Disclaimer: I do not own Venom

A/N: Hello, guys! I'm back, and this time with an extra-long chapter to mark the new year with, and the new decade. Of course, in spite of some assassinations, forest fires, and other god-forsaken, disastrous events that have occurred, we'll continue and hope that the rest doesn't go straight to shit.

Also, I have several things I need to note before you read:

1. I recently watched the Morbius trailer, and I've actually grown quite interested in the lore around it. So much, in fact, that I might even consider writing a spin-off that revolves around that movie. However, so far, it's only a thought, but interesting nonetheless. If the events are closely related to Venom, then the chances are quite high that I might make something up about it. Only time will tell, though, as well as how the movie turns out.

2. I've heard rumors that Venom 2 will also take place at St. Estes, the orphanage where yours truly psychotic red-head grew up, and like mentioned in the earlier chapter, it will also have a prominent place later in the story.

CHAPTER UPDATED: 01.20.20 - Some significant things were edited, so I highly recommend that you read through the chapter again.

Please read, review, and enjoy!

Chapter 30: A Deal with the Devil

The entire place was going down hard; the heavens were punishing the humans for their sins by having fire reign from the skies. The scorching heat was suffocating them, trapping air within their lungs that had no way to leave or arrive. Pieces of debris from the ceiling accompanied this, falling in various sizes and with at various paces; some were scarcely larger than gravel at the side of the road, while others were threatening to burst through the floor upon arrival.

Eddie shielded his face in his elbow as he searched for a way to get past the flames that were rapidly spreading around them. For some unfathomable reason he could not put into words, the sight of the orange blazes filled him with dread to the point where just looking at them for long sent shivers up and down his spine, in spite of the head. "Don't go near them, don't go near them, don't go near them," he continuously repeated to himself as he carefully stepped across the floor, making sure to weigh his steps before making a go for it.

The sound of vehement coughing from next to him forced the ex-journalist to shift around and look at March, whose face was considerably paler than before. Her state of consciousness could be discussed, but the moment he intended to address the issue, he had to quickly catch her before she fell to the ground in a fit of gags. Her wheezes sounded like they were claiming her state of self-awareness for themselves because when he looked into her dazed eyes, all he could see was a woman's excellent resemblance to a corpse.

"Hey, March! –ugh! - Stay-Stay with me!" Eddie forced through his own smoke-filled throat as he himself began to struggle to breathe. He had only experienced a fire like this once, back when he used to live with Anne and accidentally forgot his tater-tots in the oven, but it was nothing compared to this bonfire of a place.

March seemed to come back around upon the sound of her name, but not fully. Her eyes remained distant, but Eddie could tell that they were trying their best to stay alert. She placed a hand on top of his shoulder, and he could feel the vibrations as her fingers trembled against his hoodie. "Is there – Is there an exit?" she asked tightly, clutching tighter onto him as she attempted to regain her balance, but to little avail. She leaned onto him for support; something Eddie could easily tell would have seriously wounded her pride had she been stable.

He searched around the place and tried to back further away from the flames, though even that started to become a challenge in itself. The orange and red lights were spreading so quickly that it almost seemed like a race between the two of them. He held onto the doctor with his arms wrapped around her waist in an attempt to keep her from falling to the floor.

"WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!"

"YEAH, NO FUCKING SHIT!" Eddie bellowed. "WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M TRYING HERE?"

The voice seemed to ponder for a second before something struck it like an epiphany. "OVER THERE! THERE'S AN EXIT, BY THE WINDOW!"

And true enough, Eddie spotted a child-sized hole next to where the window used to be, although there were objects standing in their path that could reduce their chances of getting there considerably. Some overthrown furniture and other pieces of the wreckage, but they didn't completely hinder their path. As long as he was quick about it, maybe he could get there in time to force both of them through it, one at a time?

Without a moment to lose, Eddie hastily lifted March's body in his arms, firstly noticing how light she was to carry. He glanced down at her for a brief moment and noticed that her eyes were just barely open, green like the field of grass he used to play soccer on as a kid. Snapping out of his thoughts, he shook his head and hurried up, successfully dodging every debris that threatened to fall down upon them until they reached their escape route. However, as he was about to tell her to get through it and make a run for the street, there was a moment where everything around him seemed to fall deathly silent. He only managed to spare a glance up at the ceiling before he came to the quick realization that the entirety of the shop was crashing down on them.

