Disclaimer: I do not own Venom

Edit: 13.10.21

Chapter 4: The Prospect

"You think she will actually consider the offer, Boss?" Charles Marley asked eaned back into his seat with his legs crossed and his hand balancing a half-full glass of red wine; Montoya Cabernet, a good and stable balance between the sweet and the sour. "She didn't seem too keen on studying those freaks."

There came a loud smack and Marley threatened to lose his glass as he flinched upon hearing it. Carlton Drake had gotten up to his feet in front of his desk and was now glaring vehemently down at his colleague. If looks could kill, Marley most certainly would have been lying in a pool of his own blood on the floor by now, that much was certain.

"You will watch your language when speaking about them, Charlie." The CEO'S chilling voice could have sent frost across the windows. "If I could trade all of you for just a small sample of one of them, just an insignificant piece of material, I would do so in a heartbeat. So keep that in mind the next time you decide to speak disrespectfully against our saviors. Otherwise, you might consider yourself the first volunteer to be sent in."

His words sent chills down Marley's skin and he shook his head, tightening his grip on the wineglass to the point where it threatened to shatter. "No problem, Boss. All I'm saying is that she now knows what we're doing, all of it. What's keeping her from spreading the news all over the city? Was it such a good idea to tell her everything at once?"

There was a moment of silence before the CEO shook his head, dismissive of his colleague's justified concerns. "We require a doctor if we're going to evaluate the compatibility between the hosts and the symbiotes. At the first sign of progress between them, we know the first steps in the direction. Besides," He ran a hand through his hair. "She won't tell anyone about this. I'm certain."

"How?" Marley asked with a nervous shake of his head, on the verge of spilling his drink on the floor. "The Doc isn't exactly renowned for her fondness towards people."

"No, but she still wants to save them." His answer seemed to perplex Marley, which was the reason why he decided to elaborate further as to not leave the idiot in the dark. Despite being his right hand, the COO was denser than a loaf of bread from time to time. "She wants to save people because that's what she does, but she does not want to get involved with the sentimentalities that most often accompanies that sort of occupation. Working here, she could save people while at the same time avoid such string. It would be as beneficial for her as it would be for us."

"How do you know this?" Marley got to his feet, taking a step forward in order to evaluate the sincerity located in his boss' tone. "Surely you did not ask about her personal relationships? That's a bit persistent, don't you agree? It took a shitton- I mean, a lot of effort to get intel about what she did and everything back in the days, so why use it now?"

Drake was looking out the transparent wall instead of at his colleague, and his eyes remained plastered on the containers outside. His symbiotes were sprawling with life, ready to share and to take at the same time. It was the cruel balance of nature, but a necessary one if they wished to prevail on the dying rock they which was their home.

"Humans are predictable like that, once you learn to read them the right way." Drake explained without pause, making sure to make it come off as firm as possible. "She's tempted by them just like the rest of us, to the symbiotes. She wants to find out more about them, study them, test their boundaries. Curiosity is a human quality that's practically mandatory, but few are actually able to use it for the better good. That's why Dr. March won't report us to anyone or say anything for that matter, because in the end, she's simply curious."

He proceeded to turn around with an unreadable expression, staring at Marley to the point where it felt intimidating to just look at him. He stood still for a moment, but then he suddenly snatched the wineglass out of his hand before the latter could react to the absence of his alcoholic beverage.

Drake remained indifferent to his appalled expression. "But if she is shown to be a disappointment, then I will handle it. It's as simple as that."

The CEO took a sip from the wineglass, smacking his lips upon tasting the flavor before a sour expression came upon him as though he had just swallowed cyanide. As Marley was about to ask what the matter was, Drake curtly pushed the drink back to his him without a care, prompting Marley to quickly reach for it before it had the chance to crash on the floor. Wine on the floor was a pain in the ass to clean.

"Montoya Cabernet?" Drake asked with a disapproving look in his eyes. "Your taste is getting worse, Charlie. It's too sour."

Evelyn had just stepped out of the shower by the time the clock struck ten the next morning, water dripping furiously down from her as she reached for a towel to dry herself. Steam concealed whatever reflection the mirror had in mind for her, which was more than a blessing than most people would care to admit. She must have looked nightmarish, something that came with her occupation. Caffeine-addiction, sleep-deprivation, and lack of proper sustenance tended to do that to the human's physique.

