Sometimes, it seems that there is only a hero to protect the whole of New York.
There are police officers, firefighters, physicians, and none of them are recognized. They just exist, while Spider-Man should never have existed. An institution can't be ruled by an only person. Prometheus was the only man who ever stole the fire from out the Olympus. For doing something in favour of manking, he had to be punished on a way nobody would ever want to know the wrath of gods. Chained on a rock, a liver being eaten by an eagle at day, while at night the organ regenerated itself, keeping the cycle in an endless way. To think I have dissapointed so many people recently by standing upon a wall, or by thinking with the fists instead of a brain.
Thinking alike a spider, forgetting the man inside.
His name... my name is Peter Parker. A school student who have gotten by a radiated spider, which gave me these powers only I know about, as Peter. But as Spider-Man, it's another tale. Not that being a hero alone pays taxes, so I became a hired photographer. Yet, despite my reputation at Bugle, I see less money in hands and more a scapegoat for all the kinds of commitments I had been into. I also see a first page, and my name is on it. My picture as well, while disguised. A hero for some, a murdered for a few that soon will became the majority. Jameson was the first who jumped in the bandwagon, and with each Bugle's edition being sold for five centes, and news coverage being forbidden in this country to rely on more than one media... it's all a matter of percentage, and probability.
— I bet a dollar that Spider-Man is guilty – or so I heard behind me.
— Only a dollar? – someone else asked. I agree that Spidey costs more than one dollar, given inflation these days...
— ...He punches with fists tainted in red.
— ...Better for tourism than streets...
— ...We aren't safe from nobody – and so I tried not to pay attention to any of these voices. I failed, like before. My Spider-sense is a hit-and-miss most the time, but now it seems I'm being hit from all directions. Everything sounds like a threat, coming from all people, their stares, except one of them.
— Come on. Had not been for Spidey, this city would be on its knees for any idiot – said Flash Thompson, president of Spider-Man's fan club. The only member, as it seems.
— As if a single one isn't enough... – said Liz Allan. I only heard her as another voice behind me, where the shadow of Spider-Man lies. It's strange that we can't look to each other anymore. Like if there is a mirror beneath us, and we're unable to convey each other's feelings. A mirror, and anything that resembles the door of a cabinet – after all, why does he hide beneath a mask?
— And wouldn't you do the same? Or would you like to see the ones close of you get in a meaningless danger?
— No matter how much you like your friendly neighborhood hero, you can't say that they do not have any flaws.
— For sure he does. But I do not believe that Spidey would be capable of murder. All things, less this.
— That's what all news are covering about.
— None of us were there.
— Harry was – I said, so said the news. Both of us without looking to any of their faces. I do not have eyes, just like that mask. And Harry, well... he won't come back. Those who afford of enough wealth can do anything. Even take control of this city, if they want to. Harry doesn't want to be alike his father, or what was left that Spidey had not cared to take away.
The Ravencroft Asylum for the Criminaly Insane.
Within the fierce walls of concrete and titaniun, weren't for a few windows that bring the light of a sunny day, lies an government institution created with the purpose of discover the origin of insanity, and how to treat it alike any other disease. Some specialistes believe that there is a blurred line between the genius and insanity. What makes book publishers genius become modern myths with its fictional characters and tales revolving around cosmic cataclysms, while human beings who think and live on their own world are a threat to this single world? Because they know limits, that there are boundaries other than straitjackets. None of them grew superpowers, enough to make the reality around as they wish. There are isolated cases, most of them. Common disturbances, chronic diseases, headaches, and only a few reasons for crimes to be commited are beliavable.
Science ain't made of clear answers, while God loves you, or so the man at television is screaming at. He ain't screaming, only the high volume of the machine his soul had been secluded within. Then a puppy jumps into the arms of a kid, who eats butter alongside her family. Some of the patients are orphans, in a way. When out of their cells for lunch, that's the only time all captives, respectfully adressed as patients by the Asylum's staff, met each other. Teenagers, adults, students, scientists, criminals, gangsters, assassins, offenders, politics, but here they are treated as one, besides sick.
...Good morning. And now for the weather forecast...
...It will be a bright and sunny day at NY...
...Excellent. Now... three nuns had their lifes interruped this morning...
...Does this have anything to do with the cold of before?...
...I don't think so. Cold doesn't leave point blank burns on tissue...
— I'm from the times when innocents were blown up by a bus, and everyone accepted it – said Adrian Toomes, drinking a soup warmer than his personal hell.
— And I belong to the times heroes aren't innocent anymore – said Otto Octavius, sharing of its two hands alone. Security norms.
