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One of these days, Eddie thought miserably, I am just gonna listen to V and quit opening the door.
The journalist looked around the too-white cell that had been his residence for who knew how long now. Three solid white walls, a clear front wall made of some sort of plastic or resin mixture that could withstand about twelve Venoms, and a blue-gray wall creating a corridor in front of his prison. A deeply recessed light fixture shone brightly above Eddie’s head, dimming only partially when he supposed it was nighttime. Eddie supposed this because there were no windows in this place, other than the front of his cell.
Eddie leaned back against the wall, sitting on the thin futon-style mattress that served as his bed. It was a recent addition, “for good behavior”, his captors said. Eddie sat with his knees curled in front of him, resting his chin on top of his kneecaps. The thin pink scrubs he was allowed were far too thin to keep him warm, and his teeth chattered slightly. He would give just about anything at this point for a blanket, or even a pillow.
Near the door a silver bowl shined in the too-bright light, the glare nearly blinding Eddie when his head drooped. It was the only utensil he was permitted. The reporter had tried beating against the clear wall with it during the first few days of his captivity, to no avail. There wasn’t as much as a scratch on either the bowl or the surface of the wall after what Eddie assumed was hours of striking it against the front of his cell. Food was put in it whenever he was taken out for “testing” or “observation”. Water, likewise.
Near the light, fresh air piped in. Eddie had to squint severely to see the outline of the vent, a white grate with holes smaller than the ancient metal strainer Annie had inherited from her grandmother. He’d tried throwing his bowl at it, only to be showered with sparks as it struck the opening.
In the back corner near the grate stood a concrete pot that was fastened flush with the floor. Inside was a small hole that served as a crude toilet. It had a plastic lid to keep the smell out, but was of little use otherwise.
Eddie had no idea how much time had passed since he’d been brought to this too-bright hellhole. He’d opened the door to his tiny apartment, expecting a pizza (triple loaded, extra sauce – for some reason Venom had been on a kick for sauce) when a cloud of smoke enveloped him and his Other, knocking him flat on his ass. When he’d woken up, two things were certain: he was no longer in his apartment, and Venom was no longer inside him.
It was this last point that hurt the most. Over two years had passed since Eddie and Venom’s initial bonding and the whole clusterfuck that was the Life Foundation fiasco, and Eddie missed the comforting feeling of the Symbiote wriggling through his limbs and torso, the warm weight of Venom snuggling in his favorite spot just behind his ribcage, and the nonstop snarky chatter that his erstwhile roommate provided. For what felt like weeks now, Eddie only heard three things with any certainty: the sound of his own breathing, the sounds of the guards forcing him towards endless tests and experiments, and the voices of so-called scientists that either barked orders at him or spoke among themselves as though Eddie weren’t even in the room with them.
No one spoke to Eddie, unless it was in regards to an interrogation or a query for some test. No one looked at him. No one even bothered to use his name. Every night, before the lights dimmed in some half-assed imitation of nighttime, the writer repeated, over and over, “My name is Eddie Brock. I live in San Francisco. I am a journalist. I have friends. Someone is looking for me,” in a voice too low to be called a whisper.
The lights began to dim, and Eddie began his ritual, hoping that someone, somewhere, could find him and Venom, and set them free.
“What is it about you?”
Eddie blinked himself awake, squinting at the too-bright light of his cell. “Sorry?” he mumbled, attempting to stand up. The idea of being found lying or sitting down in this sad excuse for living quarters bothered the journalist to his core. True, he was a prisoner here, alone and largely defenseless against the inventive arsenal employed by his captors, but he didn’t have to take their crap lying down, as it were.
An older man stood outside the clear wall, looking at Eddie as though appraising him for sale at an auction. Eddie knew that this was one of the men in charge in this…well, whatever this place was. It was too prison-like to be a laboratory, and had too much lab stuff to be a prison. Honestly, it reminded Eddie of Life Foundation, 2.0. “What makes you so special?”
