Part III of I Believed Them All
Felicia was the first to react, pushing past MJ roughly and rushing towards the door. The smooth tile of the bathroom floor provided little traction for the redhead and her feet slipped out from under her, sending her crashing to the ground.
"Ah! What the hell?!" MJ cried as sharp pain rattled in her tail bone.
"Shut up!" Felicia hissed, resisting the temptation to fling the door open to investigate the screams.
Slowly, she eased the door open a crack and peeked out into the club. There was some kind of commotion going on near the dance floor. People were scrambling over each other in an attempt to put as much as distance between themselves and whatever was frightening them. At first, Felicia assumed it was some kind of testosterone-filled tussle between two "bros". It was a safe assumption in regard to their current setting. However, that theory was shot out of the air when a new scream, the loudest one yet, ripped through the air, accompanied by a splash of dark red up along the far wall.
"Shit," Felicia shut the door and retreated, crouching next to the other girl. "Shit, shit."
"What is it?" MJ sensed Felicia's anxiety and saw that whatever petty argument they were having was currently placed on hold. "What's going on?"
The screams were louder now, more frantic. Felicia mentally cursed herself, for the hundredth time, wondering when she would ever learn her lesson.
"Never ever ever," Walter Hardy chided in her mind. "Step foot outside your house without some kind of weapon."
Even a throwing knife shoved down her boot would have made her feel more comfortable, but she had once again failed to follow her father's old advice. Maybe now she would finally pay the price for her lack of discipline. A rough hand on her shoulder roused Felicia from her thoughts.
"Earth to Hardy," MJ shook her. "Care to explain what the hell is going on?"
Felicia scanned her surroundings, quickly forming together some kind of course of action.
"There's something outside killing people," Felicia explained, not feeling any satisfaction from seeing the blood drain from MJ's face. "I don't know what it is, but as of right now, we're both safe."
"Peter's out there," MJ reminded her. "He could be in some kind of trouble."
"Peter can take care of himself." Felicia stated, her voice firm. She had never asked her boyfriend about the extent of MJ's knowledge in his double life. A good rule of thumb to follow would be to assume that no one knew, preventing the secret from being accidentally revealed. "But you need to hide."
Felicia glanced around the small bathroom once more and caught sight of the row of sinks, suspended on a dingy-looking counter. Without pausing to explain, she started shoving MJ towards the counter.
"What are you going to do?" MJ asked, slightly surprised by the treatment.
"Something very stupid, now get under there."
MJ slid underneath and into the small space, glaring out at her companion.
"You're right. Peter can take care of himself. So just what the hell are you going to do?"
"I'm still working that out, just," Felicia stood up, leaving MJ alone in her poor hiding place. "Don't move."
Starting to go through the motions of her quickly fabricated plan, Felicia unzipped her jacket. It never ceased to amaze her, how all these outrageous scenarios seemed to play out whenever she was involved with one Peter Parker. One second, she's getting ready to pound another girl into submission in the bathroom, and now she's saving her life. Not because she was fond of MJ, not in the slightest, but because she knew Peter would never forgive her if his friend died.
I hate my life. Felicia thought with a grimace.
Wrapping her jacket around her hand in a makeshift glove, Felicia pulled back her fist and punched the bathroom mirror. She heard a squeal from beneath the counter as MJ heard the sudden shattering of glass.
If you don't have a weapon, make one.
Examining the various fallen shards, Felicia plucked a couple from one of the sinks and tested the pointed ends against the skin of her arm. They weren't as sharp as she would have liked, but they would have to do. After pulling her jacket back on, Felicia grasped a shard in her hand and somehow found comfort as the rough edges dug into her palm. She would have liked to store a spare shiv in her pocket, but a quick look down confirmed that this was impossible.
Man this is the last time I ever where a damn skirt.
She crossed to the door then, and rested a hand on the door knob. One last breath and she would fling it open to face whatever was causing such a disturbance. The breath came and went, but the door remained closed. Felicia was hesitating. Maybe she would get lucky and Peter would have dealt with whatever it was before she had a chance to get herself killed.
