Spiderman: Venom

Nothing could ruin Peter's good mood.

Not even when he noticed Flash glaring at him as he took out his books from his bag.

Not even when he saw a crumpled ball of paper headed his way. Peter pretended to drop something, bending down to pick it up just in time for the paper ball to hit the person in front of him.

That person shot him a smile, and when they turned, they saw Peter picking up a pen while Flash looked confused. For once, Flash got in trouble instead of Peter. Peter thought maybe there were some decent teachers after all.

The school day was calm. He had Chemistry in the first period, a class he shared with Gwen. As they sat there, pretending to focus on their work, they held hands beneath the table.

His next class was Math, where Felicia, Flash, Harry, and MJ were all present. Flash and his friends sat at a different table, MJ joining them. They quickly grew bored of the lesson and began their usual disruptions.

Harry looked over at Peter and Gwen. "About time, huh?" he said with a slight grin. Felicia, however, gave Peter a pinch on the leg and pulled Gwen over to the other side of the table, scowling as she whispered with her about abs and kisses.

As the class continued, they started focusing on their work. Peter helped Harry while Felicia kept shooting him annoyed looks. It wasn't long before Flash's harassment resumed.

Peter, still getting used to his heightened senses, was able to hear Flash's whisper across the otherwise quiet room.

"Hey, watch this." Flash fired a spitball—a chewed-up bit of paper spat out of an empty pen tube—aimed directly at him.

Peter sensed the air shift as the spitball came toward him, so he casually leaned back, stretching, and it sailed past him, hitting the wall instead.

Well, that was… interesting, he thought, dodging another one.

Flash's frustration grew, and Peter could see his anger mounting.

Do I have some kind of danger sense? he wondered, leaning back with his eyes closed.

Gwen was whispering to Felicia about his newfound muscles and more toned appearance.

The teacher, back to the class, was busy writing out an algebraic formula on the board in preparation for their math exam.

Flash was readying an eraser, checking to make sure the teacher wasn't watching before aiming it at Peter.

Peter could sense it all—the slight shift in the air, the faint smell of the rubber eraser, and exactly where it would land if he didn't move. It'll hit the side of my head if I stay still, he realized. Flash had decent aim, but Peter reached out, caught the eraser mid-air, and tossed it back before resuming his relaxed position with his arm behind his head.

Flash shouted, "What the heck, Parker?" as the eraser smacked against the side of his head, making him wobble in his chair.

The teacher turned around. "Mr. Thompson, we do not yell curse words in this class."

"But sir, he threw an eraser at me!" Flash protested.

The teacher raised an eyebrow and looked at Peter, who calmly picked up an eraser from his desk. "I was sitting here listening. I didn't do anything," Peter said, feigning innocence.

Harry smirked, shaking his head. "He's right, sir. We're just studying here," he chimed in, glancing at Flash. "Eugene just doesn't like Peter."

Flash clenched his teeth. "Don't call me Eugene, Osborn."

Harry just shrugged with a grin. "Well, after what we heard, 'done in a flash' feels more like an insult."

Flash's fists clenched as he stood. "Say that again!" he shouted.

"Mr. Thompson!" the teacher called, raising his voice. "This is a classroom, not a fighting ring." He grabbed a pad from his desk, quickly scribbled a note, and tore off a slip. "For disrupting my class, take this to the main office. You have a week of detention."

Flash stomped to the front, snatched the slip, and slammed the door on his way out.

"Mr. Osborn, if you continue provoking him, you'll be next in line for detention. I understand you're defending your friend, but it's not appropriate."

Harry tried to look serious, but it was obvious he was still grinning. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," he replied, giving Peter a quick wink.

The rest of the day went smoothly. Flash didn't raise his voice or try to stand out, even at lunch—his usual time to harass Peter.

When Peter put his books away before the last period, he found a note waiting for him:

Flash is planning to get you after school.

Normally, Peter would have shrugged and planned a way to avoid him. But this time, there was a small flower drawn at the bottom, something MJ used to do in kindergarten. He knew it was serious if she was willing to defy Flash to warn him.

No, forget him, and forget this nonsense. Taking all his things from his locker, Peter headed to his last class.

Peter saw Flash and his group lingering near the bike rack. Flash was with his usual posse. Though Flash was bigger than him, he always had his friends with him when he decided to bully Peter.

One of them pointed in Peter's direction, and Flash sneered, "Parker, don't make me come over there."

Peter smirked, shaking his head as he slowly walked toward them.

"What? I have work," Peter replied casually. The bike rack was secluded from the main street, meant to prevent thefts, but the school budget didn't extend to cameras in that area. It was a popular spot for various after-school "activities," with the ground littered with cigarette butts and empty condom wrappers—a clear sign of its usual use.

"You made me look like an idiot and got me a week's detention. So, what are you gonna do to make it up to me?" Flash asked, snickering.

Peter shook his head. "Well, these guys look like they already gave you a handjob. Maybe ask them?"

"What the fuck you say?" Flash grabbed Peter's shirt.

"I'm not interested in going to prom with you, Flash. I'm sure one of them would be, though. Maybe you'll finally get lucky," Peter retorted, right before Flash punched him in the stomach.

Peter dropped to his knees, stunned, clutching his arms around himself.

What just happened?

Flash sneered, "Yeah, figured as much, smartass. Hold him up."

