Disclaimer: I do not own Venom

A/N: To answer Spectre's (guest) question, I will admit that Evelyn is a mystery to me even though she is one of my own creations. She is human, but she excludes herself from the rest because she does not believe she possesses the qualities expected from a human. Her emotions are entangled - a mess, to be frank - which is why she has separated herself from them and neglected them throughout the years. Perhaps that is a quality I have myself that I have unconsciously placed in the center of her character? Evelyn was developed as a character whose morals - or lack thereof - differs from the typical character you would cheer for in a story. She's no hero, but she is human. Bitterly to the core.

Edit: 17.10.21

Chapter 16: Fault

"So, you're telling me that we are going to break into the facility?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"Theoretically, the only one breaking in will be you, Mr. Brock."

"Great, so apart from being unemployed, I'm going to become a criminal, too?"

"Only if you get caught and fail to prove any evidence in court," Evelyn assured him. "According to the patrol-schedules, the guards will not be permitted within the radius of the lab unless the alarm goes off or they are specifically ordered so by the Chief Executive Officer or the Chief Operating Officer, both of which are currently out of the facility."

Mr. Brock sent her a suspicious look in the rear-view mirror. "And how are you certain that neither of them won't be there? If we get caught – if I get caught, then–"

"Mr. Brock, we will make this as long as we are careful." Dr. Skirth took her eyes off the road for a moment to glance back at him with a reassured – albeit nervous – smile. "We just have to be quick, cautious, and hopefully everything will go according to the plan."

"And what, specifically, is the plan?" he asked and crossed his arms over his chest. "What am I supposed to do?"

"We are about to receive evidence of Drake's unethical experiments. We do that, the facility will shut down, no other people will be subjected to the experiments, and you, hopefully, will get your job back. It's mutually beneficial."

"Not to exclude the fact that we are most likely to be disposed of if we are caught," Evelyn added without looking up from the schedule in her hands, voice not raised in the slightest despite the fact that their potential murder could be arranged. "With that in consideration, we have no option but to succeed."

"Yeah, thanks," he scoffed. "Way to make me feel better."

"I wasn't stating the facts for your comfort." She aimed a glower in the rear-view window. "Did you expect this to be an easy task, Mr. Brock?"

"I– No!" He denied that statement like a child would deny eating a piece of cake when there was frosting covering all of his face. "I just– I just think we should be a little more detailed about where this is headed. I mean, if this really is as serious as you make it out to be, then it's important that we don't screw up, right?"

His hesitation couldn't be missed even if you wore blindfolds. Yet, despite that, the oncologist hardly looked concerned. "Were you as 'detailed' when you first interviewed Drake or was it not as serious as you made it out to be?"

The indifference she expressed towards the subject which ultimately resulted in his life going straight to hell made the ex-journalist threaten to step out of his seat and confront her. In general, he was vehemently against being aggressive towards women, but there were limits. Although he, by no means, intended to go through with it, there were a couple of words he wished to share with her.

However, before he could get the chance to do something reckless, the sight of the gate-control ahead of them made him quickly jump back into his seat and duck just in time for the guards to accept the pass-card Dr. Skirth presented them with. The adrenaline in his body seemed to be spiraling out of control, but he didn't know whether this was a product of the amount of anxiety he was starting to feel or something else entirely.

Despite his earlier assumptions, it was unmistakable now more than ever that this would perhaps be one of the most dangerous jobs he had ever signed up for – and he wasn't even paid for it. The thought of getting his shit together again, his job, and perhaps his relationship as well made the ordeal seem sufficient enough, but was risking his life for a better one something he genuinely wished to go through? He was no stranger towards breaking into places and exposing corruption where it was, but this was a whole other matter.

After they had passed the gate-control without an ounce of suspicion aimed their way, the oncologist slowly turned her head back to observe the behavior of the ex-journalist; everything from his overall demeanor to the subtle stench of alcohol that reeked from his breath (Whiskey? Beer? Most likely Corona). While she did not doubt that Mr. Brock was a man who was willing to take risks if it meant being able to gain what he had previously lost, she did doubt that losing his life was a risk he was a hundred percent prepared to take.