She had woken up that morning with an agitating headache, most likely caused by either of her unhealthy habits mentioned above. That was the primary reason why she had gotten up in the first place, having imagined that a comfortable shower might have remedied it. Unfortunately, it did little to nothing to soothe the pain. The only thing she was relieved of was that she showed no signs of having influenza; neither coughing, shivering, or otherwise negative symptoms were present as far as she could detect.

Sighing, she dried herself before she put on her underwear and a bra, continuing onward with a t-shirt that had been lying in her closet for who-knew-how-long. It was a large one, featuring the periodic symbol of Nitrogen. It had been Dr. Lewis' idea of a joke on the day she graduated from John Hopkins'.

"Since you're dry and cold," he had said with a laugh, and in retrospective, she now understood why she had never bothered to wear it in the first place. Not to mention that the size was almost twice as large as it should have been, making it resemble a dress on her that reached to her hips. However, it was the easiest she could find at the moment, and she cared little for aesthetics regardless.

As she was about to exit the bathroom, the throbbing return of a headache caused her to abruptly halt in her steps and let out a weak groan, gripping her scalp in pain. There was no way that one would easily go away, and by this point, it was already becoming a hazard to her concentration. Ordinarily, she refrained from using medication unless it was absolutely necessary or if she was required to be on her uttermost capability at work. That morning proved itself to be one of those exceptions, as she opened her mirror-cabinet and searched for her bottle of Tylenol without wasting any time.

Her green eyes scanned the shelves for the blue bottle. After a couple of seconds of searching, they found nothing, but they suddenly lingered on the sight of a box of tampons that had been lying there for some time now; unopened and unused. It had actually been there for quite a few years, now that she thought about it. The plastic was still wrapped around it and a small but insignificant amount of dust had gathered on top of it form the years she had neglected it.

For reasons foreign to her, it served as a reminder of how she had never used menstrual products before, much less a tampon. This caused her to unconsciously place a hand on top of her abdomen, pondering on the prospect of bleeding from there. It was ironic how blood more than often indicated death or severe complications in the hospital, but with women in the bathroom, it indicated life and fertility.

When she was in high-school and had still not had her first period, her mother had gotten worried and taken her to the doctor to check up on her to see if everything was functioning properly. However, after the inspection, the physician had informed them with discreet details that there were dysfunctions in her reproductive system, no doubt from the accident. Although her body had developed as it should have for her age, the lack of progress with her uterus meant that the chances of her being able to have a period – much less conceive a child – were slim.

She cast a resentful look down the scar that adorned the lower part of her abdomen. Time may have erased most of the evidence, but she could still remember the fire, the smoke, and his gleeful smile.

Her father and brother had both expressed their grief upon hearing the news and her mother had practically bawled her eyes out in the doctor's office, which was more than what Evelyn herself did upon acknowledging the facts. She had not indicated any sadness that day in the office, which came to the surprise of the physician who imagined that she was prone to tears like the typical teenager. Even so, though she had not expressed her dissatisfaction in the same way her family had, there was always a part of her that felt inadequate because of that.

It wasn't like she had any interest in conceiving to begin with, nor had she never lain with a man before that proved her wrong. When she attended university, she had become inquisitive about the biological impacts intercourse would have on her and the results of such. But that was a long time ago, several years, and even then, her menstrual cycles ceased to arrive on anticipated notice. Having intercourse changed nothing about that either, so it was nothing noteworthy about that experience.

Her apparent infertility may also have been a contributing reason behind why she chose to aim for medicine rather than the more orthodox careers most people had in mind. If she was unable to bring forth life, should the interest ever appear, then she would do her best to preserve the ones who already existed.

It had taken her years to get to this point, but considering how beneficial her current job was, she deemed it more worthwhile than becoming a mother. The prospect of holding a child in her arms never struck her as desirable, not once. Perhaps in a dream or so when she was young and hopeful, but that was before whatever hope of that fantasy was taken from her.

Without thinking further about it, Evelyn turned away from her stomach. The only reason she had that was that her mother insisted on taking it "just in case", but the saddened look on her face as she said this confirmed that she doubted the likeability of it ever happening.

