PETER PARKER
The buildings around me turned into fast paced blurs of black and white with soft neon streaks as I plummeted through the air, desperately trying to make my web shooters do their job. It's funny that they failed at the one thing they were built to do; shoot webs, and that they were just acting like ugly fucking bracelets under my hoodie. I then scrambled to try and stick to the glass panels of the building, although my usual 'stickiness' had seemingly disappeared too. Great.
I looked beneath me at the ground, the people on the streets growing bigger and bigger as I fell closer and closer to death. Maybe this is what destiny had in store for me, maybe I was supposed to die after losing everyone around me. Maybe after I theoretically 'killed' Spider-Man, it had now become time for Peter Parker to die too. I screwed my eyes shut and braced myself for impact, hoping that my impending death was quick and painless like in the movies. But if I've learnt anything in the past several years, life is never like the movies.
Finally my left wrist activated, shooting a strand of webbing upwards and catching onto something- anything, making my body recoil with the force. Imagine getting whiplash but throughout every single joint in your body. That was how I felt, like a rag doll thrown mercilessly around the air like a lasso.
I opened my eyes and saw that I was only about a metre or two off the ground, hanging aimlessly in the air amongst the bustling crowds of New York. Nobody seemed to have watched the man falling to his death off the countries tallest building, nor did they notice that same man now levitating off the ground and holding onto a strange string. That's the thing about New Yorkers; we don't give a fuck about anything that doesn't involve us.
I let go of the web quickly and felt the muscles in my legs wobble a little, possibly from the fact that I thought I was going to die a mere two seconds ago. My trusty web shooters have never malfunctioned like that before. Then I felt that same wobbling in my head and in my vision, as if I had somehow developed vertigo while the world started spinning around me. And finally, I felt the wobbling in my stomach, instinctively rushing towards the closest garbage can I could find on the street and violently throwing up into it.
I was now that guy. You know, the tragically drunk guy you see throwing up in public whilst you walk past tutting to yourself? That's me.
"What the fuck," I muttered to myself, leaning against the metal bin and looking around the street as the city lights blended together and the sounds around me amplified into a deafening crescendo. I could hear every person, every car, every footstep. It was like I was getting my spider senses all over again, and trust me, that gave me a migraine for three days straight whilst waiting for my body to get used to the heightened senses.
It wasn't until this moment I looked down at my feet to see that the black glob had completely disappeared, along with my left shoe. So not only had I thrown up in the middle of the sidewalk, I had only a single shoe on. I am definitely fitting into the classic drunk homeless guy persona right now.
"Gosh, are you okay young man?" Says an elderly gentleman approaching me, his walking stick clicking loudly against the sidewalk.
"Y-yeah, just food poisoning," I yelled back, trying to overcompensate for how loud everything was right now. Except he looked at me like I was crazy for yelling so loudly at him, maybe he thought I naively assumed he was partially deaf.
With the sounds and lights swirling around me, I soon realised that New York City was the single worst place to be right now. I pushed my way through hoards of people on the street, trying my best to find some sort of dark alleyway to go down to escape the sound. I could just sit down and relax before swinging myself home. I could gather my thoughts, wait for this headache to subside and then try and sleep it off.
Dashing across the road without looking, I slammed my hands against the bonnet of an oncoming taxi before it could hit me, yelling a string of profanities at the driver like the typical Queens native I am. The first alleyway I had seen wasn't particularly dark nor quiet at first, but I knew that it would eventually lead me further and further into the maze that is New York's back street system. Seriously, there's so many tiny alleys in this area, you could get lost.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness, away from the nausea inducing lights of the main street and I slumped against the brick wall. My back pressed against the flat surface as I slid down to the ground and I felt my shirt stick to my back from the sweat; why am I sweating so much? Is the wall damp from condensation perhaps? That's not all from me right?
All too familiar to me, yet wildly more irritating, the tingle at the back of my head felt like a sudden sharp stab rather than an alerting reminder. My Spider Sense, or as Aunt May liked to call it my 'Peter Tingle', was a sensation I felt when danger was present in my imminent surroundings. It usually felt as if someone had put their cellphone inside my brain and it was ringing on vibrate. It was a soft but noticeable buzz. Right now though, it was impossible to ignore as the pulsations mixed with my already debilitating migraine and echoing heartbeat.
I snapped my head towards the other end of the alleyway, hearing the scuff of a shoe against the gravelled concrete on the ground. I got up, walked towards the sound and slowed down once I heard two men brawling around the corner. I hadn't particularly gone out tonight to patrol for crime, in fact I rarely went out specifically seeking petty crime, I just fought whenever I had to. But I needed to break up this fight purely so I could stop this fucking Peter Tingle inside of my head and let me rest.
"Hey kid! I think you're in the wrong place man," a tall and tattooed man said in my direction when he noticed me standing in plain sight. He was gripping the shirt of a significantly smaller and scrawnier man, threatening him over god knows what.
"And I think you should let him go," I retorted, pulling my hands out of my jumper pockets and putting them out beside me to show I wasn't armed. Well... Armed in the way they defined it.
"The fuck did you just say to me?" The thug spat at me, letting go of the lanky man who fell down quickly onto his ass with a grunt.
Encounters with New York street criminals like this prick always followed a very similar pattern. I'd confront them, they'd see me as a little sleep deprived white guy and challenge me by brandishing a weapon as an empty threat. I'd then defeat them before they would get the chance to use it and finally I would leave them ashamed and emasculated. It's as simple as that.