— Anybody can be a hero. Know how many men wished to fly and ended falling throught history?
— That proves men are willing to prove anything else but be idiots, in most cases.
— Nothing is learned from history, doctor – said Electro, confined on its shell. Unlike its voice, and the sight he took of his fiend on a TV set he couldn't explode this time – nothing...
...Captain Jean DeWolff, you shot a kid. Anything to say?...
...DeWolff?...
...Thanks, Jim...
...Ahem. Spider-Man as the culprit of Norman Osborn's demise...
...Norman, who left a wife and son, didn't left a body...
— Had not been Spidey to do us the work, it would had been me instead. Me and my wings.
— Do you really believe it was him, that weakling?
— A weakling who defeated us all, Octavius. More than twice.
— The body learns to recover faster, even on your age.
— That's because my family is very resilent.
— Interesting, though I never saw any of them here.
— Nobody pays a visit to any of our kind, doctor – disrupting of its silence, Electro said a few words. Cold, rigid, just like his armor. Instead of making him any stronger, or heavier, he doesn't feel anything. Can't eat of same dishes those around the table can, with their mouths – they only pay visits to people.
— A zoo is left empty without any caged animals. And with an only spider around to entertain and make us feel better...
— Other than the antioxidants found on your food, Mr. Toomes.
— They prevent aging, which's a thing most of these patients do not want to happen here – with more antioxidants, less free radicals, but who to say all kind of free radicals are bad? That's a theory, like many proposed. And the doctor isn't stupid to leave them behind as the tentacles who couldn't leave the flesh and the spine they had been attached to.
— Calcium supplements are said to decrease the amount of osteoporosis on middle age, though they also increased the chances of unfortunate heart attacks to happen with old maidens. What do you think about it, Toomes? – I think you're crazy... It's easy for something to be said when the circumstances conspire against you. When they cease to be unlikely about tomorrow's weather, and when they will never happen to be certain alike hatred on each of their hearts. When you realize there isn't you, and when there won't be any you at future.
— Nothing is left for death to eventually cure – said Toomes, an old man who haven't left that much of a legacy other than crimes. Just like his friend there, on video.
...This Spider-Man would not be much of a hero without a villain, as a thief would be nothing without any victims...
...Like a play is nothing without people cheering on its end...
...What do you mean?...
...What do I mean is that I believe that the system works. Weren't for the laws society agreed to live with, men like Spider-Man would dominate this world without being put in check...
...If this Spider-Man is a threat to society, then it's society that should make him take its toll. Is that what you mean, Mr. Murdock?...
...I'm not a psychologist, just a lawyner. Also a human being like you, I expect...
...My son was a human being, before Spider-Man came to ruin his life...
...John Jameson knew the risks of being an astronaut, as much as you know the risks of being a journalist...
...For you lawyners, there is no such a thing as the truth. Only that everyone is equal in law...
...That's a matter of fact. I know that, as a father, you are unsettled, Jameson. But as part of the press, try not to get things too personal...
...
Sometimes, I wonder if Spider-Man is really our biggest threat.
If our worst enemy is the one that lies within the self. I am nothing without a enemy to fight against. The guards contained me in this cell, and I did nothing. Could not do with this suit and the powers only lying within. When they get out, it becomes a mess supposed to be kept only in my head. All they see is a shape. Clay can become many things in my hands, despite being a poor conductor. One of the few things that do not yell at me when I touch. The least of the things I wish I could feel. I see these walls, and they aren't white as before. This won't work, nothing a child does is worthy of their attention. A child with a gun, except that I know how to use it.
And they know how to use it against me. Water out of a fire hydrant in a summer, refreshing throats and skins absorving ultraviolet waves. I saw a commercial, and then I remember I did more than seeing it, before I turned out to be here. Before I had no intentions of harming anyone, avoiding being harmed, when I could feel the heat of the sun without the same threatening to burn me to a crisp. When I was a child... Not even I am an adult, just a conductor of memories. Failing each day, isolated like junk by walls covered by same. All my work, the way I showed this world who I am, the name burnt on each of their minds... I am... I am...
Not even I am human. Yet, why do insist? Maxwell is gone since the day he became from an electrician to pure electricity. All electricity do is to shock people. It kills people like people do with each other. It became so easy to, with guns that do not make any dirty. They do not come in your hands, but to another. Reason why the Goblin took that long to be put an end is because he had a pyramid below his. And a plenty of money to convince others to built, and crumble apart together with it. Money doesn't grow out or like trees, but trust does. Trees who get hit by thunder, on the other way, do not grow again. With the plenty of time gathered in here, I could had written a book and put that sentence in, had I been allowed to hold on graffities or metallic pens.
