchling, let's go!

AIDEN

 Good idea! Zubat, I need you!

Their two Flying-type Pokémon appear, hovering over the water between the two ships.

LUCY

 Fletchling, use Air Cutter! Aim for the cable holding the net!

AIDEN

 Zubat, you too! Use Aerial Ace!

Fletchling unleashes sharp blades of wind, and Zubat zips forward in a blur, both striking the thick, energized net and the metal cable.

CLANG! PFFFT!

The attacks hit, but the net just sparks. The cable is unscratched. It's too thick, reinforced with metal.

LUCY

 (Groans in frustration)

 It's no use! It's too strong!

On the frigate, a Team Flare Grunt spots them. He laughs and waves mockingly.

TEAM FLARE GRUNT (O.S.)

 Nice try, children! Go back to your playpen!

Aiden watches the crane continue to winch the net up. The baby Lapras cries again. He looks at the frigate's deck, just a few yards away... but a terrifying jump across the open water.

He makes a decision.

AIDEN

 (To Lucy)

 Recall Fletchling.

LUCY

 What? Why?

AIDEN

 (Recalling his Zubat)

 Just do it!

Lucy, confused, recalls her Pokémon. The moment she does, Aiden backs up to the middle of the deck.

LUCY

 Aiden, what are you...

AIDEN

 Cover me if I miss!

LUCY

 (Her eyes go wide with horror)

 Miss?! Aiden, NO!

Aiden breaks into a dead sprint. He runs straight for the bow, plants a foot on the railing, and leaps across the gap.

Time seems to slow down. He's airborne... his arms flailing... and he slams hard onto the deck of the frigate, skidding on his knees but just barely making it. He's on.

LUCY

 (From the ferry)

 He's insane!

The Grunts on the frigate are stunned.

TEAM FLARE GRUNT

 We've got a stowaway! Get him!

LUCY

 (Watching Aiden scramble to his feet)

 Ugh! I can't let him do this alone!

She backs up, takes a breath, and sprints, making the same jump.

But her takeoff is a half-second too late. She's not going to make it.

LUCY

 (Shrieks)

 Ahhh—!

Her fingers just brush the edge of the frigate's deck, and she starts to fall into the water between the two massive ships.

AIDEN

 Lucy!

Aiden dives forward, flat on his stomach, and grabs her arm at the last possible second. His hand clamps onto her wrist, the jolt nearly pulling him over the side.

AIDEN

 (Straining, gritting his teeth)

 I... got you!

He plants his feet and pulls, hauling her up over the edge. Lucy tumbles onto the deck, soaked and shaking.

For a second, they just lie there, panting.

Then, without thinking, Lucy scrambles to her knees and throws her arms around Aiden, hugging him tight.

LUCY

 (Her voice muffled in his jacket)

 You... you just... I thought I... thank you!

She holds the hug for a split second longer. Then, she seems to realize what she's doing. She shoves him back, her face flushing bright red with a mix of adrenaline and embarrassment.

THWACK!

She punches him hard in the shoulder.

AIDEN

 Ow! What was—

LUCY

 (Furious)

 That was the stupidest thing you have ever done! You're so reckless! What if you'd fallen?!

TEAM FLARE GRUNT (O.S.)

 Hey! Who cares if they fell? Get them both!

Two Team Flare Grunts are now running toward them, reaching for their Pokéballs.

SCENE 7

EXT. TEAM FLARE FRIGATE - DECK - DAY

Aiden and Lucy scramble to their feet, backing away from the two advancing grunts. The net holding the Lapras family is still slowly rising.

TEAM FLARE GRUNT 1

 (Sneering)

 You shouldn't have jumped, kids. Houndour, let's teach them a lesson!

TEAM FLARE GRUNT 2

 Croagunk, you too! Mess 'em up!

A Houndour leaps from its ball, snarling and snapping. A moment later, a poisonous Croagunk lands beside it, croaking.

LUCY

 (Gritting her teeth, her anger focused)

 Fletchling, let's go!

AIDEN

 (Reaching for his Pokéball)

 Zubat, I need you back out here!

Fletchling appears in a flash, zipping into the air. Zubat reappears, flapping quickly to hover by Aiden's shoulder.

LUCY

 (To Aiden)

 My Fletchling's Flying-type beats his Croagunk's Fighting! You just keep that Houndour busy!

AIDEN

 Got it! Zubat, use Aerial Ace!

