A young New Yorker finds himself in over his head after finding a symbiote that changes him in unexpected ways.

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Chapter 14
14

This is bad.

Really bad.

I press tighter against the pillar, like I can disappear if I just breathe quietly enough.

But nothing’s going to help.

Not against him.

“Whoever this is…” I whisper inside my head, barely even thinking, just reacting. “He thinks I’m his daughter.”

The air shifts—closer now. A soft, wet dragging sound across the tiles. Like something slithering in a straightjacket.

“Don’t be scared, little one…” the voice singsongs, tilting up at the end into something cracked and childlike. “I’m so proud of what you’ve become.”

I swallow hard.

I don’t know who he is. I don’t know what he wants.

But every cell in my body is screaming the same thing.

Run.

“We smell blood,” the symbiote growls.

And I feel it too now. The copper tang of violence in the air.

Before I even see it, I feel it—the symbiote sliding over my skin like a living shield, rising fast, becoming armor in a breath.

And that’s when I see it.

A red blade.

Flying straight at me in the steam.

It gleams like wet metal, twisting midair with unnatural movement—alive, hissing as it cuts through the steam.

I barely think.

I duck.

Drop and slide across the tile floor, feet first, arms tucked in.

The blade shrieks past where my chest had been a heartbeat earlier, burying itself in a locker with a metallic crunch that echoes like a gunshot.

My back hits the cold bench as I slide to a stop, the scorched scent of melted locker metal in the air. I lift my head.

And there he is.

Tendrils twitch and ripple like someone having a seizure, his whole body a mess of red and hints of black rage made flesh. His mouth is wrong—too wide, too toothy. His eyes don’t blink.

And he smiles.

A slow, stretching grin full of knives.

“You’re… your—” I stammer, the words failing as my body locks up, suit rippling, trying to keep me from shattering under the pressure of what I’m seeing.

He finishes for me.

Voice thick with madness.

“Carnage.”

I go still.

The symbiote inside me curls inward like a child remembering a nightmare. “We know him. Somehow. His voice echoes in the walls we were born in.”

“Carnage,” I whisper again.

He laughs. A menacing cackle.

I don’t move.

Can’t.

The air feels thick—like if I breathe too hard, I’ll choke on it.

My voice barely works. “I’m not yours.”

Carnage tilts his head, slow and crooked, like a marionette trying to mimic curiosity. His claws stretch and coil into a grotesque shape, some blend of a scythe and a whip.

“Oh, you’re exactly mine,” he purrs. “You’ve got my rage, little one. You’ve got my song.”

“And Daddy’s come to collect.”

Carnage steps forward, one foot crunching on part of the broken alarm.

“You’re broken, like me,” he croons. “You know you are. I saw you. Saving little people. Tearing metal like paper.”

He takes another step.

“Stay back,” I growl.

Carnage laughs again, a shrill giggle bursting out of his throat.

“Make me, baby girl.”

And with that—he lunges.

I run.

Because I don’t know what else to do.

Because my brain is static.

Because every instinct in my body is screaming GO.

I turn on my heel and bolt, feet slamming the tile as I tear through the steam-choked locker room, dodging benches and puddles from the showers.

I don’t look back. I won’t.

I don’t care what he wants. I don’t care what he thinks I am.

I just have to get away.

The door crashes open under my shoulder, and I burst into the hallway, heart slamming in my chest, symbiote already morphing around my legs, pumping strength into each step as I sprint.

Behind me, a shriek of laughter cuts through the walls like a blade.

“Come back, kiddo!”

“I’ve got so much to teach you!”

His voice drips with joy and murder, pitch climbing like a sawblade in a blender. Like he’s entertained by the chase.

I whip around a corner, nearly losing my footing, slamming into a row of lockers.

My breath rasps. My thoughts spiral.

No plan. No backup. No exit.

Just me and him.

“He’s insane,” I pant, voice shaking as I push off the lockers and keep running.

“I noticed,” the symbiote mutters, almost dryly—but there’s no humor behind it. Just tension. Raw and coiled. A deep, instinctual fear I’ve never felt from it before.

I round another corner, passing the main gym—empty, echoing with the whine of an alarm still active in other parts of the building. My breath burns in my lungs.

“He’s stronger than us,” the symbiote says.

“Not helpful,” I hiss.

“He’s older. He doesn’t hesitate.”

“I’ve noticed that too!”

Behind us, the floor trembles.

Tendrils shriek as they drag across the walls.

“Where you going, sweetheart?!” Carnage howls, his voice flipping tones mid-sentence like a radio skipping between stations. “You’re gonna love storytime!”

I push faster.

There’s a side stairwell up ahead.

Exit door beyond it.

If I can just—

BOOM.

The wall behind me explodes.

Tendrils whip past, and I dive forward, rolling, barely avoiding the crimson blade that embeds itself where my head was a second ago.

I scramble to my feet.

I don’t stop.

I stumble through the stairwell door, slamming it shut behind me. It won’t hold him—not even for a second—but I need the illusion of space.

Need to breathe.

I whirl around, backing up the stairs two at a time.