Tonight was no different to the usual pattern. He swiftly pulled out a gun from inside his jacket, pointed it directly towards me and before I could even realise that he wasn't bluffing about pulling the trigger, I felt the bullet lodge itself into my lower ribs and stumble back from the impact.
I looked down at my torso and saw blood start to seep through my shirt, the stain growing quickly as I used my hand to lightly touch the wound; the wound that... Barely hurt at all. Now look, I've been shot before and as much as I have superb healing abilities, it still hurts like a mother fucker to have a bullet inside your fucking body.
Except right now. Right now I watched the bullet ever so slowly push itself out of my body and the bleeding began to stop quicker than it had ever stopped before. I heard the bullet fall to the ground with a hollow metallic rattle once my skin had miraculously healed, the wound feeling more like a nasty bruise than a life threatening injury. I looked up at the gunman who was staring back at me in fear, which made him shoot a second bullet towards me once we made eye contact.
Again, I stumbled at the impact and winced at the initial pain before watching the wound bleed for several seconds before the bullet started to get rejected from my body. This, was not normal for my powers, not normal at all.
Using my web shooters I quickly disarmed the gunman and discarded the weapon several metres away as he tried to run from me. This part of a fight always made me laugh because of their stupidity. Why would you try and run from someone with super abilities that would obviously overpower you?
With a chuckle I shot a thread of webbing towards his back and hurled him backwards, slamming him against the brick wall before falling flat on his face with a desperate scream. I walked slowly over to him, accidentally treading in a shallow puddle of water with my sock clad foot and shaking my head with a grunt.
"I-I can't feel my legs!" He yelled, his face pressed against the gravel as he struggled to move.
"Calm down, it's not the end of the world," I huffed, pulling him up to his feet by his arm and shoving him against the wall to face me. He wailed in pain, his feet barely touching the ground as I looked into his eyes.
He coughed and spluttered as blood ran from his bottom lip. I had no sympathy for people like him, nor did I have any obligations to give them the benefit of the doubt. I let him fall back down on his ass to try and stop his persistent complaining, before gripping his hair with my left hand to tilt his head up. I used my right hand to deliver a swift hook to his jaw, rendering him unconscious as his body slumped to the side and fell.
He didn't groan. He didn't move.
He simply collapsed like a children's doll.
Normally after fighting people like his, I'd take their wallets and withdraw as much cash as I could before heading home - that was a little reward to myself. I crouched down next to his limp body, found a wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and opened it up.
Chester Bellevue. What a pompous fucking name for a piece of trash like him... I took his credit card, debit card and whatever cash he had; which was only thirty seven dollars. I also took a Starbucks gift card.
I took a few steps backwards before looking around me to see if anyone was around, which luckily wasn't the case. I shot my webs upwards so I could scale the building next to me, crawling as fast as I could up the wall and to the roof where I could be alone.
As I sat on the edge of the roof overlooking the city, I couldn't help but grin to myself as I felt an overwhelming feeling inside of me. I couldn't quite explain what it was, a mix of adrenaline, pride, euphoria and power. I never felt this good after a fight, especially not after a simple street thug roughing up a scrawny drug mule.
I haven't felt like this in years... This is fucking brilliant! I chuckled and leaned backwards so I was lying on the rooftop with my legs still over the edge. The sounds and lights of the city no longer gave me a migraine and the tingling in my head had now dissipated. I was elated.
How do you feel?
I tilted my head back to try and see who was behind me, shocked and surprised to know someone else was on the roof right now. But there wasn't anyone near. I sat up and turned around properly, not seeing a single soul in my vicinity.
Feels good doesn't it?
"Who said that?" I called out, demanding that the owner of this deep, chilling voice reveal themselves to me.
I said it.
I saw the black goop from earlier tonight creep out from behind me, crawling up and over my shoulder as I quickly reached towards my back to try and rip it off of me frantically - but I struggled to grasp it.
"W- What the fuck..." I whisperered, fearful of this fucking tar attached to me and speaking inside my mind. Maybe this is how I die, from an alien taking over my body and eating me from the inside out. I hear the police sirens in the distance grow closer and closer, before the red and blue lights appear below me on the street. Usually I would hide from the police, fearful that they'd discover 'Spider-Man' was still alive, but I couldn't focus on anything but this voice inside my head.
Don't be worried Peter, I mean no harm. If meant to harm you, why would I have protected you from those bullets?
"How do you know my- my name?" I asked, looking at the goop which had settled on my forearm and seemed to be moving yet staying perfectly still all at the same time. It looked like running water, but it wasnt a liquid. I don't think it classified as a solid either.
Wait... Was this thing on my back the whole time? Where did it go after I fell from the sky? Is it inside of my ass or under my jacket or something? Ew.
I know everything about you Peter, I am inside your head.
"Then can you get the hell out of my head? I've got enough shit going on up there, I don't need some fucking parasite telling me shit I don't need to hear," I scoffed.
I am not a parasite!
"Okay! Sorry, Jesus Christ how am I supposed to know what you are? You just look like black sludge or something... Are you uh, an alien? Are you here to learn what humans are like and then take over planet Earth?" I frowned.
No Peter. We Symbiotes are but a benevolent species. And though it is our goal to make the universe better, we create no art, no music, no culture. At least, not as other civilizations would understand it. All we have are our hosts, the beings we join with, to forge through the cold and unforgiving cosmos with. The bond between a Symbiote and its host is sacred Peter. They give our lives context and our existence meaning. They give us our history. All we have are our hosts to make us who we are.
"Who are you then?" I asked slowly.
I am Venom.