Or maybe Peter left after I screamed at him. She wondered. I know I would.
This was her payback, retribution for her moment of unrestrained fury. Karma had a sick sense of humor.
"Hey," MJ called to Felicia's back. "Why don't you just come and hide, Felicia. You're not going to do any good out there. If what you said is true, then let someone else handle things."
It was her rival's words that did it.
"You know what, Ginger," Felicia opened the door. "Screw you."
Spider-Man plowed through the front doors of The Bloody Pool and was faced with a horde of people surging towards him. Some of the partiers continued straight at him and proceeded to attempt running through him. This was met with abysmal results as Spider-Man soldiered ahead, moving his hands before him and literally parting the sea of bodies with great sweeps of his arms.
A few more of the people froze at the sight of him. Apparently unsure which was the bigger threat, whatever was making a mess of the dance floor or the city's most notorious vigilante. The answer was made obvious, however, when said vigilante completely ignored them and pushed his way deeper into the club.
The first thing he saw, when he made it clear of the panicked swarm, was a great amount of blood. Or at least, what he assumed was blood. The dark interior of The Bloody Pool made for poor visibility, even with his heightened sense of sight. Dark patches of red were splashed up the walls and what Spider-Man assumed was a chunk of human flesh was resting on the floor a few inches away from his foot.
"What the…" He breathed, but was cut off when his gaze fell upon what was on the dance floor.
Something was crouching in the center of the floor, huddling over a fallen dancer and ripping at the smooth meat of their neck. The being was roughly humanoid in shape, emaciated and covered from head to toe in a pitch-black oily substance. Its skin rippled and moved as if composed of a mass of insects rather than actual tissue.
The monster perked up at the newcomer and dropped its former meal. Its slimy head rolled up and a pair of blank, white eyes met Spider-Man's equally-blank lenses. Thick ropes of blood-stained saliva dangled from the creature's mouth as its jaw hung open, displaying a long and snake-like tongue. A slow and drawn out screech rose up from Venom's throat, causing Spider-Man's blood to run cold.
It sounded like a banshee, something inhuman and dangerous. The call wasn't out of fear or warning. It was just a message, simple and to the point: Spider-Man was now the prey and Venom was his predator.
As the beast rose to it's feet, its thin legs wobbled to support it. No matter how terrifying and grotesque the Venom was, it was weak. Eddie Brock had been a fragile host, not even lasting a full year before being drained completely by the symbiote. It needed food, sustenance to keep itself alive. It needed a host.
Venom staggered forward, screeching once more and attempting to grab Spider-Man. The attack was clumsy and Spider-Man was able to easily flip over its head. Coming down on the far side, Spider-Man crouched low and shot his leg out, sweeping at Venom's skinny ankles. The monster hit the ground with a disgusting splat and Spider-Man wasted no time, rolling on top of Venom and pinning it down.
He didn't know anything about this monster, but guessed that it could be defeated just like everything else he'd fought before: with a lot of punching. Spider-Man brought a fist down and plowed his knuckles into Venom's forehead. He was surprised that the skin gave under the force of the blow, at least more than an average forehead should. It was like punching a bowl of jelly, blood-covered, black, murderous jelly.
Venom didn't seemed to be phased by the first blow, nor the second or third. With another ear-splitting shriek, the beast reared up and slashed with its hand. Spider-Man saw the swipe coming, but was not altogether bothered by the impeding danger. It was an open palmed strike, a good distance away from his head and anything else overly-important. It shouldn't have heart as much as it did.
Sharp claws raked across his chest, leaving fire-hot trials in their wake. Spider-Man screamed and pushed himself away. He rolled across the floor and bounced to his feet, once again out of striking distance.
"I just fixed this thing!" Spider-Man exclaimed, gingerly touching the new rents in his costume and the torn skin beneath. He could feel a scalding pain at the point of contact, as if someone had pressed a white-hot iron against his bare chest.
Venom either didn't hear his prey's complaints or care all too much, as he pounced forward again. Spider-Man sidestepped the lunge and, much to his surprise, stumbled over the smooth ground.
