Too many make mistake fillers, not enough live wires.

Cletus laughs at his symbiote's words, echoing in the back of his mind, a titillation. The claws that he's dragging across the ceiling scrape a little further, digging black gashes into it, like long swipes of ink. His back arches, ribs prominent had the alien shell not been protecting his entire body, adding weight into his frame and giving him the appearance of the muscular being Carnage is, instead of skinny Cletus. He's on his toes, back arched as he stretches out. "More, tell me more," he begs, his grin as villainous and peccant as it comes. He loves the Symbiote. The adulation is immediate, as it sticks to his body and crawls up his system, making his heart burn and stutter in the best way. It's exaltation. It's new too; he's never loved anything before.

As it creeps up his neck, edging near his jaw, his tongue lolls out and head cocks, eyes falling half-way shut like he's fucking climaxing or something like that. It continues, darkly, and he swears, had his fingers not been digging into the ceiling, they would have curled in adoration.

You'll take a picture with the king, and they'll only see your face.

"Ye-es," he moans, slipping his tongue back in his mouth before falling to his knees, hands falling to the ground in front of him as his system is swallowed by the symbiote, palms flat against the cooling puddle of blood on the concrete. He stretches out like a cat, his forearms sliding in the gore, chin sitting propped-up on the floor. His head hangs and it's not because he's weak, it's because it's new.

That's all.

It's new and great and he wants to just press his body against the symbiote, but he is the symbiote. Does that make him an alien?

It might, answers the thing.

"Cool!" It comes off choked, and he presses his mouth, jaw open to the ground while he laughs and pants and lets it creep into his hair and he squeezes his eyes shut tight. He's in euphoria. Give me something more.

Do something for us.

"Anything," he hisses into the floor, the symbiote creeping red into his mouth. He runs his tongue over his morphing teeth and relishes in the blood that fills his mouth, the sharp red canines cutting into the muscle. There's a screech as something spikes along his body at the cut. It's good though. Real good.

Write our name in yourself.

The thought that conjures up next is immediate, as he breathes in the new smell of the alien virus, the rusty ground and iron blood. Dipping his claw into the blood on the ground, he lifts himself from the cold floor and goes to the wall, and writes in jagged, big letters: CARNAGE. He loves it, and admires his work as the symbiote completely overtakes him.

The symbiote laughs, which means Cletus laughs, a high-pitched, scary chuckle. Hehehe. Or it might kind of a howl that bounces off the walls. He's too horny to tell.

What do we want?

"What do I want?" How delicious. Cletus is perfect in every way.

I. Yesss. What do I want?

"Hope to overtake the planet, with my banana in a hammock."

Cletus whines it, dragging his own claws down his thighs, a few tendons spawning from the muscles of his back in excitement at the draw of blood. His tongue, now abnormally long and dark, swipes over his teeth again, before dawdling out languidly, leaving a sticky line of tinted-pink saliva hanging from the fangs and his tongue.

If he were Cletus Kasady, unexposed to the transformation and watching it from a distance, he'd probably be coming in his pants right now. But he's not. He's Carnage.

Then I'll go and do it.