Spiderman: Venom

The following day, MJ still hadn't come back home. Gwen could only shrug and try to contact her again, but Peter's concern was growing. He was well aware of Harrison's temper and could only hope that being confined to a hospital would temper it enough to keep MJ safe.

Peter had to suppress his anger. There was no point in waging imaginary battles without a clear reason. So, instead, he chose to keep both of them occupied.

Gwen exhaled in frustration as she counted. It didn't seem fair, but Peter wasn't budging.

If she wanted to gain better command over her abilities, she needed to start with her physical control. So, Peter put her through the same training regimen he followed.

"One hundred," she announced as she hoisted herself up for the final pull-up. She was gripping a support beam near the warehouse roof. Peter was stationed across from her, as he had been doing this exercise for almost a month. His routine was an impressive four hundred pull-ups, and he still managed to outperform her.

Their shared regimen was a straightforward fitness program: one hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats, and a ten-kilometer run. Peter claimed he had read about it somewhere, but when Gwen searched online to confirm, he just smirked slyly.

"Gwen, you have to manage your powers and your symbiote. You're in charge, not the other way around," he had chastised her. It wasn't an issue when Poison was dormant, but when awake, it constantly badgered Gwen to either eat or engage in physical intimacy with Peter. They had both agreed that while these impulses weren't inherently harmful, she needed to have a stronger handle on them—especially before starting college and, more urgently, before MJ returned.

This was the reason for the physical training. It was easy to justify—who wouldn't want to get some exercise? The more power-intensive sessions would take place on the rooftop once night fell.

Gwen had also started experimenting with her webbing.

Spurty spurts are boring. Get Pete to do it, Poison grumbled, but Gwen pressed on.

No, you little pest. I want proper cords like Pete's, not this runny nonsense. Make it right.

Muuhhhhhh, Poison groaned, but the output remained watery.

It took her hours of practice, filling every available container until the substance resembled ropes. It was still elastic and practically useless—it bounced and stretched like rubber.

Can I create this with different materials? she wondered.

Hmph, Poison replied, still sulking. Don't care. Do whatever you want.

Gwen focused intently. She understood that the webbing was being produced by Poison, who had altered her wrists to secrete it via her sweat glands. Unlike Peter, who had some sort of internal reservoir in his arm, Gwen needed to modify Poison and extrude the material as a fluid.

With practice, she had managed to produce acidic webbing, a stretchy rubber-like variant, and a cement-like version. As she mentally reviewed organic chemicals, she realized she could theoretically create even more toxic substances. The downside was that doing so could lead to malnutrition or mineral deficiencies. Regardless of Poison's complaints, a balanced diet of fruits, vegetables, and proteins was non-negotiable.

See? When we cooperate, we can accomplish anything! Gwen encouraged Poison in her thoughts.

Hmph. Still boring.

Now, her webbing could take on any chemical composition she understood, but the tensile strength remained pitiful. Even trying to envision it as tightly woven cords didn't seem to help.

If you're messing this up on purpose, I swear…

Not doing anything. Shut up, boring Gwen.

Poison, we have to learn this. If we don't, we won't keep up with Pete. Don't you want him to spend more time with us?

Hmph. He did, but you drove him away and started playing with goo. Watch.

Gwen raised her wrist just as a stream shot out, splattering against the wall of their makeshift home. She stared in horror as the paint began to bubble and corrode.

"Damn it!" she shouted, frantically searching for something to neutralize the reaction. "Pete, help!" she called out.

When Peter rushed in, he surveyed the mess and the damage to the wall. "Yeah… you're officially banned from doing that indoors." When he noticed Gwen's crestfallen expression, he chuckled. "Don't make me ground you, young lady."

Gwen stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm just trying to get my webbing like yours. How do you manage it?"

Peter shrugged. "It's always been this way for me. I can't produce acid, though, so it's probably Poison."

Yes, yes, praise us! Now strip and give us the wooshes!