Those who get out of Ravencroft tell another what happened here. Some can't, despite having mouths. A book doesn't have a mouth, yet it speaks to anyone who opens it. Any kind of page, to be fair, including lawsuits. With the one behind the green mask dead, the doctor was able to hire some lawyers to convince those at Oscorp that he was injured, that the tentacles on his back are what made him a sick mind. That vulture also wanted a slice of flesh, and the patents of the hardwork which almost costed his life, and yet, they haven't been able to get out of this place. As for me, I haven't won any rewards, despite my good behavior being exemplar as dinosaur's bones kept in a museum.
Except that I do not get any old. Maxwell did, before he died a long ago. Time passes unnoticed, as you realize these only work to living, sentient beings. To dissect old power cables can lend to a short circuit. That's how I got these powers. To decide they were a bless, or a curse; it became so easy to choose the second one with time. On that time, I was hired to fix the bio-electrical filters on Connors lab, and had not my hand taken the screwdiver who felt upon the dismantled machine's electric circuits... had not my old and weak body collided against the eel tank, with special fluid that increased the shock and pain, who left more than bones crushed against another. An only one element to be tolerated afterwards... that day was the last chance Maxwell had of stepping into the sunlight of a bright day, but after that night, I could no longer stay in the shadows.
Even when inside its shell, they keep staring at him, and only a few to believe that there is a Maxwell, and a hope left. None of this matters for me, but they do for Mark Allan, a man whom they were able to take out of the state's jail, and his personal cage of moltem by luck. Not only by luck, so I heard its sister followed of cries, coming from both. This would have driven me tears, had I been able to shed any of them. I had a sister too, but she became more than it. More than a name, somebody in life... but who to care? None of my parents or any relatives paid a visit to me. To keep distance, as if the gap between us wasn't large already.
— Osborn!
— No!... NO! Get out!
— Don't you understand!? My feet can get attached to any surface, yours not!
— Spider-Man... You knew that something wrong was happening with Harry and Oscorp, but not me! I thought you were a hero.
— I can offer you help, Osborn. Believe in me!
— No, it's too late. Now loot AT ME!
— The Goblin is just a mask, dad! You can't hear only what he says!
— Harry? Son... You're a weakling!
— Dad...
— This is the Goblin. Just ignore it, Harry.
— You can't ignore me forever, Spider-Man!
— I can.
— Really? You would be nothing without me! All you ever wanted... the smile of childrens and elder woman cheering at what you do, laughing at what you say. You need it so much that you've became my accomplice!
— What did you've said? Sorry, but I'm wearing a mask, and I'm far from being it! You ain't Harry's father... know why, Goblin? Fathers take care of its sons! Fathers PROTECTS THEM! Fathers do not HURT THEM!
— Stop, Spider-Man! You're hurting my father!
— It's hard to see any blood coming out of hands dyed in red, don't you think? Hah hah hah hah!...
— Stop laughing!
— You must be enjoying it beneath the mask as much as I do! Hah hah hah... and the doctor told its patient that he had 24 hours to live. Are these good news? The patient asked. The bad one is that the tests were printed yesterday!... hah hah hah hah HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
— Shut up!
— Spider-Man! STOP!
— ...ahahahahahahahahah... Osborn is so weak without me, a tiny worm alike those who crawl at the streets...
— No... Don't you think!...
— Osborn will join them, if that's what you want!
— No, Spidey! Don't let him go!
— Uh! Spider-Man!... Don't let me!... AAAAAAH!
— ...DAAAD!
— OSBORN!...
— ...WHY YOU COULDN'T HELP MEEEEEEEEEeeee...
And for the hundredth time, Norman Osborn dies.
Falls into a void, a slow descent to a bottomless pit, sheds its last scream with a jaw wide as the ones carved in the pumpkin bombs. They also scream, leave a green smoke behind, and no corpse. I should had forgotten what happened soon as I woke up. But that was no dream, or a nightmare. In a way, it was both. There are so many rooftops spread around this island, and even I can't tell how many. It's easier to tell how many times I dreamt same scene: as Spider-Man, crawling buildings, fighting against crime, but on that night... I teached it. On that dream, like all of them, that's not how things went on reality. Barely they happened to be a faithful replica of the events that happened two weeks ago. Yet, time can't let what was done to be gone completely. Materia can't be destroyed, but recycled, reshaped into another.