“Well, for starters, I’m not an asshole.”
A small smile quirked on the man’s face. He was about Eddie’s height, gray haired and bearded, and a little round in the middle. It put Eddie in mind of an evil Santa Claus. “So says you. I understand you’re nearly unemployable in your field because of your…” Santa’s grey eyes flickered, as if hitting on the right word, “…asshole tactics.”
“I’m makin’ a comeback. Slow and steady, y’know?”
“No, Mr. Brock,” and at this Eddie nearly took a step back in shock at the use of his name, “I want to know what makes the creature covet you, amongst all others.”
At this, Eddie tried in vain to swallow a laugh. It came out more like a bark. “You got me. Probably ‘cause I wasn’t pokin’ at him and tellin’ him to jump through hoops like a dog.”
“You’re not particularly notable,” Santa continued. “Not very strong, or fast. Not particularly intelligent…”
“Hey, listen, Kris Kringle,” Eddie snapped. “I’m not stupid. Nor an idiot.”
“Your actions speak otherwise. Stealing evidence, theft of property, theft of intellectual property, antagonism…”
“Whatever,” Eddie scoffed. “Says the guy who had me kidnapped and sealed in a goddamn fishtank.”
“What you don’t seem to understand, Mr. Brock, is that you are a singularly unique individual,” Santa Claus said.
“Right, because loser assholes aren’t a dime a dozen on this planet. I mean, just look at politicians. Loser assholes with good PR. Just like Carlton Drake.”
“Drake was onto something. He just wanted it for the wrong reasons.”
At this, Eddie began to chuckle. “Oh, so you and your people just wanna have cool weaponry, rather than change with world? I mean, I can say a lot about Drake, but at least he was a misguided asshole with both a savior and an entitlement complex. What’s your excuse?”
“You don’t think everyone should share in the benefits you receive from the creature?”
“What benefits? V eats me out of house and home. Eating some of the things he needs? Not fun. And I don’t see you offering to foot my grocery bill, pal.”
Santa smirked. “I know the creature heals you. Gives you strength, flexibility, speed, agility. What I can’t figure out is why it refuses to do the same with anyone else.”
Because you’re hurting him, fuckhead, Eddie thinks. Aloud, he says, “Beats me. Why don’t you ask him?”
Eddie knows why Venom does these things for him. YOU ARE TOO GOOD A MATCH, EDDIE, he recalls his Other saying. Later, after the Life Foundation fiasco, Eddie had asked Dan to do a quiet workup on him to figure out why he was so good a match. Venom wasn’t much help in this area, except to say that IT IS LIKE ONE OF THOSE BROKEN PICTURES. THE PIECES BETWEEN US MATCH PERFECTLY.
Dan had been able to put it in simpler terms. “Think of organ transplants,” he’d said. “The closer the match in tissues and blood type, the less chance of rejection.”
“So all those other people, like Maria…they weren’t a match?”
YOUR FRIEND WAS CLOSER THAN MOST. PLUS, MANY OF MY KIND ONLY WANT A TEMPORARY RIDE. I AM NOT LIKE THEM. I WISH FOR A PERMANENT HOST, FOR TRUE SYMBIOSYS. IT IS WHAT MAKES ME A LOSER.
“…for our next test,” Santa was droning.
“Man, fuck you, and fuck your tests. I want out of this goddamn box!”
A slot opened at the bottom of the clear wall. A strange metal bracelet slid across the white tile floor. “Put it on,” Santa said. Behind him, three armed guards appeared.
“Or what? Gonna starve me to death?”
“Put it on, Mr. Brock,” Santa said again. “Or I find someone close to you to experiment on. Perhaps Ms. Weying? Or Dr. Lewis? I’m sure the good doctor might be able to fill in some blanks for us, what do you say?”
How is this my life? Eddie wondered, not for the first time. He couldn’t let these assholes anywhere near Anne or Dan. How did they know about them, anyway? A stray thought burned like ice straight to his core: how long had these people been watching him? What, exactly, did they know before abducting him and separating him from Venom?