After a couple of seconds, she finally successfully managed to locate the blue bottle with Tylenol that was on the shelf to the right . Feeling the headache increase, she quickly opened it and pulled out two capsules, downing them both in one go with some water from the sink. It would take some time for the painkillers to kick in, but until then, only patience was required for the process to work.

As it was with all else.

Without wasting any time, she wrapped the towel around her shoulder and walked out of the bathroom and into the living room, reaching for the remote on top of the kitchen counter and turning the television on before moving to make some coffee to quicken her up. When she thought back on the subject, maybe there were more than just biological factors behind her infertility; the lifestyle she was leading wasn't exactly the healthiest one on the globe.

She let the news go on the TV as she finished the beverage.

"Last night in Brooklyn, New York, publisher and Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Bugle John J. Jameson reported seeing the infamous vigilante Spiderman outside of his company's structure. The Chief Editor reported that the Spiderman was spying on him through the windows and plotting to attack him during the time he was most vulnerable."

Upon hearing this, Evelyn scoffed and put the cup down on the counter, glancing at the tv with little interest other than to hear of Jameson's idiotic accusations. "One person is trying to play hero and the other one tries to catch him. Productivity at its lowest." People trying to make a difference by wearing some ludicrous costume did not exactly strike her as the most efficient way to do good in the world, even if they tried.

She had heard of her fair share of heroes in the modern ages. The Avengers, amongst a few others. Their determination and overall achievements were admirable, and they had saved many lived, but at the cost of many lives as well. Victory was always a bittersweet accomplishment, regardless of whatever noble intentions you had in mind. There was always a cost, something to lose in order to gain something else. It seemed like few people took that into account when they decided to go off and rescue people like the saints they aspired to be. Considering the consequences rarely seemed to apply to them.

Heroes. She recalled a time when her brother used to play superhero with some idiotic cape and run around the garden while shouting at the top of his lungs that he would defeat the bad guys and protect the city.

It was an amusing sight for their parents, until the day her brother climbed up a tree in order to save a stranded kitten. When he managed to reach it, the branch he held onto snapped and he fell down with the kitten beneath him, killing it instantly and breaking his arm on impact. He snapped his Ulna in two and dislocated the Radius.

That's where such recklessness got you most of the time. Either you winded up dead or injured, or someone else did. Her brother fell into a state of shock after that incident, not because he had broken his arm, but because he had just killed a living creature. Needless to say, he never touched that cape ever again.

Evelyn hummed as her mind wandered back to that moment, thinking about that heartbroken look in her brother's eyes. He was just a child, not aware of the existence of blood and intestines, and suddenly he found himself lying in a pool of both. Ironically enough, he expressed an interest in biology as he grew older. Not knowing whether or not that experience contributed to that, she could not say for certain.

All she knew was that it was a dream which he never got to fulfill.

Evelyn shook her head and turned the TV off, having grown tired with hearing more about heroes. She downed the last of her coffee in one go, feeling the hot liquid pour down her throat when her eyes fell on something that was placed not far away from the remote that she had not noticed until now.

It was the contact-card to the Life Foundation.

"That's right," she murmured to herself and put the cup down again, stretching over to the card and holding it up in front of her. Mr. Drake had given her that before she left the previous night. She suddenly recalled everything that had happened that evening; Mr. Drake, Project Symbiosis, that … Organism.

Her eyes grew upon recalling its appearance, or lack thereof. A black mass, reminding her of a sprawling worm, yet looking like it could do more than to just tear a few holes in the ground. Evelyn, despite herself, could feel the hairs on her arm stand up whilst thinking back on it. It was not fear that consumed her, but an amalgamation between curiosity and wariness. Aliens. Alien organisms that showed signs of sentience.

And the Life Foundation wished to expose humans to them. Test their boundaries, enhance them, fail and learn. Potentially, this experiment could have positive results, save lives, make things exceedingly better for humans. But it could also perform the exact opposite.

"We're only human. We have boundaries."

"Then I will continue to work and make progress until these boundaries are no more. Whatever it takes."

Those were the exact words she had told Dr. Lewis, and she meant every single letter she had pronounced. The only thing that had driven her through all those years of university was the knowledge that she could save people and preserve life while she was unable to bring forth new ones. She was not selfless, and she was no hero, but she still wanted to keep people alive, to rid them off whatever was rendering them weak and flawed.

