"The world was on fire and no one could save me but you." We sing under our breath. "It's strange what desire will make foolish people do. " I can honestly say that I've never heard this song but the tune in our head was nice and catchy. "Cause I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you" There isn't any particular reason that we're mumbling through the verses there just nothing to do right now except wait. "No, I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you."
In the days following our début we have learned a few things.
The first thing we discovered was that we are being followed. Someone has been tracking the broken Merchant bodies that we have left behind in our wake. The person following us is female, or at least appears to be. It is dressed like a clown, white and gold striped stalking, baggy pants held up by thick leather straps. It would crouch down next to the Merchant's downed form and asks about what we were told and what we asked. The merchants, too afraid due to our earlier encounter, would usually answer truthfully. This unknown Parahuman reminded my shadow of woman called Mary and that worried my other. We didn't confront the cape just incase this was some devious plot orchestrated by some mastermind type villain.
It's always better to allow them to dig their own graves. Less clean up that way.
The second is unsurprisingly connected to the first; the Merchants we interrogated claimed that the higher ups are planning a heist somewhere Downtown… that was all we were able to uncover… well that's not necessarily true… it's supposed to go down today.
The third discovery actually surprised me despite my other's nonchalance. The PRT pulled all stops to blast us for our handling of the "DOOM' incident. Apparently dealing with something quickly and efficiently makes us fucking dangerous. Piggot, director of Brockton's branch, called us unhinged and Armsmaster gave a detailed report about our psyche out of my declaration of intent. He stated that we're suffering from dissociative identity disorder because we used we and our. There were also a few conspiracy theorists that on PHO that drew parallels with Siberian and The Butcher, which from an intimidation point of view but not very heroic. The heroes didn't comment on this, which pretty much confirmed the aluminum hat wearing loser's suspicions about us.
I'm so thankful that I never made a PHO account. The Internet really does rot your brain.
In the days after our first official outing as Venom and the PRT's attempted character assassination we became rather busy. Ants came out of the woodwork in small insignificant attempts at discrediting us. We have yet to encounter any villainous capes just powerless underlings that tried their best to make us want to EAT THEIR EMPTY BRAINS!
We take a deep, calming breath.
We don't mean that, not literally at least... but the sentiment…
Though I disagree with my other's wording… I sort of agree. We felt like a fucking maid! It felt like we've been stopping crime every five minutes. ABB, Merchants, E88, and dumb punks that don't think that we're watching all of them seemed exited to face us. To quote one of these little turds "You ain't hot shit, motherfucker." Defiance and stupidity appear to be the pre dominant thoughts that all gang members shared.
The fourth discover is as sad as it is flattering. Now I want to make it clear that we never intended to uncover just how desperate single people were when someone like Felicia walked past them. Vendors gave us heart shaped boxed chocolate, various men and one particularly brave woman gifted us flowers, and there were plenty of benefactors in various cafes who fed our thirst for hot chocolate but as much as we enjoyed the attention… it quickly grows rather irksome.
Lastly our spectacular discovery was made earlier the day before last. Shortly after Valentine's Day stores try to dump their chocolate stock! Sales upon sales helped relieve some of the constant stress on my wallet.
Eating for two isn't cheap. "The wicked games you play. To make me feel this-"
Which is why we are currently standing in line in a speck of a convenience store off McFarlane Way about three blocks from Arcadia and a few more from Brockton Central. Normally we wouldn't walk this far to buy some food but we have business in this district.
As we stand in line with bundles of heart shaped boxes, neatly stacked in deep blue plastic basket, and a bag of frozen tatter tots we notice the man standing behind us. He is tall, slightly muscular, with a goofy grin on his face that makes us want to smack it right off with one powerful slap. He's about thirty, give or take a few years. His fiery red hair is spiky, like some punk rocker wannabe, that didn't quite fit for someone of his age. He has his phone glued to his ear as he talked with someone he semi-constantly cooed 'Puppy'.
He doesn't really smell out of place but there was something about him that makes us weary. His focus isn't on the cashier, on us, or even in the passionate conversation he was currently having instead his gaze and body language seemed to be absorbed by the girl. It isn't threatening, at least, it reminds us more of a bodyguard rather than a future kidnapper… but then again, we might just be overthinking it. The man is more likely to be some kidn of military instead of a kidnapper in this part of town.
It might be the way he stands, appearing relaxed to the untrained observer but we are not so inexperienced. He doesn't stand like a soldier or like a cop but he is ready for anything non-the less. He reminds us of someone from my other's imagination but those are murky so we ignore them. Or perhaps my other simply dislikes their voice.
It is a petty reason but I do not blame my shadow.
We turn our attention to the girl standing in front of us. She is shorter than us in as Taylor but looks much smaller because she hunches over. We can't see her face from our spot behind her as her frizzy brown hair covered the side of her face. She is dressed in bland colors of Arcadia, it's a modest uniform, different shades of gray compliment each other and looks rather comfy for the winter months. She smells like our old hospital room and nicotine… judging by the lack of items in her hands we can conclude that she is going to feed her habit.
