Phenylalanine: The word is a bugger to pronounce and to spell correctly.Flash Thompson was dying, and he knew it. He lay on the jungle floor, the smell of fetid vegetation filling his nostrils because he was face down where he'd been flung from the jeep. They weren't going to get him without a fight He'd joined his uncle in a humanitarian venture in this godforsaken pit of a jungle, and it had shaken him to his core. He'd witnessed atrocities against innocent villagers by guerrillas, seen, heard, smelled and tasted death, and now lay alone in the dank foliage, leg half blown off by an IED and his blood soaking into the ground. His uncle, the only family member who cared about him, lay nearby, torn to pieces by the makeshift bomb they'd run over.

"Dirty bastards. I might die, but you're coming with me, especially after what you did to that village," he snarled as he gripped his gun. He sat up with difficulty. What would his hero, Spider-Man do in this sort of situation?

Something powerful gripped him and the world looked like he was looking through the wrong end of a spyglass. Everything narrowed and went dark.

When he came to, he was surrounded by a circle of dead bodies. That was the weirdest thing, the perfect circle of dead bad guys, several sans heads. Flash scratched his head in confusion. He still had his head; it hadn't gone anywhere. Also, his leg was restored as well as well. He bent down and picked up his journals, closed his uncles' eyes and calmly walked away. He had work to do.

By the time he got to the next village, he was muttering and talking to himself. "Damn drug cartels," he raved. "Those poor villagers. Every last one of them. They gotta pay."

"Then make them pay." He stopped suddenly. Where had that thought come from? He'd been such a little shit to those around him that it was affecting his mind. He was going crazy, that was it.

"Flash." He stopped walking again. There it was, still there. He determined to ignore it and continue on his self-appointed mission: follow the cartel. "You're not crazy, Flash."

"I'm not listening." He kept on walking.

He'd been documenting and journaling his entire trip, taking photographs of the carnage and bloodshed they left behind in their quest for total domination. But whose carnage was he documenting?

The voice stopped and he continued his trek northward. All too soon he found civilization, an actual city, with actual plumbing and showers. He found a place to crash for the night and went into the bathroom. As he stared in the mirror, a stranger stared back. Gone was the baby fat that had plagued him all through high school. In its place was a hard-eyed young man with lank dark hair and a goatee. He squinted and the stranger squinted back. He was depressed because he'd lost the trail here in Mexico City

"Air travel."

"What?" he said, startled. It had been a while since he'd heard the voice, and it displeased him that it was starting again.

"The cartel got on a plane," the voice said patiently, as if he was speaking to a child. "They've gone stateside. Time to go home."

"I guess," Flash said reluctantly. He hated to think of NYC. It wasn't the most pleasant place in his life. It would be different if he didn't have an eidetic memory, but he did. He remembered every mean thing he'd ever done or said. He remembered everything done to him. He remembered every test question he'd purposely answered wrong just so he wouldn't look like some sort of freak in front of his friends. "I hate New York. It's a pit."

What really bothered Flash, though, were the gaps in his perfect memory. He instinctively knew that there was someone that he had secretly admired because they we're everything he was afraid to be. Smart, wise-cracking, sly and good, and he had envied him for it. He was pretty sure he bullied him incessantly, but he couldn't be sure.

"Flash."

Flash had given up on ignoring the voice and just figured that he was mentally ill like fifty percent of his family. "What is it?"

"I'm hungry."

Flash frowned and put down his journal. Now that the voice mentioned it, he was starved. Maybe he could hustle someone so he could make money for food.

"Not that kind of food. You know what I mean. You've fed me before, in the jungle. Remember?"

Flash shuddered. He'd done a lot of things to survive in the jungle that he would never have done under normal circumstances.

"Do you want to see me? Look in the mirror and don't be afraid," the voice purred. "Go ahead. Look and tell me what you see."

He was almost afraid to look, but he steeled himself and stared. A monstrous face with a hideous smile and long, prehensile tongue was superimposed over his. White, teardrop shaped eyes, black, tarry skin. "What are you?" He was horrified by his mental state.

"What are we,"the voice rumbled. "We are…V, for Vengeance. I am a spawn of Venom the symbiote. You are mine. We are meant to be together. As long as you are with me, no one will hurt you again."

