Disclaimer: I do not own Venom

Edit: 14.10.21

Chapter 7: The Bullet

Dan was worried. In truth, that was the kind of person he was. He frequently worried about people. He worried about his patients, he worried about his family, he worried about Annie. He worried about everyone he knew of, regardless of whether or not they were assigned to his care. It was just the kind of person he was, and he didn't require the status of a doctor in order to be like that.

It was just in his nature.

But this time, he worried about someone who was neither in his care nor solicited it, and someone he imagined would berate him if she knew he was "wasting time" concerning himself about her well-being. It had always been like that; she was independent, but there used to be a time when she was less... hostile.

Ever since he had known her back at John Hopkins', she had always been shrewd. Not as much as she was now, however. Back then, she used to have some sense of tenderness, albeit not too much to make it noticeable. It wasn't anything he had ever minded (As long as her source of frustrations had not been him at the time). He had been her senior back then, fascinated by the way her prodigious skills exceeded the rest of them, but she had been kind on occasions.

However, be that as it may, she was still human to the core. She was still as susceptible to the same kind of vulnerabilities as any other person, which was why Dan experienced a common sense of uncertainty creep up his skin upon acknowledging her absence the following evening.

There was not much to do at such a late hour in the night, as the majority of the patients had been provided with their fair share of care and no reports of any accidents had reached his ears. However, considering how Evelyn's shift would start at nine o'clock, which was roughly fifteen minutes ago, Dan sensed something odd in the air. It was an uncommon occurrence, if an occurrence at all, that she would be late. He had tried calling her once, paged her even, but she did not pick up the phone or answer any of his pages.

It came as no surprise to anyone who knew Evelyn that she was a workaholic, more so than Dr. John Renfield; their most trusted cardiologist. The latter was a disciplined worker who gave everything he had, but even he knew his boundaries. Evelyn did not seem like she did, which was something of concern. Whether it was working late evenings or working too much long overdue, there was no indication that she seemed to wish to take a break in her work.

So that raised the question: Where was she now?

"Late night, Dan?"

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts, much to his relief. Looking to his side, he spotter Dr. Francis Lambert making his way over to him with the same jovial look in his eyes as always. Francis was one of their main surgeons at the hospital, much like Dan himself, but the former always seemed to find certain things lighter than they genuinely were. It was the primary reason behind Evelyn's apparent dislike towards him, even though he had tried to ask her out for quite a while now.

"Frank," Dan greeted him and reached for his arm, shaking it. Granted, they weren't exactly what one would consider 'friends', but they got along well enough to not glare at each other each time they passed in the hallway. "You know it."

"How's the lady?" Frank queried with a playful wink. "Everything going alright at home?"

Dan nodded and mustered a smile despite how tired he was. "A fine as it can get. How about you, Frank? Any ladies in the waiting?"

"Hah!" The other doctor exclaimed. "As if. I've been trying to ask Dr. March for years now, but I ain't closer to getting her to bed than I am to winning the lottery."

"Well, you know how she is." Dan added with a shrug, finding himself struggling to shape words regarding his female colleague's disdain for courtship. "Never one for things like that. Why not try nurse Campbell? She's nice."

Frank seemed to contemplate on the prospect for a moment before a look of disappointment shrouded his features. "Yeah, but I heard she got the sweets for somebody else, so I'm not going for those who are already taken." The blonde doctor chuckled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "Besides, maybe it's good that I stay single for a while. More to take, you know."

"But speaking of Dr. March," The thought struck Dan like a fist to his face. "Have you seen her anywhere? Her shift was supposed to start a couple of minutes ago."

But the other surgeon didn't seem to hold the answers either. "Haven't seen her, either. Maybe she decided to sleep in this time."

But Dan wasn't convinced. He placed a hand under his chin and let out a soft sigh. "I doubt it. She's never late and she'd rather go twenty-four hours without sleep than to sleep in."

His answer caused a sly grin to spread across his colleague's lips with a mischievous flicker in his eyes. "You know her quite a bit, don't you, Dan?"

"We're ... friends," Dan replied somewhat sheepishly. "I've known her for a while."

"How well have you known her, if you don mind me asking?" It was obvious that Frank aimed for more than to ask a couple of inconspicuous questions, and Dan saw this as easy as it would have been to spot an elephant in the room.

