It was his first night back as Venom, and the warm spring air felt refreshing against his skin. With the nights gradually becoming lighter as the year went on, the memory of the harsh winter was fading, replaced by a lively spring. As the weather grew warmer and May neared its end, summer was slowly creeping in.
Before heading out, his initial task was to complete the installation of a new roof hatch. He'd added an extra layer of security to the basic hatch, wiring it shut with both a physical and electronic lock.
There were no physical keys for either lock. The only way to unlock it was by extending a part of his symbskin into the mechanism, which would activate the keypad and require a separate code. The hatch was hardwired to the power system, so any tampering with the lock would trigger an alarm in all three units.
Once he confirmed only he could unlock it, he powered it on and sealed it up. There was no reason for anyone but him to access the roof. No fire escapes led there, and the warehouse had a sprinkler system in place for emergencies.
He wasn't paranoid—just cautious. Caution was Peter's watchword when it came to warehouse security and the safety of the people inside. He wanted to ensure they were protected even in his absence.
With footage of his fight circulating and the unsettling thought that someone might be tracking not only him but also Black Cat, Peter was on alert. It was relatively easy to shield against electronic monitoring, but guarding against physical break-ins was much more challenging—and potentially came with legal implications.
He needed a security system that could toggle between lethal and non-lethal modes as required, while still appearing lawful. And if any intruders got hurt, he certainly wouldn't be advertising it. If villains came to his doorstep, they'd already know he was Venom, and any clash would be an act of self-defense.
Venom reflected on a question that had been nagging at him: if it came down to it, would he kill to protect those he cared about?
Where was his line?
If someone ever threatened Gwen or Aunt May, he knew he'd cross that line without a second thought. Just the idea stirred a fierce anger within him.
But where did the line truly rest? He was sure he wouldn't kill for pleasure, steal, or harm an innocent person. Breaking into his home wouldn't mean an instant death sentence—just a very poor decision. His boundaries were defined, and for now, Venom was confident he'd respect them.
It had been a while since he'd stretched his webs, so instead of going out on a hunt, he took to swinging from building to building, letting the city pass by as he rediscovered that sense of adventure.
Swinging across rooftops felt liberating. He could close his eyes and let the city hum with life around him, using his enhanced senses to navigate.
He passed a hotdog stand with sausages that were close to spoiling. A nightclub reeked of stale alcohol. Relying on his hearing and sense of smell, he maneuvered around New York, letting his senses adjust to the city's busy energy.
As he swung, he hit every web line perfectly, avoided any obstacles, and stayed clear of other people. It was peaceful.
His thoughts drifted to his relationship with Gwen. They hadn't taken things to an intimate level yet, but they were getting closer, and the temptation had been strong on a few occasions. He was waiting for Gwen to feel ready.
They had shared kisses and a few touches, but nothing beyond light exploration under clothing. The warehouse would eventually be their new home, though it was still a work in progress. While Peter was gradually furnishing his own unit, Gwen hadn't moved in yet.
Without a bed, neither of them wanted their first time to be on a couch.
He realized he needed to make more time for her, and with summer approaching, he wanted to plan something special.
With new motivation, Venom began swinging through the busier parts of the city. He saw camera flashes as he caught people's attention, but he was hoping to find events or shows happening in the area. If he spotted something Gwen might enjoy, he could return as Peter to check it out.
As he passed over a flower stand, the sharp scent of flowers filled the air.
Not flowers, though—definitely not flowers.
That was one thing she'd have to get used to. His heightened sense of smell went haywire at the overwhelming perfume of the blooms.
He enjoyed the freedom of the night, the simple pleasure of swinging through the city with no worries, laughing as his stomach growled. Landing in an alley, he let the symbiote suit retract and found the hotdog stand with the most appetizing aroma.
As Venom perched on a gargoyle, savoring a hotdog, he sensed another presence nearby. There was a subtle shift in air pressure as Spider-Man swung into view.
As Venom drew closer, he picked up the scent of the man's cheap cologne. Peter had always avoided wearing any for that exact reason. Why go on the hunt smelling like flowers or a cheap prom date, broadcasting your presence to everyone nearby?
The real question was, was this a friendly visit—or something else?
"Tarantula, or should I say, Venom?" asked the unusually articulate but garishly dressed Spider-Man.
"It's Venom, and you know it, Spider-Man," Venom replied, not even bothering to stand as the red-and-blue-suited fool crawled closer.
Spider-Man observed carefully as he approached this dangerous and unpredictable criminal. He didn't know if it was a trap, but so far, his spider-sense hadn't detected any threat. He stayed outwardly calm, but inwardly prepared.
Venom took in Spider-Man's figure. He was taller and more muscular than him, which immediately irritated Venom. Sure, he had a girlfriend, but he was always hearing the same things:
How tall are you? How much do you make? Blah, blah, stupid tall, muscular Spider-Man.
"So, what do you want? I'm not really feeling a photo op right now—my hair's a mess, and I didn't do my makeup." To make his point, he stretched his maw wide, letting his huge tongue roll over his razor-sharp teeth.