"I can't say that doesn't sound like a bad idea," Flash admitted weakly, "But as fun as it is, we've got to be careful biting off heads." He got up and headed for the door. "Lots of really bad guys here. Let's get some fast food."

Venom, or V as he had christened himself, laughed as they headed into the inky black humidity. "Yes!" He crowed triumphantly.

Six months later, Flash wrote an article about his experience in the jungle, leaving out his experience with V out of self-preservation. He wound up with a Pulitzer and decided to pursue a college degree in journalism. He enjoyed it, unlike the maths and sciences that his abusive, alcoholic father crammed down his throat as a child.

He set up his dorm room with prints of his escapades neatly lining the walls, and a framed copy of his article. He'd just finished unpacking his meager possessions when the door swung open.

A young man, about his age, with dark sandy hair stood there, arms full of computer equipment and files. He was trying to balance everything and hold it with his knee. Flash jumped up. "Let me help you with that." He took half the equipment and set it on his roommate's bed. "I'm Eugene Thompson but everyone calls me Flash."

"Peter Parker," his roommate said, shaking his hand as soon as his load joined Flash's. "So, you're the Pulitzer winner?"

Flash looked down, still a bit overwhelmed at the media circus that followed the coverage of his story. "Yeah. It just feels..., surreal, you know? Like it's happening to someone else. I'm not entirely comfortable with the publicity."

"I'll bet," Peter said dryly. "That's gotta be hard, huh?"

"I take it that my bad reputation proceeds me," Flash snipped. "If I bullied you in the past, I'm sorry. I've learned a lot about myself and the crappy way I treated others. Sorry."

Peter smiled. "As long as you're learning, you're improving, he said sagely. He accidentally kicked a box and it clanked. "Tinkerer," he explained. "Can't throw anything away."

"Sounds like the inventor's sickness to me," Flash laughed. A skittles bomb rolled out and Flash side stepped it gingerly. There was something oddly familiar about this little piece of equipment. He muttered something that sounded like "Skittles." He tugged at his hair a bit, then shrugged.

"Hey, I'm going to the student union. Do you want to go and get a bite to eat?" Peter decided to be friendly. Why not? Flash didn't remember him any more than anyone else did.

Flash declined. "No, thanks. Already had a bite." He and V had fed recently, and they weren't particularly hungry, especially since they'd eaten the whole thing.

He looked at the skittles bomb, looked at Peter, looked at the bomb, and back at Peter. He did this several times and shook his head slightly. Peter tilted his head as he watched him in confusion.

V was in Flash's head pulling buried memories to the surface. Deeply buried, nearly magically erased memories. Flash sat heavily and V rumbled in his head." Prick."

"Peter Parker. You skittle bombed me in high school. You and Ned."

Peter stared at him in shock. "You remember me doing that? That's impossible! Nobody remembers me."

"I remember you," Flash verified, "but I can't believe that I forgot. I never forget anything. It's a relief that I remember. It was driving me nuts that there were gaps in my memory."

Peter sat down heavily. "You knew there was something wrong with your memory? How is that possible? You shouldn't have been able to remember."

"I have an eidetic memory," Flash told him. "If anyone is going to know something is off, it's going to be me."

Peter relaxed, then spoke to Flash in a teasing tone. "Then why weren't you any better at school than you were?"

Flash looked embarrassed. He looked up as if he was listening to something and he sighed. "Ok," he said at last. "I was stupid. I didn't want to be there. I wanted to do English and Journalism, like my hero, Eddie Brock. I answered just enough questions wrong to not appear too smart in front of my friends. Stupid, I know. I mean, where are they now?"

"You had the answer to every single question, but can you apply it?" Peter asked sagely. He wrote down a couple of formulas that Flash knew very well. "Now correlate them."

Flash was thrilled when he couldn't do it. It proved his point that math and science were not his thing. "I tried to tell my dad I wasn't right for the discipline, but he wouldn't listen to me."

"Why don't you talk to Dr. Richards about it? He's a smart guy. I'm sure he can help you convince your dad that it's not your strong point."

"You know, you're right. I will. I got one of his classes as an elective. What electives did you take this semester?" Flash was interested in finding out what made Peter Parker tick.

"Investigative journalism with Eddie Brock. I can't believe he agreed to teach a class," Peter said, looking over his schedule. "I'm a biochem major so I've got some pretty heavy-duty classes."

