Spiderman: Venom

Before he could decide whether to put his trust in Felicia, he needed to confirm the authenticity of her information. If she was setting him up, he could warn Gwen, and together, they could figure out the next steps.

The way Felicia looked at Gwen, and as much as he understood why open relationships were a bad idea, the way she gazed at him made him stop and think. He sincerely hoped she wasn't on the wrong side. If she turned out to be a villain, it would shatter Gwen's heart if he had to separate them—or worse. Despite everything, he had to admit that Gwen had been right: imagining them together felt odd, but the thought of them being intimate didn't.

That line of thinking was for much later. For now, he needed to investigate both locations and determine whether his suspicions were just paranoia.

Both addresses were located in Staten Island. It would be an easy jog after work and a chance to clear his head.

The first location was near the waterfront and turned out to be a dilapidated, crumbling warehouse. It seemed like squatters had taken up residence there. Stale, worn-out cot beds sat in one corner, while trash and debris were scattered across the floor. The place had clearly seen better days but looked unused recently.

The second address was on a bustling street. He had to double-check multiple times to confirm he had the right spot. It didn't resemble an office location at all—it was lined with storefronts.

Of course, idiot. It's not like there's going to be a neon sign saying, Bad guys here. He chuckled to himself.

He wandered around aimlessly for almost an hour before finally catching a lead. A familiar scent hit him. It was the perfume he had associated with Gwen—and the natural scent of the other girl. It felt odd, as Staten Island was nowhere near where Gwen or MJ should have been.

The fragrance brought him a sense of comfort. It reminded him of freshly baked cinnamon rolls: sweet, with a heavenly spicy kick that sent pleasant tingles through his body. Following the scent trail, he moved deeper into the back alleys.

Figures, he thought.

Anyone wanting to conceal an entrance would naturally use the back alleys. They often formed a confusing maze of loading docks and hidden doors—ideal for a villain's hideout. He wandered without direction until he found the spot where the aroma was most concentrated.

Standing there was a petite woman with a thin frame, holding a vial of pale white liquid. Her hair was a voluminous mess of brown curls tied into an oversized beehive. Though slightly unkempt, it still looked clean. She adjusted her octagonal wire-framed glasses on her sharp, angular nose.

"You see, symbiotes are a highly reactive species. Loud noises, bright lights, and powerful scents can disorient them. So, Mr. Venom, the car alarm stunned you. The light blinded you. The electricity overstimulated your nerves." She sniffed the contents of the test tube. "And a woman's arousal caught your attention. Of course, it made you drop your guard."

Peter glanced down and realized he'd stumbled right into a trap—a literal one. He noticed the wire mesh beneath his feet, connected to a spring-loaded bear trap.

The woman flipped a switch in her hand, and the trap snapped shut. Its extended arms clamped tightly around his thighs, immobilizing him.

Immediately, his symbiote skin surged upward, enveloping him. Even though it was daytime, Peter knew that if Ock, Electro, or Sandman had hired this woman to lure him in, they wouldn't be far.

"I must say, though, I didn't expect you to be so young. The report mentioned you were a teenager, but I thought it was due to malnutrition or an error. Now, seeing you here, yes, you're definitely younger than I anticipated."

The trap's jaws dug into his legs, delivering electric shocks that locked up his muscles. The suit offered some protection, but it wasn't enough. Thankfully, the symbiote dampened the shocks and shielded him from the trap's teeth.

As each shockwave pulsed through him, Peter focused on redirecting the current. Adjusting the symbiote's structure to mimic an electrical circuit, he rerouted the electricity through his body and safely discharged it into the ground. He realized he might no longer need his undersuit and began considering other potential adaptations.

"You know, I'm very disappointed. I expected this encounter to be, well, more climactic." The woman mimed martial arts moves, chopping and kicking at the air. "Not just 'oh hello, zap, caught.' When the first one escaped all those years ago, it took months and dozens of men to recapture him. You, though? You're a letdown." She stepped closer and leaned in until she was almost nose-to-nose with him. "And I hate being disappointed."

As the numbness in his limbs faded, Peter kept the symbiote stiffened over his joints, feigning immobility. If they were this desperate to capture him, he would let them take him. They would lead him straight to the others. This felt almost like a scene out of a Saturday morning cartoon. He thought to himself that if she were a man, she'd probably be twirling a mustache by now.

She bent over him, pressed a syringe against his neck, and injected him with something. He couldn't see what it was, but the injection site quickly turned cold, and he assumed it was a paralytic.

Then, he saw Sandman. Without hesitation, Sandman grabbed him, threw a cloth sack over his head, and landed a few hard punches to his stomach. The paralytic dulled the sensation, making the pain feel distant, so Venom barely reacted.

"Not now, Sandman," the woman said. "You'll have your chance later."

"Yeah, yeah, Doc, but I've got a score to settle with him," Sandman muttered angrily.

Despite the tranquilizer coursing through him, Venom's heightened senses remained alert. He picked up the smell of fresh plastic inside the van they had shoved him into, the faint squeal of brakes that needed repair, and the general sounds of the bay outside as they drove.

None of the sounds stood out as unusual—just a regular street. There was no water nearby, no bridges being crossed. He was sure they were still somewhere in Staten Island.

With Sandman now in the picture, it wouldn't surprise him if Electro was nearby too. Then, all that was left would be to find Ock and settle the score for what they had done to Gwen and the others.