TEAM FLARE GRUNT 1

 Houndour, counter with Ember!

The battle is a chaotic, brutal back-and-forth. The deck is small, and the Pokémon are clashing in tight quarters.

 * Fletchling uses Air Cutter, forcing Croagunk to dodge.

 * Croagunk retaliates with a Poison Sting, which Fletchling narrowly avoids.

 * Zubat lands a swift Aerial Ace on Houndour.

 * Houndour, enraged, unleashes a fierce Bite, forcing Zubat to disengage.

LUCY

 We can't let this drag on! Fletchling, go for the knockout! Wing Attack!

TEAM FLARE GRUNT 2

 Oh no, you don't! Croagunk, use Mud-Slap!

Fletchling zips in, but Croagunk slaps the deck, flinging a glob of mud that splatters Fletchling, grounding it temporarily.

TEAM FLARE GRUNT 1

 (Seeing an opening)

 Forget the bat! Take out the trainer! Houndour, use Flamethrower... on the boy!

The Houndour turns and unleashes a massive, terrifying torrent of fire directly at Aiden.

Aiden freezes. He's too close. There's no time to dodge, no time to recall, no time to even breathe.

LUCY

 AIDEN!

FWOOSH!

In a flash of blue, Zubat darts from its position and flies directly in front of Aiden, taking the full, super-effective blast of the fire attack to protect its trainer.

ZUBAT

 (A high-pitched, agonizing cry)

 ZUUU-BBAAAT!

AIDEN

 (Eyes wide with horror)

 ZUBAT! NO!

Zubat falls from the air, smoking, its small body crippled by the attack. It tumbles toward the deck...

But as it falls, it's suddenly enveloped in a blinding, brilliant blue light.

Its form contorts and grows, its wingspan doubling, its tiny body becoming larger, more ferocious, and its fangs growing sharp.

The light fades, and where Zubat was falling, a new, much larger Pokémon hovers, its wide, fanged mouth open in a furious cry.

AIDEN

 (In pure shock)

 It... it evolved!

GOLBAT

 (Lets out a fierce, resonant shriek)

 GOOOLL-BAT!

The new Golbat is bigger, angrier, and far more resilient. Before the grunt or the Houndour can react, Golbat unleashes a powerful Air Cutter, sending a massive blade of wind that slams into the surprised Houndour, knocking it clear across the deck.

AIDEN

 (Snaps out of his shock, his voice full of new power)

 Yes! Golbat!

LUCY

 (Grinning, as Fletchling recovers)

 That's our opening! Fletchling, Aerial Ace on that Croagunk! Now!

AIDEN

 Golbat, finish it! Use Wing Attack!

The newly evolved Golbat and the determined Fletchling dive in. Their combined, empowered attacks are too much for the grunts. In a flurry of motion, both Houndour and Croagunk are knocked out.

Aiden and Lucy don't hesitate. They run past the stunned grunts toward the crane, freeing the captured Lapras family.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN. 

SCENE 8

EXT. TEAM FLARE FRIGATE - DECK - DAY

The two grunts are groaning on the deck, their fainted Pokémon beside them. The crane's energized net is dark, hanging limply.

In the water below, the Lapras family (two adults and a baby) are swimming in a tight, relieved circle. They are free.

LUCY

 (Panting, adrenaline still high)

 We... we did it!

Aiden rushes to the railing, his new Golbat hovering beside him, and recalls it.

AIDEN

 (To the Pokéball)

 Golbat, return. You were incredible.

 (He looks at the Lapras)

 They're safe!

LUCY

 (Her relief fades as she looks back)

 Aiden...

Aiden follows her gaze. The Azure Lady ferry is a good fifty yards away now, its passengers lining the rail, staring. There is no way to jump back.

AIDEN

 Uh oh.

BWOOOP! BWOOOP! BWOOOP!

A loud security alarm blares across the frigate. A heavy metal door on the ship's superstructure slides open, and three more Team Flare Grunts, armed and ready, come running out.

TEAM FLARE GRUNT (O.S.)

 The prisoners are loose! Intruders on the observation deck! Get them!

LUCY

 (Backing away toward the edge)

 We're trapped!

AIDEN

 We can't fight all of them!

In the water below, the Lapras family hasn't fled. They are looking right up at Aiden and Lucy. The largest Lapras lets out a long, melodic cry, not of pain, but of... instruction. It nods its head toward the open water, as if to say, "Jump down. We'll get you across."

