Chapter 1 - That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Symbiote!
Gloved hands cupped Flint's eyes as he leaned against the security gate. The street lamps lining the street were causing too much reflection in the window, but he could just barely make out the interior of the shop.
Pulling back, he pulled the Sandman mask he wore for Halloween with Penny last year and turned to his...well, he wouldn't call the man a friend. Maxwell Markham wasn't even an acquaintance. He was more of a convenience than anything.
"I can't see any blinking lights," Flint said.
From his backpack, Maxwell pulled out a set of thick bolt cutters. Flint might have been the one who had been blessed with the idea of robbing the pawnshop, but he didn't have access to any of the tools that he was going to need to pull it off. Maxwell was the tool man.
Maxwell shrugged as he handed the bolt cutters to Flint and pulled a grizzly bear mask over his face. "They're there," he promised. "All the shops have them."
Flint lifted the bolt cutters to the lock holding the security gate closed. "Then we'll have to be quick," he said and gave a quick glance over his shoulder before he cut through the lock
No alarm sounded as the lock landed loudly on the concrete sidewalk, but they hadn't expected it to. With a tug on the gate, Flint slid it back enough to free the door and then turned back to Maxwell who had already armed himself with a crowbar.
Maxwell stepped up to the window door and gave it a hard tap. The glass shattered and the sound caused them both to flinch.
Over the shattering of the glass, they heard the sound of a digital alarm beeping shrilly. Flint couldn't help but look up and down the street, waiting to see the flashing of blue and red lights coming to take them back to prison.
Maxwell slapped him on the back. "We need to move."
They pulled off their backpacks and started breaking the different ends of the jewelry case.
"Small and pricey. Easy to carry and easy to sell," Maxwell echoed Flint's earlier words.
In under a minute, the two of them had completely emptied the jewelry cases and still had room in their bags. Flint was surprised when Maxwell managed to stay away from the gun cases.
That had been the only real argument between the two of them. Maxwell had claimed to know a guy who could move stolen guns, but Flint didn't want to take that risk.
It was too easy to trace a stolen gun.
Once the cops found the buyer, they would find the guy who sold it to him. And once they found the guy who sold it, he would rat out the guys who stole it without thinking twice if it got them a reduced sentence.
Eventually, Flint won the argument by stating very simply that the entire idea had been his and he wasn't going to deal with unnecessary risks.
So, instead of the guns, Maxwell moved to the iPods, iPads, and other small electronics while Flint searched for other valuables that would fit in their backpacks.
Once they'd finally made their bags almost too full to carry, the two of them ran back out the door that they had come in and down the street. The smash-and-grab took less than five minutes, but the police sirens were just beginning to become audible over the pawnshop's alarm.
That was close, Flint thought once he started to hear the slapping of their shoes grow louder than the sirens. They kept jogging but he was getting less and less worried with every step that they put between themselves and the cops.
They ran for a while before coming into a residential neighborhood. Low-income apartment housing rose up on each side of them. Flint and Maxwell tested the locked doors to the buildings as they ran by until finally, one opened.
Sliding in, both men ran up the stairs until they found the door to the roof. It was obvious that the door was supposed to stay locked by the sign on it saying, "No Entry."
Lucky for them, the door was unlocked.
"I can't believe we got away with that!" Maxwelll shrugged off his bag and took of his grizzly bear mask.
"We haven't gotten away with it yet," Flint said, but only because that was the smart thing to say. He was feeling just as excited as Maxwell was. "It's still an early night, let's just relax here for a while and keep our ears open."
Immediately, they both calmed down, but only a little bit, and began searching through their bags to look at what they managed to get away with.
Flint looked up to show Maxwell a silver tray that he'd managed to stuff in his backpack when something caught his eye.
On the ledge of the roof, across the alley from the roof that they were standing on, stood a shadow.
It was the silhouette of a man, and it was watching them.
"What the hell are you looking at?" Flint shouted.
Maxwell turned to see what Winston was shouting at and then joined his partner in crime. "Get the fuck out here!" he added.
As if the shadow was listening to their words, it stepped away from the ledge and ran away from them along the roof it stood on.
"What the hell was that?" Maxwell asked, waving his hand at the running shadow.
Flint didn't take his eyes off the shadow on the other roof. "He's turning around," he said.
Maxwell looked back at the other roof and saw what Flint did. The shadow had run to the far side of the other roof and then turned around.
Now it was charging them.
Maxwell just stared, but Flint wasn't going to sit and watch some idiot die. He knew the law enough to know that if someone died while you were committing a crime, the DA could try and get you for murder. Before he was cellmates with Maxwell, he had been cellies with a guy who was doing 15 years for that very thing.
