Disclaimer: I do not own Venom

A/N: And we're back with another chapter. I've been thinking about a major character who will make his grand appearance sooner or later, both in this story and in the movies as well: A certain red-haired sociopath with a knack for sadism and murder. Although he isn't mentioned in the story (yet), he and Evelyn do share a history. And as you've read, I have included references from the Venom: Lethal Protector comics. More will come in good time, but I am not about to spoil it all for you ;)

Edit: 15.10.21

Chapter 15: Shattered

It did not exactly strike her as particularly plausible that anyone – much less Mr. Brock – would aid them in that scheme of theirs. His history with the Foundation became an obstacle, and unless he could see past himself and his pride, then the chances of him actually coming around to help them would remain at a considerably low point.

After the predicament was finished, Dr. Skirth was courteous enough to drive her home, even if the offer had initially been declined. Considering the moderate amount of alcohol she had been drinking, Evelyn would not risk driving herself even though she was far from being in an intoxicated state. Calling a cab would have been preferable, but it would cost money she was less than willing to spend.

The drive on the way to her neighborhood was silent; you could drop a needle and hear it fall to the floor. No words were exchanged between the two of them and neither part were motivated to break the silence. Even though they had the same goal, they would, by no means, address each other as the likes of 'friends'. They were colleagues. Nothing more and nothing less.

A few minutes into the drive, the ecologist heaved a sigh. "Do you live with anyone?" she asked without taking her eyes off the road. "Do you have someone who can stay with you? It might be dangerous to be alone right now."

At first, Evelyn intended to stay quiet and avoid the question altogether. She did not feel pressured to answer, not after their disagreement back at the bar. However, whether it was out of courtesy or simple boredom, she found herself complying with an answer that suited her. "Don't worry about it," She narrowed her eyes at the driver in a scrutinizing way, analyzing her for any change in behavior. "My home is secure."

Dr. Skirth did not seem to accept the answer. "Even so, it would be safer to have someone stay with you for the time being. Could you call a friend to keep you company?"

"That is most unlikely." For a short moment, her thoughts fell to Dr. Lewis and Ms. Weying. Although she did not doubt they would be generous enough to offer her help if she requested it, she quickly discarded the possibility. "Involving anyone else might place them under the LF's radar. It would be inconvenient."

The ecologist rolled her eyes, a move which became visible in the rear-view mirror to the other passenger.

Evelyn did not let this go overlooked. Her eyes met the ecologist's in the mirror, and although her mouth was shut, the driver's current mood and state of mind was clear as daylight (avoidance? disgust? spite?).

"You wish to say something," she concluded without any second-guessing.

"There are many things I wish to say, but few of which I will," Dr. Skirth muttered almost incoherently, her hands tightening around the steering wheel with her nails digging into the leather. It was strange to see her in such a state of agitation, but not unexpected.

The oncologist merely continued to observe her behavior. "Speak if you must, or stay silent if you wish. It doesn't matter to me."

Her words seemed to trigger a chain of reaction from the ecologist. "Nothing ever does, does it?" she said tightly, her teeth gritted. "Everything is just business with you. Nothing is personal, so you can't find it in yourself to care for anyone other than yourself."

If the debate regarding their separate motivations was to reoccur again, then Evelyn was less than interested in keeping the conversation going. However, she was curious regarding a certain matter. "Are you provoked by it?"

"To put it lightly. I can see why Drake likes you so much. You are just like him in so many ways."

"Drake is impulsive," Evelyn disagreed. "He believes he can take on the mantle of a God; save humans from their own destruction whilst creating a new world for them. I do not rely on divinity for motivation."

"Yet you don't rely on morals either." Dr. Skirth's dissatisfaction seemed to increase at an excelling rate. The woman the oncologist once viewed as meek seemed to possess a bone-structure after all. "Does it ever occur to you that caring for others might do you some good?"

"As I said before,-" Evelyn did not even bother glancing the other way in her seat as she spoke. "- Caring for others does not guarantee success. If anything, it creates more boundaries. They demand something from me which I am unable to give."