Two of Flash's friends grabbed Peter under the arms, pulling him to his feet. Flash glanced back, then threw a punch into Peter's side, quickly following it with another hit. Feeling he'd proven his point, he grabbed Peter by the hair and leaned in close.

"I told you you'd pay for this."

So Peter head-butted him.

Flash stumbled back, grabbing his nose as blood trickled down his face. Peter jabbed his elbow into one of the guys holding him, freeing an arm, then grabbed the other guy and threw him into the bike rack.

Two others, who had been hiding nearby to supposedly record the scene and post it on ViewTube, jumped in. One tackled Peter to the ground, while the other began kicking him in the ribs.

Peter let out a roar and pushed himself up, flinging his attacker away. When another kick came his way, he grabbed the foot and yanked the second boy off-balance and to the ground.

Flash watched, wide-eyed, as the typically quiet, easygoing Peter suddenly transformed, snarling like a wild animal. He reached into his bag, but felt a hand on his shoulder and another clamping onto his wrist.

"If you pull out what I think you have, I'll make sure that hand never works again," Felicia whispered threateningly in his ear. She twisted his arm back, making him wince. "Now, if you lay a hand on him again, I'll finish you—and I don't care who your dad is. Got it?"

Flash nodded, and Felicia released him.

Flash's friends gathered themselves up, casting wary glances at him. Wiping the blood from his face, Flash shot Peter a deadly glare. "This isn't over." He spat out a bit of blood before he and his gang marched off.

Felicia helped Peter to his feet. "You know, when MJ of all people told me you were in trouble, I didn't expect to see you beating the crap out of him."

Peter chuckled. "Thanks, Felicia. But are you sure? I mean, Flash leaves everyone else alone."

Felicia snorted. "You're something, Parker. You take a beating, and you're worried about me?"

Peter shrugged. "I just don't want anyone else getting hurt, that's all."

Felicia glanced at the blood on the ground and at Flash's crew hobbling away. "Yeah, well, a bit late for that, Pete." She picked up his bag, brushed off his shoulders, and gave them a light squeeze, frowning.

Guess Gwen wasn't exaggerating.

"Take care, Pete," she said, patting his shoulder before walking away.

He missed the wistful look she shot over her shoulder. I'm definitely getting the details from Gwen later, she thought. No way they just went for burgers.

Aunt May knew not to expect him home until late; he had work that evening. As he made his way there, still angry at Flash, he also felt a thrill of excitement.

He was aware of his powers, but life—and mostly Flash—had stopped him from exploring them. With this strange black armor, he might finally be able to make a real impact.

News of the new Fearsome Four was spreading. They had already hit a bank, a jewelry store, and an armored truck. The Bugle called them a poison at the city's core. With his powers, maybe he could help bring them down.

He had an hour before work started, so he headed to the warehouse first, making sure to lock the door behind him, and stripped off his clothes.

Looking down at his torso, he saw nothing—no bruises, no marks, no trace of Flash's punches. Even pressing the area caused no pain.

Peter frowned. Another power? He tensed his muscles and punched himself in the stomach.

Ouch! What's going on?

It hurt—not a lot, but definitely more than when Flash had hit him. Peter furrowed his brow, rubbing his chin.

So, I can hurt myself, but Flash can't? That's... strange.

He paused, scanning the room, and spotted a pile of metal plates used to bolt down the walls of the units.

Alright, stupid experiment number one.

Holding a plate out at arm's length, Peter tossed it into the air. He stayed still as it fell, watching as, just before it hit his arm, a thick black substance spread over his wrist.

As the plate made contact, he felt nothing. The black shield had protected him; he guessed that was what had happened earlier at school.

So, black goo armor—great, he thought sarcastically. But, not so great if I actually need it...

Armor on! But nothing happened.

Activate super armor! Still no response.

Oh, forget it, he muttered, and, still forgetting he was naked, turned and kicked one of the wall panels bolted to the floor.

The thick armor spread over his foot, and the panel rattled with the impact.

Peter grinned. So, anger triggers it—good to know.

He focused on every time Flash had made his life miserable for no reason—all the times he had to explain to Aunt May why he needed a new bag or supplies. The hurt expression on her face, the hidden frustration.

Screw you, Flash. The dark liquid oozed over him, covering his body. It felt strange as it cloaked his face, briefly blinding him before his senses intensified. He could feel the air currents, the humidity, the temperature around him. Blinking, he squinted at his surroundings.

The lights above looked like beacons, and he could hear the water trickling through a pipe beneath the warehouse floor.

It was manageable but would take some adjusting.

"This is awesome!" he shouted, shooting out a web line and swinging up into the rafters. Now that he owned the place, he didn't worry about any prying security guards. Laughing, he leapt from beam to beam, putting the armor to the test.

Jumping from the highest point, he struck a T-pose and landed heavily on the ground.

It hadn't hurt. His insides felt like they'd been jostled, but there was no pain.

Lying on the floor, laughing, he felt the armor melt away from his body.

He got to his feet, clenching his fists triumphantly.

Then he suddenly looked concerned and grabbed his bag, pulling out the recorder he'd had on at school and rewinding it back to when he'd started his experiments.

Yeah, can't let anyone find out about this, he thought, grabbing his clothes and quickly dressing. "Crap, I'm late," he realized, rushing to finish up.

Smiling as he jogged toward Aleksei's, he even thought of a name.

If they're poison, then we'll be their Venom.