“How are you gonna teach me anything if you cut my head off?!” I shout, heart still jackhammering in my chest as I take the stairs two at a time.

From below, there’s a beat of silence.

“Hmm… I suppose you make a good point.”

That stops me.

Not the footsteps. Not the screech of claws on concrete. Just that.

“…I do?”

Another pause—then a laugh. High, stuttering, unhinged.

I press myself against the stairwell wall, chest rising and falling, trying to keep my breathing silent. The suit tightens around me, ready. But even it feels hesitant.

“Let’s talk, sweetheart. There’s so much to say.”

I can feel it now—not just his words. The pull. Like a tether being drawn tight between us. Like he’s already got a hook in something deeper than my skin.

The symbiote hisses inside me—low, full of panic.

“He is wrong. He is not us. We are not him.”

“But he feels like us,” I whisper back.

“That is the danger.”

Below, Carnage keeps talking, sing-song and casual like he’s inviting me to coffee.

“You’re mine, kiddo. They tried to cut the thread, but it’s still there. I feel you. You’re screaming like a newborn and you don’t even know why.”

He’s not here to kill me.

Not yet.

He wants me to come to him.

And worse?

Some part of me…

Wants to know why.

“You think you’re good. You think you’re in control. But you’re mine.”

The symbiote coils tighter around me—protective, trembling, angry.

“Do not listen. He poisons truth.”

I grit my teeth, heart hammering. “You’re not my father,” I hiss through the concrete. “You’re just a mistake that never got put down.”

“Oooooh,” he croons, delighted.

“Spicy!”

“That’s my girl.”

“We’ve got the familial bond, y’know,” he calls up the stairwell, voice warm in the way a knife straight from the fire is warm. “I’ll be a better father than mine ever was.”

His footsteps echo now—slow, teasing. Claws dragging along the banister, scrape… scrape… scrape.

“He tried to kill me, you know.” His tone dips lower, colder. “Big, bad Venom. The ‘good one.’”

A laugh.

“Didn’t like what I was. Didn’t like that I grew into something more than him.”

My blood chills.

Venom.

He means Venom is his—

The symbiote pulses inside me, flaring like a warning shot.

“We are… descended from Venom.”

I’m two generations down this insane alien family tree.

Carnage’s voice rises again, playfully theatrical.

“But me? I’d never hurt my little girl.”
A pause.

“…Unless you disappoint me.”

The last three words are cold.

Then I whisper, “You’re not my father.”

But even as I say it…

I feel the bond.

Alien.

Wrong.

And it terrifies me.

He goes quiet.

I try to move again but it’s too late.

Because I already feel it.

A clawed hand—cold, jagged, wet with something I don’t want to name—rests on my shoulder like an old friend.

Not gripping.

Not yet.

“Found you,” he breathes, voice low and ecstatic, right behind my ear.

“Thought maybe you’d run. But look at this—just like your old man… always hiding in the dark.”

My breath catches.

I don’t know how he got up here without a sound. I don’t know how close he’s been this whole time.

But I know one thing.

He could’ve killed me just now.

And he didn’t.

Which means he’s not here to kill me.

Not yet.

“Go on,” he whispers, claws flexing slightly.

“Show me your teeth. Let’s see what kind of monster I made.”

“No—no, no—” I gasp, trying to back away, stumbling up the stairs, hands scrambling for anything to push him off—

But he’s faster.

His hand clamps over my face, claws curling around my head, pressing in with just enough pressure to remind me how easily he could crush it.

I flail, panic surging like fire through my limbs. My legs kick. Arms thrash. The symbiote lashes out instinctively, tendrils whipping toward him—but it’s wild, uncoordinated, desperate.

My vision blurs.

Everything is spinning.

I can’t breathe.

I claw at his wrist, but it’s like trying to pull down a steel beam with my fingers.

“Stay awake—stay awake—”

But the pressure. The panic. The noise in my head—

“I have to… fight…”

The stairwell twists sideways.

And then—

Everything goes dark.

Still.

Then I hear a drip.

Another.

Wet sounds echo in the dark.

I groan.

My head is pounding—dull, thick pain like a storm inside my skull. The symbiote stirs sluggishly beneath my skin, weak, like it’s recovering from being choked out with me.

“Elisa…”

It’s trying to reach me. Trying to wake me fully.

My eyes flutter open.

Dim red light. Metal. Pipes overhead. Concrete walls lined with rust and age. There’s a faint flickering—emergency lighting?

My arms are above me—bound. Not with rope. Not with metal.

With symbiote.

But not mine.

My wrists are locked in place by red restraints that pulse, like they’re breathing.

My feet dangle just above the floor.

Across the room, something shifts. Moves.

Carnage steps into view.

His form slinks from the shadows like he was always part of them. The same horrible grin stretches across his face like a wound.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he says softly. “You passed out before I could show you your room.”

I yank at the restraints instinctively, but they hold firm.

“Stay calm,” the symbiote whispers weakly. “We… are not strong enough yet…”

Carnage approaches slowly, tilting his head as he drinks me in.

“You know, I didn’t get to raise you.”

