Disclaimer: I do not own Venom

A/N: SO, OVER A YEAR, 30 CHAPTERS AND 160 000 WORDS, AND IT WAS ABOUT DAMN TIME WE GOT TO THIS PART! Seriously tho, this chapter was an absolute joy to write, and I'm so glad we've finally reached it. I'm sorry that it's taken so long and that I've been absent for a little over a month (Which, actually, isn't much in comparison to the other stories I've neglected...). However, I've spent the last couple of days with this chapter now, and I've made it extra long in order to compensate.

I really don't want Evelyn to become a hero-wannabe, which is what I'm trying to steer from. Still, I had to find a way to make her play a role in the chase, but without affecting too much of it. She has NO control of Lasher, I repeat, she doesn't immediately learn how to use them, but she attempts to make it work just enough for them to likely survive.

Also, hints and clips regarding Venom 2 have been published online, and thus far, I'm interested. Carnage's involvement will play a huge part later on, which I'm somewhat building up on. Still, that's a bit away from now.

Warning ahead: This chapter contains mentions of sexual content, though in a non-elaborative way.

Additional art will be posted on my DeviantArt account: X-KuroShiro-X

As always: Read, review and enjoy!

Chapter 31: Give Chase

By the time Eddie found himself awake again, he was walking down the streets of downtown San Francisco with sweat practically dripping off his body by the liters. His body was drenched through the fabric of his clothes, and his heart was racing a million miles per minute. If anything, he believed that he had run a marathon in his sleep, but his lack of appropriate clothing and surroundings for an occasion such as that verified that he could not have been sprinting for the sake of sports.

He immediately stopped in his tracks, his hands shaking and his bodily fluids pouring down his forehead. "Wh- What the fuck just – Where the hell am I?" His voice was quivering as if he had been cold prior to regaining consciousness.

"Mr. Brock, I see you have regained consciousness," said a cold and unbearably recognizable voice. March turned to face him, her doctor's coat was wrapped around her waist, revealing her white-but-equally-tarnished shirt beneath. It felt strange to see her wear something but that coat, but his attention was hardly aimed at that given the moment.

In a fit of panic, he looked around himself, trying to make any sense as to why he was there in the first place.

The last thing he recalled was the burning building, and then he blacked out completely. The next thing he knew, they were both out of harm's way, in a completely different part of the city. At first, he had imagined it all to be but a vivid and - mildly put - fucked-up dream he had inadvertently conjured from months of bad eating and overall destructive habits, but the scent of smoke which still lingered on him debunked the theory he desperately wanted to be unreal.

"What happened?!" He just barely shouted and quickly lowered his tone. "Where the fuck are we? How- How did we get here?" Questions were spewing out of his mouth like saliva, but the oncologist seemed less than affected by this display.

She stopped promptly in her steps and looked at him with what Eddie could only classify as mild annoyance.

"We walked," she said simply.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about,"

"... Alright," She crossed her arms over her chest and looked like she was ready to tell a story. "The alien organism that resides in you has the intent of retrieving Carlton Drake's rocket in order to reach his home planet, and in exchange for our assistance in doing so, he will help us bring Drake down and leave earth permanently along with his kin," She talked of this as though weather was the topic of her words.

Eddie choked on his breath, having forgotten how to breathe for a moment. He probably would have laughed his ass off had March given the slightest indication that she was bluffing about what she had said.

She had to be bluffing! That entire sentence was a roller-coaster from start to finish, so it only made sense for her to be joking, though it would be unbearably uncharacteristic of her to do so. Ever since the first time since he met her, never once had she ever laughed or smiled; much less joked about something.

If this was a joke, then this would have to be the best one yet he had ever heard in his entire life.

However, Eddie's hopes and dreams were swiftly buried underground.

There was no smile featured on March's face; no wink; no physical sign of humor at. all. Whereas he was freaking out like he woke up in Hell on a bicycle, March did not seem any different than she usually did, though the bags under her eyes seemed like they were six feet deep, and her posture had changed. It was barely noticeable, but if there was one thing he had learned from his career, it was to take note of the subtle signs. For example, whereas March would previously walk with her shoulders high and her stance straight, now she was slightly hunched over, and her eyes radiated with thrice as much fatigue as they previously did, which said a lot.

