Chapter Text
The surge of power was highly addicting. Peter could feel their muscles rippling as he jumped further than he ever could have with only the powers he inherited from the spider bite, aided by the black substance encasing their body and forming an impenetrable shell around their skin. He landed hard enough to bend the metal beam underneath their feet, their reinforced joints easily taking the brunt of the impact, and paused there, head tilted back to breathe in the mild summer air. The symbiote was silent in the back of his mind for once, but he could feel its familiar presence as a faint pressure at the back of their skull, right above the first vertebra where the cervical spine connected to their skull.
When they had first connected, the pressure had often mounted to agonizing headaches that left him blind and disoriented, helpless to submit to the needs and wants of the symbiote, losing any sort of control over their shared body and movement. It had taken weeks of seductive coaxing from the symbiote and almost desperate pleading from Peter until they had finally agreed to a middle ground that would give them both what they needed: fresh meat for Venom, hunting down criminals for Peter. Most often, they found ways to fill their belly and remove a criminal from the streets.
Taking another whiff of the fresh air, Peter sorted methodically through the different scents the city produced. Fume from cars mingled with the scent of fresh fish, the day’s catch being processed at the nearby docks over night. One of the few restaurants still open at this hour served shawarma and spicy chai, piquing the interest of the symbiote nestled at the base of his skull. Peter ignored its famished growl even as it had their stomach rumbling, reminding him once again how the line between what is his and what belonged to the parasite had blurred until it was impossible to tell where he ended and Venom begun. Instead he focused on the scent he was looking for: the heavy musk of expensive cologne, lamb’s leather, a faint hint of cotton and fabric softener. He closed their eyes, long tongue whipping in the air. There.
Crawling along the metal beam, Peter followed the scent, the blackness of their skin melting into the shadows on the rooftop. He jumped gracefully over the gap towards the next roof, again pressing close to the ground to remain hidden from sight as he picked up the trail. With each roof he crossed, the scent grew stronger, urging him to run faster, leap further, drawing every ounce of strength from their body. He could almost feel the satisfying crunch of bones between their teeth, taste the blood gushing into their mouth.
When he landed on the roof of an abandoned office building, Peter stopped, crouched low. The source of the scent he had been tracking was directly underneath, trailing up through the cracks in the glass ceiling. A net of slender steal beams held what remained of the panels, the broken glass reflecting light from further below. Careful not to tread on the fractured panels or make any noise, Peter crept forward, toes curling against the metal to find secure hold.
Kill him.
Venom poured the words into his mind, but it did not attempt to take over, satisfied with taking the backseat and watching while Peter expertly navigated their body through the darkness.
I will. Soon. Peter hummed quietly without even using his voice, but the vibration carried over their mental link. The lazy curl of tendrils inside their veins was enough of a reply. As much as the symbiote seemed to enjoy how he would follow its lead, it grew impatient; eager to sink their teeth in the weak human body right under them.
There were other people down there, along with the man they were hunting. They smelt of blood and gunpowder, harsh and sharp in comparison to the heady, alluring scent their prey was emitting. Hired guns, Peter noted; doing the dirty work for anyone paying enough to hold their leash. They were talking, not bothering to speak quietly, believing foolishly that there was no one around to hear. Something about a delivery they were meant to accept and protect. Peter huffed quietly in amusement, lips peeling back to reveal their rows upon rows of sharp teeth. That delivery was cancelled, he knew; he had made sure that it would not reach its destination, efficiently destroying the scientific equipment and neutralising the chemicals he found within the crates. The mercenaries were afraid they would be blamed. Peter could smell their fear, hear their weak protest.
The melodious voice of their prey cut in. The man barely had to raise his voice, his tone and dark eyes enough to silence a room and bind the attention of anyone listening. When Peter had first spoken to him, he had been awed by the man’s intellect, his philanthropy, his wit. He had so easily fallen under his spell, starstruck and naïve. Now he knew better, knew that the man put on a mask every single day, and behind it slumbered a monster, hiding a rational cruelty with a charming smile and handsome face.
The man was more of a monster than the symbiote would ever be.
Venom was growing restless. Heat simmered in their chest, and Peter knew that he would not be able to hold the parasite back for much longer. Swiftly he moved towards a large gap between the steal network, slipping through it to hang upside down and scout the room, unhindered by the broken glass panels. Someone had put up a few stationary lamps to light the large room two stories under them, which had possibly been some sort of atrium or an open-space office before the company had been forced to close down the building two years ago after a fire. Two of the mercenaries carried flashlights, every now and then nervously scanning the perimeter, but their beams remained trained to the walls and floor, darting over rubble and concrete, never shining further up. All four of them were armed, carelessly concealing their weapons. Peter counted seven handguns in total, possibly a few knives, and one of them had a taser rod strapped to his leg. Even without the symbiote, he would have been able to take them down.
His eyes narrowed on their prey.
He was dressed in a charcoal suit, wool, from the scent of it, his hands covered in black leather gloves, dark hair casually swept to the side. Even in the dim light, he was as handsome as ever, but he was not smiling now. Displeasure and impatience radiated from him, carried in the timbre of his voice. His plans had been delayed by the destruction of the shipment, and someone would need to pay for it.
He will pay for it, Venom fed into his thoughts, their thoughts. Pay for what he has done. To all those innocent people. To us.