Harry couldn't reach his father in time, even on that helicopter. On my dreams, he could only keep dragging his body like a snail. An injured leg that still haven't been healed in my mind, who holded of them for only a moment. Two weeks, and nothing changed. Everything changes, and that's a thing that can't be changed. I remember when my costume changed to pitch black; I also changed into a pitch black void, being sucked in by the creature who took control of my mind, and therefore, my emotions. It has been such a long time since I saw it, and it was gone on that night I fought against the Green Goblin. I didn't knew it would be the last time, and that I had a last chance to save the man who lied within the Goblin's suit, this if I ever could call that thing by man.
Nobody else other than Harry and his father knew the way green globuline affected their minds. All Gwen and I took notice of is that Harry began to act strangely on college. He was going to be part of the football team, so maybe he was just feeling tense, other than stronger. Then he began to faint, to run out of air and maybe his entire life. Had not been for Spidey, who brought Harry back home... and a mystery to be solved. Like all police dramas, it ended with someone dead. Guess who? It's something I can't forget about, even if I really try hard. The ultimate power comes from the strenght of exercing control over other minds, and whose mind better to put control other than the ones who shares of your same blood? How much Harry cared for his father, and how much Norman cared for his son... enough to leave an injury to Harry's leg and mind, but Spider-Man left more than wounds.
No, he did worse. He took away Osborn's life; both his lifes.
Had I been given the chance to prove otherwise, I wouldn't be here.
But since the day Osborn rejected my ideas, stole my technology, humiliated me... enough. To kill a man who's already dead won't do that much to solve my problems. To take out its company's money neither. It ain't because that money comes out of dirty hands. I'm already used to it, for a long time. As for money that comes out of institutions, taxes, my money back into hands takes out the fun of a flight. Since I was a child, I wanted to fly. For decades, I kept that dream as a promise to be fullfilled. None of them end like we want to, but some do for a change. This blue sky, and a few clouds I dared to touch, but money came in hands instead. Slippery as soap, even for fingers that became wrinkly with time.
I had many opportunities in life, and the day Otto Octavius presented me to Osborn face to face... that was the last chance I had of not becoming the Vulture. A chance I had to become someone other than an old man, soon a dead man. A year out of a healthy facility could be a life sentence. Age is only a state of mind, Toomes. And it would be really stupid of your part to catch pneumonia with this rain. The guards were kind to offer you an umbrella, out of a familiar sight. Fear of an old man... they are smart to not underestimate my strenght, but to break bones is so outdated nowadays. I may haven't been inspired by an eagle when I did those wings, but that I can feel the air of freedom, for sure I can.
At least, to this day, I am the least of the menaces spread around Manhattan.
— I've heard that your brother is free – out of another day at college, I hear the people passing by, walking below umbrellas. One of them is Mary Jane, a friend of Liz. They are sitting near the fountain – oh, why this face? Isn't that supposed to be a good new?
— Sure it is. It's just that...
— What?
— It seems that it happened all of sudden. As if a week or another day didn't mattered...
— But they did, Liz.
— You may be right. I also have a reason to be fine, since no one treated Mark as a criminal, or sort of.
— He ain't a criminal. Winners do not steal – how supportive MJ is... I'm beyond words to describe.
— Only losers to fight for a prize – beyond the way I should have treated Liz. Only a single day, and it was all over. Since them, we can barely take a look to each other without feeling something. It ain't the same as before. Now it's like the before the before, when Liz didn't knew you other than being a nerd, like all cheerleaders.
— This is getting ridiculous – with Liz out, I took her place to stand near MJ.
— I heard that it was she who broke up with you, tiger.
— The one who yells wants to be heard.
— You did what you had to, Peter. If you didn't felt alright with Liz...
— I never felt alright with any girl. Losing breath, heart beating faster, only to be rejected afterwards. But Liz... she was the first one who didn't rejected me. How she tried to understand me, and my peculiarities. On that day, I was unsure, and worst of all, unafraid of what I had to say without thinking about Liz. When I said it was over, it was over...
— Yet you feel there isn't a proper end for this.
— I only have been thinking about the beginning. To begin it all with another girl, and you know who. But I don't blame Gwen for feeling what she feels for me, and what I feel for her.
— I knew you two mere made for each other.
— Which one of us? To bring Liz back to my life would be too selfish, and as for Gwen, though... we had been together since kindergarten, so did Harry. It would be like stabbing my friend's back if I stood with her – and I do not want to bring any more grief to his family – so, what should I do?
— The same we are doing. Take your time, and decision for a talk.
MJ is right.
But still... Liz looks so happy, which's a thing I do not want to take out of her.
Yet, I took a decision to be Spider-Man a while ago.
With a great power, came a great responsibility, and a double life.
But when one victory of a side becomes the defeat of another...
At least, I'm getting used to it.