She had not been bluffing at all.

Fuuuuuuck…

"You're … serious?" What little hope had previously manifested in him scattered like dust in the wind as the realization came crashing down at him like the meteor that sent the dinosaurs into a state of extinction. "You're… You're actually serious?"

"Under which part of circumstances like these would I be anything but serious?" she asked.

Eddie scratched the back of his head sheepishly; she had a point there. While humor was a defense mechanism in itself, it would be deemed inappropriate even now. Still, her explanation left another question unanswered for. "You spoke to him?" he asked and pointed hesitantly at his head.

She gave a brief nod. "I did,"

"… Did he do to me … like that –" Eddie pointed at her with the same trembling finger. " – did to you?"

March looked at his finger for a moment, then shifted her gaze back at him, equally unimpressed. "Yes,"

"And what did … he look like?"

For the first time since he met her, March looked like she did not possess any answers or snarky comments. She narrowed her eyes, but this time it wasn't aimed directly at him, then she made strange movements with her hands like she was about to mimic what she had seen. Of course, none of the movements made any sense to Eddie, but he followed along regardless.

"Considerably large," she said as she motioned with her hands. "Eight to ten feet at most. Black of color,"

"The actual fuck?"

" – Missing several human features; a nose, ears, pupils, genitalia,"

Eddie decided he'd rather not become vocal about the image he was getting into his head as a product of the doctor's vague descriptions of what he looked like when under the control of the extraterrestrial organism. Needless to say, if it wasn't pleasant imagery for him, it definitely wouldn't be pleasant for her, and not even Eddie resented her enough to expose her to that image, though he doubted it would have much of an impact on her considering she already knew what it looked like.

But one thing that unnerved him was her lack of reaction towards this. If anything, she spoke as though she was diagnosing one of her patients, and he didn't quite like that comparison. Another matter was that the more she kept enlisting things regarding what the creature did or did not possess of human qualities, the more Eddie realized that this was almost the furthest thing from human as possible, and she did not even flinch.

"How are you so calm about this?" he said before he could evaluate his words, and by the time he realized what he had just said, the enlisting stopped and March met his gaze with equal perplexity, which is something he didn't believe she was capable of.

"I tend not to … get too invested in something that could potentially –"

He rolled his eyes. "English, please?"

She paused. "I don't want to react in a way that's … inconvenient,"

"I think, at this point, we're past inconveniences,"

"Maybe…"

Eddie rubbed his temples, feeling worse than he did during a hangover on a Saturday night, or any night, considering he was unemployed and didn't really have anything to fill his days with. Running away with a psychotic doctor and an alien was as good as it was going to get on a Wednesday, at least. "So, what was this about a rocket, you said?"

"We need to –"

Her eyes grew sharp and she abruptly pulled him by the arm and into the side of the barren road. She swung him into one of the dark alleys behind a trashcan and before he could even protest to the harsh treatment, she placed a finger over her lips and gestured for him to be quiet. Eddie could feel his own lips seal up as if they had been glued together, but he was in no foul mood to be questioning it anymore.

March herself hurriedly threw herself on the other side of the alley behind a bunch of wooden boxes and knelt down, her eyes glued onto the road like a predator about to ambush the prey that had been unfortunate enough to earn itself the carnivore's attention.

Not even a minute later did the sound of a motorcycle making its way up the road echo through the silent street, and what looked like a lone biker dressed in all black pull up next to the entrance of the alleyway. Their face was obscured in the dark, but judging from the person's built and shaven head, it could easily be assumed that it was a guy.

At first, Eddie didn't know what the big deal was until he laid his eyes on the back of the biker, and noticed the all-too-familiar insignia of the Life Foundation adorning his jacket.

This wasn't good, but it seemed like the person was alone without the rest of his cult accompanying him. Still, Eddie had taken into consideration not to underestimate the LF or any of their deranged followers, so he held his breath and tried not to make a sound, although standing next to a trashcan filled with rotting food, waste, and Lord-knew what else made that a chore on its own.