'We should help her.' My other said as it popped atop the cash register. It was a skinny thing but the smile it sent our way was very endearing. Our vision flooded with images of a woman with died white hair that wasn't Felicia. I could feel sympathy for the girl. Jenna Cole was her name; she was stubborn and foul-mouthed but had a good heart. She had helped the one my other called Eddie takes down a whole cartel before her untimely death somewhere in Mexico. 'She is Innocent, Taylor. We must save her!"
The emotions that we are feeling… are pure but we have no clue how to engage the problem. Addiction is a black hole that is nearly impossible to escape from, I mean look at dad, either he's working or he's drinking which leaves us with no avenue for intervention. Now how the hell are we supposed to help her? A girl we have never talked to or ran into before needs a personal touch… sadly, there are nothing we can do for her.
Confusion floods me because there is something inside us can help her despite my assertion that there was no way we could. Smoking, like drugs, can't be broken just because of a onetime intervention by a stranger, never mind that as Venom we don't have the reputation make those kinds of suggestions.
'We can, Taylor!' My other refuses stubbornly but he suddenly stills. It turns its head towards the door and bares its teeth menacingly. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand what's about to happen but it does put us in a rather tough spot. We can't just change into our-
'Move back.' It hisses in my mother's voice. 'Act like you're going to grab a soda, someone's coming!' We don't hesitate to do as my other suggests, moving past the chatting man on his phone and hid behind a Mouse Protector cut out next to the cold fridges. With a chime of the doorbell three skinheads walked in each brandishing one visible weapon, a bat, a chain, and a bowie knife. The man on his phone tensed almost immediately and moved to intercept them before they could reach the mousy girl.
The skinheads aren't nervous; they've probably done this kind of shakedown a thousand times, intimidating small business owners for the own gains and chipping away at any hope of a better life that these people strive to create. They are a plague that eats away at the foundation of society from within! It's self-replicating virus. They drag those around them to their level and those infected spread it to others commencing a slow decay that needs to be PURGED before they turn the whole city necrotic.
Marquis used to be the stopgap for Brocton Bay. He was curbed the worst of the worst in this city, repelled the Slaughterhouse Nine, and drove the Teeth out of our home. Marquis represented a time when crime was organized, targeted, and tended to leave the Innocents alone… unless they wanted his protection. Under Marquis the drug trade was kept away from schools, and the majority of casualties of Parahuman-on-Parahuman violence were Parahumans.
The number of Innocents that Marquis could potentially save outweighed the Guilt of his crimes. It is simple calculus; you don't remove the most effective tool in your arsenal just because it makes you look ineffective. Yet the heroes had scales covering their eyes. In the final days of Marquis's reign the Brockton Bay Brigade focused exclusively on him allowing worse parasites like Allfather.
It is disgusting, we know, having to pick between evil. Many will fault us for our way of thinking. Even now as we crawl up the wall and onto the off white ceiling I can't help but remember the words my mom read to me months before her accident.
"Lesser, greater, middling, it's all the same. Proportions are negotiated, boundaries blurred. I'm not a pious hermit; I haven't done only good in my life. But if I'm to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all."
We disagree. Inaction is the same as guilt. After all…
We were innocent once…
"It's that time of the month again, Castiglione." The apparent head skinhead demands shoving the brown haired girl back and puling out a shiny grey revolver. The old man behind the cashier glares at him with but starts reaching for something under the counter. For a second we think Mister Castiglione is going to pull a gun and blast him away but instead, much to our disappointment, he pulls out a bright manila envelope.
Our attention drifts monetarily to the man that had been behind us. Two of the Nazi filth has him pinned onto a shelf.
You know… it's funny, watching a holdup while hanging upside down from the ceiling. It's almost a surreal experience, one moment you're waiting to pay for chocolate and the very next three skinheads with chains, bats, and a gun march into a convenience store like they own the place. They have no idea what's coming for them.
They don't notice me; instead they focus on Mister Castiglione. The wrinkly old cashier that had manned this small convenience store since my dad was a kid. He had come to Brockton Bay five years before Scion first showed himself. He had survived every gang that had tried to bring him down but he was older now and couldn't swing a bat the someway anymore but there is no need to fear.
We are here to protect the Innocent after all.
Invisible tendrils wrap around the two skinhead by their necks and immediately yank them into the air quicker than their brains can register the weightless sensation and then we them into the fridges where we had originally hid. The shattering of glass made the last skinhead turn and blindly fired.
Two shots escape the chamber before we realize our mistake. Our eyes widen in horror as thick stream of red arterial spray of blood erupted from the brown haired girl's neck and her body crumples like a puppet with cut strings. We launch ourselves at him before he can turn the gun on the red haired man.
We barely register his scream when wrap our hand over his wrist and squeeze.
My shadow drinks the blood that seeps from the mangled remains of his weapon and his hand, absorbs the muscle and bone. With each agonizing second we grow stronger while the Guilty grows weaker.
"We just ate that dude's arm!'
'Fuel in the tank, Taylor, fuel in the tank!'