This is bad. He realized as his vision started to blur. This thing did something to me… I can feel-
Another slash blazed its way across his back and Spider-Man cried out again, arching away from the blow while falling forward. He caught himself on his hands and knees and rolled to the side, avoiding a third slash from the Venom.
Spider-Man found no reprieve resting on his back, the floor felt like a pile of hot coals against his new wound. He gritted his teeth against the pain and as Venom faced him again, he fired a glob of bio-cable into the creature's eyes. This apparently seemed to have no effect on Venom as he charged on ahead anyway.
Black skeletal limbs and claws filled Spider-Man's vision as Venom descended upon him. He thought quickly, mentally running through his list of attacks, counter attacks and defenses that he could use to combat his opponent and its flaming strikes. Nothing came to mind. It had only taken two hits from Venom for Spider-Man to be incapacitated. His brain buzzed and his muscles burned, and he saw a blackness starting to creep up the edges of his eyes, poison surging through his searing veins.
Venom's mouth opened wide and its tongue, stained red by the blood of its earlier victims, slithered out to taste the air. The beast was smiling down at Spider-Man. Venom had won before the fight had even begun and it knew it. Spider-Man felt something tugging at the fabric over his heart.
"What are you going to do?" Spider-Man reached up and gripped Venom's thin shoulder, delirious from pain and the disappointing defeat "Rip out my heart and eat it? Damn you're such an ugly asshole."
A noise rippled from Venom's throat, it could have been interpreted as a laugh if you've never heard actual laughter before. Suddenly the rippling laugh transformed into another loud screech, this time from unexpected pain.
Felicia Hardy tugged against her shard of glass, pulling it free from Venom's back only to plunge it in again. She was rewarded with another squeal of pain as Venom writhed beneath her and bucked like a bronco, dislodging the woman and sending her tumbling away.
Spider-Man watched as Venom snapped to his feet and twisted around, scrambling at his wounded back and wailing horribly. Black veins snapped about furiously, parting and coming together again, as the beast's entire body seemed to undulate in pain. As the twisted mouth was yawning in pain, Spider-Man caught sight of a flash of human skin, bright blonde hair, and thick-framed glasses amongst the swirling tendrils.
"Eddie!" A second wind surged through Spider-Man, propelling him back to his feet.
He charged, leaping forward and tackling Venom around the middle. There was a loud snapping noise, much like that of a rubber band being stretched past its limits, and both Spider-Man and Venom crashed to the ground in a mess of flailing black tendrils and crocked limbs. Feeling for the fabric of Eddie's shirt, Spider-Man dug his fingers into his friend and pushed both of them off the ground. Eddie was ripped free and carried aloft in Spider-Man's grasp, as the vigilante leapt away from the writing mess which was all that was left of Venom.
The ground rushed up to meet Spider-Man and he felt strong arms wrap around his chest, slowing his progress to the earth. Felicia grunted as both her boyfriend and Eddie Brock fell over her, smushing her against the ground. The trio came to a rest in a heap near the center of the dance floor. Felicia felt something hot and sticky soaking the back of her head and she shivered to think that they had landed in the center of the blood bath.
"How many times am I going to save your ass, Spider?" She asked, struggling out from underneath Spider-Man.
"Mary-Jane," He gasped. "Where is she?"
Felicia felt her jaw tense and she looked away, towards where the Venom used to be. The black sludge was gone, inexplicably slipping away without its host and leaving them suddenly alone in the club. For a moment, Felicia considered not answering his query, but his hand wrapped around her wrist.
"Felicia-"
"She's fine!" Felicia ripped her wrist free. "She's just fine."
Getting to her feet, the woman stalked towards the exit, leaving Peter to flop backwards onto the dancefloor, exhausted. Grumbling to herself, Felicia reached the doors and peeked outside. The street outside The Bloody Pool was packed with distressed patrons, many on cell phones, but most standing around in shock. A few looked towards the door when Felicia poked her head out and stared at her with wide eyes. She retreated back into the club quickly.
Someone's calling the cops. Felicia mused. Better not be here when they come. With a bunch of dead people and no monster left to take the blame, Spider-Man will probably take the fall.
