Hello, everyone. This is one of two Carnage one-shots I published in a fanzine several months ago that I am now releasing into the wild, so to speak. Most of you probably already know that from what I said in the last Author's Note to A Winter at Freddy's, but if you're here by accident, welcome!

There's not much else I have to say, other than to establish the continuity for those who don't know. In 2004, Carnage was killed by a hero called the Sentry, and his body was left in space for several years. Of course, nobody dies forever in comic books, so it was inevitable that he came back, which he did in 2011… but I imagine that he was really, really bored in the interim. That's what this story covers. Hope you all enjoy!

Bah. Stupid planet. Stupid Earth!

Cletus boiled as he orbited. Forever boiled as heat and vacuum and radiation from the… whatever those strips of radiation around the planet were called. Dick Van Dyke Belts? Something like that? Whatever. They made his other – Red – burble across the surface of his crimson flesh, making him more liquid than solid. Even with that and missing his legs (thanks, Bob), she refused to let him die. Loved him too much for that.

She purred in his head, which overwhelmed the sound of blood burbling in his ears. That was the only thing he heard anymore without an atmosphere. Aww, I love you too, babe. She nuzzled his brain and maybe popped a few lobes, but that was fine. They'd grow back. Sadly, love wasn't enough to get him down.

He missed a lot of things about the planet below. The taste of a good steaming hotdog on his lips. Wind in his mane of hair. The crunch of a skull when he drove one of his axe-arms through it. Ah, to be back walking the streets, living the good life. Barely anything he disliked about the place… mostly because he destroyed anyone and anything that got on his nerves.

Meanwhile, chilling in the void had many, many downsides, most of which presently ravaged his form. However, what grated on him most was the endless trickle of time.

How long had it even been? Months? Years? Couldn't tell when the sun neither rose nor set. Enough time to drive a man mad! Good thing he needed no help in that department. Worse than that, the boredom threatened to drive him sane. Living in the final frontier turned out to be more tedious than being a roadie for fucking Metallica. At least with that, he got room and board and sex whenever he wanted it. He and Red couldn't do it in space, especially with his "equipment" missing along with the rest of his lower half and her not having the strength to regenerate it while keeping his torso alive. That would have been all right if the rest of the experience was better.

Star Wars taught him that space was full of interesting comets and planets and aliens and black holes and whatever, but none of that stuff ever came their way. Nothing did. Damn liars. Gonna find George Lucas and chop him in half once I get out of here, the hack. Still, he'd be lying if it he said it wasn't pretty on occasion.

The distant sun and moon and the shifting view of Earth itself would make a nice painting for somebody who cared about that nonsense. Only "art" he and Red ever needed was that of blood spattered against a wall. Come to think of it, he did sort of enjoy Pollock for that very reason; the guy perfectly captured the aesthetic. The clouds and ocean and land didn't look too terrible, either, and he especially liked the latter.

Sometimes, when he passed over a big city, he shot knives down to try murder from a couple hundred miles away. He didn't kid himself: the chance they survived atmospheric friction, let alone actually hit anybody, was slim at best. Even if they did, where was the fun in killing if you weren't there in-person?! Still, that was his only hobby. Most exciting thing that happened to him so far was seeing some fellow superfreak fly into space a few weeks back.

Miles away, but it looked like it might've been Nova. Didn't matter. Tried to get their attention/pepper them with daggers, but his shots all missed, and the guy didn't even notice. Just his luck. Suddenly, Red reminded him of the other big thing to happen to them. Oh, that's right, how could I forget? Shook his head, which broke all the brittle bones in his neck again, leaving him paralyzed for the time being.

The International Space Station passed them maybe two months back! Again, too far away to get a clean shot off, but just seeing it gave him hope. Hope that the dumb monkeys hadn't bombed themselves into oblivion or that some alien empire hadn't wiped them out in the interim. That was always a concern. In short, hope that there would still be plenty of people to pick off once he came back. Because, make no mistake, he would. Always did. His gaze was fixed straight ahead as he tried to remember the point of this tangent. Wait, I recall now.

The point was that space was big and not much happened. Wonder if that's why they call it "space"? As in, "empty space". He'd never considered the etymology before… Damn it, this place really is fuckin' with my head. Couldn't even scream without any air! At least in Ravencroft, people were always nearby. He could torment and threaten them even at his lowest moments. Now there was nothing and nobody. Even he couldn't kill the stars. Rage boiled within him greater than his evaporating skin.

He had only one comfort left besides Red's love: the fact he would eventually escape. No prison ever held the World's Greatest Defective for long! A little push downward from the solar winds, and he'd be back in the game as your friendly neighborhood mass murderer. Assuming he didn't land in the ocean… it wouldn't be fun swimming a thousand miles to the nearest center of civilization.

I'll get out of here one day! And when I do, I'm gonna kill people. A lot of people! Sleep lapped at the edges of his shared mind as Red put him under again. Artificial coma was the only reason he didn't feel even worse. But before that, I think I'll have a hotdog. Hey, he was really fucking hungry! Couldn't commit war crimes on an empty stomach.

At last, he drifted into an oblivion even darker than the one imprisoning him. His final thoughts as he lapsed into dreamless sleep were ones of violence and death and carnage.