“Didn’t get to shape you like I wanted.”

He steps closer. I can smell the iron in his breath.

“But I can fix that.”

His fingers twitch—red tendrils slipping between them like worms eager to taste blood.

“We’ve got all the time in the world.”

I almost close my eyes.

Almost let them shut and pretend—
pretend I’m still unconscious, that this is a dream, that I’m still on the floor in the stairwell, that none of this is real.

But I can’t.

I can’t look away from him.

Carnage stands barely a few feet in front of me, head tilted, watching me with those empty, white eyes like a child staring into a jar with a bug in it just before he shakes it.

He doesn’t blink.

Doesn’t breathe.

And I’m locked in his gaze like it’s gravity.

I can feel my own heartbeat now, loud and wrong in my ears.

He smiles wider—if that’s even possible. The grin splits just a little more, like it’s crawling across his face with a mind of its own.

“You’re awake,” he purrs. “That’s good. I hate talking to corpses. They never laugh at my jokes.”

I swallow, my throat dry, raw. “What… what do you want?”

Carnage chuckles, low and full of something jagged. He steps closer. I flinch, instinctive, but can’t move far—the restraints tighten slightly in response.

He leans in, eyes inches from mine.

“I want to fix what they broke.”

He taps my temple with one clawed finger, light as a whisper.

“They made you soft.”

“But you’re mine. And I know what you really are under all that fear.”

His voice dips, almost gentle:

“A killer. Just like daddy.”

My breath hitches.

And I want to scream.

But I can’t look away.

He circles me now, slow and methodical, like a vulture that knows the meat isn’t going anywhere. Each step echoes with purpose, tendrils swaying lazily off his back like smoke made solid.

“You know,” he begins, voice slick with satisfaction, “as the 1,000th in our long, messy little lineage… you’ve got some great potential.”

I stiffen, confusion flickering through the haze of fear.

One thousandth?

He grins like he heard me think it.

“Oh yeah. You didn’t know that part, did you? Every spawn’s a little more refined than the last—bit stronger, bit more creativity.”

He taps his temple again.

“And you? You’re special. At first, I’ll admit—I was almost scared. Thought maybe you’d end up stronger than me.”

His grin twists into something uglier. “So I figured better safe than sorry. Destroy you before you figure out what you are.”

I go cold.

I feel the symbiote inside me curl tighter, pulsing weakly against the restraint like it’s trying to recoil.

“But when I went back for you…” Carnage sighs, like telling an old, bittersweet story.
“…they’d already taken you. Locked you up. Stole you from me.”

He stops in front of me again. Looks me dead in the eyes.

“And then?”

A chuckle.

“I saw the pictures. The videos. Little red streak in the sky.”

His grin widens, unhinged.

“And I had a better idea.”
“Why destroy what I could mold?”

He raises both clawed hands like a preacher before a crowd.

“I could raise you. Train you. Shape you into a better me. My own little Carnage Jr.”

My stomach turns.

He leans in, his voice a low, giddy rasp.

“A legacy of death. Just imagine it…”
“Father and daughter. Painting the world red.”

He leans back from me slowly, arms out, reveling in the moment like he’s on a stage and I’m his captive audience—which, unfortunately, I am.

“All I had to do,” he purrs, walking behind me again, “was follow that little girl you saved. What was her name?”

He hums, mockingly thoughtful.

“Didn’t really matter. She was your tell. A weakness.”

My fists clench, even in the binds.

“So I caused a little ruckus at your schoola little blood spilled.”

I can feel the grin in his voice now. Feel him drawing closer behind me.

“And almost instantly—”

He stops.

Right beside me.
Lowers his head next to mine, his breath thick with heat and rot.

“—I could feel you.”

My breath hitches.

“Like you were already calling out to me.”

“Like somewhere in that little head of yours, you knew you needed me.”

He drags a claw gently down my arm—not cutting. Just reminding me that he can.

“You were made to find me, kiddo.”

The symbiote in me shudders, trembling with something close to rage. Or maybe fear.

I swallow, my voice barely holding together.

“…You’re wrong.”

Carnage chuckles.

Not like I hurt him.

Like I amused him.

“You’ll see.”

“Blood always finds blood.”

Carnage paces with that loose, twitchy grace of a predator who knows there’s no threat. He’s humming now—some twisted melody, out of tune, out of time.

Then he stops.

Turns to me.

“Right now,” he says, voice almost gentle, like we’re in the middle of a bedtime story, “I know you just wanna leave.”

I tense.

He smiles.

“So I’m gonna let you.” He spreads his arms. “All you have to do… is one little bitty thing.”

He turns. Walks toward the doorway, out of my line of sight.

For a second, I think he’s leaving for real.

Then, the wet dragging sound starts.

He reappears. Pulling someone behind him by the collar of their shredded shirt.

A man.

I don’t recognize him—maybe early thirties. His face is bruised, blood smeared across it, one eye swollen shut. His breathing is ragged, barely conscious.

Carnage stops in the center of the room and casually drops him to the ground like a sack of garbage.

I flinch, heart lurching.

Carnage turns back to me.