The biker got off his motorcycle and scanned the perimeter around him for any sign of life, though there was little that could be found. Only the occasional stray cat, rats, and what sounded like "FUCK YOU, MARK!" in the distance could be heard, but nothing seemingly worth taking note of. The biker, albeit unreadable, seemed discontent with this lack of activity. He snapped his head to the alleyway where they hid and took a couple of steps to further evaluate it.

Eddie could feel his chest threaten to burst out of his chest and he covered his mouth, no longer relying on the alien's ability to keep it shut. He quickly looked over at March. She had pressed herself further up against the wall, a severe expression on her face that could rival the ones she had previously had, which said something. Her white clothing could easily give her away, and that's when he remembered the black shirt he still had tucked inside the pocket of his hoodie. If they made it out of here alive, he would be sure to give it to her before they ventured further.

The biker pulled out a gun from his back, readying it as he stepped further. He was close now, unbearably so, but he didn't seem like he had successfully been able to notice them yet. Eddie couldn't tell if this was a sign of lack of expertise or just plain nearsightedness. Whatever the reason behind it, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Why are we hiding?" the voice asked like a child being denied candy on a Saturday, but Eddie wasted no breath trying to explain the situation when it was fairly obvious.

Step after step, the man went further and further into the dark alleyway. Eddie knew that the man was alone, and he could quickly throw him into a wall if he wished, but he could not decide on whether it would be wise or plain foolishness. After all, the man could be directly linked to the rest of the squad that were hunting them down, so he didn't want to play with that risk.

That was the initial idea, but it seemed like his companion thought otherwise.

As the biker tilted his head to Eddie's side, he must have noticed him, because he instantly raised his gun and prepared to shoot. The biker's cold eyes fell over the ex-journalist as he prepared to make the incapacitation probable.

However, before he could get as far, a loud bang! followed by a pregnant silence pierced through the air. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but then the biker let out an audible grunt and his body went limp to the ground, knocked out cold.

Eddie looked up and was surprised to see March with a piece of wood in her grip, and while her hold was firm, it was shaking. It seemed like she wasn't used to knocking people unconscious on a whim, and it was a trait he surprisingly respected.

"Not … bad," he offered and got up to his feet, stepping straight over the body with little concern.

March spared a look at the unconscious man before haphazardly threw the plank to the side next to the wooden crates she had been hiding besides previously. "That was … strange," she said.

"It worked," Eddie said nonchalantly with a shrug and shared her view of the man's unmoving form. A part of him wanted to feel sorry for the idiot, but the rest of him didn't.

"It would have been easier if we handled the situation," the voice snarled, but Eddie ignored it like before. He bent down and searched the unconscious man for anything valuable, but found little more than an earpiece, an ID that displayed the man's face and name, and some handcuffs, which he made sure to use well. Without wasting time, he quickly cuffed the man to one of the pipes and looked through his ID.

"Paul Ricardo," he read aloud. "Age 32, a piece of shit in his spare time, and a hired mercenary when on duty. Employed January 2., 2014,"

March eyed him disinterestedly for a moment but didn't let her mind linger on it for longer than she deemed worthwhile. She reached down for the gun that laid on the ground and pulled out the magazine, counting every bullet that remained. Then, without hardships, she promptly put it back together and proceeded to put on the safety lock.

Eddie couldn't deny his surprise. He had been in the army, and not even he was necessarily an expert within that field. Still, she was able to manage it relatively easy; if he didn't know any better, he might have guessed that she had prior experience with a handgun.

"You know how to handle a gun?" he asked.

"My father is a police officer,"

"He taught you how to use it?"

"Yes,"

He would have never guessed that. It was almost impressive. Well, considering how this was the first thing he'd ever heard about any of her family, he wouldn't have guessed anything about her life, really.

"So, you're pretty close to your parents, then?" He threw the earpiece and ID into the trashcan without even looking, but not before making sure that the earpiece was thoroughly crushed.

March did not answer back this time, hinting to Eddie that that territory was not one he wished to enter.

However, thinking back on it, Eddie realized that knew absolutely nothing about March, and even though these were hardly the best circumstances for making acquaintanceships, if he was going to work properly together with her, then he needed to be sure that they were on the same page.

