The clock on my phone flips to 6:20 PM, mocking me with its digital precision. Twenty minutes of waiting, and still nothing from Piper. I slump against the cold brick wall outside Richards Hall, watching other students hurry past, wrapped in scarves and purpose.
I check my text again, just one message, sent fifteen minutes ago. "Hey, still on for tonight?" Simple, casual, not desperate at all. At least that's what I told myself when I hit send.
The evening wind cuts through my jacket, the nicest one I could find in my mysterious closet, and I tug it tighter around me. If this was my old world I’d probably spam her phone with increasingly anxious texts, but I manage to resist. I'm pretty sure I already know what's happening.
"Goddamn supervillains," I mutter, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk. "Always ruining date night."
A couple walking past gives me a strange look, and I force an awkward smile until they're out of earshot.
My phone remains stubbornly silent in my palm. No texts, no calls, no apologies for standing me up. Just the blank screen reflecting my disappointed face back at me.
I sigh, a cloud of vapor dissolving into the November air. This feels more like my fault than anyone else's. What was I thinking, going out with Spider-Woman? Of course she's busy. She's probably swinging through the city right now, webbing up bank robbers or grabbing balloons for some random kid on a rooftop somewhere.
I look at my phone again. 6:22 PM. I sigh again, shoving my phone back into my pocket. "I can't even imagine how MJ did this for so long."
*****
[Ellie Brock’s POV]
The man stands alone below me, dejected and shivering in the cold. Pathetic. My perch atop the science building gives me the perfect vantage point to observe him, shrouded in shadow as the symbiote ripples across my skin.
"Are you certain he's our teleporter?" I whisper, watching the boy check his phone for the thousandth time.
My other half purrs beneath my skin, tendrils coiling through my veins with predatory anticipation. "Yes. I smelled him at lunch. Strange. Different. Not mutant."
I lean forward slightly, studying his frustrated movements. "I can't believe Parker actually stood him up after just meeting him." A small, vicious smile tugs at my lips. "Though I shouldn't be surprised."
"Parker always prioritizes 'justice' over personal connections," the symbiote hisses, memories of its former host coloring its thoughts with bitterness. "Always the hero first."
My eyes narrow as I watch the teleporter kick at the ground, his disappointment evident even from this distance. "I wonder if he knows more than we thought? Their meeting could be more than coincidence."
The symbiote shifts beneath my skin, its consciousness brushing against mine with a memory, the way the teleporter's eyes had lingered on me in the dining hall earlier today.
“He stared at you,” it reminds me, hunger threading through its alien voice. “Looked at you the way I look at a good meal.”
"Interesting," I murmur, letting my fingers trail along the rough concrete edge of the rooftop. "Very interesting."
The symbiote's eagerness pulses through our shared nervous system like electricity. “We should follow him. Learn more.”
"No," I whisper, the symbiote's disappointment rippling through our shared consciousness. "That would be a waste of time. Look at him, Parker clearly isn't going to show."
I watch the teleporter check his phone again, his shoulders slumping somehow further with each passing minute. A delicious idea forms in my mind, sending a thrill of anticipation through both myself and my other.
"Why follow when we can engage?" I murmur, feeling the symbiote's curiosity piquing. "We should go take him out. For a date."
The symbiote pulses with confusion beneath my skin. "A... date?"
"Yes," I smile, running my tongue across my teeth. "The perfect opportunity to learn what he knows about Parker, about his abilities. And if he's as interesting as we think, perhaps we've found ourselves a useful ally."
My other half considers this, tendrils of black sliding beneath my skin as it processes the suggestion. "Clever," it finally concedes, a note of admiration in its alien voice. "Prey is easier to catch when it comes willingly."
I feel my lips curl into a predatory smile. "Exactly."
Standing, I let the symbiote recede, pulling back into my cells until I appear completely human again. I smooth my blonde hair, adjusting my clothes with practiced precision. The transformation always leaves me feeling electric, like I've just mainlined pure adrenaline.
"Time to make a better impression than Parker did," I murmur, making my way toward the roof access door.
*****
[Shane’s POV]
I'm just about to give up and head back inside when a voice behind me cuts through the silence.
"Let me guess, stood up?"
I turn to find Ellie Brock standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of her leather jacket, looking like she just stepped off a fashion magazine cover. My heart does a weird double-thump in my chest.
"That obvious, huh?" I manage, trying not to stare.
Up close, she's even more intimidating than I remembered from the dining hall. Those blue eyes seem to see right through me, like she's peeling back my layers one by one. She's taller than me by more than a few inches, and the confident way she carries herself makes the difference feel even more pronounced.
"Twenty minutes of watching someone check their phone while looking increasingly miserable? Yeah, pretty obvious," she says with a half-smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"You've been watching me?" I ask, not sure if I should be flattered or creeped out.
She shrugs, an elegant movement that somehow makes me hyper-aware of my own awkward posture. "I was passing by."
"Passing by for twenty minutes?" I ask with a nervous laugh, suddenly feeling both flattered and exposed under those piercing blue eyes.
"I notice things. Journalism habit," she says dismissively.
My brain catches up to the moment and I blurt out, "I guess I just didn't know you were such a walker, Ellie."
Her entire body goes rigid, tension rippling through her tall frame like I've just shocked her with a cattle prod. Those intense blue eyes narrow to dangerous slits.
"You know my name?" Her voice drops an octave, suddenly sharp as a blade.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, mentally kicking myself. I've just revealed I know who she is without any introduction.
I clear my throat, scrambling for a believable explanation. "I, uh... I saw how that whole Sin-Eater thing went down a few months ago. The articles about it, I mean." I stuff my hands in my pockets, trying to look casual while my heart hammers against my ribs. "Just wanted to say I think it could have happened to anyone in your position. You got screwed over."
And I mean it, too. From what I remember of the comics, Eddie Brock had been set up to fail by circumstances beyond his control. The same must be true for Ellie.
Something flickers behind her eyes, surprise, suspicion, maybe a hint of vulnerability quickly masked by hardening resolve. She takes a half-step closer, her height advantage forcing me to tilt my head up to maintain eye contact.
"Most people just call me a fraud or a failure," she says, her voice quiet but intense. "Not many take my side in that particular story."
I shrug, trying to ignore how my skin prickles with goosebumps at her proximity. "Seemed pretty obvious to me that you were just trying to do your job. "
She studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. I'm acutely aware of how easily she could snap me in half if she wanted to, even without the symbiote, she looks like she bench presses guys like me for breakfast.
"You're an interesting guy..." She pauses expectantly.
"Shane," I supply. "Shane Steele."
"Well, Shane Steele," she says, my name rolling off her tongue like she's tasting it, "since your date clearly isn't showing up, how about you let me buy you dinner instead?"
Warning sirens blare in my head. I'm staring into the eyes of a future supervillain who's probably already bonded with an alien symbiote. The rational part of me is screaming to run far away from this walking disaster.
But my eyes have a mind of their own, trailing down her athletic frame. The leather jacket can't hide those shoulders, the confident stance that radiates strength. I've always had a thing for women muscle mommies. Ellie Brock isn't just fit, she's like some Norse warrior goddess stepped out of Valhalla and decided to try journalism instead of conquering nations.
A sigh escapes my lips as I recognize what's happening. My higher brain functions are losing a battle to something much more primal. I'm not entirely at the wheel here, and I know it.
"I'd love to," I hear myself say, the words tumbling out before I can reconsider. "Where did you have in mind?"
Ellie's smile widens, revealing perfect teeth that I can't help but imagine elongating into Venom's fangs. "I know a place near campus. Good food, quiet enough to actually talk." She gestures with her head. "This way."