And smiles.

“All you have to do…” he says, stepping aside, motioning toward the bleeding body like he’s unveiling a birthday present—
“…is send him to the other side.”

He doesn’t clarify. Doesn’t need to.

I know what he means.

Kill him.

Right here.

Right now.

For freedom.

He tilts his head, watching my expression shift. His voice drops, soft and deadly:

“Come on, kiddo. One tiny act. Just a taste. Let’s see if you’ve got my blood in you...”

“No,” I say, voice sharp, louder than I mean it to be. “I won’t. I won’t do that.”

Carnage just watches me.

Head tilted.

That eternal grin glued to his face.

“You don’t even know him,” he says, gesturing lazily at the unconscious man bleeding at my feet. “What’s the harm?”

My whole body shakes. The bindings pull tighter as I strain, as if every inch of me is rejecting the thought. My symbiote coils tighter, whispering, trembling.

“We are not like him. We are not…”

“I’m not like you. We’re not like you. We’re—good.”

Carnage’s smile falters.

Just a hair.

Then he snorts. Laughs.

“Good?” he echoes like the word tastes rotten. “You still believe in that kind of thing?”

He takes a slow step closer, crouching in front of the man like a parent beside a cradle.

“You’ve got my voice in your blood, kiddo. My rage. You think that’s just gonna sit there and stay quiet? You’re one push away from cracking open like a bomb.”

I shake my head. “No. I choose what I do with it. I choose.”

He leans in.

“You got a pet?”

I blink. “What?”

“A cat? Dog? Something small. It’s easier to start with an animal.”

He stands again, stretching.

“Then the rest gets easier. You’ll see.”

He walks past me, to the far end of the room.

Stops.

Turns slowly.

“But you’re not ready yet, huh?” His grin returns.

“Don’t worry. We’ve got time.”

“No—wait—don’t—!”

But I’m too late.

He keeps walking—casual, slow—and extends one long, slender blade from the side of his forearm. It glistens under the flickering red lights, impossibly thin.

Carnage doesn’t even look back.

And with a single flick of his wrist.

shhk.

The man on the floor jerks once. Then goes still.

My eyes go wide, breath catching in my throat as I stare down at him. Blood slowly pools beneath the body. A stillness settles into the room like gravity just got heavier.

Carnage doesn’t even acknowledge it.

He just keeps walking toward the door.

Before stepping out, he stops—one hand on the frame—and turns just enough for me to see the corner of that twisted grin.

“We’ll try again tomorrow.”

And then he’s gone.

The door slams shut behind him.

And I’m left—dangling in restraints, staring at the man.

With nothing but the silence.

And the guilt.

“Oh god…” My voice cracks. It comes out barely a whisper.

My knees go weak—what little strength I have left drains from my body. I hang limp in the restraints, eyes fixed on the man below me.

Still.

Unmoving.

“Oh god…” I whisper again, voice breaking completely.

“We couldn’t stop him.”

I shake my head, tears blurring my vision. “I didn’t even know him. I didn’t even know his name.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“But it does!” I scream, throat raw. “It does!”

The blood’s still spreading.

And I can’t look away.

This wasn’t some distant nightmare. It wasn’t a villain on TV or a headline I could scroll past. This happened right in front of me.

And I couldn’t do anything.

“This is what he wants.”

“What?”

“For you to believe you’re powerless. To think you’re like him.”

I shake my head again, harder this time.

“No,” I whisper. “I’m not.”

But even as I say it, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispers.

“I didn’t have a choice,” I whisper, voice shaking as I watch the blood inch across the floor like it’s chasing me.

“I couldn’t choose that…”

But my words sound thin, weightless, like they’re dissolving into the air.

“What’s tomorrow?” I murmur. “Who’s he bringing next? Some stranger again? Or—”

My stomach drops.

“What if it’s Mom?”

I start to tremble.

“He doesn’t… he doesn’t know who I am. Not really. Right?”

Silence.

No answer.

“Right?” I ask again, louder, pleading now.

But the silence stays. And it feels like guilt.

“He knows about Harper,” I whisper. “He knew to go to the school. That proves he’s right. About us being connected.”

I yank at the restraints, panic rising like water flooding a sinking ship.

“Let me go,” I growl. “Let me GO—!”

The tendrils dig in, tightening just enough to remind me I’m not in control here. Not in this place. Not right now.

I scream, rage boiling out of me, a raw and furious sound that echoes against the cold walls.

But it doesn’t help.

He could find her.

He could find Harper.

He could be deciding right now who to bring next.

And I’m stuck here—

Powerless.

Waiting.

With blood on the floor…

and a clock I can’t see ticking down.

I don’t know how much time has passed.

There are no windows here. No clocks. No school bells or trains outside.

Just this room.

The blood’s still there.

Dried now.

The door clicks.

It swings open slow.

And in he comes again.

Carnage.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

I say nothing.

He paces in slowly, hands behind his back.

“You slept?” he asks.

I don’t answer.

“Nah, you don’t need to talk. You’re still thinking. Still resisting.”

He stops in front of me. Tilts his head. “So. Let’s start small today.”