For all they knew, he could abandon their cause and leave them to deal with the repercussions of their actions after seeing what laid behind those walls. It was a human trait to fear everything that was unknown or otherwise unordinary, which was why she did not look away from the possibility that he could run as soon as he got a taste of how dangerous the situation truly was.

Another possibility she did not look away from was the danger they would face should Treece prove himself present. Unlike Drake, he would not hesitate in killing them on sight if he even got the slightest implication of what they were intending to do. Treece was a built man, resulted by years of hard work and a lack of moral compass. At worst, she would be unable to render him unconscious on her own, but perhaps Mr. Brock could stand equal to the guard in terms of strength.

Her focus returned to the schedules. "The west wing is currently under supervision, so it would be practical to use the back entrance by the parking space to enter." Her eyes trailed across the papers until they landed on a marked spot by the entrance floor to the lab. "However, we might encounter a guard or two on the way to the lab outside. A patrol has been scheduled there over the course of the night, so we will have to evade them."

"Then we'll have to be quick." Dr. Skirth tried to keep her voice evenly distributed between calm and in control, but it was evident that she was far from as composed as she made it out to be. "We only have one shot at this."

"I really can't believe he'd just show up out of the blue." Anne rubbed her temples in frustration. "He really hasn't changed at all."

Dan looked over to his girlfriend with a sympathetic expression, but did not push the matter further. He held no personal animosity towards Eddie; he had actually admired him because of his show, but the pressure his presence was putting on Annie wasn't something he wished would repeat itself.

He placed a comforting hand over her shoulder and smiled. "Hey, it's going to be fine," he assured her, hoping that it would improve her mood. It was their six-month anniversary after all, and as silly as it seemed, he was genuinely enjoying the time they had spent that day.

He could only hope that the feelings were mutual.

Anne sighed again and placed her own hand over his as a smile tugged on her lips. "I know, but he's always been stupid like that; he never thinks straight before acting, especially when he's gone heavy on the flask."

"I'm no psychologist, but I'm guessing that's his way to cope with a breakup he hasn't come to terms with yet." Although he wasn't as experienced in psychoanalyzing people, Dan knew the sort of heartache a breakup could inflict on a person, and alcoholic beverages did little to lessen the pain. When his first long-term relationship ended back when he was still an intern, he never thought that there was a way for him to ease the suffering but to find relief at the bottom of a flask of alcohol.

But he was older now, more experienced in the way of coping with one's emotions, and he could empathize with how Eddie must have felt upon seeing Annie again. Although he sincerely did not want him to continue bothering her in a way that would cause her distress, Dan wished that the journalist would find a way to deal with it on his own terms.

"Maybe," Anne agreed quietly. "But he doesn't seem like he's getting better. I want to help him – I really do, but he's just so …."

Dan chuckled light-heartedly at the sight of her frustrations. "Difficult?"

"In a nutshell," she approved and turned around to fully face him. "I'm sorry about what happened. I didn't know–"

But before she could finish her sentence, Dan cut her off as he tugged a few strands of her hair behind her head. "Annie, it's okay. There's no need to apologize." He affectionately caressed her cheek and placed a soft kiss on top of her forehead. "I trust you wholeheartedly." He easily admitted the words a hint of hesitation added. "We've all been there at some point, right? We'll just try to put that to rest for the night. Tomorrow, we'll go to Fog Harbor's and have the best seafood there is in the city."

The sound of her laughter instantly filled him with joy.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind some lobster." But the sound of her exhales replaced the laughter for a brief moment. "I just pray that idiot doesn't get himself into something stupid."

Dan laughed at her statement, which was filled with so much doubtlessness that it was certainly audible from the other side of the city. "What's the worst thing he could do?"

Eddie knew he had gotten himself into some truly stupid shit the moment they stepped out of the car and into the parking space. The atmosphere alone was eerie enough to send chills down his arms. While he did his best to seem unafraid as he walked between the two doctors, the tight knot in his stomach inflicted him with a nauseous sensation that could send him hurling at any moment.