"But how's her armor?" he asked. "I can take some pretty heavy hits and thicken it into plates. That might be less messy," he added, scratching a nail over the damaged paint. "And cheaper."

Gwen stood still as Poison enveloped her body. "Go ahead, hit me and see."

Peter shook his head as she tensed. "I don't need to hit you." A portion of his symbiote extended over his hand, forming a long, sharp claw. "Hold still."

Poison screeched in protest as he lightly dragged the claw across Gwen's skin. It barely left a mark, but Gwen still tried to squirm away.

"Oh, come on, that was nothing more than a scratch."

Hmph. Don't like Pete anymore. Get a new man. A kinder man. One who doesn't hurt us.

Gwen cradled her arm. "No, seriously," she muttered. Peter demonstrated by extending his own claws and plunging them into his arm. "It shouldn't hurt this much."

"Of course it hurts, you idiot," Gwen retorted. "Poison is alive. Of course, it'll hurt if you cut me."

She couldn't help but watch in fascination as the small wound healed almost instantly. Still, she needed to make Peter feel guilty—guilt brought kisses, and kisses often led to more exciting things.

"Nope. Not going to help with that," he said as his symbskin retracted. "If even a little cut hurts this much, you'll have bigger problems out there."

Gwen sighed, leaning against the counter.

"You still need to train," Peter teased, kissing her cheek. "At the rate you eat pastries, Poison's going to get chubby."

"I am not fat!" Gwen snapped through gritted teeth.

As she lunged at him, Peter caught her by the waist and spun her around. "That's why I said you'd get fat. So keep training," he joked. She folded her arms and pouted. "Tell you what—if you can finish the obstacle course by the end of the week, I'll match our last bet, and you can have whatever you want."

Gwen's eyes lit up with excitement, and Poison vibrated eagerly beneath her skin. She could feel the symbiote's desire for Peter as clearly as her own.

"Anything?" she asked with a grin.

Peter nodded. "Anything."

Gwen immediately sprinted off. She had already finished her one hundred sit-ups and only had the run left. With this motivation, she wasn't going to waste time.

And you're going to behave. I'm earning this, and I intend to enjoy it.

"But if you fail, I get to pick, and the little monster is off sweets too."

Gwen's fists clenched instinctively.

No! Not my treaty treats! Run, run and earn the sweets! Poison urged.

As Gwen dashed around the warehouse walkways, Peter turned his thoughts to his own challenges.

Electro's power was enough to incapacitate even an elephant, but the combination of electricity, light, and sound had proven uniquely effective against him. While Peter didn't have a conscious symbiote like Poison, he shared many of the vulnerabilities. He couldn't help but laugh, though—nobody was immune to electrocution or bright lights. Flashbangs existed for a reason. Now, he just needed to figure out a way to counteract them.

His enhanced senses were so acute that he could feel the air shifting as Gwen trained. Even with his eyes closed, he could clearly hear her heartbeat. The air was saturated with her scent, and he could detect the sweat forming between her flawless breasts. He realized he needed a way to block out the overstimulation—something to help manage these heightened senses until he fully adapted to his abilities.

The first step was creating a headset. He had completed its design, and it rested snugly around his neck. The device was built to unfold and cover his face, functioning as a hood with sound-dampening earbuds and polarized tinted lenses.

When he pulled it into place and extended his symbskin, the fit was seamless. His mask conformed to the headset as though tailored specifically for it, making him wonder if his symbiote was truly as dormant as they assumed. The armor overlaid itself perfectly, smoothing out wrinkles and merging into a streamlined form. His mask transformed too, featuring two large white eyes that could widen or narrow to sharp points—crescent shapes overlaying the tinted lenses.

The white membrane adjusted in thickness to match the polarization of the lenses. Peter had searched online for something similar, but nothing fit both his budget and his needs unless he opted for a full helmet.

Adjusting to the headset took some time. His hearing was muffled, and his voice occasionally crackled through the speaker. These issues were more likely caused by a misaligned circuit or an errant solder than a fundamental flaw in the design. For a prototype, it worked well enough, though it wasn't flawless.