— ...What do you see on this picture? – it has been a month since I had been threw on this place. Only I. Dr. Ashley Kafka came to my cell, to attempt another kind of approach with her patient, by showing drawings made of black ink. They call it by Rorschach test. They say there aren't drawings, only ink. The doctor asks what I do see between the ink.
— I see... I see... A butterfly – it was a butterfly, but I lied. What I saw... I saw you. Your face. Why did you abandoned me?
— And this?
— Uh... – a dead dog. I thought you were my best friend – a bedbug.
— See this one here?
— Yes. A flea – tiny, easy to be squeezed, just like he did with you. What he did with me. What we did for us...
— What do you see?
— Eight legs. Webs. A spider. I see them all.
— Right. I see that you share of a fascination to arthropods.
— I studied with Curt and Martha Connors. Good persons. I also attend High School. Sorry, used to. I didn't had money enough for School, and no more the Connors could afford a place to us.
— Why?
— The alien form... It was on all news.
— I know. It was found beneath a space shuttle landed by John Jameson's.
— Yes. Same Jameson who's beyond this wall, but nothing prevents me from hearing its screams. It must be the shock therapy he's been submitted into. At least his father is here to pay him a visit and calm him down.
— Does anyone pay a visit to you?
— No. Does it really matter?
— Since you mentioned another patient.
— You mean Jameson? We aren't related that much. Althought... He is insane. Became one, as well. To be an astronaut must be quite a stressful job.
— Why do you in believe in that?
— Well, nobody can bare the feeling of death at any moment.
— Have you experienced death once?
— Yes. People die, what else is left to expect. We live only to die. Althought there are a plenty of ways to die before death, like staying here.
— Why the fixation for death?
(pause)
— Like I said, people die. It's a fact, the truth.
— Have you killed someone?
— We tried.
— 'We'? There's only one here. And it's you, Mr. Brock.
— We aren't only one person, Doctor. We are so many selfes, belonging to many groups. A man sees itself on the art, and a man sees itself on a sculpture.
— How do you see yourself?
— Not only am I Eddie Brock, but... but...
— There is only you here.
— Me and you and Doctor.
(pause)
— Tell me more about yourself.
— Why? Haven't I told enough? Or do you want to hear both of us?
— I want to hear you, Mr. Brock. You are the only one here who can speak.
— As if I had no option...
— Why do you think this way?
— People are freed to think and do whatever they want.
(pause)
— It's normal to feel hatred, as long as it doesn't implicate bad behaviour.
— Hatred... that's all I felt recently.
— All?
— I mean... my powers were sustained by hatred.
— Relationships measured by power of an only side tend to crumble apart.
— Say that about democracy...
(pause)
— Are you cynical?
— Is that a question?
— You are the one who said that people are freed to think and do anything. That's only possible under a democratic system, and yet...
— We aren't here to discuss about politics.
— So, what do you like?
— Sports. I used to be a member from the football team at college, but being a player just for fun doesn't pay any taxes.
— And you began to work at Empire State University's lab in order to pay them?
— Exactly. The Connors were kind with me, but when they couldn't afford the research with the alien goo, they fired me. Not that any of us really wanted to, but that's how it happens. If the world harm us, then let's pretend we can harm it too.
(pause)
— After you were fired, what you did?
— I've became Venom.
— All of sudden?
— I came back to that lab, to take out some things I left behind, and to look to that giant glass and feel empty as same. Then Spider-Man came, and brought back the alien, only to destroy it. He didn't even said why, as if he saw something so frightening that all he could do was run away. Well, it's hard to tell how he looks like under the mask.
(pause)
— How did you felt?
— I felt the same as it did.
— It?
— The creature, the alien, call it whatever you want.
— Did you knew what that alien was capable of.
— No, but Spider-Man wore it once.
And so I took it with me when I say it suffering from cold.
Maybe it would be better to let it be, but I didn't wanted to
— Why?
— Because I had the chance. A chance to do something in order to change the course of my life, instead of being lead astray. To be honest with myself... They had to be honest. But they weren't.
(pause)
— Did someone lied to you?
— Many times.
— And what happened mostly after being told a lie?
— It took quite a time to realize they were lies. Except...
— Except?
— When a lie became obvious enough to dance naked on your face.
(pause)
— People do not only lie, but some also tell the truth.
— Truth hurts. Maybe that's why they weren't sincere with me.
— Why couldn't they be sincere with you?
— None of them were. Parker and I were friends. We were brothers. It was Parker who began it all, it was Spider-Man and Parker who ruined our lifes, it was the symbiosis who agreed for us to become a single Venom.
(pause)
— Do you feel betrayed?