"God, it feels like we're about to walk forward into some fucked up cult ritual that demands virgin sacrifices," he muttered under his breath as he scanned his surroundings, hoping that none of the woman had heard him.

"Then I doubt any of us would have fit the criteria." Dr. March replied without as much as looking at him. Her response caused him to halt for a moment and his face reddened considerably as his mind processed the words.

"I didn't– … You mean you aren't– … ehm … wait, seriously?" Not that he had put much thought into it beforehand, but Eddie hadn't really expected that someone like her was currently – or had previously – been in a relationship with someone. Although her looks were considered fairly attractive, her unapproachable demeanor had made itself apparent ever since he first met her a couple of hours ago, so there didn't seem like there was much to anticipate from her on a physical level.

How did this subject come up?

His stumbling words made her glance at him from over her shoulders; face completely stoic. Any woman he had met would usually look horrified or otherwise embarrassed upon being asked such a personal question in regard to intimacy, but this lady didn't seem bothered by it at all. In fact, she was looking at him like he was asking her about the color of grass.

"Contrary to what you might imagine, Mr. Brock, I'm not that secluded from people to the point where I am incapable of performing acts of physical intimacy on occasion," she explained without breaking eye-contact with him; her green eyes meeting his green-blue ones and he swore he saw a tint of glass in them. "I believe that would be a sufficient answer to your inquiry?"

"I wasn't– … I wasn't asking about your … your … "

"Regardless, that information is irrelevant to our current objective," she quickly shot him down before he could align the proper words to speak. "We have more urgent matters to attend to than your ... curiosity."

"Hey, I wasn't the one who–!" He groaned and began to pick up the pace, attempting to rid his mind of his previous thoughts in the process. "Anyway, why is Drake really killing these people? What does he hope to gain from it? Does he donate their organs to the black market or something like that?"

"Overpopulation and climate change," Dr. Skirth elaborated, unaware of the conversation that had been going on behind her. "These are two things that Drake cannot control."

"Yeah, got it."

"We are literally a generation away from an unhabitable earth. Drake is using his personal rockets to scout real-estate."

"Yeah, listen, really interesting story, but can you get to the part where he's killing people?" His lack of patience was a flaw he was not unaware of, but he considered it excused in these circumstances. However, it was evident that the doctors did not appreciate his impatience because he earned exasperated looks from both of them as a result.

"Drake sent a ship on a recon mission," Dr. Skirth proceeded as they gained access to the elevator. "On the way back, they found a comet."

"A comet?"

"Onboard computers indicated the presence of life. Millions of organisms."

"Whoa, wait a minute." He couldn't verbally describe how confused he felt. "What do you mean, millions of organisms?"

"We brought back some specimen–"

"Are you talking about aliens?" He raised an eyebrow. "Like, aliens?"

He proceeded to imitate a figure Evelyn had not seen since she was a child, and his lack of regard for how dire the events were did not earn him any favor from her. Perhaps they were better off leaving him behind and finish this themselves? It seemed like a logical choice. More or less, they were dragging someone with the mind of a child behind them, and she was less than enthusiastic about encountering more of them.

Regardless, Evelyn did her best to ignore it. "That is correct," she affirmed without giving off an implication that she was joking. Her stern words made the smirk on Mr. Brock's face vanish. "But we do not refer to them by such a name."

The elevator came to a halt and they stepped outside, glancing around each corner to ensure that there were no guards there like the schedules had anticipated. Satisfied with the lack of lives there, they proceeded towards the entrance to the labs.

"We call them symbiotes," Dr. Skirth explained.

"Symbiotes?"

"And they cannot survive in our environment without help. Drake believes that the union between human and symbiote is the key to our survival, but not here on earth."

Realization dawned upon Mr. Brock's face as his mind wrapped around the information he was receiving. "Drake is trying to put human beings and aliens together, so they can live in space?"

"His primary goal is to try and enhance their current condition here on earth first." Evelyn said. "The symbiotes are unable to survive in an environment that is filled with oxygen, so they required to bond with a native organism from this world which provides them with the ability to tolerate our atmosphere."