Needless to say, he became slightly exasperated with this. "It's not like that," he insisted upon closer inspection at Frank's mischievous grin. "We have never been anything more than friends."

But Frank raised both of his hands in the air, seemingly oblivious to what he was implying himself. "I haven't said anything otherwise," he maintained casually, shaking his head. "I was just asking."

No matter how much he wished to deny it, Frank always had a way of getting under his skin. They had been interns together for a couple of years, and even back then he tended to be a pain to get along with if he was in one of his 'humoristic' moods. One would have imagined that the years being surrounded by death and suffering would have matured him considerably.

But Dan was mistaken. Gravely.

"Maybe she left behind a message or something?" Frank suggested. "Saying she was sick?"

But Dan shook his head. "She wouldn't have skipped even if she was sick." It surprised him how much he spoke of her as if he had known her the entire life. A couple of years couldn't possibly compare to an entire lifetime, but there he stood and came up with facts he imagined that few people would be interested in learning about, much less be able to gain.

Sensing his worry, Frank sighed, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and patted him several times. "Calm down, Dan. I'm sure she's fine. She just probably had some business to attend to and she'll be here a little later. She should've said something, sure, but we both know how she is."

Dan kept quiet and allowed a smile to come forth on his lips, but despite his colleague's reassurance, there was a part of him that said that something wasn't right. He had recently heard about the incident involving the Rodriguez's, how someone had anonymously tipped the police about the domestic dispute that was going on. Though he had not admitted it to her at the time, he had his suspicions regarding her involvement.

Could she have been kidnapped? Seemed unlikely, but Mr. Rodriguez was not someone who had few contacts at his disposal. Perhaps her involvement had reached Mr. Rodriguez's and had, therefore, made her become the target of some mafia gang? Maybe she was being held hostage with a gun aimed at her forehead, being threatened and whatnot?

The prospect of Evelyn being tied and begging for her life did not strike him as plausible. If anything, she would be staring her captors dead in the eyes and deduce all kinds of things about them; their backgrounds, current allergies or illnesses, their posture, their physical vulnerabilities, emotional weaknesses. No tears would be shed from her side and no pleas for her life would be made. More likely than not, her captors would have been the ones to cry.

That sounded more like her.

"Yeah," he said and tried to shake off his nervousness, smiling to keep any suspicions from rolling off of Frank's shoulders. "You're probably right."

"See?" Frank said with a victorious grin and patted him once again on the back. "Told you it would be fine. Now," He stepped back and waved up his files. "I gotta go finish some work. Say hey to Annie from me, alright?" Then he waved goodbye and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Dan there alone in his own thoughts.

Maybe he was simply overthinking things. He tended to do that on multiple occasions, even when it was strictly unnecessary. Even Annie noted it at times, which often made both of them laugh. Glancing at the clock, he came to the conclusion that it was probably nothing. Still, it couldn't hurt…

He pulled out his phone and dialed Annie's room, pulling it close to his ear as he heard it start to ring.

A couple of seconds passed before she picked up, and her voice filled him with delight.

"Hey, Dan." She greeted him.

"Hey, Annie. How're things at home?"

"They've been great since the last hour you've been away," she answered sarcastically, laughing in the background.

"That's good," he responded. "But Annie?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to ask you a favor."

The whole room seemed to stop as she did this, their eyes were all on her as her act of defiance reached their notice. Evelyn was not oblivious towards their undivided attention, but she could care less about their opinions. Instead, her eyes remained firmly placed on Mr. Drake, whose eyes were by now wide with shock and disbelief. She did not mirror his reaction, but contradicted it by a severe amount.

"Dr. March," Mr. Drake asked, voice radiating with a mixture of uncertainty and blind hope. "Can you inspect the next volunt–"

"I will not cooperate with this," was her response, which ultimately succeeded in silencing the CEO where he stood. Evelyn easily held her stance, but she did not lower her guard under any circumstances. "If you are to continue, you should fail and learn, Mr. Drake."

She cast a glance upon the corpse of Mr. Burton, along with the blue symbiote that was currently clinging onto the glass. Its movements ceased to stay vigorous, as it was undoubtedly losing strength upon being exposed to an oxygen-filled environment.