— Why? It was all my fault. That's the why of me being left on this place, only to prove that I am guilty. What had entered in contact with me wasn't human, but shared of same attributes. The symbiosis wasn't power; it was aware of its power. When together, we were stronger. We shared of mutual affinity.
(pause)
— How did you have gotten in contact with the symbiosis?
— It was hatred. The one I felt for Peter Parker. The one we felt for Spider-Man. We were part of Spider-Man. He left us. But hatred remained.
— Did you hated Spider-Man before the contact?
— We learned to. Now that I am alone, I don't know what to say.
— Do you still hate Spider-Man?
— Well, I already proved to his that the good wins against evil, that crime doesn't pay out... and that it's wrong to lie.
— Does this hatred you felt for Peter Parker has something to do with the hatred you and the symbiosis felt for Spider-Man?
— Yes. Peter Parker is Spider-Man.
(pause)
— No, I lied. Must had been a lie that everyone heard. Not only a lie told between us. The symbiosis... was so close of me. I could understand it. Befriend it. The hatred it felt for Spider-Man. And same hatred I felt for Peter Parker. Thus, I began to associate Parker with Spidey. When things become one, they are far easy to be understood. But I lied. I wanted power, and no wonder why that thing had been called by symbiosis. In exchange, we needed each other, but all that I was able to offer that creature was protection. When I became unable to offer of security, a chance of survival, it discharged me, And I wanted to offer her something more than hatred. And then, she had nothing else to offer me.
(long pause)
— Eddie Brock... Your life seems to revolve onto lies, and the way they have affected you. Seeing how the mention of death became an ordinary topic instead of morbid, and how with time you began to mention the symbiosis attached to you by 'her' instead of 'it', 'us' instead of 'I', I presume this has something to do with the loss of someone close of you. The only person whom you ever felt closer of another. Do you remember when did it became hard to estabilish connections, trust without feeling deluded, betrayed by another?
(pause)
— Jameson... He only landed that thing by luck. Where it was same luck for the flight that landed on Atlantic? That was a tragedy. A huge tragedy. And my parents were within. Not only my parents, but Peter's too. Nobody left to blame, but everyone to spread the news, as if it was nothing else. Before they came up to be numbers, they were dad and mom, who left without making this world long for them.
— So... your parents passed.
— Yes. That's all you've wanted to take out of me? Or is there more juice to be extracted?
(pause)
— I'm not here to extract anything from you, Eddie Brock. I am here to make you feel better.
— All order to extract the truth out of me. My opinion, my yells, my tears, my face...
(long pause)
— ...When I used to get angry, when I let the symbiosis use, or believe that it was using me, I became stronger. I would like to kill you right now, Dr, Kafka, but without the symbiosis... I am nothing. Nothing is worthy a try. Nothing that dangerous.
(pause)
— What happened after your parents passed away?
— The same as usual. Instead of someone else's face, mine was there. As for my parents, they were just pictures. Uglier than how they looked like after the plane crashed. There is nothing to see, I heard, but there wasn't anyone to take care of me. Not anyone that I knew, or as you said, had affinity to. Relatives only seem to come at special events, because if weren't for them, they wouldn't have a reason to meet each other.
— Does a relative took care of you afterwards?
— Yes. A child can't be left alone. Nobody deserves to be. Back on that day, I haven't lost only my parents. Parker lost his own too, aboard same plane. Many died, but their deaths seemed meaningless for those who didn't knew who they were, other than what the remaning teeth told. And I didn't knew what to do, other than keep listening to lies, and lying to myself in the worst way possible.
— What do you mean by 'the worst way'?
(pause)
(long pause)
— I... I couldn't react.
— It's normal to be put in a state of shock after a tragedy.
— But... they were my relatives. You know what it means, don't you? Guess they weren't your relatives, or else...
(pause)
— Parker reacted more than I did. Instead of walking, he seems to have learned to run. I would do the same too, had I been on the side of those who were bullied. A bunch of cowards, and their noses deserved to be broken. Well, I also deserved to be grounded too. I accepted it, so did Parker. He came to my room to tell me about emperor penguins, and how they were different from spaghetti, I mean, macaroni penguins. I was the only one who laughed, while Peter looked so serious. For him, there was something fascinating about penguins living at Galapagos, a very hot place for those birds to live at, but they have learned to.
(pause)
— Isolation is an essential factor for the origin of many species, as much as it preserves how some looked alike a million years ago, and since I had nothing else to do, all I could do was hear what Parker had to say. On the days that happened before and after the said-to-be accident. He began to cry soon as he heard what happened, while I thought it was a bad joke, due how they softened the blow.
— By they, you mean the news?