"Humans are filled with flaws, flaws that people like us are tasked with taking care of. How many people have died under your care, Dr. March? How many have died even though you tried your hardest to save them?"

Too many. The numbers were inhumanly few, but they were still inhumanly too many for her liking. It had not been her fault that they had ceased to survive, yet she still felt it as though she had failed in her work as a doctor. What was keeping her from doing her job was those boundaries; those goddamn boundaries which the human body was filled with. If only they had not existed, then she could have….

Without being aware of it herself, Evelyn's fingers had clenched themselves against the kitchen counter and her teeth and were gritted to a painful limit. She could feel her jaw ache and her nails threaten to get ripped off her fingers, but the prospect of pain hardly hit her as much as it did the next person.

"With these symbiotes, we can save people, make them better. We can cure diseases that still have no cure, repair damages that could otherwise last permanently, keep them from dying on this inhabitable world. With them, we have a chance to survive. Humans are filled with boundaries, boundaries we will continue to work on and make progress with until they are no more. Whatever it takes."

Could what Mr. Drake had said been correct? Could humanity truly be saved if these lifeforms were allowed to bond with them, use them as hosts? A piece of her shunned away from the idea of deliberately using humans as Guinea pigs for an experiment with results that were not certain, but another part of her knew that sacrifices were inevitable in order to gain the results.

Nothing could be gained without a cost.

It almost seemed hypocritical of her to judge the "heroes" for their idealistic points of view when she herself was starting to contemplate similar decisions. Had Dr. Lewis heard about this, he would have said no at once and probably reported it back to the government that unethical human experimentations were present in the city. He was always driven by his emotions and sentiment, it was part of his nature; one of his boundaries.

This was gravely taking its toll on her, and it did not do much to make her headache go away. She placed a hand over her head as her eyes continuously scanned over the card, reading the names and numbers over and over again.

She would not shun from pushing away ethics in it meant contributing to something. She had done that on numerous occasions in the past and earned herself the bitter resentment from most of her colleagues as a result, more than she already was aware of. They would not be bothered by her absence unless their work depended on it, which it did on a number of cases. Her expertise was highly sought after, whether they liked it or not. Leaving the hospital out of the blue would be hazardous.

But there was no more time to ponder on the subject before a soft, yet persistent knocking arrived from the entrance door. Evelyn slowly turned her eyes towards where the sound came from, surprised by two things simultaneously.

One: why would anyone be knocking at her door on a Saturday morning?

Two: why would anyone be knocking at all?

The chances of visitors coming over uninvited was a slim one, even slimmer than the chances of her conceiving. For one thing, she rarely had any visitors. The only times she did was when Dr. Lewis came over "for good measure", or when Mrs. Rodriguez had baked a batch of her famous chocolate-chipped cookies and wanted to share some, not accepting any rejections.

Typically, Evelyn hated sweets, chocolate in particular, but the persistence the older woman displayed on a daily proved incapable of accepting a no. Even when Evelyn had rejected numerous times, Mrs. Rodriguez still urged her to take them.

The knocking suddenly became stronger and more urgent now, like whoever was on the other side was in a state of immediate emergency.

"Hello? Ms. March? Are you home?"

She recognized that voice. It was Mrs. Rodriguez, but it did not sound like she here because she wanted to share some cookies this time. Without caring about putting on some pants or to look decent, Evelyn headed over to the entrance door through her kitchen and unlocked it.

"Mrs. Rodriguez…." As she was about to open her mouth and ask about the occasion of her sudden visit, Evelyn found herself abruptly silenced upon looking at the neighbor's current state in front of her doorstep.

The older woman's face was bruised and bloody, even though it was evident that heavy amounts of make-up had been applied to it prior to coming over. She had a visible black-eye that could not even be concealed with paint, and there ran a straight crimson line down her face from her cheek, and her hair – which was usually kept up nice and tidy – was now in an uneven bun that which seemed like somebody had just pulled it over and over again. There was also a thin line on the right side of her forehead, blood growing increasingly noticeable through the cut with each passing second.

No words were needed to be spoken and none of them needed to have the explanation brought to their attention. The doctor stared with an unreadable expression at the woman's state before she looked her directly in the eyes, her eyes sharpened and her features firm as they would at the hospital.

Without a word, she opened the door and allowed the older woman inside.