"Shi–"

Treece had been in the army, toured to Afghanistan twice and returned each time with new scars to confirm his participation, and he had contributed to the reduction of rivaling businesses that threatened the LF's position on the social and economic ladder. His life was riddled with violence and ordeals; filled with what most pussies wouldn't even dare to look at, which suited him just fine. He wouldn't describe himself as a violent individual, but he wouldn't hesitate to use it as a means to an end in order to finish his job. That's the way of life, after all, though it was seldom personal.

Standing in front of the blazing shop that had previously inhabited his targets, however, did feel personal. Watching the heated flames tear down the good-for-nothing little shop was absolutely exhilarating, though his composed demeanor did not allow it to come to view. A slight tug on the corner of his lips was as far as he was willing to in terms of expressiveness, which was more than he usually allowed to come to view. Whether it was joy that filled his body or a sense of satisfaction, all that he was certain of what that he had done what was beneficial for both himself and the LF.

Both the journalist and the doctor were head; their charred carcasses could be located someplace in the soon-to-be-demolished building whose roof just gave in to the infernal pressures and succumb to debris. Their skin would be melted to their bones, their ashes spread across the floors like filth. Smoke emitted from what used to be the rooftop, and the signs that spelled the shitty shop's name fell at an equal pace to the ground. There came no sounds from the inside with the exception of the building collapsing and the pieces gashing together, which somewhat disappointed him, as it would have provided to more evidence to support the claim that the targets were deceased.

Most of the witnesses of the explosion had scrammed like frightened kittens, and the rest of Treece's colleagues were spread around the district, eyes everywhere in search of their targets. It made it easy to get easy access to the view; a VIP seat for him to enjoy.

Treece took a cautious step closer to the furnace but did close enough to feel the warmth tingle him. He squinted his eyes and searched for some sign of life amongst the dancing flames, almost hoping for something to happen that would contradict his conclusion. While his worries had now been put to rest with the death of the two individuals who were responsible for his ordeal in the first place, Treece had to admit that there was something unbearably easy in this. Too easy, like shooting a deer that had been sleeping on the ground prior to its demise.

Treece could have sworn that they would have been harder to kill, with the symbiotes and everything. Granted, they were vulnerable to the extreme heat that the flames were more than obliged to provide, but even this was dull by his standards. Back in the days when he was stationed in Afghanistan, he was always obligated to check the bodies for any signs of life, whether they were still moving or not. But in this case, there were no bodies to inspect, and that promptly stripped him of any sense of relief that may have been surging through his body.

"Boss, are we ready to report back to Mr. Drake?" One of his subordinates questioned, his left eye had swelled around considerably and hardly seemed useable anymore. His loyalty to his boss was almost admirable, if not foolish. Whether it was sentiment that kept him intact with the brutal organization or fear of being disposed of, no one could care any less.

"In a moment," Treece mumbled aggravatingly without looking away from the burning spectacle in front of him. The furnace kept on raging like it had been hell-sent; a demon from the pits of Pandemonium wreaking havoc all around him with no other motive than to cause as much destruction as possible. While Treece was never one for Milton, much less literature in general, there was a feeling of respect he harbored for ink on paper. Whether the circumstances would allow him to make such a comparison, he deemed it appropriate enough.

"Boss," said the subordinate again as he dared take a step forward to approach. "Weren't we supposed to bring the bugs back alive?" Fear reeked off of him like the stench from a skunk. "W-What will Mr. Drake say?"

Now, that was another ordeal he would have to deal with. Initially, he had anticipated that the bugs would be able to flee the wreckage with relative ease, but it seemed that he had overestimated their usefulness. If they were incapable of surviving a simple drone-attack, then what good were they in the real, cruel world? That didn't do him much good now that they were gone and blown into the wind like dust. But killing that bitch and the journalist, maybe it would be worth enduring Drake's lashing?

