The day after the Oscorp trip, Midtown High was a hive of whispers and speculation. In the halls, students traded stories about the field trip—some exaggerated, some eerily accurate. The most popular rumor was that Dr. Toomes had nearly bitten a student's head off for asking about the restricted lab.
In the quiet corner of the library, Peter, Liz, Gwen, and Mary Jane huddled around a table strewn with notes, photos, and a laptop. Liz's notepad was open to a page with a blurry photo of mechanical wings. Gwen had a small vial of silvery residue and a printout of her analysis. Peter's notebook was filled with observations—Toomes' mood swings, his trembling hands, the way he'd lingered by the restricted door.
Liz tapped her pen against the table. "This is it. We have enough for a real exposé. Blueprints for wings, rare alloy, Toomes acting like he's got a demon on his back—Oscorp's hiding something big."
Peter frowned, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Liz, we need to be careful. If Toomes is behind the thefts, he's dangerous. And Oscorp isn't exactly known for playing nice with whistleblowers."
Gwen nodded, her voice low. "He's unstable. The alloy I found? It's used in high-torque actuators—perfect for something like, well, mechanical wings. But it's also rare and expensive. Someone's covering their tracks."
Mary Jane leaned in, her tone serious for once. "If we go public, we need proof. Real proof. Otherwise, we're just kids making accusations."
Liz sighed, but her eyes were determined. "Then we get proof. We watch, we listen, and we don't let Toomes out of our sight."
Peter managed a crooked smile. "Just promise me you won't try to break into Oscorp again. I'm running out of excuses for why you keep showing up late to class."
Liz grinned. "No promises, Parker. But I'll try to keep the felonies to a minimum."
Toomes' Struggle
At Oscorp, Dr. Toomes paced his private lab, the city skyline reflected in the darkened window. His face was drawn, eyes haunted. He stared at his own reflection, jaw clenched.
"You're slipping," he muttered, voice trembling. "You're letting them get too close."
His reflection seemed to sneer back. "They're children. Weak. But you—you're owed more. You built this place. They took everything."
Toomes pressed his palms to the glass, breathing hard. "I'm not a thief. I'm a teacher. I help people."
The other voice, darker and colder, hissed, "You're nothing. You're a joke. But with the suit—with the wings—you'll be feared. Respected."
Toomes' hands shook as he turned away, grabbing the prototype Vulture suit from its stand. The metal wings gleamed under the lab lights. As he slipped the harness over his shoulders, his posture changed—shoulders back, chin high, eyes hard.
He flexed the wings, the motors whirring to life. For a moment, he was silent, lost in the power thrumming through the suit. Then, in a voice that was not quite his own, he whispered, "Let them try to take from me again."
Piecing It Together
Later that day, Peter lingered in the school hallway, his senses on edge. He spotted Toomes, muttering to himself as he walked past the trophy case.
"Wings… take what's owed… they'll see…"
Peter's spider-sense buzzed like a live wire. He ducked behind a locker, scribbling notes.
In class, Gwen nudged Liz, nodding toward Toomes at the front of the room. His hands trembled as he wrote on the board, and his eyes darted nervously around the classroom.
Liz whispered, "He looks like he hasn't slept in days."
Gwen frowned. "He's unraveling. Did you see the way he snapped at that kid for asking about the field trip?"
After class, the group met in the library again, piecing together their findings.
Peter laid out his notes. "He's obsessed with wings. He keeps talking about being owed something. And every time Oscorp comes up, he gets… weird."
Gwen placed the alloy sample on the table. "This is used in high-stress robotics. It matches the blueprints Liz photographed."
Mary Jane looked between them. "So, Toomes is stealing from Oscorp to build… what? A flying suit?"
Liz nodded, her voice grim. "And he's losing control. We need to do something."
A Close Call
After school, Peter trailed Toomes to Oscorp, sticking to the shadows. He watched as Toomes slipped into a secluded lab, the door hissing shut behind him.
Peter crept to a window, peering inside. Toomes stood before the glass, arguing with his own reflection.
"You're weak," the reflection snarled. "You let them take everything."
Toomes' voice cracked. "I'm not a monster. I just want what's mine."
The reflection's voice grew louder, more insistent. "Take it. Take it all."
Suddenly, Toomes slammed his fist into a console, shattering a monitor. He staggered back, breathing hard, then stormed out—leaving behind a feather-shaped piece of metal, glinting on the floor.
Peter's spider-sense screamed at him to run, but he slipped inside, pocketing the metal feather before anyone could see.
Confiding in Liz
That evening, Peter met Liz at a quiet park, the city lights twinkling in the distance. They sat on a bench, the air cool and still.
Peter turned the metal feather over in his hands. "Liz, I think Toomes is… sick. He's talking to himself. It's like he's two people—one desperate to help, the other desperate for revenge."
Liz's face was pale in the lamplight. "You think he's dangerous?"
Peter nodded. "I know he is. But he's also… broken. I don't know how to help him. Or stop him."
Liz reached over, squeezing his hand. "We'll figure it out. Together. I'm scared, Peter. But I trust you."
Peter managed a weak smile. "That's probably your first mistake."
Liz laughed, the sound shaky but real. "Maybe. But I'd rather make mistakes with you than play it safe alone."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of what they'd discovered settling between them.
Peter finally said, "Whatever happens, I've got your back."
Liz squeezed his hand tighter. "And I've got yours."
Closing Scene: The Vulture Takes Flight
In the depths of Oscorp, Toomes stood before the completed Vulture suit. The wings stretched wide, casting jagged shadows on the walls. He donned the helmet, his eyes cold and unrecognizable.
He stepped onto the launch platform, the suit's engines whining to life. With a roar, he shot upward, smashing through a skylight and into the night.
The city skyline was briefly illuminated by the shadow of a man with wings, soaring above the rooftops. Below, sirens wailed and lights flickered as the Vulture took flight for the first time.
Miles away, Peter sat on his bed, staring out his window at the city. His spider-sense tingled, a warning of the storm to come.