His arms swing around, and from behind his back—he reveals…

A bird.

Tiny.

Shaking.

Trapped inside a cage of red tendrils.

“Found this little guy in a vent,” Carnage says, tone oddly tender. “Snuck in. Looking for crumbs. Or maybe for you.”

He sets the cage down on the floor.

The bird flutters, terrified. Tries to fly, but the space is too small.

Carnage straightens up.

“Today’s lesson?”

He points at the cage.

“You want out? You kill it.”

I stare at him. Frozen.

“No.”

“No?” he echoes, as if surprised.

“But this one’s not even human.”

He leans in again.

“You said you couldn’t kill that man. Said you weren’t like me.”

He crouches beside the cage, eyes never leaving mine.

“So let’s lower the stakes, sweetheart. Just a little bird. One movement. That’s it. One moment of honesty.”

I shake my head.

But my stomach’s already twisting.

Because the cage is right there.

Because some small, scared, angry part of me wants to scream.

And he knows it.

“Your call, Carnage Jr.”

“Be the girl in chains… or the daughter I know you are.”

He’s lying. Of course he is. He wouldn’t let me go just because I do what he says—not until he gets what he wants. Until I become something I hate.

But the worst part?

God help me—

I want to believe it.

I want to believe that if I just… if I just did this one thing, I’d be free. That I could walk out that door and go back to Mom. To anything that isn’t this red room and these chains and this monster whispering blood into my ears.

My breath shakes. My arms tense in the restraints.

The bird flutters again. It lets out a tiny chirp, like it’s begging. It doesn’t understand what’s happening. It shouldn’t have to.

But Carnage watches me like he already knows how this ends.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he says softly. “That itch under your skin. That little urge when something helpless is right there. You don’t have to act on it. But the knowing you could?”

He smiles wider.

“That’s power.”

I stare at the cage, tears stinging my eyes.

“I want to go home,” I whisper.

He shrugs. “Then earn it.”

My fingers twitch. The symbiote pulses faintly, waiting.

And I hate myself for wondering…

Would it be over if I did it?

No.

No.

“You won’t let me go. Not ever. Because it’s not about the bird. It’s about breaking me.”

Carnage goes still.

Then laughs—sharp and wild.

“You’re catching on.”

He straightens slowly.

“Smart girl. Smarter than I thought.”

Then his grin fades—only slightly.

“We’ll play again tomorrow.”

He kicks the cage across the room.

The bird flutters, terrified but alive.

And he walks out.

Leaving the door closed.

Leaving me in the dark.

There’s no sunrise. No clock.

Just the steady pulse of the red light and the faint hum of some distant vent. I don’t know if it’s really morning, or if that word even means anything anymore in this place.

But I know it’s the next day.

Because I hear the door unlock again.

The door creaks open.

Carnage steps in.

This time, he’s… calmer. Too calm. Like a parent trying not to wake a sleeping child. His posture is relaxed, his blades retracted, his face stretched into something that might almost pass for pleasant—if you didn’t know what was behind it.

He’s carrying something again.

Not a person. Not a cage.

A mirror.

Full-length. Standing. He drags it into the room with one hand and plants it in front of me.

Me.

Still restrained.

Still covered in the suit.

But I look… weak.

Carnage taps the glass with a claw. “Today,” he says softly, “we’re going to talk about identity.”

He circles around behind the mirror and leans on it, like it’s a casual little show-and-tell.

“I’ve been watching you. How you move. How you hesitate. You look at yourself like you’re a stranger in your own skin.”

My jaw tightens.

“Get to the point.”

He smiles.

“Today’s lesson,” he says, tapping the mirror again, “is simple.”

“Say your real name.”

Carnage leans in beside the reflection—his face hovering just behind mine in the glass.

“Say who you really are. Say it out loud. Or…” he gestures vaguely, like he’s bored already, “We can bring in someone to remind you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say flatly, keeping my voice steady.

Carnage chuckles, low and sharp like a knife dragged across glass.

“Don’t play dumb,” he croons, stepping around the mirror now, circling me like a vulture with a secret. “I’m sure you’ve thought about it.”

His claws twitch.

“The name.”

He gestures to me head to toe.

“What you’d call yourself. Something worthy. Something sharp. Something almost as perfect as…” he spreads his arms with a flourish, “…Carnage.”

I grit my teeth.

Because yeah. I’ve thought about it.

Maybe not out loud. Maybe not seriously. But it’s been there—in the back of my mind during every swing, every burst of strength, every moment I wasn’t just Elisa Coleman trying to make it through the day.

He walks behind me again, voice dripping amusement.

“You wear the suit like you were born in it. And you look like you’ve been begging for someone to give you permission to stop pretending you’re still just a kid.”

He leans in by my ear again.

“So say it.”

“What’s your name, little monster?”

I stare at the mirror.

The reflection doesn’t look like Arin.

But does it look like Elisa?

Or something else entirely?

“What’s your name?” Carnage repeats, more forceful now, voice rising with the edge of bloodlust.

I don’t answer.

I just stare—silent.