As Treece was about to answer, he could hear it. The sound of low growl; an animal so starved of sustenance that the mere sight of anything edible could send it into a state of hysteria. He had heard similar sounds in the past, back when he used to go poaching for fun in his youth. The animals would chase after him, and he would let them do so with a smile on his face before successfully taking them down with just a bullet.

This time, however, the animal was neither starved, and one bullet was apparently not enough to take it down. This was the most dangerous species on the planet, and while he had already killed thousands of them with less than a bullet, he knew that this one was of the kind that had to be taken down with stealth rather than with brute force, which wasn't something he was accustomed to.

His lips spread into a shit-eating grin as he watched what looked like a black shadow emit from a gap in the demolished building. It was so quick that you could barely see it at first, but he knew it was there, and he knew that it would try to run. It was fine for him; his interest was caught in the web like a fly, but he had nothing against watching the predator enclose itself to, however, differed, as the symbiote was evidently avoiding confrontation above all, and it only further exhilarated Treece now that he was in the Game.

He watched as the black thing landed on top of his car and crushed the roof of it with minimal effort, only to proceed and do the same to the majority of them before it took off into the direction which led to the center of the city. Its pace was like that of a frightened antelope, but only in terms of reaction. While he could not fully make out the thing's shape, its size was considerably larger than that of a human, and Treece could vaguely make out something carried in its arms, which the thing was shielding as though it was its most priced possession.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Treece muttered out to himself as he watched it disappear further into the distance. Deciding not to waste any more time, Treece quickly sprinted towards the car, sparing his ghost of a subordinate but a moment's notice before he barked the orders at him and forced him to get into the driver's seat. They needed to move quickly.

The Game was on.

"That is all that is currently know about the Sacramento Killings that have been going on recently. Onto more local news, there seems to have been some kind of explosion downtown in the Richmond District. Countless witnesses have reported seeing the beloved "Buddy's Shop" engulfed in flames, and while the manager of the fine establishment is unreachable at the moment, Mr. Jim Rodriguez, who was working the night-shift there by the time the accident occurred, shared with us what happened,"

Dan was on the edge of his seat the entire time his ears were glued to the news, listening intently as the boy spoke of what happened. While he was relieved that no one was seriously hurt, he couldn't rid himself of the tight feeling in his stomach that had been developing ever since those guys from the Life Foundation first showed up. This seemed too strange to be a mere coincidence, and the lack of received phone-calls from Evelyn and Eddie alike did little to debunk his suspicions.

Frank suddenly entered the empty cafeteria, his usual cup of coffee in hand as he sat down next to Dan with his eyes aimed towards the television. Dan would have greeted him had he not been so invested in the news as he was, and Frank was quick to notice the obsession his colleague had for the screen.

"I think you'll break the screen soon, Dan," Frank commented with the same sardonic humor that always accompanied his words. "You're looking at it too hard,"

Dan didn't answer. He was leaned forward in his seat, his back bent into a rather uncomfortable position that he barely noticed any more than he did his colleague. The news continued on like before, and the more he listened, the more he felt his nerves crumble beneath the pressure of fear and concern for his friends, but the last straw came when the reporter said one crucial thing,

"We were also informed that, in the midst of the accident, a group of dark-dressed men could be seen parked outside of the burning building, but doing absolutely nothing to help. Due to their calm attitudes, some initially assumed that it was all just some kind of prank or stageplay, but nothing has ever been reported about there being planned any filmings,"

The moment the one he recalled as Roland Treece appeared on the screen with his face aimed towards the wreckage, Dan jumped to his feet, catching Frank off-guard to the extent where he spilled a couple of drops of his coffee on the floor.

"Dan, what's going on?"

"I need to make a call,"

And with that, he walked away from the cafeteria, leaving Frank alone with a look of bewilderment on his face and a soft and almost inaudible "What the actual fuck?" could be heard slipping from his lips.

She could sense heavy thuds come and go in almost a rhythmic sense, like a giant walking across the pavement with a hundred pounds in weight stacked on each of his shoulders. Along with it, she felt her body tremble slightly for each time she sensed the steps, she could feel the wind brush past her face and send strands of her hair going in every direction, and the feeling of fresh air filling her lungs came in the form of a euphoric sensation; as though she had been granted something she had long craved for but never been able to reach for.