"That alley's too wide, he won't make it," he mumbled.
"Won't make it?" Maxwell asked, not understanding. Then he caught on. "He's trying to jump it?"
"Don't!" Flint shouted. "You won't make it!"
Maxwell joined Flint and together they kept shouting and waving their arms trying to get the shadow to stop.
Then the shadow was in the air.
Flint and Maxwell watched as the shadow sailed toward them. They watched as it came close to the ledge, its fingertips brushing the ridge of the roof that they stood on.
THREE MONTHS AGO.
I opened my eyes. It was dark. Too dark to see anything.
Where am I? I wondered. At the hospital?
I had to be. That's where people went after they got shot. The hospital or the morgue—and I was clearly still alive. I tried looking around, but then I noticed—I couldn't open my eyes.
Odd, I thought as I tried to rub them, only to find my arms unresponsive. And, more to the point, Where's my head, anyway?
This was getting confusing. What was going on here? Was I…past the point of no return?
Panicking, I checked to see whether I was hurt anywhere. I didn't seem to be; physically, I felt terrific. No cold, no heat—perfectly comfortable. That, at least, came as a relief. But my hands and legs...not so hot there. There was no response from any of my limbs. What's up with that? I thought. Getting shot in the chest wouldn't make doctors amputate all my limbs, would it?
And then there was the whole "can't open my eyes" thing. I was in a world of darkness, unable to see a thing. Fear like none I'd ever felt before began welling up in my mind.
Am I...in a coma or something?
I was conscious, sure, but had I somehow gotten detached from my central nervous system?
Oh, man, anything but that! This was my worst nightmare. When you throw a guy into a dark, enclosed space, it takes practically no time at all for him to go insane. And that was exactly where I was—and it looked like I wasn't even going to be able to die in peace. If insanity was all that was waiting for me, that was enough to take the wind out of anyone's sails.
Just then, something brushed against my body. Hmm? What's that? I focused all my senses on the unknown sensation. It felt like grass against what might have been the side of my stomach. Concentrating on the sensations, I slowly began sussing out what was around me. I could feel the pointy edges of some nearby leaves prick against my body. It made me oddly happy. I'd been in total darkness a moment ago, but now I had my sense of touch back. It was such a relief that I almost instinctively reached for the grass and—
Creep.
I could feel my body body sliding flat against the ground. I moved!
This, at least, was clear evidence that I wasn't lying comatose in some hospital bed. The feeling beneath my stomach took the form of hard, jagged rock. Hmm. It still didn't make much sense to me, but I was pretty sure I was outside.
I moved toward the grass, keeping my senses focused on what I touched, although I still wasn't quite clear on where my head was. There was nothing to smell; I wasn't sure whether I had that sense or not.
In fact, I had no idea what I was shaped like. I felt…flowing. Jellylike. I shifted closer to the grass I'd felt earlier, and as it brushed up against me, I leaned forward, settling my weight over it.
It was definitely grass.
After a moment, I realized that the area where the plants touched me was beginning to dissolve. I thought I was melting at first, but no—apparently, it was just the grass. And now, I could feel the plant matter being absorbed into me body.
So that's how it works? Instead of having a mouth to eat with, I just ingested matter with my whole body?
That realization brought me to a few conclusions.
First, I was clearly no longer human. That was a given by now. So I really did get shot and die? It didn't seem like much of an open question anymore. It'd also explain why I was lying on rocky ground instead of in a hospital room.
Where am I? What am I?
I was full of questions—but also had a hunch that none of them would have easy answers. I slid forward, moving through the grass, trying to get a better sense of my surroundings.
Closing my eyes wouldn't make a difference in the dark. Instead, I tried to focus, straining to make out anything through the black haze. I felt a growing pressure, like tensing a mental muscle. I focused harder.
At last, my efforts paid off with a faint flicker in the void. Yes! I concentrated, and the light grew brighter.
Suddenly, the world exploded into clarity as my full vision snapped back online. I winced, shocked by the rush of stimuli. The world was so hyper-real I could see every twist in nearby tree branches; every crease in the rocks and to the bottom of the river flowing next to me.
Now that I could see, I noticed I was in some kind of forest clearing. Not a hospital. That was good. I took a look at myself—and recoiled.
Instead of my familiar human body, I seemed to be…a pulsating blob of inky black ooze.
What the fuck?
I dragged myself over to the riverbank for a better view, staring down at my viscous form as I slid across the ground. No arms, no legs—just an amorphous, shimmering pool of black.