"Just to talk, Venom. That's all." Spider-Man perched on another gargoyle a short distance away.
Close enough, Venom thought. Close enough to strike—or defend, if necessary.
Spider-Man crouched with his legs spread and his hands resting between them, anchoring himself to the gargoyle in a position he could leap from, whether up and away or straight at Venom.
"So, talk then," Venom said, already annoyed. He could hear the faint whir of an automatic camera nearby. The so-called "silent" shutter was obvious to someone with super hearing—muffled by…gum?
Who blocks a speaker with gum? he thought. Oh, Spider-Man must be an idiot. Well, that explains Tarantula.
"You don't have to be a villain, Venom. The city has enough crime, enough bad guys, and adding one more, especially someone like you, just makes things worse. But it doesn't have to be that way. You could—you should—be a force for good." Spider-Man's voice was steady, as if he'd rehearsed this speech.
Probably an English major. Wait, could he be a reporter? That would explain the camera angles, the shots, and the exclusive photos.
Venom laughed to himself. No wonder Eddie Brock's shots were so good. Of course he'd be able to get footage—he was Spider-Man.
"A villain? I'm not the villain here, Spider-Man. The city—it was corrupt before I even showed up. Tell me, how many of those punks actually get convicted? How many defense attorneys argue that you don't follow proper procedure? That you taint evidence, that your interference isn't," he made air quotes, "'due process'?"
Spider-Man knew he had a point. He'd reviewed enough court cases to see it was a common defense tactic. Over time, he'd learned to avoid interfering too much. Now, he documented crimes, left evidence, and kept out of the way unless the situation turned violent—he couldn't stand by while someone was hurt.
"It doesn't work like that, Venom. Things improve. More petty criminals face justice, and people get their belongings back, their peace of mind. But you, you take the cash and leave the crooks battered and broken. What's next? Deciding not to let someone live because of their crimes? Then you're no better than they are."
"You're wrong, Spider-Man. No killing, no needless violence. Sure, I take the money—so what? Does the city give it back? Think about it—all those lost or unclaimed wallets without IDs. Does the city give the money to charity? Help the homeless? No, it doesn't. It buys another tank, or some cop gets a new piece of military junk. Stop trying to act better than me. Stop trying to impress your readers."
Venom raised his arm, aimed carefully, and shot a quick web blast. The hidden camera spun for a moment, then fell as he knocked it off its ledge.
"Stop using me to get a story, Spider-Man, or I'll expose you. I'm sure 'Spider-Man's Secret Identity Revealed' would make a great headline. But you'd know all about that, huh?" Venom stood and stretched. "Don't follow me. Don't try to stop me. You know this city's as rotten as I do—I'm just better at cleaning it up than you are."
Venom shot out a web line, gave Spider-Man a mocking salute, muttered, "Eddie," and swung off into the night.
Eddie's heart raced. Venom had detected his supposedly silent camera, capturing photos and audio of their conversation. Venom was wrong, though—the city wasn't as rotten as he thought.
But he was right about one thing: he'd dropped Eddie's name.
Was I too obvious? Eddie wondered. Am I dealing with someone who knows about the Oscorp incident?
Collecting the broken pieces of his camera, Spider-Man swung into the night. He had the evidence he needed, but he wasn't sure what to do with the scuffed yet intact memory card.
If people believed Venom's claims, would he really expose Spider-Man's identity—or was it a bluff? Eddie couldn't take the risk, and his mission was too critical. He'd keep his distance from Venom, only stepping in if things turned violent or if Venom grew bloodthirsty.
Neither man was willing to risk his identity becoming public. Both were ready to fight to protect their secrets—two sides of the same coin. On one side stood Spider-Man: by-the-book, seeking justice, serving the people in the way he thought best, standing as their protector, using the law to get them what they deserved.
"Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, keeping the streets safe for everyday folks" was his message.
On the other side was Venom: out for vengeance, returning the fear and suffering inflicted on innocent people back to the criminals.
"Harm my citizens and face my wrath" was his vow.
Both believed they were right. Deep down, both knew their arguments would circle endlessly. Neither would give in.
Spider-Man was unsure of the eventual outcome. He didn't want to hurt anyone or be the reason another hero went rogue—especially since he knew Venom could do real good in the city.
If Venom was like him, then why did their powers differ so much?
Spider-Man made a mental note to investigate who else might have been affected by Oscorp. He already knew there were others like him in New York.
If he could convince Black Cat, maybe he could show Venom that working together, they could accomplish far more than going solo—that violence wasn't the solution.
As Venom watched Spider-Man swing away, a thrill sparked within him.
Was Spider-Man stronger, faster?
Did he have training like Black Cat?
Was he like Venom, a hybrid, or did he have different powers like Rhino and the other goons?
Peter knew he wasn't perfect, but he was trying. With Flash and everything else, he understood life wasn't as straightforward as Spider-Man made it seem. They'd clash sooner or later, and it would end in a fight. He knew peace between them was impossible. Spider-Man was an idealistic do-gooder, and villains like Doc Ock would tear him apart.
Peter's excitement grew at the thought of facing off against Spider-Man. He knew their battle would be one for the ages.