Peter let go of the steal girder, adrenaline rushing through their body at the brief sensation of free fall. He landed hard on one of the goons, their weight enough to plummet him to the floor and crush their ribcage with a wet, delicious crunch against the concrete.
Humans. Such poor design.
A bullet crashes into their back as a flurry of movement broke loose, the remaining mercenaries drawing their weapons and firing for their dear life, but Peter had no eyes for them. He disposed of them swiftly, barely even casting a glance as black tendrils shot out of their body, tearing into flesh and ripping bodies apart as if they were made of tissue paper. Their mouth watered from the metallic stench of blood and intestines, waking the parasite’s appetite, yet their eyes remained locked on the man in his dark grey suit who had taken a few steps back when the carnage ensued and nevertheless got spattered with blood that glistened in the cold light of the lamps surrounding them. He seemed unsure of whether to run or stay, survival instincts battling the morbid fascination of a scientist discovering a new species. Peter made the decision for him, the very same tendrils that had effortlessly taken down three armed men seconds before wrapping around the man’s forearms and ankles, rendering him incapable of fleeing.
Their obscenely large mouth peeled back to reveal Peter’s face, cheeks glinting with sweat and brown eyes burning furiously as he narrowed them, tilting his head as if he was watching a butterfly that he had pinned to a cork board.
“Good evening, Dr Drake.”
The man in front of him smiled courteously, seemingly unfazed by the situation even though there was a spray of blood covering his face like clusters of red freckles and a blotch of cerebral matter stuck in his immaculately styled hair.
“Why, Mr Parker. It is such a pleasure seeing you, as dire as the circumstances may be.” After everything that had happened, Drake’s voice still struck a chord in Peter, heat rising to his cheeks and desire simmering low in his belly. Venom’s growl rattled his skull, a warning to remind him why they were here, what they would have to do in order to set an end to the Life Foundation and their gruesome human experiments.
Cut the head off the snake and watch the body wither.
Peter suppressed the urge to do exactly that; to let the symbiote take over, open their maws wide and sink their teeth into the soft column of Drake’s throat. Patience. Willing the black, sticky matter except for those tendrils holding Drake to sink back into his skin to fully reveal his own body, he did not stand taller than the scientist anymore. He was instead of similar height and build, slender with the faintest hint of muscles visible underneath his ripped jeans and washed-out red MIT hoodie.
“We’ve been hunting you, Dr Drake.” Peter leant in close to his neck without the intention of biting down just yet, his nostrils picking up the citrusy scent of orange blossom, floral jasmine and neroli, mixing with musk and sweet vanilla1. His own breath ghosted over the skin as the man subconsciously tilted his head to the side, causing arousal and hunger to spike. It would be so easy to tear into his carotid artery, or tear out his vocal chords, then watch him bleed out on the dirty floor, surrounded by dead men and debris. A sad metaphor for what Carlton Drake had left behind on his path to greatness.
“You’re hard to find alone, but here you are.” Darkness crept along the edges of his vision, retreating slightly when he blinked repeatedly, then returning. A warning that Venom was there, eager, willing to force Peter to take the next step if he did not dare to do so himself. “How many people have you experimented on? Innocent people?”
Drake possessed the audacity to laugh, little more than a huff of breath. The sound nevertheless echoed in the space around them. “They all signed the very same contracts that you were handed before the series of experiments, Mr Parker, designed by our legal team to ensure they could not be contested in a court of law. What the subjects have endured is a necessary step to the evolution of mankind itself. You’re a scientist, Peter—tell me. What do you see when you look at the world?” With what little leeway the tendrils wrapped around his wrists offered, Carlton Drake opened his arms to gesture around them. “War. Famine. Overpopulation. Natural disasters. The biosphere integrity, the biochemical flows—the natural boundaries of this planet2—severely endangered. Earth is at the very brink of collapse.” His dark eyes shone feverishly in the low light. “What the Life Foundation—what I am doing Is meant to ensure the survival of humanity. Sacrifices must be made along the way.”
Little was left of the inspiring scientist Peter had admired enough to apply for and internship when the opportunity opened up. Of the charismatic man who had him wrapped around his finger, who would sit with him for nights while they worked on innovative projects in the lab or over a cup of coffee in the empty cafeteria when everyone else had gone home already. Of the tender lover who had worshipped his toned body, kissed each starburst of freckles and faint scar on his skin, and had told him that he had a bright future ahead.
All that he could see now was the monster that locked him in a room with an alien life form and watched from the safety behind a wall of bullet-proof glass while the parasite forced its way into his body.
Black matter crawled up Peter’s fingers, slithering over his arms and bleeding out of the skin on his neck. Rows of teeth emerged, framing his face in the mock of a Glasgow Smile.
“You are so right, Dr Drake. Sacrifices must be made.”
The tendrils around Drake’s legs dragged him closer until he was pressed against their body, but now Peter towered over him, the tar-like substance covering their body. He curved their back, an animalistic growl rumbling through their chest.
“And you will be our last sacrifice.”
It was not only the power that had become an addiction to Peter, but also the sweet taste of blood that he craved every single waking moment and that haunted his dreams.
Finally, finally the darkness lurking in the corner of his eyes filled his vision, and along with the symbiote he opened their maw, tongue whipping out before they sank their teeth into the soft flesh of Drake’s neck.