Evelyn stirred slightly as consciousness returned to her, along with an unbearable headache that reminded her more of a nasty hangover than anything else. While she had never been a heavy drinker nor someone who indulged herself on every whim, there had been instances where she had granted her need for escapism some liberty over her usual thoughtfulness. This could easily compare to said instances, while it had been produced during different circumstances. Her throat was sore and tight, but it was easier to breathe now than it had been earlier.

As her eyes partially regained their functions and the perception of her surroundings returned gradually developed, she was immediately met with the sight of San Francisco from a distance, and her eyes widened ever-so-slightly. The city's lights were flickering like stars in the night sky, and she could vaguely listen to the sound of cars driving and hooting erupting from there. Everything seemed so small in comparison, like little ants in an advanced hive that had somehow gained an anthropomorphized sentience of their own.

She found herself captivated with what she saw; mesmerized like she was a child in a planetarium. In her state of dizziness, Evelyn reached forward in a futile attempt to catch the lights in her palm, wishing to feel the warmth she imagined they could provide her cold hands with. They seemed so close, but each time she clenched her fingers together in an effort to catch them, all she was left with was the feeling of nothingness occupying her grip.

As she lowered her hand again, giving up on her attempt to catch the lights, her fingers grazed against something soft, but oddly elastic; like the material of which training clothes often consisted of, only that in this case, there was something else to it. Whatever her hand laid on top of, it seemed to melt against her touch, like adding pressure to a piece of uncooked dough. The more she felt her way across the surface of it, the more she began to question senses, and the more her sense of self returned to her.

Blinking, her eyes fell down upon the sight of utter blackness, like coal from a furnace that had just been recently put out. When she tried to move, she came to the realization that she was being held in a firm grip around her waist, which was effectively keeping her from falling down. Only then did she discover that the reason why the city seemed so small was that she positioned close to the edge of a considerably tall building; the height would be enough to kill her on impact should she descend with no safety measures whatsoever.

The moment that came into mind, she was quick to get to her senses and try to get as far away from the edge as possible. A sense of dread surged through her as the heights conjured up a fear she had not experienced since childhood. The last time she was at a height seemingly this prominent, she had been in primary school and had climbed to far up a tree in order to retrieve her teddy bear which someone threw up there. When she managed to climb up and get there, she was unable to get down again. She had almost forgotten that entirely until the fall less than a few feet away from her brought it back into mind.

The grip around her, however, served as an obstacle in her attempt to back off. Evelyn could feel the pressure around her waist tighten ever-so-slightly, and her ribs suffered as a consequence of it, though not enough to hurt her. In hindsight, Evelyn discovered that she was looking down the back of her captor, and their arms were around her as though losing her would be fatal. Their knees were bent down to a crouching position, and one of them served as something she could rest her own feet at.

"I would prefer to stand on my own," she said without raising her voice, weighing her words carefully with the knowledge that any wrong sentence could potentially cause her more troubles than she would prefer. Still, as the hold around her lessened by just a few inches, she hastily let her feet hit the ground and took quite a number of steps back. She didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she physically felt her lungs expand within her ribcage.

Only when she had put some distance between them did she see him, or rather, it.

The second she stopped backing away, the thing got up to its full stance (6 ft? 8"5 ft? 9 ft?) and towered over her like a giant in comparison. The blackness which was its skin seemed to glisten in the lights from the city, and its teeth shone like the knives she kept back in her cupboard at home. By human standards, it was muscular; inhumanly so, but its eyes struck her as the most morbid attribute of all. It possessed no pupils, just pure white, yet it stared down at her with twice as much attentiveness as a normal human would have been capable of.

But this wasn't a human; not human in the slightest. It was the furthest thing from it, and there was a damn good reason why that was. It was a killer; while more docile in comparison to the kind that currently circled through her own system, it was still a killer nonetheless. Though last time she saw it, it had not been gentle in the slightest. The scratches around her neck could vouch for their previous encounter.

"So," she said warily. "This is what you are?"