"That's not true." The ecologist stated, shaking her head in disagreement. "To love something is not a weakness. It's a strength. It keeps you going, even when everything else goes to hell. Without love, you have nothing that drives you. No hope. No trust. It's part of being human."

Those words left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, even though it was not Evelyn who had said them. She glared at the other woman through her peripheral vision and tried not to make her disdain for such ideals visible. Instead, she resorted to using words which, although inconsiderate, were honest.

"Then, perhaps, being human is not something I specify as a priority."

Her answer must have affected the ecologist to a certain point because a subtle gasp escaped Dr. Skirth and she fell silent at her side of the car. Only her pattern of breathing was audible, almost scarcely so.

It stayed like that for quite a few moments, subsequently prompting the oncologist to assume it would remain that way for the remainder of the trip. The subject of the conversation was a tedious one at any rate, so there was little else to discuss unless they could find something to agree with. But for the moment, preventing Drake from further continuing his experiments seemed like the only thing they shared of interest.

Then suddenly, Dr. Skirth spoke up again, sounding calmer. "I don't believe you mean it," she said, sighing softly. "You can't mean that you are entirely devoid of love. Surely you love – or have loved – someone in your life."

There was that word again. Upon processing it, Evelyn did a subtle double-take on the driver. Her eyes sharpened, yet they harboring no hostility. She did not understand why, but the tight feeling in her chest returned as those four letters aligned themselves inside her head.

Love.

She looked down at her hands, both of which had been bruised and discolored over the course of the last several weeks of overworking. They were not the sort of hands you would imagine a young woman would have. To 'love' someone with these sorts of hands - hands which had contributed to killing so many people, even if indirectly.

The thought was … incomprehensible.

And even so, the image of a young boy entered her head. A boy she had admired as a child, and whom she had continued to admire even as he laid on his deathbed, too weak to even move properly. His last moments in this world had been spent in pain and writhing agony, something he had not deserved. He had always been generous, kind and loving. Their parents could never have asked for a better son.

"No matter what happens, I love you."

Her mouth felt try, her nails began to dig into their palms, her eyes were both focused on anything other than what laid around her.

"Once," she whispered, hoping that the other woman had failed to catch on.

"Really?" Dr. Skirth did not expect such an honest answer, which was made evident by the way she glanced over to the other passenger with a look of disbelief and sympathy. "Do you still love them?"

"Can you ... Still love someone who does not live?" she asked quietly

The ecologist froze upon listening. She wanted to inquire further on the subject, ask what kind of person could possibly earn the love of someone who reminded her so much of someone devoid of humanity. Was this a lie, perhaps? A way to make her satisfied instead of providing her with a genuine answer, which would have rather left her dissatisfied instead but quiet.

Dora did not act on any of those urges. "Loving someone often brings the pains of sorrow, but that's a piece of it. You can't take anything without giving anything in return. Even if they are ... deceased." She hesitated. "Could I ask … who was i– "

"No," There was a tight knot in Evelyn's stomach, one she had only experienced once long ago and was less than enthusiastic about reliving again. She wanted it gone completely, to erase it from mind. The knot was accompanied with a nauseous sensation which made her clench her arms around her stomach in hopes of containing it. A cold shiver echoed through her body, rendering her skin numb.

"... Please," she whispered. "… don't ask anymore."

Dr. Skirth was about to open her mouth, to ask her what was so wrong that she would keep her cynicism to herself. But as her eyes trailed over to the oncologist, she was surprised. For the brief period of time she had known Evelyn March, few things were apparent from their first encounter. She was cold and unpredictable, but the look in her green eyes again, Dora refrained from asking anything else.

However, as she looked over at the other passenger's face one last time in the mirror before reassuming her focus on the road, Dora thought for a split second she had seen traits of tears in the corners of the other woman's eyes. They were … mournful. They had grown distant and unreadable, but heavy at the same time. Most people wouldn't have been able to notice it unless they squinted their eyes tight enough, but there was no mistake about what she was seeing.

March was in pain. Not the kind of pain which stood equal to the feeling of a knife through your back, but the feeling of a knife through your soul. It was an unimaginable sort of feeling. One which not even the worst sort person deserved to know of. But judging by how subtle her reaction was, this was not the first time she had experienced such.