You would think that running for their dear lives together from an inhumane organization in the middle of the night in downtown San Francisco would establish something akin to a trustworthy relationship between two individuals – at least some kind of bond – but Eddie wasn't sure whether it not it was an option just yet. Fuck, she had touched his face on several accounts to inspect him like a test subject, but that didn't make things easier. They had saved each other at times, as much as true, but not because of anything remotely similar to subjective attachments. It was business, but these circumstances had forced them to go further than that.

This was becoming increasingly more personal, which could win the prize of being The Understatement of the Year.

"Look," he said after what felt like an eternity of awkward silence in the middle of the alley. "If we're going to work together on this – whatever it is we're trying to do – I need to know that I can trust you,"

March spared him a brief look over her shoulder but didn't push the subject.

Eddie took this as a sign that she was listening. "Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying we should head out and braid each others' hair and whatnot," God, if there was such a thing as self-mutilation, this was the closest thing he'd get without using a knife or a cleaver. "However, I think we need to establish some kind of common ground,"

"What are you implying, Mr. Brock?"

"First of all, stop it with the 'Mr. Brock' crap. It's giving me the chills, and it reminds me too much of my old man. Eddie's fine," He dug his hand into his hair and sighed. "Second, I'd rather get to know someone a bit more before I trust them wholly,"

"Now is hardly the time to make acquaintances,"

On that, they could agree.

"I get it, but it'll make things easier to get the basics done with," Eddie walked towards her, extended his hand, and took a deep breath. "My point is … we work together as a team now. No more ignoring each other like the plague, and no more awkward silence. We get through this together, then we split up for good. Deal?"

March eyed his hand suspiciously, refusing to take it for some reason. She was a doctor, so it didn't seem too out of the question for her to be germaphobic, but Eddie somehow doubted this was related to any affliction or disease. It couldn't beat having a para – alien lifeform crawling inside of you, now could it? If that was the case, then she seriously had her priorities messed up.

However, she exceeded his expectations when she grabbed a hold of his hand. Her touch was … surprisingly warm, but that didn't make up for how distant it felt. Granted, Eddie didn't expect her to be all buddy-buddy with him, so he took what he could get without complaints.

"Deal," she said.

For a moment, their eyes met. Though they never exchanged a word between the mutual, albeit reluctant, handshake, the eye-contact they shared somehow seemed to make up for their lack of verbal conversation. Eddie easily took note of the green of her eyes; the color of grass, the symbol of life, but strangely transparent.

Eddie had adapted himself to a rather cynical approach in life. Every stranger could be a potential threat; someone who could easily betray him or use him for their own gain. Evil, in other words. It was easy to perceive, but what struck him as most surprising was the fact that March's eyes, albeit cold, didn't have a smidgen of evil behind them.

There was just … deepness – a coastal shelf that plummeted into a deep abyss, and he could vaguely spot himself in that reflection.

Realizing that he had been staring, Eddie promptly let go of her hand and turned away. "Sorry," he muttered.

March didn't say anything to acknowledge it, for which he was grateful.

"Now, let's see," he moved past the tragedy of their recent awkward encounter and shifted his attention to the motorcycle that was still graciously parked up by the entrance of the alleyway. As he got to it, Eddie studied its design and was instantly impressed by its functions. Granted, he wasn't exactly certain what kind of model it was, but he could almost immediately tell that it was far more complex than his own had been, though it could be credited to the fact that it belonged to a fancy and privileged organization rather than an unemployed, semi-alcoholic ex-journalist.

And fortunately for them, the key was still attached, so it was already good to go. "We can use this,"

As she reached him to evaluate the state of the vehicle, March quirked an eyebrow. "I hope you are aware that the act of stealing a vehicle is a felony?"

"Oh my god," Eddie whispered. "I just watched you wack a guy over the head with a plank. You got no room to judge. Besides, do you really think the court is going to worry about a stolen motorcycle when we give them the evidence?"

She didn't argue against it, which Eddie took as a sign that she agreed. That would, perhaps, be the first time they had actually agreed on something.