"The symbiote was evidently incompatible with the volunteer," she elaborated without taking her eyes off of it. It seemed to sense her presence, plausibly desperate for another host. "First you have to evaluate what quality of Mr. Burton was incompatible with the entity. Proceeding spontaneously would be most inconvenient."

Her answer seemed to displease Mr. Drake terribly, even if it wasn't visible to the naked eye. There was no mistaking it that her defiance had caught him by surprise, and that in its own way was highly inconvenient.

However, instead of objecting, Mr. Drake breathed through his nose in frustration. "Dr. Skirth," he ordered without looking at her. "inspect the volunteer's vitals. Which ones were the first to drop upon contact?"

Upon acknowledging the order, Dr. Skirth scurried over to the operating table and looked at the screen. Meanwhile, Mr. Drake's cold gaze was aimed at the physician who had dared to stand against him with her words.

Likewise, Evelyn's gaze wasn't exactly the warmest either, but she prevailed in keeping her emotions in check. It was something the CEO evidently lacked. He was too readable, even when he didn't intend to be (disappointed. frustrated. irked).

"His temperature instantly went down upon contact," Dr. Skirth informed them, breaking the thin barriers which stood between the CEO and the physician. "His heart rate increased, and his pulse quickened. The contact lasted upon thirty-six seconds before his vitals started going down. No signs of any complications in the midst of the interaction."

"See, Dr. March?" Mr. Drake raised his arms on each side, prideful over his accomplishment. "There are no mistakes with the hosts. It's the symbiotes that deem them compatible or not. It's simply up to chance."

"Nothing is ever up to chance, Mr. Drake," Evelyn contradicted coldly, far from impressed with his argument. "There exists no such thing as fate, and few things are caused by chance. It's the factors behind the compatibility that deems everything."

Upon opening her mouth again, she witnessed the symbiote inside the cell suddenly jerk away from the front, twisting with what could only be described as pain. It was in pain. Deprived of a suitable host and left to suffer.

Mr. Drake and the other scientists seemed to notice as well, and measures were immediately taken in order to keep it from suffering any further.

"I suggest that you look after your specimen, Mr. Drake," Evelyn said chilly. "For whatever it is worth, I assume that it would be preferable for it to remain alive. Correct me if I'm mistaken."

The glare Mr. Drake proceeded to send her could have forced half of the people in the room to crawl to the floor in submission. It was not an act she felt inclined to perform. His anger towards her was understandable, but nonetheless trivial. It was like a child throwing a tantrum because its parent had refused it privileges that it felt entitled towards.

As Mr. Drake scoffed before walking away to make sure that the scientists performed the proper procedures in order to tempt the symbiote back to the capsule it had previously resided in, Evelyn cast a glance towards Dr. Skirth; an indecipherable expression on her face.

Dr. Skirth flinched upon noticing that she had come to the younger doctor's attention, eyes meeting the floor out of fear of looking her straight in the eyes. She didn't know why, but there was something truly intimidating in the physician's glare that could have rivaled the eyes of the CEO. Something almost inhuman.

There was a long wave of silence before anything was said afterward, and the words that reached the ecologist's ears were far from the kind she wished to hear.

"Dr. Skirth, you truly are different from your sister."

Those words somehow managed to affect the ecologist in ways that no one had before. She was a sensitive individual in the midst of this chaos, that much was certain, but nothing had pierced her chest as much as those words had. Neither the prospect of dead people or sacrificing the human race did, which was something that struck her as impossible.

Evelyn's eyes flickered back over to the corpse in the cell, noting the way it was void of life. Its position was curled as though it had suffered a stroke, Mr. Burton's eyes were completely white, his pupils had fallen to the back of his skull, and there was a darkened patch upon his chest which came from when the symbiote had discarded him.

Sacrifices…. Were these sacrifices? Even if her face would not allow it to be shown, she sensed a spark of anger rise within her chest like a tumor. She would not cooperate with this, not when there were other – more certain ways – to save human lives.

"You are to finish this as you see fit," she said. "but I don't wish to participate any further, Mr. Drake." Her answer was absolute and distinctively severe. Her earlier reply did not change simply because of her suggestions regarding the procedure, but that meant by no means that she wished to be present to watch it through. Whatever happened was on their hands, not hers.