Because of it, Dora could not help but pity her.

"Are you sure that woman is worth keeping after all this?" Marley did not break eye-contact with the glass of alcoholic beverage he held in his grip, holding it with a delicate balance. This may have been his third drink so far, but it failed to leave any lingering effects on him. High tolerance for liquor was something he considered both a blessing and a curse on his part, more of the latter than anything. "She might become an obstacle as Treece anticipates."

"She might," Drake agreed. "Or she might not. It's all up to chance."

Marley scoffed at the statement. "Nothing's ever up to chance. What if the coin ends up on the wrong side? What then?"

Drake did not respond at first. He was silent, too silent for the COO's comfort. It was not unusual for silence to claim him, but it was nonetheless threatening when it did. It gave off the impression that he had something lingering at the back of his head which he considered.

As Drake read the reports he had received earlier that day with information regarding the subjects' recent progress, and he could not help but to find the results somewhat dissatisfying for his taste. Although the results currently held neutral ground, neither good nor particularly bad, he had been anticipating more positive outcomes. They had already lost one of their specimens; losing the other two would shatter everything. All they had sacrificed would be for nothing.

However, as he read over the reports attained directly from Dr. March, his confidence resurfaced. Her methods seemed to affect the subjects better than the orthodox approaches of his other subordinates. Sustenance was something they seemed to neglect, which she made a prominent point of in each of the documents, but other than that, he was satisfied.

"Dr. March feels … conflicted, as do we all," he explained as he folded the papers together and put them back down on the table. "It's only part of human nature to feel challenged by what would go against our own moral codes."

"I wasn't under the impression that she had any to begin with." Marley took yet another sip. "She seems more like a machine than anything to me."

"All humans,-" he empathized heavily on that particular word. "- have some sort of rule they abide by," Drake poured himself a glass of whiskey, sipping off it before returning his attention to his second-in-command. The bitterness had an effect on him which he favored above the sensations which other addictive substances could provide. "Some murderers refrain from killing children, for example, while some scientists refrain from testing their products on animals. It's all a matter of how noble each person is."

"And what about March, then?" Marley asked inquisitively. "What would you say her code is?"

Drake didn't even have to ponder on the subject before he responded. "Detachment." His answer slipped off his tongue as easily as singing.

His companion blinked at his reply. "Detachment? What kind of code is that?"

"Humans are easy to read, once you know what you need to look for. Even she isn't as unreadable as she would like to imagine." Drake explained as he walked around in the room, occasionally casting glances of all the achievements and the trophies he had achieved over the course of the years. They hung around in the room for his eyes and anyone who came there.

But they were just trophies. His accomplishments could not be weighed in gold or papers, but legacies and history.

"March keeps a safe distance between herself and the subjects. It creates a barrier that makes it easier to produce the results she's looking for – that we are looking for."

"And are you certain of that?" Marley held the glass to his lips, but did not drink this time. "Humans are unpredictable, as you said, regardless of how well you are able to read them."

"That may be true, but I rest my case." Drake turned to look through the transparent wall of his office, where he could easily observe the exterior of the facility from a considerable height. It was peaceful out there, a quiet space for him to gather his thoughts. The stars were aligned in the dark skies, reminding him of how he used to marvel them as a child

"For March, I do not fret," he remarked with zero doubt. "Dora, however," He let out a sigh as the thought of being rid of one of his most prominent scientists struck him as plausible. "I have known her for many years; she's more prone to emotional outbursts than anyone I know. She might become problematic."

"Do you wish for me to take care of it?" Marley asked carelessly.

Drake shook his head at the offer. "Not yet," he said. "She's one of our best; she's not to be disposed of until I say she is."

He stepped back from the window headed towards the exit of the office, gesturing his companion to tag along.

As they walked down the corridors of the facility and headed down the elevator to where the subjects were contained, Drake knew that he would have to witness the miracles for himself once more. He relished the sight of them like a child relished the sight of presents at their disposal. He was free to do so in general, but standing there alone with them provided him with a sense of superiority.