— Yes. The news, the relatives, any channel of delivering messages avaliable. All of them, throwing words at our faces. Not all, but... I mean, we were already scared. Petrified of fear, in my case. But Peter still had May and Ben Parker, his aunt and uncle. I had my own too, but they were nothing compared to that couple. They were nothing alike mom and dad.
— So you felt hatred for Peter Parker because you wanted to feel something real instead of artificial?
— All I wanted was to feel something I felt before, not with the influence of the happening.
— But you felt hatred following what happened to your parents.
(pause)
— ...It's because I couldn't keep my word. I had nothing to be said, not a single reaction coming out, other than pushes done by these hands. Guess I was the one who softened things for Parker too.
(pause)
— Peter doesn't remember I punched him, because I never did. Only in my mind, but that was so wrong, more than words could ever sound like. The hatred I felt lasted to this day, put in a deep slumber like the inibitions Freud told us about, but they had to awaken soon. So did Venom, and our sense of reality.
(long pause)
— You believe that this Venom existed before he came to enter in contact with you?
— It's fascinating how a single mind can prevent a disaster or allow same to happen. To feel pleasure or not, obey the laws or protest against them... a dichotomy between black and white, left and right, up and down. But not everything is perfect, or in a need to be explained further, but that's why we think.
(pause)
— ...Yet, to keep thinking never solved any problems. Not all of them. I mean, some things are meant to be done right away, by impulse, but with everything followed of a guilty veridct done by others and ourselves... why, that's the reason I'm here, Doctor. Not only to feel guilty, but to realise why and how it happened to be true.
(pause)
(long pause)
— For someone who suffered a childhood trauma, who developed a possible dissociative disorder, so far, you had no reluctances, Eddie Brock.
— What do you mean? It took quite a time for I to reveal my secrets, long buried even from those near me, and you to discover if they had any relevance to what I do today. Why? That's your job, after all. You do what you like to.
— What would you like to?
— More of what we had been doing.
— Therapy, you mean?
— No. Reason why I choose to do therapy with you... Maybe I was just in need of talking with someone outside these walls. In order to lead a normal life.
— Do you believe there is a normal to live with?
— In a way, yes. Oppression makes the new normal. Anything else, Dr. Kafka?
— No. We are over to this day.
...
Maybe I'm still on therapy; a more directive approach.
Outside the walls of the asylum, leaving the front door as if it was nothing else. There isn't a ring or something like a collar sinalizing where I am going, but with everything getting smaller to this day, flowing in your blood... Soon I'll be back at my room. They don't have any need to tie me with any force belts. Soon... you thought same about mom and dad. A child can't be denied of dreaming with whatever it wants, after all. Nothing in my youth can be compared with a system where patients are sent freed from institutions to commit any crimes on streets. As if they weren't already filled by junk... That's what they expect me to do, right? To become a junk and be brought to a place in order to feel clean.
At least, I would be there to prove something. But it's like saying that, no matter what you do in life, God will forgive us all. That thing had the strenght of a God, came out of the skies, out of another reality. Feeded by my emotions as my skins feeds itself of sunlight. Bits of, coming out of clouds dark as the asphalt who took the heat of before, creating this stuffy weather, that persists when its raining, and when it ceases to. Don't stand under the trees during a storm, unless you want to be burnt as well. But when the storm finds a way to lie on earth, like that familiar face...
— Maxwell? – I asked, for a caped man entering a building. Literally, he entered it without opening the door. How's that possible?
— Who? There is only Electro – he said.
— Remember me? I tried to help you.
— Wasn't enough – it is impossible to touch his shoulder without getting a little shock.
— How did you got out of Ravencroft?
— I got out like before, only a bit different.
— How?
— You are asking too much. In fact, that's what people do. They are in a constant search for answers.
— We can find a cure to your condition.
— Don't you mean disease? And who, other than you? A person alone don't make any difference.
— I know there is still a person there.
— You see a person. And I see a ghost – without ever looking to what lied in front of his, Maxwell began to walk, crossing throught trees, poles, even the rain, without causing any distubance. As if he wasn't there, but he was. Not only I took notice of.
— Then why do you talk? Why are you thinking? Why walk forward?
— It's because I insist. Something is off, and I never turn off. I won't, before I solve an issue.
— Tell me that you won't do it. Make the right choice, Maxwell.
— Did I choose to be like this!? – he yelled at me, but then Maxwell realized I was the least of his problems – don't answer. Life isn't a set of random occurences and devices to keep the story moving forward, but guess that whatever it happens in life only matters for those who are able to enjoy of same. You see, I had plans that will never be fullfilled... well, except one. I may not be a doctor, but I'm going to do something alike a surgery.