But not complete darkness, I realized as I got closer to the water's edge. A pair of ravenous white eyes stared back at me from within the inky sludge.
And below my eyes, a wicked jaw split into a permanent fanged grin. Despite my shock, I recognized those grotesque features immediately.
I was Symbiote.
NOW.
I gripped the ledge of the roof. My legs swung down and I used gravity to my advantage, bending my knees and pressing my feet against the wall. The momentum from falling pushed my legs tight against my chest and I pulled with my fingertips, kicking off from the wall with my feet, launching myself over the ledge and onto the rooftop with a Grizzly bear and Sandman from the Guardian's movie.
"I can't believe you're not dead," Sandman said as I joined them on the roof. The criminal was glaring at me like I was the police or something. "What's your malfunction? You almost died!"
Now that I was on the roof, Sandman and Grizzly could see I wasn't some otherworldly shadow creature. I was just a teenager in a ski mask, blue sweat pants, and a red hoodie.
Ignoring Sandman's outburst, I pointed at the backpacks sitting between the two criminals.
"Give me the bags and leave," I said, deepening my voice to mask how young I was.
Sandman slapped Grizzly's arm. "He thinks he's some sort of hero or something."
HA! I smirked under my mask.
Mr. Sandman had no idea how right he was.
ONE MONTH AGO.
The famous skyline of New York City shimmered in the morning light as the sun rose over the Empire State Building. It was home to some of the greatest Super Heroes on Earth.
Yes, the world I now lived in had Super Heroes. Billionaire geniuses in iron suits. World War II super soldiers. Even godlike beings from other worlds wielding mystical hammers.
New Yorkers might think they'd seen everything, but I knew that feeling wouldn't last. In a few years, the sky would open up, and a full-scale alien invasion would rain down on them. Monstrous beings known as the Chitauri would crash into buildings, wreaking havoc in the streets.
Fortunately for Earth, the Avengers would assemble and drive them back, saving the day and announcing their presence on a global scale. Or if that didn't happen, Magneto might try to turn all humans into mutants, and the X-Men would stop him on Liberty Island, saving the day and announcing their presence on a global scale.
And if neither of those happened, Dr. Doom and the Fantastic Four could end up battling it out in the streets, announcing their presence on a global scale.
Maybe.
There were dozens of city or planet-level threats that could announce the existence of superhuman powers on a global scale.
I stared out the window of my subway car, watching the world outside slowly pass by. I still couldn't quite believe I was here, seeing that iconic skyline in person like a life-sized comic book panel.
Just a few weeks ago, my life had been completely ordinary. I'd wake up, go to school, come home, and ignore my homework until the last minute while I binged on the latest Spider-Man comic or watched an MCU movie. Maybe I'd even troll some forums online, looking for wild fan theories or VS battles between characters.
Comic books had always been a big part of my life, but I'd never thought my hobby would matter so much.
I flinched as someone on the train sneezed right behind me. The weather had just turned crisp, and everyone on the jam-packed train looked either sick, tired, or sick and tired. I couldn't catch a cold anymore, but I understood how they felt.
The past few months spent jumping from incompatible host to incompatible host had been terrible. I was always hungry and tired; the only thing keeping me sane was the thought of getting to New York. My current host, an old Spanish man named Hector Graves, was already on his last legs, and if I didn't leave soon, I might accidentally kill the poor man.
So as the train slowed to a stop and the doors slid open, I pulled myself away from Hector's body and with a shudder of revulsion, I began oozing my way down the cracked city sidewalk, trying my best to avoid directly touching the discarded food wrappers, cigarette butts, and other filth littering the path. The thought of sliming my way across miles of grimy sidewalks and streets made my stomach churn, but at least I was finally here, in the city that had given birth to so many of my favorite superheroes.
Once I found Venom's best canon-compatible host, my life would get substantially better. There would be no more jumping from host to host. I could live the rest of my life bonded to my favorite comic book hero as Spider-Man fought supervillains, saved the world, and if this universe was anything like the comics, dated some of the hottest women in Marvel.
All I had to do was find the future Web-Slinger.
NOW.
Grizzly reached down to the bag at his feet. He unzipped the top just enough to pull a crowbar out, smacking it lightly on his palm.
"I don't see any gun, hero," he smirked. "I think you should try and take the bags from us."
I didn't move, ignoring Grizzly's threat. My lack of reaction only seemed to aggravate the criminal more.
Grizzly was already swinging his crowbar at me when Sandman shouted, "Get him!"