The doors to the corridors outside the cells opened after granting him access and he stepped inside. It was quiet inside there, dim-lighted and secluded. He walked past each cell with scrutinizing eyes, searching for any indications that there was anything amiss. When he found none, he continued forward with Marley following behind him like a lost pup.

As he passed the cell which contained the recently-deceased SYM-AO3, he grew resentful and felt a tight knot of anger boil up inside of him. Upon observing the corpse of what had once been a valuable piece of extraterrestrial life, the urge to vomit nearly struck him. It had died while under their supervision, and the scientists had just watched it as it did so. Those idiots he called his subordinates thought themselves worthy of their jobs when they could not even keep one of the world's most important specimen alive.

The arrogance.

Without wishing to look at it further, Drake continued down the hall and stopped in front of SYM-A02's cell. The subject was sleeping soundly, and its vitals were currently stable. It was a good sign that convinced him symbiosis was still achievable. SYM-A02 was far from their most docile specimen, but it was far from as horrid as SYM-A03 had been. Oh, how the subject had screamed upon being merged with it.

Without making a sound, Drake proceeded forward until he reached the last of them.

He stopped in front of the cell which contained none other than SYM-A01, their most prominent one of them all. The host had been the one to last the longest, and for that, the CEO experienced immense pride surging through him.

Drake positioned himself in front of the door where he observed subject T790129 in the furthest corner of the cell. She was neither unconscious nor asleep, which indicated that her body had yet to grow accustomed to the changes it was enduring. Dr. March had enlisted the subject as the one with the highest tolerance of them all and she remained relatively sane.

Although he kept a smirk spread across his lips upon watching the subject, the same could not be said for his COO, whose eyes were twice their original size and whose body had taken a significant step back from the glass. His fear easily overcame him, which was something the CEO had always found to be unbearably disappointing about him – about all humans in general.

"Isn't it beautiful, Charlie?" Drake asked in a state of amazement as he continued to marvel at the subject. "A true miracle."

As he spoke, the subject's attention was gained and she quickly got up to her feet, shaking with a sense of uncontrollable panic as her eyes fell on the two men outside the cell. She tried backing herself further up against the wall, but without much success. Whether this was an act based on the subject's own fear or the symbiote's, Drake could not conclude for certain.

He tapped on the glass a couple of times. "Subject T790129, can you hear me?" he asked, making sure to speak as clearly as he could.

The subject quivered but managed to nod. "I- I can hear you."

"Excellent," He placed his palm against the glass. "And what of the symbiote?"

There was a moment where she went completely still, but then she nodded again, looking down at the floor.

"Remarkable," he gasped.

The CEO reluctantly turned his back to the glass and glimpsed victoriously over at his colleague, who was considerably pale and whose face had stiffened up. If pride could materialize itself, there would have been a glowing sign standing on top of Drake's head by then. "Are you not amazed, Charlie? Of how far we have gotten?"

With shivering lips, the COO opened his mouth to answer. Before he could, his eyes trailed to what stood behind the glass and he had barely been granted the chance to make a sound when the sound of impact against the wall behind them reached the CEO's attention.

On instinct, Drake snapped his head around and came face to face with whoever had interrupted the short-lived silence that had previously claimed the atmosphere.

Subject T790129 was standing within inches against the glass, breathing so heavily it fogged the transparency of the wall. White, ominous eyes met Drake's own eyes, and he could tell with certainty that those were not the eyes of the subject itself. Knowing this, he regained his composure. There was not an ounce of anxiety to be found amongst his facial features; no terror; no reluctance; no disgust. He simply watched the subject like a child gawking an animal in the zoo for the first time.

"You have almost reached symbiosis," he remarked in amazement, uttering the words barely above the volume of a whisper. "You are almost ready."

The subject did not respond at first but merely glared at him with the sort of expression he never imagined Subject T790129 was capable of producing. Dr. March had noted in her reports that the subject was docile in comparison to the others; neither aggressive nor hostile to the point where she made the effort to attack or attempt escape.

"You are," The subject began to speak. "Charlton Drake."

The CEO sagged in his stance. The floor felt like it was swaying beneath him. It spoke. He had never heard them speak before, any of them. They could comprehend the human language, or perhaps any language depending on the host. "You truly understand us."