He looks at us with terror in his eyes that would have mirrored our own just a few scant moments ago. "You thought yourself a hero, didn't you?" We hiss digging deeper taking more. One moment of contemplation later we shake our head. "No, you didn't. You never wanted to be a white knight or a soldier for a righteous cause. You just wanted a vent for your anger, your rage, and your hatred because you wanted to make the world pay for every thing it has taken for you. Do you honestly believe that you're the only one that's been hurt?" We lift him up by the stump of his arm and snarl. Who hates this world?" Wait, what? Who's suffered?!"
With his free hand he tries to claw himself free. "Answer US!" His nails break against our skin.
He doesn't answer, so we march him to his friend and run his face through a plate of glass.
Once.
Then again.
And again.
Until he stops moving but he will not die. He'll live but with scars from that will remind him what it's like to suffer like those Innocents who have suffered because of him. He will be better for it or he will be seeing us again, soon. We drop his still bleeding mess of a body with a huff of disgust and our attention turn to the red haired man and the dying girl.
The man kneeled over the girl, hand on her neck and phone long forgotten. His face is an easygoing mask but the tension is there. The wound to the neck is lethal unless they have Panacea on speed dial. Comforting and teasing words spill out of his mouth like a waterfall. Well, at least Arcadia isn't that far…
"Holy shit!" We look away from the victims and lo and behold there is a cape standing over a puddle of blood. The cape is obviously female… her costume was rather skintight black cat suit, like those of a stereotypical femme fatale … goddammit Felicia. The voice is familiar even though we can't place it, at least, not muffled by that mockery of our face. The cape has clearly modeled part of her costume to match ours as there is a large white spider covering her chest. Her mask looks like us when we keep our mouth shut, white glassy eyes and everything.
'We have a fan…' I tell my shadow dryly, as we shifted our attention back to the bleeding girl. Looking closer it is clear to us that moving her will only worsen her condition. She lost too much blood and there's no telling what kind of damage the second bullet did to chest. We look at the red haired man's bloody hand pressing on her neck while the other puts pressure on her chest. There is nothing we can do!
'Yes, there is.' Without warning my hair shoots out like a blanket and begins to cover the girl from head toe while my arms push the man back. As soon as our hair bundled itself around her like a blanket we felt her pain as if it is our own. Then came the weight of emotion, years of self-hatred, scathing looks, and mental manipulation by exterior force that inspired adoration and fear, but most of all there was an overwhelming sense of relief. As if her death would be a release. From every crushing expectation, from the cold eyes of a woman pretending to be a mother, of a vacant eyed father who she knows she could fix but fear of self stops her, and from an inappropriate desire from he beautiful sister.
She remembers a time before all this but not well. A pearl pink princess dress and tea parties with a handsome man with the same brown hair. I remember the comforting smell of cigars covering something vaguely metallic. I remember being Amelia…
The connection isn't one way though much to our ire. She sees us at our best as often she as at worst. Every dark impulse share between my shadow and me, every action we could have taken to pacify our enemies quicker and less violently than we handled them but we don't regret our actions. Showmanship, pain and, fear are the languages that these barbarians speak. Showmanship allows the masses to digest even our most brutal attack. Fear justifies our brutality because it spreads like a virus; it's a useful tool after all. The PRT uses it and the gangs use it for their own purposes… violence just pulls it all together in a neat package. Amelia understand this too despite how much she hates it.
But not for the reasons most would think.
Amelia hates when they make her work on Guilty filth like this.
Our connection deepens for every second that passes as my other flushes the every poison in her system. Thoughts become clearer as we take more and more weight onto our shoulders… except for…
There is something else…
…Another Seed?
(Shaper)
"AHHHHH!" We scream in pure agony, both her and I, as that inhuman word echoed through our minds. It lasts for a good three second before it stops and we are violently pulled away. We are disorientated as we soar through the air, across the street and into a parked car. Before either of us can reorient a small, shimmering fist smashes into our jaw driving our head through the windshield.
There's no pain at first only a feeling of weightlessness as we come back to ourselves but that is easily ignored in favor of listening to the tingling spider sense.
We dodge the next punch and retaliate with our own one-two combo. A barrier of some kind stops the first hit but the second makes contact with an up coming fist... for some reason it snaps like wood. We immediately capitalize at the apparent advantage and launch ourselves at the assailant, pinning them to the ground with enough force to the road.
It is only then that we recognize the face of our attacker. Blonde and beautiful Victoria Dallon is glaring at us with levels of anger that is only surpassed by the pain she must be feeling. I'm ninety percent sure that I just splintered the bones in Glory girl's arm.
Fuck.
XxX
A/N: and here's the next chapter of TMV. Sorry for the delay but October has been... difficult. Loved the Venom movie and i honestly can't wait for the sequel Woody Harrelson looks like he'll make a good Cletus Kasady. As for Carnage joining with Jack Slash... well i can't really say if that will happen... their motivation are too different despite the similarities in means for achieving their goals. Carnage just wants to kill but he wouldn't strive to end the world because then there would be nothing to kill.
Thanks for your patience and i hope you enjoy this!