"I've got Eddies class, too. 8 am. Yuck." Flash groaned. "Do you think you can make it on time?"

Peter blushed. "Pretty sure. ESU seems to be pretty quiet."

Eddie breezed into the classroom early in the morning. Two students sat in the back, talking and ignoring him. That was ok with him, but Venom spoke up,

"Eddie. It's him. Peter Parker. The Spider-Man."

Eddie's head swiveled quickly, and he spotted the slightly built youth talking to a larger, darker toned boy around his age. Parker seemed to be an open book, yet his face was shadowed by pain and loss. The other boy was just dark. Eddie could sense it.

"Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" Eddie asked politely as he came over.

"Peter Parker," Peter said. "I'm a biochem major, but I was hoping that I could learn some investigative skills from your class."

"That's smart," Eddie said as he fixed Flash with a stare. Flash felt a little like a bug under a magnifying glass.

"Flash Thompson," he said as he stuck out his hand. "I've been reading your stuff for as long as I can remember."

"Eugene 'Flash' Thompson, the author? I'm honored that you chose my class. Come by my office after class today so we can talk about your article."

Eddie wrote his name on the board and stood there until everyone showed up. "Welcome. I'm Eddie Brock. I'm going to teach you to be investigative journalists and help you avoid some of the dangers that I experienced."

He turned and wrote Sin Eaters on the board. "Does anyone want to hazard a guess as to this fiasco? What is the first rule of journalism that was violated here?"

Peter raised his hand. He'd been around journalists enough to know. "Always verify your sources before anything goes to print."

"YES!" Eddie liked Peter. He was smart. "I violated this principle. The story got printed and then found out that the guy was mentally unstable and a serial confessor. I got fired and wound up moving to San Francisco."

"Isn't that where you got the creepy interview with Cletus Cassidy and solved those murders?" one of the coeds asked as she noisily chomped on a piece of gum. Peter grimaced at the annoying noise, and Flash ground his teeth.

Eddie took the trash can over to her. "In my classroom, you will learn to be professionals. Young lady, snapping and chomping gum like a cow is not professional or polite. Spit it out. There will be no gum chewing in my classroom. Treat it like an interview."

Peter sighed deeply, relieved. It had been getting on his nerves. "Maybe her IQ will go up a few points," he said sotto voce. Flash held back a snort and V laughed uproariously. The only other person in the room who heard Peter was Eddie. Eddie bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. The kid was funny.

After class, Flash lounged insolently in an overstuffed armchair that Eddie had installed in his office. Eddie sat behind his desk and observed him.

"So, what was your source material for your article?" he asked Flash, face never leaving his.

"It was personal experience," Flash said calmly. "My uncle and I were on a humanitarian trip to bring aid to a village. Just as we got to the village, the guerrillas set fire to it and massacred them all. They killed my uncle when we ran over one of their IED's. I was the only survivor."

"So, you followed them from the village to Mexico City? What happened there? I never saw any pictures of bodies or carnage," Eddie persisted.

"They must have gotten on a plane," Flash said, shrugging. "The trail went cold. I was always a day or so behind them." Something undefined flashed in his eyes, something that turned Eddies blood to ice. "The trail went cold, so w…I came home."

In his head, Flash heard "He's our parent."

He stiffened. Brock had a symbiote? How interesting. But that didn't make him want to tell him about V. What if he made him give V up? "Not gonna happen, buddy."

A sudden pang of hunger struck Flash and he winced. They just fed, and V was already hungry? How was that possible? "Hey, I need to go. It's been a long time since I ate. I skipped breakfast."

Eddie shooed him out, then followed him quietly.

"Damn, V. We just ate last night. What gives with the hunger pains?" Flash railed at V. "And right in front of Eddie, too."

"That creep was low on phenylalanine," V grumbled. "Let's find us another rapist to snack on."

Flash had no problem with it. He got to the end of the hallway when Eddie stopped him.

"There's better ways to satisfy your hunger, Flash," he said brusquely, holding onto his wrist.

"I don't know what you're talking about "Flash snarled in fear, trying to back away from Eddie. He couldn't believe the grip the man had. Impossible.

They morphed into Venom. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Venom rumbled, looming over Flash.

"Oh, very well," V snarled as he encompassed his host." Hello, father."