"Yes … we understand." Its voice was significantly deeper than that of the subject, although it retained its feminine undertones.

This was beyond anything Drake had initially expected. He had anticipated the state of the humans to improve, that was certain, yet he had never truly imagined that the symbiotes could possess sentience so … human. They could understand their language, learn their ways, improve them. They could inflict humanity with the changes they had failed to bestow upon themselves.

They could save the world. A world the humans had been destroying themselves for far too long.

"I'm glad," Drake said as he beheld the sight of the symbiote's union with the subject in full detail. He had nearly forgotten reality as he stood there. "I'm glad you under–"

"We understand what you are, Carlton Drake." The creature sharply interrupted him, catching the CEO off-guard with its hostility.

"I don't–"

The subject proceeded to slam its hand at the glass with such an inhuman force that it left a visible crack on the surface of the glass. The subject's mouth spread from ear to ear in a menacing grin, displaying rows of razor-sharp teeth that resembled those of a shark. "You are nothing more but a piece of meat," the symbiote hissed darkly, taking pleasure in seeing the human in an alarming state. "Just waiting to be eaten."

The sight left Drake lacking any voice, more so than he imagined possible. For something so inhuman, the symbiote seemed to possess traits which were most commonly found amongst humans. Whether it was a trait it had picked up recently or possessed prior to its captivity, he was not certain of which one was correct.

Although he had managed to retain his calm, Marley was far from as restrained as himself.

After she parted ways with Dr. Skirth, Evelyn had tried her best to ease her mind of the unfathomable sensation it was experiencing. An hour and a half had been spent productively, and it had distracted her long enough to almost forget the day.

She had been taking notes of the security patrols, memorized each pattern until she knew them without looking, and done her best to try and search for loopholes which would make infiltration possible without detection. It wasn't certain that all of the protocols would be followed strictly over the course of the rest of the week, but it was better than the nothing they had started with.

Getting her hands on the schedules had been no particularly difficult task, especially considering how dense the majority of the security guards seemed to become in the presence of a woman such as herself. She had practically swapped the paper in front of their noses without them noticing, and it did little to convince her of their alertness. If receiving the information in the first place had been that simple, then she doubted they would be particularly strict on their shifts.

However, reading the papers had never served as a primary goal to her. It was a mere distraction, because Evelyn could not understand why there had been a knot in her stomach and a grip around her chest ever since she had exited Dr. Skirth's car. More so, she did not understand why they would not cease to exist. She had tried to produce multiple conclusions and explanations in regard to what could have caused them to appear, everything from Angina Pectoris to simple after-effects of the wound she had yet to remedy. Even digestive problems caused by her lack of proper sustenance had been considered.

Those were the primary possibilities, yet she wasn't completely convinced that she was afflicted with either of those.

She tried restricting her breathing, thinking that it could contribute to lessening the sensation, yet it did nothing. Her arms felt numb, her skin was soft to the touch despite her fingers being dry, cracked and bruised after too many hours of work. Blaming the entirety of her injuries on the wounds Treece had inflicted her with was something she wished to do, yet it would be like a child blaming their missing homework on the dog.

Scratching the surface of her forehead, she leaned back into her seat with the pencil in her grip, pondering on the predicament. The lack of sound in the house reminded her of her solitude and the fact that none knew of what was about to happen, or what could happen. Ignorance was bliss for her if it provided her with the silence she required to make progress with her work, although it also seemed to irk her for some unfathomable reason.

But whether it was the silence or the physical numbness that kept plaguing her, she couldn't unravel the mystery. For once in her life, she lacked the answers. She found no conclusion to the anomaly which was affecting her body, and it bothered her. After years of trying to become all-knowing in regard to both medicine and anatomy, from cell-production to chemistry, this particular incident left her with no clue as to what to make of it.

Gritting her teeth with such immense force it felt like she was going to break them altogether, she firmly placed the pencil back on the paper and tried to continue writing. But as she placed it on the sheet, the tip snapped off. The small piece of coal started to roll down the side of the table until it slipped to the floor, and rolled out of sight.