Slowly, Eddie picked up the metal contraption. On a second look, it seemed too large for a bracelet. In fact, it looked an awful lot like…
“Yes, Mr. Brock. Secure it around your neck, if you please.” Santa stood patiently, as if he had all the time in the world. Truth be told, he probably did.
“Who the fuck are you people?” Eddie shouted. There was no way in hell they were going to collar him like a dog. He was a human being, not anyone’s property…
“Now, Mr. Brock, or we go in search of the good counselor and the doctor. I’m told they won’t be hard to find.”
Scowling, Eddie slowly lifted the device to his neck, feeling it click together with little pressure. He ran his fingers over the spot where there should have been a seam, but it had disappeared. His heart fell into his stomach.
“That should do the trick,” Santa said. To the guards he said, “take him to the lab. I’ll be there shortly.”
Eddie had trudged miserably the whole way to the stark white laboratory. Unlike his cell, all of the walls were made of the indestructible plastic, leaving him with nowhere to avoid being exposed. More than once the reporter felt the jab of a rifle into his back, accompanied with the admonishment to “hurry up.” He was unceremoniously shoved inside and strapped down into the examination chair, and gritted his teeth as his wrists, ankles, chest and shoulders were secured.
“With all this, you needed a collar too?” he snarked. “Like I’m really getting out of this getup?”
“It’s not you I’m worried about, Mr. Brock,” Santa said. The evil glimmer twinkled again in his eye.
“Oh, and you can stop calling me Mr. Brock,” Eddie continued. “In fact, don’t call me anything at all except a cab to go home or my lawyer so I can sue your asses.”
At that, the scientist chuckled. “Ever the dry wit, hmm?”
It was then that Eddie noticed what was in the man’s hands. An all-too-familiar inky black blob rattled madly inside a plastic container, probably made of the same material as the clear walls. “Venom!” Eddie cried, surprised.
The container opened, and the Symbiote leapt onto Eddie, sinking into one of his bare feet. No sooner than the two joined did Venom attempt to break Eddie free from his restraints. EDDIE EDDIE EDDIE EDDIE EDDIEEEEEEEEEE sang through the mental link the two shared. WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU?
V, I’m so glad you’re okay. Have they been hurting you?
TRIED TO PUT ME IN OTHER HOSTS. THEY DID NOT LAST LONG.
Civilians?
THEIR KIND. BAD PEOPLE. THEY WERE DELICIOUS.
Eddie’s stomach turned. Eating heads was not a pleasant part of their arrangement, at least not for Eddie.
ENOUGH TALK. WE ARE GOING HOME NOW.
Wait, what…?
Suddenly Eddie felt Venom try to take him over, to “mask up,” as they referred to it, but a sharp, loud, whining pitch left both human and Symbiote screaming and shaking madly. It continued until Venom sank back into Eddie’s ribcage and nestled near his heart.
“What the fuck was that?!” Eddie yelled.
“Precautions, Mr. Brock. We need to talk to the creature, and we cannot do that unless he is joined with you. We are also not stupid. The second you joined, one or both of you would attempt an escape. The device around your neck prevents that. If the creature so much as moves to…take you over, as it were, the device sounds and you will be rendered helpless.” Santa walked closer towards Eddie, smiling as he checked on the collar’s position. “Plus, there is so much we have yet to learn about the range of your…abilities.”
Son of a bitch, Eddie thought miserably. The journalist fought back tears. Unless someone actually found and rescued them, both he and Venom were hopelessly trapped.
WE ARE NOT FUCKED, EDDIE. WE WILL BIDE OUR TIME AND WAIT. THERE IS ALWAYS A WAY OUT.
Fat chance of that, V, Eddie thought. You think I haven’t tried getting out of here?
The familiar feeling of his Other slithering around his organs warmed Eddie. THEY HAVE HURT YOU.