"Pete-, uh Spider-Man." She moved back to where her boyfriend lay sprawled next to the remains of Eddie Brock. "We need to leave."
He didn't respond, not so much as nodding to acknowledge her words.
"Hey," Felicia prodded his shoulder with her toe. "Get up."
She waited five seconds before pouncing on him and ripping off his mask. Peter's eyes were closed and when she hovered her cheek over his parted lips, she felt no breath on her skin. A quick check of his pulse proved that there wasn't one. Felicia started to panic.
"Peter!" She shook him roughly by the shoulders. "Wake up! Wake up dammit!"
There was a creak of a door, a rushing of feet and then someone was crouching next to her. Felicia reared back, ready to defend the unconscious Peter against whoever was stupid enough to approach unannounced. It was Mary-Jane.
"What happened?" MJ demanded, examining Peter like Felicia before her. "Felicia, he isn't breathing."
"I- I know." Felicia blinked at her. "I mean, I don't- He…"
"Felicia!" MJ snapped her fingers in the other girl's face. "You need to call someone."
"What?"
"Get help!"
"Oh," Felicia was shocked. She knew what she had to do, and yet, her body refused to cooperate.
This exact scenario had played out in her head before. Peter, hurt, with only her to save him from certain death. Typically, her imaginary self would be calm and collected, assessing the situation and then getting Peter the help he needed. But now, faced with reality, Felicia Hardy found herself momentarily frozen. Despite all her skills and confidence, in that moment she had never felt more useless.
The front door burst open and people swarmed in. As rough hands grabbed onto Felicia's arms and dragged her to her feet, three words played themselves on repeat in her head.
He isn't breathing. He isn't breathing. He isn't…
Jean DeWolff stood in the center of what used to be one of the trendiest clubs in town. Emergency Response Units or "ERU's" bustled around her, collecting corpses or scrubbing down the blood-caked walls. It had been another massacre, nearly as high in causality as the infamous Oscorp Massacre years ago.
Nearly all the deceased had shown signs of suffering a violent death, dying from blood loss or trauma. The only exception seemed to be Edward Brock Jr., whose discarded body was relatively unscathed, save for a stab wound in his back.
"Interesting," DeWolff had commented. "Everyone appears to have been clawed to pieces, except for you." She tapped a finger against Eddie's sheet-covered forehead. "A stab in the back, but from whom? And why?"
The two women found inside would hopefully be able to shed some light on the peculiar situation, the redheaded one at least. The other one, the brunette, seemed to be in near hysterics as they brought her out. An analyst back at base would identify them both soon and then DeWolff could get to questioning them.
The police captain checked her watch. It was almost four in the morning.
"Why is it that I always miss out on my sleep when you're involved?" She muttered to someone who wasn't here.
Spider-Man had been there in the midst of it, of course. He had been collected and taken away for investigation. Only swift action by DeWolff had prevented him being sent straight to Riker's Island.
"He's injured." She had explained. "Spider-Man needs treatment, highly specialized treatment. I'll make the arrangements."
She rubbed at her forehead, blinking the tug of sleep from her eyes. ERU's were jumpy, always willing to shoot first and ask questions later. DeWolff didn't trust them for one second with her special accomplice. It was best for everyone if she handled the Spider-Man affairs alone, no matter how stressful.
"Captain." A voice spoke from behind her.
She turned to face a saluting subordinate.
"Christ, Johnson, put your hand down. You don't have to do that every time you have something to tell me." DeWolff waved her hand at him.
"Uh sorry, ma'am," Johnson tried to mask his gesture by adjusting his cap. "It's just that everything has been handled with the Spider-Man. I've done everything you've asked and he's with her now."
"Good, now go home and get some-." DeWolff spoke as she turned from him, already thinking of her next step. However, she paused when something caught her eye, something fixed above the bar. "Are those cameras functioning?" She asked, pointing.
"I do not know, ma'am, but I can find out."
"Do it, now." She commanded and allowed herself a small smile as Johnson scurried off.
This is just what I need. She thought to herself. A stroke of luck.