He blinked, flabbergasted beyond measure. "But that doesn't … I mean, how is that even possible? It's completely insane."

"Exactly!" Dr. Skirth seemed like she was on the verge of jumping with joy upon finally being understood. "There's no protocol for this. Drake's just feeding them in. If the matches aren't exact, then–"

The sound of incoming footsteps caught their attention, and Evelyn narrowed her eyes as one of the night-shift guards approached them. An overweight African-American male, approximately 6'1 in height, estimated 190 lbs in weight. Although not one of Drake's personal security guards, he was a member of the management-staff, which meant he could alert the superiors in case of infiltration.

They could not be seen. At least, they could not be seen with a man renowned for his hostility towards the LF. She weighed their options carefully before her eyes trailed over to Dr. Skirth.

"Dr. Skirth, will you be able to keep him occupied for the time being?" she asked, making sure to keep her voice as low as possible.

Dr. Skirth hesitated for a moment, but nodded and placed the palm of her hand on top of the scanner, granting them access. "You need to hurry," she told Evelyn as soon as Mr. Brock was ushered inside. The Ecologist stared at her colleague with pitiable eyes and let out a soft sigh. "Make sure you get all of the evidence. All of it. This is our only chance, and don't get caught."

"Of course,"

And with that, Evelyn stepped inside and the door shut behind her, leaving Dr. Skirth behind to whatever she would have to do in order to keep the guard off their trail. A tight knot had formed itself in her chest upon thinking through the various situations the ecologist could get exposed to if her cover failed and they were discovered.

However, she did not let that hinder her for long before she caught up to Mr. Brock, who had at that point already pulled out his cellphone.

"Follow me," she ordered as she stepped ahead of him. "And don't touch anything."

He instantly raised his arms up. "Not touching anything."

She only raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't stay around long enough to comment on his childishness before she led him down the labs.

It was dark inside, which wasn't surprising considering that it was past midnight by far. However, the strange part was that the temperature seemed to have decreased considerably over the course of the past few hours since she exited the building. Whether it was mandatory or otherwise, she could not tell for certain. But if one thing was certain, it was that the volunteers would not thrive in the cold.

As she exhaled, she could see her breaths turn white like mist.

"So, they really experimented on people here?" Mr. Brock asked as they continued making their way to the cells. "What kind of sick bastards would even think about something so … so … cruel?"

"' Cruel' is a subjective term," she told him. "Progress was their goal for all of this."

"Progress? How do you make progress by feeding people to alien … symbiotes?"

"Like said, these organisms require hosts in order to survive in an oxygen-filled environment. Without them, they perish instantly. Imagine it if you went to space without the suit to accompany you." It was a strange comparison, but it was the closest thing she could get to an accurate one.

"Jesus." Mr. Brock caught up with her, eyes wide and expression likewise. "Who even were these people?" he asked sharply, his countenance changing from a puzzled one to resentful (if she had comprehended it correctly?) "These 'poor' people? Homeless no-ones who would never be missed? Is that the only reason why you took them?"

His tone became accusing did not escape her notice and, as if on their own, and her feet stopped in her tracks and she turned to glare coldly at the ex-journalist, who seemed taken aback upon looking back at her.

She looked ... completely void. Unmoved. Remorseless.

"The decision was not mine to make." Her response was as firm and restrained as the rest of her, and the way she spoke was so void of life that it might as well have come from a robot. There was nothing which could imply how she was feeling – or rather, how she was supposed to feel.

"They were chosen by chance. Everything was by decided by chance. To the foundation, anyone is expendable, but homeless individuals with no place to go and no family would miss for them." She did not break eye-contact with Mr. Brock through their conversation, even when the urge to look away – just once – struck her as unbelievably tempting on more than one occasion.

He may not have deserved a lot, but he deserved the truth. Everyone did, even if they didn't want it.

"I watched all of them die. Everyone who came here." It could have escaped his notice, but her voice failed to remain as sturdy as it previously had. It had slowed down, grown distant and monotonous, in a way that did not resemble its former tone. It reminded him of a whisper in comparison to its earlier velocity. "Every man and woman who succumb to them, it didn't change. Not once."