The mirror reflects my stillness.

Carnage watches.

At first, it’s amusement. That twitchy little half-laugh he makes when he thinks he’s in control.

But as the silence stretches…

His grin falters.

Just a little.

“C’mon now,” he says, voice thinner.
“This isn’t a hard question. You want a name. Everyone like us wants a name.”

I blink slowly.

Say nothing.

“Fine,” he says, his tone souring, pitch shifting erratically. He starts pacing again—jagged, less graceful than before.

“You don’t want to play today. That’s alright.”

He points a claw at the mirror.

“But that mask won’t hold forever. You’re going to need something to scream when you finally let go. Something to echo when you tear your first real kill in half.”

I don’t flinch.

Don’t blink.

The symbiote hums low inside me—quiet pride.

“You did not give him what he wanted.”

Carnage snarls now, lip twitching.

“You’ll tell me soon enough.”
His voice drops, vicious and soft.
“Everyone does what I want eventually.”

Then he turns, stalking toward the door, the echo of his steps sharper than ever.

He slams it behind him—

And I exhale.

Time crawls.

I turn my head from the mirror.

I don’t want to keep staring at her.

At me.

The person who doesn’t have answers.

The one who didn’t speak.

The one who wouldn’t give him what he wanted.

Still suited. Still bound. But still alive.

The symbiote stirs, faint and slow. Like it’s rebuilding something inside us.

“He grows agitated.”

“Good,” I mutter under my breath.

“He will escalate soon. This phase of manipulation is losing effect.”

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the suit soothe the ache in my shoulders. “Let him. I’m not breaking.”

“You are strong. Even when you do not believe it.”

I nod slightly.

“I just hope I stay that way.”

Because I know Carnage.

I know how he works now.

And if the mind games don’t break me—

He’ll try something else.

Soon…

I can feel it before the door opens—like static under my skin. The symbiote coils, more awake now, more alert. I raise my head, already bracing.

The door swings open without ceremony.

Carnage enters, but he’s not grinning.

He stands in the center of the room for a moment, looking at me. Not pacing. Not taunting. Just… watching.

Then, softly—so soft it barely fits his voice:

“I brought someone new today.”

My chest tightens. “Don’t.”

He lifts one finger—claws glinting faintly—and gestures.

The door behind him opens again.

And someone is pulled forward.

Wrapped in red webbing.

Gagged.

Face bruised.

Harper.

My body seizes. “No—”

Carnage walks beside her, like a proud father walking his daughter down the aisle.

“She didn’t scream when I grabbed her,” he muses. “Not much. She’s got fight.”

He stops just before the cage of webbing that pins her down and crouches beside her.

“Here’s today’s lesson,” he says, not even looking at me now. “You don’t get to stay silent anymore.”

He turns his head slowly, eyes locking on mine like a predator locking onto blood in the water.

“You want her to live?”

“Say your name.”

Harper groans behind the gag, trying to speak, trying to move, but she can’t. She doesn’t know where she is. Doesn’t know what this is.

My voice cuts through the room like a blade.

“Get away from her.”

Carnage freezes mid-motion, one claw hovering an inch above Harper’s cheek. His eyes flick to me—slow and wide, like a kid caught with a matchbook.

Then he stands.

Turns.

Smiles.

“There she is,” he says, voice giddy, hands outstretched. “I knew she was still in there.”

I don’t care about the chains anymore.

Don’t care about the pain in my arms, or the numbness in my legs.

I lunge forward against the restraints.

They hold. Pulling me away from him.

The symbiote pulses angry, hot, alive.

“Let her go,” I snarl. “You want me? Fine. But not her.”

Carnage tilts his head. “Oh, I do want you. But this?” He gestures lazily toward Harper, still struggling, muffled cries growing louder.

“This is just insurance.”

My breathing quickens.

Carnage steps closer to me now, dragging his claws down my restraints like he’s tracing a line between us.

“Say it,” he breathes. “Say your name. Or I peel her open.”

I stare him down, chest heaving.

“Toxin,” the symbiote says in my mind—calm, flat, like it’s been holding onto the word for a long time.

I blink. “What?”

“That’s what they called us in the lab.” The voice inside me is cold. Not angry—resigned.

I stare at Carnage. At Harper, bound, bruised, terrified and the storm rises in me so fast I almost choke on it.

“Good enough,” I mutter. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Just has to make him stop.

“Toxin.”

Carnage goes still.

Completely, eerily still.

His head tilts slowly, the grin slipping—not gone, but pulled tighter now. Less joy. More tension.

“Toxin…” he repeats, the name like poison on his tongue…

He laughs.

Short. Bitter. Almost insulted.

“Toxin,” he growls again. “Like him. Like Venom.”

He spits the name out like acid, pacing now, teeth bared in something that isn’t quite a smile anymore.

“They made you another one of him. Another sad little soldier-boy in a suit pretending it means something.”

He points a claw at me—sharp and shaking.

“You are me, girl. My blood. My wrath. Don’t you dare wear that name like it makes you different.”

But he’s rattled.

I see it.

His steps are uneven. His tendrils twitch. His chest rises faster.