Next on his list was a grounding system.

He began by researching Kevlar and ceramic plating commonly used in police and military armor. From there, he experimented with creating a secondary protective layer beneath the first.

After multiple failed attempts, he had to admit defeat. Adding a second layer to his symbskin was too bulky and caused uncomfortable friction. Instead, he adopted a more practical approach inspired by the so-called "costumed menaces."

He purchased a snug black bodysuit made of cotton—a simple garment that was easily concealed beneath his regular clothing.

Carefully, he stitched fine wire into the inner lining of the suit, weaving it tightly across the fabric. Once he put on the headset and bodysuit and then armored up, he felt no noticeable difference. His symbskin adjusted to smooth out any creases, leaving him as comfortable as ever. To his surprise, it felt like he wasn't wearing any additional layers at all.

As the evening wore on, Peter and Gwen checked their phones. There was still no word from MJ. The messages they had sent remained unread, and calls went unanswered.

Harrison had kept MJ at the hospital for two days now. The situation wasn't looking good, and Peter resolved that if she didn't come home by the following night, he would go after her.

The next day after work, Peter completed his experimental gear. The warehouse was the perfect place for testing—it offered enough privacy and plausible deniability. If anyone asked, he could easily pass the equipment off as an insulated bodysuit and noise-canceling headset.

Peter had no plans to test the gear in the main workspace. Instead, as he worked on expanding the warehouse deck, he decided to add a second level. This expansion created two additional office spaces, transforming the building into a block with four sections—two below and two above.

Using spare wood, he constructed a staircase to the right of the entrance. The upper offices were left empty, furnished only with chairs and tables for work.

With the headset thoroughly tested, it was time to evaluate the bodysuit.

"Okay, hit me," Peter instructed.

Gwen took cover behind a thick steel barrier, equipped with headphones and welding goggles. She pressed a button, and the sharp tang of ozone filled the air. The modified taser let out a blinding flash and a deafening crack as Peter increased its amperage. She waited five seconds before shutting the weapon down.

"Pete?" she called nervously. "Shit, I can't hear you. Pete, I'm taking these off, okay?"

Unaware of her own volume, she switched the taser off completely. Once confident it was safe, she cautiously peeked out from behind her metal shield.

Peter stood there, quite literally smoking—but not in a good way. Steam rose from his body, and burned skin flaked away. The areas where the electricity struck were charred but intact. His headset lenses had darkened completely, but he could still see through them. It had worked.

Through the speaker, his voice clicked, faintly metallic. "I'm fine. It worked. I didn't feel a thing."

Relieved, Gwen let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. While she agreed they needed to test the gear, shocking her boyfriend with an overpowered taser hadn't been on her to-do list.

Once their experiments and training wrapped up, the two cleaned up the space. While Gwen hauled the trash to the recycling bins, Peter brewed coffee and grabbed a few snacks.

At the large central table, Peter opened his sketchbook and began drafting designs for armor that Poison could integrate into her symbskin. He also planned to create a suit for Gwen, thinking it wise to reinforce it with protective layers. If Poison was determined to assist him in battle, she needed sturdier defenses than Peter did.

Weapons were a different story. While Poison could mimic Peter's claws and form basic blades, she frequently complained whenever she struck a target. Without access to precision tools, it would be too risky to create weaponry. For now, Peter shelved the idea, at least until Gwen and Poison overcame their hesitation toward combat.

Not that Gwen needed much convincing to train. As long as Poison got her rewards—usually sweet treats—she was content to cooperate. Poison's demands often mirrored those of a stubborn child: willing to eat anything but preferring sugary snacks. Gwen knew she needed to rein her in before things spiraled out of control.

The bodysuit functioned as intended, the headset operated reliably, and everything was falling into place.

But MJ's phone remained silent. She hadn't sent a single response or given any indication of returning home. Peter had moved past worry—now, he was angry. It was time to make someone pay.