While its alabaster-colored eyes were still aimed at her, indicating that she had its attention at her disposal, it did not respond at first. The symbiote seemed to ponder at her question, with its mouth seemingly in a state of permanent bliss where its teeth shone from the lights of the city. Evelyn did not find any solace in that smile, though it had nothing to do with its predatory teeth. If anything, it had more to do with the fact that it looked too familiar for her liking. A Glasgow-like grin that could make even the Devil grow sick of sin.

Suddenly, it bent down slightly to inspect her, its face inches away from hers. Evelyn stiffened as she was met with the "We remember your name,"

So it did speak? While she recalled listening to its voice previously at the LF's HQ, there had been a more feminine touch to its vocals, as though it had mimicked those of its host. This time, its vocals were deep, and there was no doubt that there was a sense of familiarity accompanying them. Mr. Brock's own voice had somehow merged with the symbiotes, producing an amalgamation that would make people think twice about suspecting that there was a disgraced journalist beneath that thick exterior.

it was certainly too close for her comfort, it had done nothing thus far. Should 'fate' prove itself entertaining, however, the creature would have consumed her like she was some kind of fancy appetizer, or just another regular human for that matter. Its appetite was not restricted to 'standard foods', which was what surprised her somewhat. If it did not intend to feast on her now that she was at its disposal, so what were its intentions?

"Evelyn March," It spoke of her name as a subject would pronounce the name of their monarch, raising their hand slightly and gripping her face with it. Evelyn momentarily broke out of her unmoving stance and quickly attempted to move out of its grip, but to no avail. Her jaw was forced shut and her chin was kept in a firm hold, which promptly forced the rest of her body to comply. The hand was warm to the touch, soft beneath her skin, but unsurprisingly threatening. It was large enough to nearly circle the entirety of her head, if not all the way to the occiput had it been desired. Had it tightened its grip around her skull, even if just a little bit, it would most likely have crushed her cranium to dust.

But it didn't.

"Are you unharmed?"

Its question was most … unexpected. It would be the last thing anyone would expect from an extraterrestrial organism that had quite a reputation for consuming its hosts from the inside-out. While this one had not been as vigorous in terms of appetite when compared to its brethren, the fact that it was from the same species put Evelyn's sense of security on hold. Instead of answering at first, she kept quiet. Whether it was wariness that kept her from vocalizing her thoughts or the ordinary lack of interest to engage in a conversation unless it suited her, the outcome did not change.

Subsequently, she could sense that the symbiote was growing impatient with her lack of response, as its eyes twitched ever-so-slightly and its head tilted to the side with ambiguous uncertainty. Its grip around her head loosened enough to grant her jaw the ability to move freely again. "I sincerely doubt Lasher has muted you just like themselves, so speak,"

Now, this piqued her interest to the extent where she was on the verge of vocalizing it. After some deliberation with herself, she decided that it would be appropriate to speak, if only enough to get her suspicions confirmed. Placing her hands around the symbiote's wrist, she forced her head out of its hold and readjusted her neck, feeling the pressure gradually vanish from where it had once been placed. Fortunately, the symbiote did not retort against this act of transgression, and only stood there like a sergeant awaiting orders from their superior.

As Evelyn regained her stance, not even she could fathom its lack of aggression. "I assume that Mr. Brock is there, or have you decided to consume him just like your previous hosts?" While she sincerely hoped that Mr. Brock was still alive, Evelyn had a habit of solely referring to Murphy's law when in doubt; anything that could go wrong would most likely go down that path. There was little else to expect, and while the circumstances had proved themselves unpredictable, it made her no less dubious when it came to this kind of ordeal.

Strangely enough, the symbiote seemed to grow disdainful just seconds after she spoke of her assumptions; it found them offensive, it would seem. For whatever reasons, she could not tell. Not at first, at least, but it was best not to provoke it any further unless she deliberately wanted to anger it. While her words had a knack for insulting people, regardless of social standing, they would seldom be able to touch her exactly because of the barriers around their social standings. This creature, however, had no regard for such concepts, so she was very well aware of the fact that this was not someone she could so easily trigger.

But when you were standing on top of a building in the middle of the city with a multi-millionaire company chasing after you with the intent of maiming your corpse in the name of scientific progression, there was little worth caring about, much less the pride of the very same creature that was the cause of said manhunt.

"Eddie is alive," it said with a low growl accommodating its words. "We are keeping him safe,"

Safe?