"Let me ask you this, Ms. March," Dr. Janine Skirth had asked her on the day of her graduation. "If you had to sacrifice few to save many, would you do it?"

"Of course," Her answer had been just as sharp and as genuine.

But to volunteer slaughter people with no other reason than to test the boundaries of an extraterrestrial organism, that went beyond sacrifice.

That was genocide.

And she would not take part in it.

Click.

But the sound of a gun being pulled behind her made it clear that her answer did not sit well with Mr. Drake. Several gasps grew audible and the researchers that had been standing the closest to her were quick to take a couple of steps away from where she stood. Dr. Skirth's fearful expression reached Evelyn's eyes and concluded her suspicions.

Glancing slowly over her shoulder, Evelyn spotted the barrel of a gun in her face (Beretta? Colt?), and a gloved hand near the trigger. A bald man was the perpetrator behind her potential murder, Caucasian, and with traces of a beard in sight.

Despite her wish to remain collected in a dire situation such as this, Evelyn knew that the chances of the gun being there for just decoration were low. On a few occasions had she been threatened in similar manners like this, but all of them had been equally alarming. In less than a second, the gun could fire and pierce through her cranium.

A quick, but boring way to go.

"I'm sincerely sorry, Dr. March," Mr. Drake let out a tsk and stepped beside the gunman, his face neutral with displeasure. "But surely you understand that this was not a two-way ticket, right? We can't let you walk now that you've seen the work we're about to finish. People would not understand it, not in the way you would."

Evelyn responded by narrowing her eyes at the barrel, the prospect of a bullet erupting growing stronger and stronger by the second. "Killing me would be inconvenient. Blood is quite difficult to clean."

A laugh inconspicuously left the gunman as he heard this, eyes crinkling and lips parting until a grin grew. "There are more things to worry about than cleaning, missy. It would not take long at all."

Evelyn proceeded to observe the gunman's features, everything from his stance to his external appearance. His stance indicated that he was ex-military; trained in firearms; right-handed; old battle wound keeping him from putting full force on his right arm as he lifted the gun. Hundred-and-seventy pounds; six-foot tall; evidence of high-protein diet. Fighting him directly would not be an option, and trying to evade the bullet would not be much of a likeability either.

But as she weighed her options, Mr. Drake took a step forward and raised both of his arms on each side. "Dr. March, there are two ways this can go." He explained fictitiously, complete control over his movements. "Either you can work with us and help us save this world like a hero," Then he gestured to the gunman with a flick of his head. "Or I can have Treece personally escort you back."

A hero?

Her brother stood there with his knees to the ground, crimson stains on the yellow shirt he had worn that day. His eyes were wide with shock – filled with tears to the brink – and his hands were held up in front of him as though he was trying to debunk whether this was true or just some morbid dream he was having.

In front of him laid a deceased kitten, or what used to be one. Its crushed state had left it indistinguishable from a mass of raw meat that was to be sold in a factory someplace. Its fur was tainted with the same red that covered her brother, and its internal organs laid scattered on the ground, misplaced and in unrecognizable shapes.

Washing the pavement where the scene had taken the place – and washing the blood off her brother's clothes – had been difficult, to say the least. Their mother had wanted to scold her brother for his recklessness, but the trauma she noticed was present in her son's eyes made her silence herself out of humility.

Acting like heroes rarely got you anywhere except surrounded by the bodies and the blood of those you were unable to save. She knew that as well as any other 'hero', even if she lacked the cape.

However, as Evelyn stared into the barrel held up in front of her, she knew that her options were gravely limited (deny the offer and be killed? accept the offer and be spared?)

However, she would not allow herself to get killed from her own pride. Most people with too much pride to regard the circumstances often imagined that dying like heroes would be meaningful, but that was as far from the truth as it could get. Dying did not make you a hero by a long shot. Dying like a martyr meant that you were too stubborn to live longer and that you would allow your beliefs to deem your end.

She was not about to let that happen.

Breathing through her nose, she closed her eyes and turned around, opening them again to direct her focus to Dr. Skirth, who had been holding her breath ever since the display of a gun first entered view.

"Dr. Skirth, may I request that you escort me to the next volunteer for an examination?"

She was not oblivious towards the grin that slid up Mr. Drake's lips.

But she was oblivious to the phone in her pocket, one that currently contained one missed phone-call from Dr. Lewis.