Not much. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
YOU WERE HURT. I WILL FIX YOU. CANNOT PUNISH US FOR THAT.
Eddie choked down a snicker. We’ll see about that.
“So, what do I call you, creature?” Santa asked, settling down on a lab stool.
After a few moments, Venom’s voice rang through the lab. “WE ARE VENOM. YOU…ARE DINNER.”
“I think not.”
“WE HAVE TIME.”
Eddie smirked at the large lump that worked its way down Santa’s throat.
“EDDIE SEEMS TO THINK YOU ARE THIS CREATURE CALLED SANDA CLAWS. I DO NOT SEE GIFTS OR SHORT MINIONS THOUGH.”
“You may call me Dr. Pollack.”
Well, Eddie thought, that’s one question answered.
“Venom, what makes Eddie so special?”
“EDDIE IS OUR BOND-HOST. HE IS ALSO A LOSER.”
Thanks, V. Thanks a lot.
YOU ARE WELCOME. Eddie could feel the toothy, sarcastic grin on his Other’s face…if Venom’s face were showing.
“We have offered you willing candidates as potential hosts. Why persist in destroying and devouring them?”
THEY ARE NOT EDDIE.
Dr. Pollack gave an exasperated snort. “I can see we will get nowhere.”
Eddie attempted to give a shrug, hindered by the firm restraints covering his body. “I could’a told you that, Doc.”
“Fine. Separate them. Throw them back in their cages.”
“Hey, wait, wait,” Eddie sputtered. “At…at least let me try talking to him. Maybe I can convince him to cooperate?”
Dr. Pollack looked like he was considering it. “Fine. Take Mr. Brock back to his cell.” He then looked at Eddie. “The collar is permanent, Eddie,” the man said, using Eddie’s given name for the first time. “Get used to it. Even with the creature, you’re never leaving this facility alive. And as for you, creature,” he continued, “if you make any attempt to escape, I will order them to activate the collar and make you watch as they shoot your precious Eddie three times in the head. Good luck reviving him from brain death.”
Eddie attempted to swallow, the hard ball of spit and fear hindered by the band of metal encircling his neck. Oh, fuck me, V. What the hell are we gonna do?
WE WILL WAIT, EDDIE. THEIR VIGILANCE WILL WAVER EVENTUALLY.
I don’t think so, man. I think we might be well and truly fucked this time. Maybe…maybe we should just tell them what they wanna hear.
AND WILLINGLY IMPRISON OURSELVES TO THEIR WILL?
Eddie mulled that thought over a moment. The trip back to his cell seemed to be taking an awfully long time. You got a point there. Either way, they’re never letting us go. I just don’t wanna be turned into some weapon against innocent people or a hostage so you can be turned into a weapon.
NO EATING GOOD PEOPLE. WOULD LIKE TO EAT THESE PEOPLE THOUGH.
I hear you, V.
The rest of the trip passed without incident. “Home sweet home,” one of the guards chuckled as he gave Eddie a shove into the confines of the small cell. “I’d get comfy in there, I were you.”
As the guards left, Eddie managed to pound his fist against the tough, inflexible wall. “Bastards!” he shouted as the lights began to dim.
Resisting the urge to cry, Eddie curled up into his usual position on the stiff futon mattress. He rested his chin against his knees. His skin began to prickle with cold, and his teeth began to chatter slightly.
Within seconds, Eddie felt a warmth flush overtop his bare skin. He looked down in the dim light to find himself covered in what appeared to be a skintight black jumpsuit. For the first time since he initially woke up in this cell, he felt warm.
Thanks, V.
YOU ARE WELCOME.
Eddie gently laid down and tried to sleep. The warmth of Venom covering him, plus the knowledge that he was not alone anymore, allowed him to try and get his first real night of rest since he was brought to this nightmarish place.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow we start planning how to get out of here.
AGREED, Venom said, keeping watch over his bond-host. TOMORROW.