Then everything went silent to the point where she could only make the sound of her own heartbeats. That little – insignificant – occurrence wasn't supposed to trouble her at all. It was simply a piece of coal, not anything more than that. It wasn't like spilling water over your computer or watching your favorite clothes get ripped from the seams. She could simply sharpen it again and it would be like nothing happened.

Even so, that little – insignificant – inconvenience of breaking her pencil triggered an uncharacteristic reaction she couldn't imagine would ever befall her.

Without thinking, she gripped the pencil and proceeded to throw it as hard as she could to the opposite side of the room. She watched it crash against the wall and leave behind no trace on the white paint other than a gray dot. Then it simply descended to the floor and rolled slightly before it stilled completely.

She rested her face against her hand, trying her best to rid herself of the tremor which coursed through her veins. "Damn it."

You can't find it in yourself to care for anyone other than yourself.

Why did everything anyone did have to depend on how care was involved? Concepts of 'love', 'trust', and 'selflessness' did not result in progress. Hard work and ambition did, because it got her somewhere. Those factors had been the ones to ensure her success in life, ensured that she graduated with top marks, became a doctor at one of the most prestigious hospices in the world, extended the lives of others.

Not ideals of altruism. She had not cared for her patients beyond that of a physician's obligation, and it had not changed anything.

To love something is not a weakness. It's a strength. It keeps you going, even when everything else goes to hell. Without love, you have nothing that drives you. No hope. No trust. It's part of being human.

No.

Foolish humans allowed themselves to be driven by such emotions because they deemed it necessary. It prevented them from reaching their full potential, it kept them from pushing past boundaries that would otherwise keep them down. They were deliberately allowing themselves to endure such calamities for the sake of their 'humanity'. It did not make sense. Why would they allow themselves to suffer just for some idiotic concept of 'humanity'?

Why would they dig their own graves?

We're only humans. We have boundaries.

It did not make sense. It did not make sense. It did not make sense. It did not make sense. It did not make any sense at all.

She could not understand it. How was she supposed to understand something so unpredictable; so ambiguous. She understood the human-anatomy to the inch: the blood-circulation throughout the veins, how cells were produced, how organs functioned, how tumors could grow in different parts of the body. She could tell what kind of affliction a person had just by receiving basic information, and she would perform her duties with little to no mistakes made. That was how much she knew of people.

But she could not understand them.

What drove them to act as they did? How would they feel in different circumstances where things such as 'sadness' or 'anger' would appear? How could they say something aloud but mean something else? Why would they place themselves in danger just for the hell of it? Why would they deliberately wish to inflict pain onto themselves? Why would Mrs. Rodriguez wish to remain with her husband if he caused her physical injuries? Why would Ms. Nordstrom simply write 'I love you' to her daughter instead of providing her with information regarding her whereabouts? Why did her brother want to die instead of trying to be saved?

There used to be a time when she understood. Once in her life, she understood these things, all of these concepts. There used to be a time where she would be able to answer all of those questions she currently struggled with without even thinking twice about it; a time where she would lay traumatized on the floor after witnessing dozens of people get killed in front of her; a time where she would not have been able to tolerate the sight of blood and death as she did now.

There was a time she was able to understand everything, but nothing as well. She could understand concepts such as 'love' and 'trust', empathize how people felt in different situations, comprehend them. But it was such a long time ago, she had forgotten everything she once used to know in the wake of what was necessary of her to discard. Things she once used to remember then, but no longer did now.

Surely you love – or have loved – someone in your life?

"Once," she mumbled softly to herself, covering her eyes with both her hands. From what little she could still recall from that dreaded concept, there was only one in her life she was certain she once loved. Losing him …. It had caused her chest to ache immensely and her senses to go numb. She could never forget his name, no matter how many years she had tried to do so. She could still remember his face, the traces of his features, no matter how many years she had spent trying to forget the image of him. She could never erase him, no matter how much she tried to.

She hated him for the life he had left her in, but she also hated her part in it.

She had almost succeeded – almost – but he never vanished completely from her mind.

And she could not understand why.