The name meant something clearly.

I lift my head higher, stare Carnage in the eye.

“You’re wrong,” I say.

“I’m not you.”

“I’m Toxin.”

“And you don’t get to decide who I am.”

He just stands there.

Shaking.

A blade slowly extends from his forearm—

But it’s not for a lesson this time.

It’s because he’s finally, truly angry.

He stares at me.

And I see it—the moment something in him snaps.

Like I just spat on a memory he never let anyone else see.

The grin stays—but it’s not real anymore. It’s stretched across something cracked.

“You think that name makes you strong?” he spits.

“That it makes you better than me?”

The blade slides out from his arm with a soft, rising shhhk, jagged and wicked, vibrating with hate. A tendril creeps up along his shoulder, twitching like a cobra about to strike.

“That name is a lie.”

He steps forward.

I strain against the restraints, chest heaving—but I don’t look away.

“That name is what they gave you to make you obedient. To keep you in a cage and call it purpose.”

He raises the blade and points it directly at me, just above my heart.

“You were born from me. Not him. Not them.”

His voice drops, low and cold and final.
“And if you won’t accept that—” His claws flex. The tendrils on his back ripple with intent. “Then I’ll carve it into your bones.”

He thrusts forward plunging it in.

I yell out in pain.

The blade drives deep into my side—not a killing blow. A punishment. Controlled. Deliberate. Right beneath the ribs.

Pain flares, immediate, consuming. The restraints groan as I thrash, the symbiote shrieking in my head like it’s burning alive.

“Hold—HOLD—” it growls, trying to wrap around the wound, trying to shield me.

My breath jerks. My vision swims.

Carnage leans in, his blade still buried in me.

“That’s the first lesson you’ll never forget.”

He rips it free and blood hits the floor.

My knees buckle midair.

He watches the blood trail down like he’s admiring a signature.

Then he straightens—blade sliding back into his arm with a wet, satisfied shhhk.

“I’ll be back,” he says simply, as if he’s talking about picking up milk.

He walks past Harper without looking at her. Doesn’t even touch the door with his hands instead the red tendrils pull it open.

Before stepping out, he pauses in the doorway.

Half-lit by the flickering red, he glances over his shoulder—not with menace.

But certainty.

“You’ll see,” he murmurs. “They all see eventually.”

The door closes.

And I’m left—hanging, bleeding.

The symbiote inside me is frantic, racing to clot the wound, to seal it, to hold me together.

“We must rest. Conserve. Focus. It was meant to weaken, not kill.”

“Yeah,” I hiss between shallow breaths.

Harper whimpers.

She’s watching me now—eyes wide, terrified, confused.

I can barely speak, but I manage.

“…I’m gonna get us out of here.”

And this time, I don’t say it because I want to believe it.

I say it because I know I will.

Later, when the pain dulls and the bleeding slows, when the silence returns like a blanket over a nightmare, I finally let my head hang forward, chin brushing the scorched red lines of the restraints.

Harper hasn’t moved much. But her eyes are open.

Watching me.

“Harper…” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She blinks. Her face is streaked with dirt and dried blood, hair a mess of panic and sweat. I can see she wants to talk—scream—understand—but the gag is still in place. I don’t need words to feel her fear.

“I didn’t want to,” I choke out. “I didn’t want this to happen. I should’ve never—”

The words die in my throat.

Never bonded with it? Never gone out that night? Never been born?

It doesn’t matter. It’s done.

“I should’ve never let you get close,” I say quietly.

My whole body trembles.

Harper’s breath hitches just once.

And I lean forward, every muscle screaming, just enough to meet her gaze.

“I’ll get us out.”

“I promise.”

The thoughts come like sparks in a storm, wild and sharp.

“What if…” I whisper.

The symbiote shifts inside me, wary.

“…what if I cut my hands off?”

“That seems irrational.”

I let out a weak, bitter laugh. “And waiting here until he comes back and kills Harper—that’s the rational plan?”

Silence.

“I can’t just hang here forever. If we lose more blood, if we wait too long, if he comes back with someone else—”

The panic claws up my throat again, sharp and choking.

“We are too weak,” the symbiote says finally, voice low, firm. “We would not survive it.”

I close my eyes.

Tears sting. Rage burns.

“I don’t care what it takes,” I whisper. “I’m not letting him hurt her again.”

“We understand.”

“Then we must wait for the next mistake.”

I nod slowly.

“…Or make one of our own.”

“What if we just start hitting the walls?” I mutter under my breath, eyes scanning the dim room. My arms ache. My ribs throb. Harper lies helpless in the corner, still breathing, still watching.

“Maybe there’s a weak point.”

The symbiote stirs, uncertain. “And if there’s not?”

“Then we make one,” I snap. “Maybe someone sees. Maybe someone hears. I don’t care. It’s worth a try.”

“Agreed.”

The suit shifts—tendrils slithering from me, thin and tight and trembling. Not full strength. Not even close.

But enough.

Whip—crack—A tendril strikes the nearest wall. Then again.

I flinch from the vibration—not strong enough.