The ride didn't last long, maybe five minutes. As the van slowed down, they turned into a back alley, crawling cautiously through the tight, narrow streets.

Sandman smelled odd as he hauled Peter into a building. It was a mix of dirt, gravel, and a faint chemical odor. Peter was beginning to recognize it as the compound that must have been used to grant them their powers.

Inside the building, the air carried the scent of dust and, curiously, lipstick. Apart from the lingering presence of Sandman, there wasn't much else to pick up. This seemed to be her base of operations, though Sandman must have been using it as a hideout. There was also a faint trace of ozone in the air, not strong, but enough to tell Peter that Electro had been here recently.

"Put him there, Sandman, if you don't mind. Then go get us something to eat—or whatever it is you consume now, I suppose. Venom and I are going to have a little conversation while we wait."

Venom was dropped onto a cold, metallic table. Heavy metal restraints were clamped tightly around his wrists and ankles. Sandman inserted long steel pins into the cuffs, ensuring they stayed locked.

The woman pulled down a control panel. "This is linked to the table," she said, smirking. "Get an answer wrong or try to pull anything funny, and zzzzzzap!" she said with dramatic flair. "Behave, and maybe I'll let you go." She retrieved the test tube from earlier, pulling it from her breast pocket, and waved it in front of him. Venom snorted dismissively.

Sandman growled, curling his fists, the sound of his gritty, rock-like skin grating audible even to Peter.

"Yes, yes, I know you want payback," the woman said dismissively. "But it'll be difficult to get information out of him if you keep hitting him."

"Fine," Sandman grumbled. "Food, yeah. Got any cash?"

Rolling her eyes, she pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her bag. "No junk food. Get something decent."

Sandman grunted, snatched the money, and left.

"Now, let's start with the mask," she said, turning back to Venom. "I'd hate to accidentally cut something important while I'm poking around. Besides, I'm curious about who you are under there. Last time we met, it was all punches and kicks—a bit too physical for my tastes. I prefer a more intellectual exchange, if you catch my drift." She raised an eyebrow suggestively and winked.

When Peter didn't respond, she sighed in mock exasperation. "Fine," she muttered, pressing a button on the control box. Electricity surged through the table, shocking Venom. The pain was intense but manageable. Peter stretched his body taut, pretending to be more affected than he actually was. After a few seconds, she released the button. "Now, please?" she asked sweetly.

Reluctantly, Venom allowed the symbiote to peel away from his face, revealing his identity.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed, triumphant. "Well, I suspected. It was either you or that nosy reporter. So, Peter Parker in the flesh. I knew your parents, by the way. Yes, I did. I interned at Oscorp when they worked there. They were lovely people. Such a shame about what happened to them. They'd probably be disappointed in you, though," she said, gesturing at him. "Venom? Really? Doesn't exactly scream hero, does it?"

Peter shrugged. "It's not supposed to. It's supposed to make people know I'm going to kick their butts."

She laughed. "Fair enough. I remember what happened the last time we crossed paths."

Last time? Peter felt a flicker of confusion.

"Well, if you want to play nice, maybe leave the bondage act behind. Not really my style," he quipped with a grin and a wink.

"Play nice?" she repeated, amused. "Don't worry, Peter. I've been told to keep you alive." She suddenly winced, clutching her head. "Haa… conflicting orders. Makes things tricky," she muttered, dabbing at her nose as blood trickled out. "Two masters, pulling in opposite directions. Painful, isn't it?"

She tucked the bloody tissue into her pocket and continued. "My employer wants to figure out what makes you special. Out of all the subjects…" Her words trailed off, and Peter noticed her hands tightening into fists, her knuckles turning white.

Is she in pain? he wondered.

She stroked his hair. "You look so much like your father," she murmured. "Oh, I had such a crush on him. Smart, charming, incredibly handsome." She straddled him on the table, placing her hands on his chest. "I almost threw caution to the wind once and made a move on him, even though your mother was in the picture. He was just that brilliant," she said, tracing a finger down his chest. "And you're just like him."

She slid her cold hands under his shirt. "It's been so long," she whispered, leaning in close. "Can you save me?" she murmured near his ear before abruptly straightening in pain.

As blood dripped from her nose again, she wiped it away. "Where was I? Ah, yes. Your mother. She wasn't as smart. Just a secretary, taking notes on everything Richard and Curt created. Well, everything they made before Norman stole it."

Her entire body tensed, and Peter felt the pressure of her thighs against him. Whatever she wasn't saying, it was causing her immense pain.

"So many secrets, Peter," she whispered. "Would you like to know mine?"

Gwen, MJ, forgive me, he thought, resigned.

She unbuttoned her lab coat, pulling it off with a flourish. The smell hit him first—a sour stench masking a hint of rot. Then he saw the cause.

Thick, metallic bands encircled her torso from just below her breasts to just above her stomach. The material that had once covered the bands was long gone, leaving the edges to bite into her raw, bleeding skin. She stretched, and from her back extended four mechanical arms.

"Ta-da!" she declared. "Doctor Olivia Octavius, at your service. Or as the riff-raff call me, Doc Ock."

Damn, Peter thought.

His assumptions, his biases—all of it had led him to believe Doc Ock was a man. But here she was, in full, horrifying glory. Once again, Peter had underestimated her.