Perhaps … it was a boundary she had yet to make it through herself.

Evelyn stood up from her seat and walked over to the living room, where she bent down to the floor and reach for the pencil. It lacked any significant damage, so she simply returned to the table without a sound. All traits of earlier frustration had vanished from her face, and she had returned to being neutral and regained her focus.

Now was not the time to dwell on what couldn't be changed.

After sharpening the pencil, she continued writing down plausible solutions to the schedules which would result in them gaining a chance to sneak past the guards.

I can see why Drake favors you so much. You are just like him in so many ways.

Perhaps that was true. Maybe she was like Drake in many aspects, but it did not matter to her. The opinions of others never mattered. What she intended to do would bring ruin to the human who imagined that he would be able to take on the role of a divine entity. His foolish ideas would be the end of him, and she would ensure it. No more people would be sacrificed because of his hubris. No more people would die.

No more.

Then her phone started ringing.

Dora stood outside on her porch, her feet cold and bare, her left hand holding a smoke that was within an inch of length. Her eyes had remained stuck to the sky for the past few minutes, yet she marveled the sight of the stars as she had always done when she was a child. She reminisced on the time her dreams were to become an astronaut and travel to outer space.

However, as she got older, she found herself fascinated with the development of life instead and therefore changed courses during college and concentrated instead on what she already had at her disposal.

How morbidly ironic that both of those would one day coincide.

"Mom, are you smoking?"

She flinched and snapped her head around to the living room. Her son was standing there in his PJs, looking equally curious and skeptically at his mother upon noticing the puff of smoke that was exiting her mouth. He had always been an observant child, even at his age, and it was in equal parts a blessing and a curse.

She quickly dropped the cigarette to the ground behind her and smiled sheepishly. "Luke,"

He was not impressed. "I thought you promised to stop smoking."

"And I thought it was way past your bedtime, young man," she chastised gently and stepped inside the room, closing the door to the porch behind her. She had hoped this would make him change the subject, but she was not surprised by the reception she gained.

"Don't try to change the subject." For someone who was only nine years of age, he was sharper than any knife they had in the kitchen drawer. Brown-haired like his father, but intelligent like his mother. "You were smoking."

Letting out a sigh upon acknowledging that she was caught, Dora sighed and sat down on the couch with her eyes to the floor. "I know, I'm sorry." she apologized.

"You promised you would stop," he argued with an underlying tone of disappointment, which made her heart twitch with regret.

"I know," she agreed heavily. "I just … Things have not been great at work." She could not elaborate on the details, even if she wanted to. Luke would understand even the difficult words due to his intellect, and that made it even more challenging. She relished her son's sharpness, but it was in situations like these where she wished he could not understand her as well as he did.

Upon hearing his mother's defeated tone, Luke's eyes shifted with concern. "Are you okay, mommy?"

"Yeah." She did not know if she was trying to convince him or herself. "Yeah, just tired, sweetie." Her eyes met his and she offered him a smile.

He then walked towards her and wrapped his arms around her figure, offering her a sense of warmth she needed. She could feel her eyes tear up as she hugged him back, holding him as though letting go could cause her to lose him forever. It was a thought she dreaded beyond measure, and one she wished to never experience.

"Just try not to smoke so much," Luke pleaded, and how could she deny that request again?

"Yeah, sweetie," she assured him. "I promise."

And with that, she tucked him into bed, closed the door to his room, and went back to the living room. Everything seemed to overwhelm her at once and she dropped on her couch as tears rolled down her eyes. The fear of losing everything crashed against her like an ocean-wave and it was hard to collect herself. She did not want people to die, but she did not wish for her family to live with the consequences of her actions.

It was hypocritic of her to be angry with Dr. March when she herself was no better. They had both done unspeakable things over the course of these experiments, but it was Dora who had voluntarily agreed to participate. It was also she who had gotten the oncologist involved, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

The fault was as much hers as it was anyone else's.

Just as she was about to head towards her bedroom and finally call it a night, her phone began to ring.

She picked it up, drying her tears before she spoke.

"H-Hello, this is Dr. Skirth."

"Yeah, it's Eddie Brock here. Talk to me."