A heavy weight settled itself on top of her shoulders the more words escaped her lips, and it no longer felt as though it was Mr. Brock her words were directed towards. Whether this was an elaboration or some kind of confession, it was all the same.

Mr. Brock was silent. His facial expressions had not changed much, although it seemed slightly less tense than before. Was he angry? Infuriated? Did he blame her for the deaths of those whose lives had been evaluated by her? The opinions of others had seldom affected her in the past and in the present, but perhaps this was an exception? Did she bother caring about the opinion of a man she knew nothing of, whose story she did not know of?

Without thinking over it a second time, she moved past him and continued further down the hallway, not even bothering to wait for him to accompany her.

"If you still wish to put an end to this, then make sure that you keep your camera on."

The tightness in her chest continued to spread through her ribcage until she could feel it aching the edge of her skin, and she had to clench her hand a couple of times in order to make it seem as though nothing was wrong. It circled around her like a parasite, feeding off her strength like a vicious leech. Although she did not know its source, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of it.

It was cold. Unbearably so. This host was becoming weaker and weaker as the minutes passed, to the point where it felt like the female was on the verge of crippling on the spot. Venom could not understand how the human body was so weak, so fragile. It was like glass; even the slightest movement could break it; render it permanently incapacitated.

Yet the symbiote could not blame the female. After all, it was the symbiote who was responsible, even though the decrease in temperature played a contributing factor. Venom could feel the internal organs of the female withering away as the symbiote's need for nourishment reached its breaking point, and it was not a feat he deemed a victory.

The female was hugging her own body in search of warmth, yet Venom could provide her with none regardless of how much it …. Wished for her to have it. His need to survive was equal to her own, and none of them could live without the other at the moment. If she was to die, then Venom would as well. If the symbiote was to die, then there was nothing to keep the female alive any longer.

They were glued together in this.

She coughed violently into her hands. The vibrations echoed throughout her system to where it could have been mistaken for her heartbeats. When she finally removed the palm of her hand away from her mouth, there was a pool of blood smeared across her palms.

"Is tha-that … Is that blood?" she asked, staring down at her shaking hand. Her breathing was scarce and her heartbeats were slowing down now more than ever. It wouldn't be long now...

"… Yes."

"Then I suppose I'm dying, aren't I?" Despite the severity of her sentence, Venom could detect no cortisol of fear surging through her system. In fact, judging by the calmness in her body despite the internal damage, she did not seem to be … afraid?

It couldn't be comprehended. Humans were fearful of death, as far as the black symbiote could tell. The thought of ceasing to exist filled them with all sorts of uncontrollable hormones which indicated that something severe was to occur.

Yet this female was not afraid. Why was that?

"I hope s-she managed to send my letter," the female admitted through shivering teeth.

"… Perhaps," Venom admitted. "Are you … afraid?"

"Of dying?" she asked. "No. I-I'm not afraid. Death is an o-old friend."

"Why not? You won't be able to see your offspring again."

Her thoughts grew d as the words reached her. "I know, but I'm sure s-she'll be alright."

"How can you be sure?" Venom asked, genuinely curious. "This world of yours is … ugly."

"It is." She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "B-But there is j-just as much g-good as there i-i-is ugly."

The symbiote could not explain the sensation it was experiencing, talking to this woman. It was … a content feeling, one it had seldom experienced in the past. It knew no names, no designations. It was … strange.

"I cannot … keep us alive."

"I know…. But it's fine. I l-like the quiet."

She released one last breath before it seemed like her lungs succumb to stillness, and Venom could feel itself grow weaker by the moment.

"Let us just … sleep for a bit."

Riot would be angered if he knew the fate of his subordinates. First Phage, and now Venom. Lasher would doubtfully last much longer than then, considering how his own host was on the verge of succumbing to the black abyss itself. Whether there was or was not a Knull there, at some point, they would all meet their creator. It was a sentiment the female possessed, and it must have had an effect on the symbiote.

But just as the cold seemed to break everything down, there came a light.

A blitz.