We looked at the sky. Only one of us to feel the rain, and something for the spider washed way.
— Thanks for eliminating competition, Spider-Man.
— I have done no favour to yours.
— Oh, what a pity. Because I would have sparred your head this time.
I avoid punching the old man. Only a coward would, but given that criminals are same in treatment, and given that the Vulture began to steal again, guess there isn't any option left. He'll get tired, but not before I get beaten. With the joy of a child torturing a fly, hearing the noise of its guts pressed against a wall, the Vulture squashes his feet into my chest.
— Why, Vulture? Stealing Oscorp wasn't enough...
— The chicken, or the egg?
— You have no rewards on what you do.
— Why do you wear yourself as a spider? Why do you fight against crime? Why we do what we do? I do what I do because that's my goal, as much as you have chosen yours, Spider-Man!
Yes... to defeat you. With those wings, he is faster, and in this small room, my chances of winning this fight increase. Another bank robbery, but soon as I get to the circuit of these wings, that coffin won't be left empty when police arrives, but guess that this buzzard won't accept to be caged while conscious. He flies well, better than in our last meet.
— Running out of fuel, Toomes?
— I never run out of weapons. If I can't use this wall to break a single bone of yours, then I'm left to no choice other than use the whole city to kill you!
We left the building by a window. Only me and the shards to fall to the streets. Damn, just when I ran out of webs... And out of jokes too, because this wasn't funny. When you fall from this height, unable to grab the walls unless you want to feel the scent of burning rubber.
— Come on, Spider-Man! Can't a young man save yours from such a little fall!?
A gargoyle... I must grab it. It crumbled, but my feet got into the wall, so I can decrease the speed better than I can with my hands. There! I grabbed a ledge. When you feel this alive, even after a defeat. Not the worst of my enemies, but the Vulture would do well as the new Kingpin, though his crimes still rely on personal gain. To compensate the lost time, I guess. Strange, there wasn't anything about lightning in the morning forecast. Thunder doesn't fall on the same place, unless you want it to. Yes, you...
— Electro!?
— Why the surprise?
— Weren't you in the asylum?
— No more. I got something new for you. This time you'll be scarred.
Nothing new. Electro, without its helmet, standing on air by the electricity flow coming out of his hands, to which he throws at me and wherever I step; bullets grazing my uniform, avoided by my acrobatics, and many people lying on the streets like ants. But this time, they seem to be cheering against the good guy. Just an impression, now focuse on the fight. And where is... where is he? Behind me? But... AARGH! My Spider-Sense is a hit and miss most the time. Electro didn't missed me, and I did knew that he could... Huh? Did he went in a wall? I must be seeing things. I see the street, so close of my eyes. Had not been for this cartwheel, I would be done.
— What is it, Spider-Man? If you don't want to fight with me, then so be it!
Electro said that he had something new for me. People getting hurt, in front of me... ain't something new. He doesn't perceive how unsettled I am, shaken before his rays traveled throught me. Only me... this is only between me and you, damned! His powers may have increased during this time, but I know how to control mine. He also knows how to avoid my fists, as if I was punching air, but he can punch me otherwise. This doesn't make any sense, unless...
— Call that by punch?
— Says the man who's afraid of water buckets.
I should have perceived that rain also went throught Electro, so did the water coming out of a fire hydrant. This used to work before, way more effective than my fists. Electro... he is too dangerous to keep toying around. He once thought the same about me, but that doesn't matter.
— I don't have any fears. Now, allow me to become yours, Spider-Man!
I don't have any fear of lightning. It was about time for the boy here to be kept in hiding, same for Electro's new ability. He uses it all the time, knows that if left disabled, I'll have a chance. Not only a chance of victory, but also of living. My worst enemy... hardly. Electro is more like a pushover, less a person but more a force of nature.
— Already leaving?
— Taking distance. Well, with all these volts spread around, I thought you didn't needed any more static coming out of me.
— ...Static!? That's it! Mine! ALL MINE!
To whom he's yelling to... WHOA! I was attached on the wall, but then, I just fell out of it. It didn't became slippery all of sudden. I couldn't hold upon it again, even if I want... I'm falling. No webs, a descent that won't last long. I've won; it should had been me to say that, but instead, it was Electro. He couldn't forget the coup de grâce, or bother to measure how many volts should travel in my skin. As if hitting the car below, tasting blood and laying upon shards of glass, wasn't enough. It ain't everyday that your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man gets defeated. Another victory for Parker, and its camera put on this lightpole.
I can't see any light, other than the one coming out of Electro. He won, and that's all I have to say.