"And where are we now?"

"Safe, from TREECE,"

She halted in her steps upon listening to the unmistakable loathing sensation that emitted from the symbiote's throat. Its expressions changed into bitter fury, which said a lot considering how its countenance would have been deemed menacing regardless. No, this time, it was hateful, and it would not take an individual with an IQ at 140 to figure that out, and even with her lack of facial recognition skills, Evelyn could spot it with ease.

"It would seem that you find the guard quite exasperating. May I inquire why that is?"

"Because he hurt you,"

That was the reason? That was the explanation behind the symbiote's fury? The more she learned of its nature, the more Evelyn found herself at odds with what she had initially perceived of the organism. There were so many human characteristics about it, almost too much for her liking. Was this of its own nature, or did its host's character somehow affects its own?

"Of what concern is it to you what Treece may or may not have done to me?" she asked, more interested than skeptical this time. "Could it be that you have you grown sentimental towards the species you previously sought to consume?"

The growl grew louder, like a tiger being poked with a stick from outside its cage. The symbiote lessened its distance between them, though it did not give any indication that it wished to strike her in any way. "Our intent is not to consume, nor to kill anyone unless it is required."

"And did that principle did not apply to Maria Nordstrom? Why was killing her deemed a necessity?"

"We did not kill her! Her body was already breaking down from the experiments; we were trying to keep her alive,"

"For her sake or your own?"

"What difference does it make when both are dying either way?" the symbiote snarled, though it quickly regained its composure again. "Maria gave up – there was nothing left of her to save. Eddie hasn't given up yet, and he is still willing to live, which is why I can manage to keep him alive,"

"So a successful bonding requires mutual cooperation in order to function?" The Life Foundation most certainly lacked this piece of information, but Evelyn still questioned whether it was genuine or otherwise. If it was, then something did not add up. "Then how come the symbiote that's inside me is attempting to kill me at every whim? I have no intention of dying,"

"But you have no intention of surrendering yourself to it either,"

"Does my lack of submission warrant its hostility?"

"No, but your lack of cooperation does. Lasher cannot help you unless you truly want it,"

Evelyn blinked at this information, though she did not offer much in the way of conversation. Questions were building up inside of her, many of which she imagined the symbiote in front of her would be able to answer. That name, firstly, what was piqued her interest to begin with. Lasher? It possessed a name of its own, and much like the one in front of her, this was almost of human origin, though considerably less common than Venom.

The symbiote in front of her could apparently sense her internal confusion, and it answered to the question she had been too preoccupied with to ask herself. "Lasher is the one inside of you, albeit they seem not to be communicating, am I right?"

Symbiotes were capable of speaking to their hosts without even being physically present, making her assume that they shared a mental link of some sort. Evelyn recalled watching Ms. Nordstrom speak to it, although she had initially believed it to be naught a hallucination due to the drugs she had been forcefully given. However, now that Evelyn was standing in the presence of the very same symbiote, form and voice accompanying it, there was no longer any doubt in her mind that it was a genuine creature.

Which made her question why the one within herself was seemingly incapable of speech. Looking back at it, she recalled seeing a face void of any mouth, and subsequently void of any voice.

"Why can't it communicate?" she asked.

"A physical defect – even our species have those,"

"Genetic, then?" she asked and placed a hand under her chin. "An inherited trait from either parent?"

But the symbiote shook its head at this suggestion. "Symbiotes reproduce asexually. They do not know of concepts such as "mother" or "father" – only "predecessor", and each offspring becomes stronger than its predecessor,"

Then that means 'Lasher' must have been underdeveloped in some sense, which would most certainly explain its lack of a mouth. While she had not seen it physically, she knew that what it lacked in terms of speech, it made up for it with sheer ruthlessness and strength. If its lack of one feature had to be compensated for in one way or the other, then its hunger might have been a plausible solution for that.