“More,” I whisper. “Harder.”

The symbiote coils tighter, focusing what little it has left.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit—

I grit my teeth. Every blow feels like it drains me more, but I keep going.

Hit.

Hit.

CRACK.

I freeze.

The wall—it fractured.

A hairline split runs through one corner. Concrete, yes—but old. Weak.

My heart jumps.

I lash out again—harder this time, teeth clenched, legs kicking with the movement, Harper flinching in the corner.

Hit.

Hit.

The crack grows—spidering.

“Come on…” I whisper through clenched teeth, voice shaking. “Please—break.”

The tendrils whip out again, harder, more desperate.

Hit.

Hit.

HIT.

The wall shudders with each blow, the crack spreading like a vein, growing deeper—splintering out across the surface like glass under pressure.

“Please,” I breathe, pressing my forehead to my arm. “Please, just—break.”

The symbiote strains with me, matching my panic with its own rising pulse.

“We are close. Do not stop.”

Harper flinches at the sound, eyes locked on the fracture now—she sees it too.

Hope.

I coil everything I’ve got left—pain, fear, rage, guilt—and I throw it through the symbiote, down the tendril, into the next strike.

HIT.

The wall gives.

I twist as far as the restraints will let me, ignoring the fire in my side and the sting of dried blood cracking against my skin.

I squint through the dust, through the opening in the broken wall—small, jagged, but real. A hole torn in the world Carnage built.

Please let there be something. Someone. A way out.

A hallway.

Narrow. Dim.

Pipes line the ceiling. Wires trail like vines across the floor. Everything is covered in grime and rust, but it’s empty.

My breath hitches.

“There’s a corridor,” I whisper to the symbiote. “It’s not much, but—”

“It is a path.”

I look to Harper—her eyes wide, following my gaze. She knows.

It’s not freedom.

Not yet.

“But there’s still the restraints…” I mutter, eyes flicking up to my wrists—still bound in that writhing red webbing, still humming with Carnage’s twisted control. Every time I move, they tighten, like they know I’m thinking.

My body aches. My blood feels thin. The stab wound burns with every breath, and the hit to the wall drained what little strength I had left.

“I feel weaker than ever,” I whisper, and the words almost break something inside me.

But then—my eyes fall back to Harper.

Still wrapped. Still gagged.

And that’s when it hits me.

“…Maybe—” I say, breath catching. “Maybe if we free her…”

The symbiote stirs, slow and cautious.

“She cannot fight him.”

“I know,” I say, voice firmer now. “But she doesn’t have to fight.”

I look toward the small break in the wall—the hallway beyond it.

“She just has to get out.”

Another pause. Then the symbiote answers, low and thoughtful:

“…It is possible.”

I look Harper dead in the eyes.

“Okay,” I say softly, “I’m gonna try something. Hold still.”

I stretch a tendril from the symbiote—not much, not strong. Just a thin thread, shaking as it reaches toward the red bonds around her.

Carnage’s webbing writhes at the touch—but mine fights back, wrapping carefully.

Harper flinches at first, but then goes still—trusting me.

“I’m getting you out,” I whisper. “And once you’re through that hole…”

I meet her gaze again.

“Run.”

The last thread of red tendril snaps, and Harper collapses forward with a grunt, catching herself on trembling hands. Her legs barely hold her at first, but she forces herself up, her breath ragged, her eyes locked on me.

“Elisa—are you okay? Holy shit—I—what is this—are you okay?”

She reaches toward me, but I shake my head, wincing as the restraints tighten from the movement.

“Listen,” I pant, “You need to run. Now. As far as you can.”

She freezes. “What? No—I can’t just—leave you.”

“You have to.”

My voice cracks, but I don’t stop.

“I need you to call my mom. Luca has her number. Tell her what happened. Tell her where I am. Claire—Claire can probably get help. She knows people. Superhero people, maybe, I don’t know.”

Harper stares at me, wide-eyed, breathing fast.

I push through the pain, locking eyes with her.

“The important thing is you get away. Tell them everything. Don’t come back. Just—go.”

She shakes her head. “But if he comes back—”

“I’ll stall him,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’ll be ok.”

She hesitates.

Tears in her eyes.

And then she nods—just once.

Her fingers brush mine—light, brief, but enough.

“Hold on,” she whispers.

Then she turns.

And runs.

Through the crack. Into the dark.

Gone.

And I’m alone again.

But this time…

That’s part of the plan.

I slump forward, body sagging in the restraints. My limbs hang like dead weight, trembling and useless. My head droops, cheek brushing against my shoulder as the last of my strength fades, bleeding out like warmth from an open wound.

“I gave everything I had…” I whisper, or maybe just think it—my lips barely move.

I can still feel the air from the broken wall. Just a trickle. Just enough.

I hope it’s enough.

I hope Harper makes it.

I hope she gets to Mom.

I hope Claire finds someone who can help.

I hope—

…I hope.

The symbiote coils faintly around my chest, wrapping tighter.

“You did well.”

Everything goes dim.

Sound becomes a hum.

Pain drifts into the background.

And then…

Darkness…

End of chapter 14