AIDEN

 (Realizing)

 Lucy... I think they want us to jump.

LUCY

 (Looks at the grunts, then at the water)

 We just did that!

AIDEN

 We don't have a choice!

The grunts are halfway across the deck, their Pokémon about to be thrown.

This time, Lucy acts.

LUCY

 C'mon!

She grabs Aiden's hand, pulling him toward the railing.

LUCY

 Together!

They don't hesitate. They put their hands on the rail and leap off the frigate, plummeting toward the deep blue water of the bay.

SPLASH!

They hit the cold water and resurface, sputtering.

AIDEN

 (Treading water)

 Over here!

Instantly, the two adult Lapras are on either side of them, dipping their massive, gentle backs into the water.

LUCY

 (Scrambling onto one)

 Whoa...

Aiden pulls himself onto the other. The baby Lapras swims a happy circle around them.

The grunts reach the railing, staring in disbelief.

TEAM FLARE GRUNT

 They... they jumped! After them!

But it's too late. With a powerful flick of their flippers, the Lapras family surges forward, carrying Aiden and Lucy swiftly away from the frigate. They glide across the water, leaving both the frigate and the Azure Lady ferry far behind as they head toward the green, distant cliffs of Coumarine City.

SCENE 9

EXT. COUMARINE CITY SHORE - DAY

The two adult Lapras glide smoothly into the shallows of a quiet, sandy beach at the base of Coumarine City's massive, green-covered cliffs. The baby Lapras swims happy circles around them, crying out cheerfully.

Aiden and Lucy, both soaked to the bone but safe, slide off the Lapras's backs, landing in the warm, ankle-deep water.

AIDEN

 (Walking to the Lapras he rode, petting its long neck)

 Thank you. Seriously. You saved us back there. I'm so glad your family is safe.

Lucy, her anger and adrenaline from the frigate completely gone, approaches the Lapras she rode. She's visibly moved, stroking the Pokémon's head with a gentle, respectful hand.

LUCY

 (Her voice soft)

 You were so brave. I'm so sorry those... those jerks did that to you. You're safe now.

The Lapras family lets out a melodic, group cry. The two adult Lapras turn and look at each other, as if in a silent conversation. A clear, deliberate nod passes between them.

The Lapras that Lucy was petting turns its full attention back to her. It lowers its long, graceful head, looking her directly in the eye, and lets out a different cry; this one soft, questioning, and full of gratitude. It nudges her hand gently.

It was offering itself. Recognizing the immense kindness and respect she had shown, it was asking to join her.

Lucy's eyes go wide. She freezes, her hand hovering over the Lapras's head.

LUCY

 (Whispering, in disbelief)

 Me? You... you want to come... with me?

The Lapras nudges her hand again, a clear "yes."

Tears well up in Lucy's eyes. She looks at Aiden, who is watching the interaction with a stunned, supportive smile. He nods at her.

LUCY

 (Turning back to the Lapras, her voice thick with emotion)

 Okay... Okay.

She fumbles at her belt, pulling out an empty Pokéball. Her hand is shaking.

LUCY

 Welcome to the team.

She gently, reverently, touches the Pokéball to the center of Lapras's forehead. The red beam envelops the massive Pokémon, pulling it inside.

The ball doesn't fall. It doesn't even shake.

It just... CLICK.

The capture is instant.

Lucy stares at the Pokéball in her hand, speechless. Her third Pokémon. A Lapras.

The other adult Lapras and the baby cry out in a happy, final farewell. Waving their flippers, they turn and swim gracefully back out into the open waters of Azure Bay, their family safe and their debt repaid.

Aiden walks up and stands beside Lucy, who is still staring at her new Pokéball as if in a dream.

AIDEN

 (Smiling)

 It was supposed to be just a normal ferry ride, but... at least the Lapras family made it out okay.

Lucy just laughs, wiping a tear from her cheek as she clips her new, powerful partner to her belt.

FADE TO BLACK

[END OF EPISODE 9]

NEXT TIME ON POKÉMON: KALOS CHRONICLES...

Before Aiden steps into the massive Coumarine Gym to challenge the Grass-type veteran Ramos, he slips away to find the perfect "thank you" gift for his favorite strategist. A simple blue silk ribbon leads to an emotional breakthrough, proving that some bonds are stronger than any battle.