Evelyn lightly placed a hand over her chest where she could feel the turmoil stir in its sleep. While she did not wish to be conversing about something that was not relevant to the situation ahead of them, she could not contain her need for knowledge, especially in regard to the creature that was threatening her life at every turn. "You say that your intent is not to kill, or to feed, but can the same thing be said for this one?" she asked, narrowing her gaze. "As far as I have witnessed, this one has no other intent but to maim and kill each individual it comes to contact with,"

The black symbiote shook its head like a professor that was too exasperated from telling their student the same piece of information over and over again with no positive results. It rubbed its temples – even though it lacked a nose – and proceeded to explain once more. "A symbiote and its host both need to cooperate – they need to be one in order to function. Lasher is someone who follows behind and does as they are ordered, but only as long as they receive enough fuel from their host. If not, the symbiote will begin to tear at the host instead as a substitute from what they lack, and that's when they begin to feed."

"It's simply a matter of sustenance?"

"Partially. The host needs to cooperate and contribute to the union in order for it to function properly, but you show no sign of wanting to do so, which is why Lasher cannot work alone. They need you just as much as you need them in order to survive," As it was done explaining, the black symbiote swiftly turned its face away from her and to the view of the city, its eyes wide and somehow … mesmerized. Evelyn took the opportunity to process the information she had received.

A symbiote was a creature that depended on its host in order to survive, not only because it protected them in an environment filled with oxygen, but because it would contribute to their lives as a whole. Their sustenance, their strength, their nature; it all depended on the state of their host, both physically and mentally. As she put the puzzle pieces together, it made sense as to why it had failed to properly bond with so many of the patients, regardless of how much sustenance it had been provided with. The patients had been involuntarily exposed to the symbiote – they had been unable to provide with the mental and physical contact it required in order to bond.

In other words: "Do to others as you would have them do to you"

Truly, this would become … problematic. Was she truly dependant on the same organisms that had killed so many people? Isaac Burton, Jacob Markson … Dora Skirth.

She could feel her chest tighten upon acknowledgment, but she could no longer tell whether it was her own natural reaction to the news or something else's.

"What are you?" The question came in the form of a demand, though subtle. She wanted the answer more than anything else, along with multiple other answers. There was already enough at stake, and she could tell that they did not have enough time to answer them all, but she was going to receive this from someone who could answer. The word 'symbiote' was a manmade designation for organisms they could no longer comprehend, and if she was forced to work alongside them, then she would rather address them as what they truly were; not what members of mankind deemed them to be in order to appease to their knowledge.

The black symbiote turned back to her again, face unreadable. It addressed her for a couple of moments before it proceeded to step closer towards her until it towered over her considerably shorter stance with minimal effort. "We," it said. "are Klyntar,"

"Klyntar," Now that sounded more foreign than anything. "Where are you from?"

"There is no distinction between where we are from or what we are," it said. "Klyntar is what we are, as well as where we are from,"

"Then I assume that there are more of you?"

"There are as many klyntar as there are humans on this world, and millions more than that,"

Millions more? Her movements froze, and so did her breathing. The millions of questions that surged through her mind all came to a halt upon processing that information. An entire planet filled with them, just waiting in the distance. If one of them could render dozens of humans to succumb to death, then what plausible results could millions have? Getting a handful of them here in the first place had been a deliberate action – but what were the possibilities that Drake's plans exceeded further than that little stunt which involved the comet?

This was not good.

"What are your plans now that you are free from your captivity?" She asked, feigning any insecurity she might have been feeling, and that was no thanks to the creature that was surging through her chest. A sense of vehement loathing towards it resonated through her being, primarily because she did not look away from the fact that it had killed so many people she had become acquainted with. However, if there was no way to rid her of it now without dragging herself down in the process, then she would be forced to engage in a brief alliance with them until it could be done. The only question was how.

"What we want," said the klyntar. "Is Carlton Drake's rocket?"

His rocket? "To what purpose?"

"To reach Klyntar,"

"Your planet,"

"Yes,"

Bull's eye.

"That is also partially why I have kept you alive when Lasher failed to,"

… What?

Evelyn blinked at this and crossed her arms over her chest. "Elaborate on the subject,"

The klyntar leaned forward and both of its large hands on each of her shoulders, effectively keeping her in place. While she felt threatened at first, it was until she realized that – rather than using it as a means to threaten her – the symbiote's hold could almost be deemed 'affectionate'. Its hold was firm but gentle, but also heavy, and the klyntar's smile seemed to spread even further towards where its ears would have been.

"We have the same goal, Evelyn March," it spoke. "You help me get to the rocket, I will help you bring Carlton Drake down. Do we have a deal?"

A compromise. Was that the only alternative at her disposal? A compromise between herself and an extraterrestrial organism that had been partially responsible for multiple deaths? Well, in a sense, she was far from guiltless herself, so perhaps this was her retribution? Compensation for the sins she had committed in the past, and most likely were to commit in the future?

Evelyn looked over her shoulder to the edge of the rooftop again, feeling the wind brush past her face from the height. Jumping off the ledge no longer tempted her like it had minutes before, but there was still a short distance between her and the act that would end it all. Did she dare to? Was she willing to sacrifice everything she, Brock and Skirth had been trying to accomplish for the sake of her own inability to put her disdain for the organism aside? Both the one inside of Brock and the one inside of her?

'When you die, you won't be missed, so it will be easier to say bye-bye. But you will be free.'

She was not going to die. Not yet.

She had a promise to uphold.

Promise me.

"Well?" it asked impatiently.

"I have some conditions," she replied, returning her gaze back to it with sharpened eyes. "I will help you get the rocket, and you will assist me in taking down the Life Foundation and Carlton Drake as a whole,"

"Yes," it verified.

"Once you have reached the rocket, you, this sym– Lasher, and any other of your kind that is left on Earth; you will all leave permanently," Her voice felt restrained as it constricted those words, as though she was declaring a public execution. She did not fully realize the weight of her words until she watched as the symbiote's once firm shape morphed into that of a frozen individual; non-moving and ever-so-unreadable, but discernible to the core. Despite its inhuman nature, she was learning to decipher its behavior based on the reactions she perceived.

This time, it was contemplating; having been presented with a condition that it either found interesting or disadvantageous. Its fingers grazed its chin as a human would, and it made her think of what kind of habits it had earned from its earlier hosts. Perhaps its hosts' characteristics were somehow affecting its nature? If what it had said earlier about sharing some kind of mental and physical link with its host was true, then that would make sense as to why it was so unbearably recognizable in terms of behavior.

While it was rendered in its silent demeanor once again, Evelyn took her time to travel from the edge and further into the center of the rooftop; it was a limited space, but big enough for her to wander around. Although it was not someplace that was fit for nighttime-strolls, which would explain its lack of an elevator and railings, Evelyn found the view mesmerizing nevertheless. The aesthetically seldom pleased her, which was why she scarcely visited museums or art galleries, but she was willing to make an exception on this occasion.

After all, it might become the last time she got a view like this. She could learn to appreciate it.

The tightness in her chest loosened slightly.

Finally, after several moments of contemplating, the klyntar finally spoke. "We agree to the terms, Evelyn March," it declared.

"Good," A thought suddenly came to her as she felt the hands on her shoulders drift off of her. "But I have another question,"

"Fine, but be quick,"

"You said that me assisting you was partially the reason you saved me. Was there any other reason that would contribute you deeming my life worthwhile?"

At this, the klyntar's response caught her off-guard with little effort.

"Because we like you, Evelyn March," it said firmly.

She froze. "You… like me?" She most certainly had not anticipated this outcome.

"Yes," the klyntar verified, sounding as though it was conversing about as casual as the weather. "Back at the cells, you were the only one who gave enough shits to keep us alive. Because of that, we decided that we would rather keep you alive than to watch Lasher inadvertently kill you. Also, that's why we fully intend on biting off Treece's head when we find him,"

Damned sentiment, Evelyn thought as her mind tried to process this as well as she could, though it didn't take long before her head felt like it was on the verge of falling apart. Speaking of which, the headache returned.

How long had it been since someone last said that they 'liked' her?

However long it was, she would have preferred it if it had been longer, and she most certainly would not have wanted to hear it come from the lips of an alien. But, strangely enough, it was preferable above that of a human. She just didn't know how to deal with it, and she did not try to understand it either.

"Please," she said through a heavy sigh as she rubbed her temples. "Just ... get us down from here and return Mr. Brock,"

In her mind, however, Evelyn knew that there was something else at stake; something graver. The only problem, though, was that she did not know what it was.