"But before we leave," Eddie said and pulled the shirt out for her to see; the same one he had gathered from the now-demolished shop they had hidden in earlier. "You're too conspicuous walking around in a bloodied lab-coat, wouldn't you say?" He gestured to her clothes, and she glanced down at herself as well to note the mess. It would seem that she had not spent a moment to look at herself since … well, he had no clue, and he wasn't about to ask about it either.

Without a word, he handed her the shirt and she took it, but not before spending a moment to evaluate it. She unfolded the piece of fabric and held it up, taking note of both its size and its overall appearance. Eddie had to admit, it was decent enough, if not a bit oversized. Still, he didn't take her for being someone who worried about style, much less overall appearances.

It would seem he was right because March neither commented on it. She haphazardly put the shirt down on top of the bike's seat and proceeded to unfold her lab coat from her waist. However, as she did so, her eyes fell to something on – or rather in – the coat's pockets, and she dug out what looked like some kind of passcard and … a hard-drive? Small, inconspicuous, but he was curious about what it contained.

The oncologist stared down at the small object in her palm for a solid moment or two, then she unexpectedly stretched it to Eddie. He froze in his steps, unnerved and caught by surprise like a child about to be scolded. He looked down at the hard-drive for a split second, then back at her for some kind of validation. "What is this?"

"It contains all the necessary information and proof you need against Carlton Drake, in case the pictures you took won't do," March explained, and he could tell from her expression that she was … melancholic, to an extent. Her eyes were aimed down at the hard-drive with some kind of resentment detectable in her irises.

"Dor – Dr. Skirth managed to download all the classified intel onto this hard-drive before she was …" Her voice went quiet and her hand, albeit subtly, began to shake.

That made Eddie think. He was never told specifically what happened to Dr. Skirth, but he guessed that it did not end well. "She didn't make it,"

"They found her downloading that information, so she was killed,"

Hearing this, Eddie cast a glance down at the hard-drive and hesitantly took it. Skirth had died trying to ensure their victory, but suddenly it didn't feel like they had done much progress. They were just running in circles around the city, trying desperately to avoid Treece and his goons. What were they really doing? What had really happened?

Whose blood was March really covered in?

"Before you got to my apartment, you were already covered in blood," he said. "Was it all yours?"

"It was,"

"And it began when you bonded with that – symbiote?"

Before she had as much as opened her mouth to offer him a proper response, she grabbed the edge of her shirt and proceeded to blatantly lift it up in an effort to get it off of her. The skin of her waist up until her chest went bare and Eddie felt his face turn heated as the outline of her bra came to view.

He quickly turned himself around from the sight, feeling like a teenager being caught peeking into the girls' locker room by mistake.

"Jesus, give me a warning next time," he choked out and covered his face with his free hand, feeling the heat creep further up his cheeks.

The voice chuckled, "Pervert,"

"Shut up,"

There was a moment of silence from March, then came a bland, "Apologies,"

Eddie silently swore to himself and listened as she put the store-shirt on. By mistake, he caught a glimpse of her as she pulled the shirt down, and the visible red mark over her abdomen did not go unnoticed. While it was brief and provided him by no means any view of the situation that had occurred, questions started going off inside him. No flesh wound of any kind, yet enough blood to indicate that there had been one there previously.

Once she was done, March turned to him with the same indifferent look in her eyes, almost as if she cared little about the fact that he had – unintentionally, mind you – seen her partially undressed. Knowing her, however, she could care less if she stood bare on the street. Eddie didn't know whether he found her lack of shame endearing or slightly disturbing, but he wasn't about to question the woman's behavior any more than he already had. Besides, it was none of his business.

"Well, is it okay?" he found himself asking as he returned to face her, scratching the back of his head. It did look a little big on her, but nothing that couldn't be managed. With the exception of the small Buddy's Shop insignia patched on the sight side, there was nothing off-putting about it.

"It's good enough," she said, sounding surprisingly content, though to a limited extent. She held her arms slightly up and Eddie watched as the sleeves slid down to her elbows. Alright, it was slightly bigger than he had anticipated, but he doubted it could become a problem. Without even thinking, he placed the hard-drive in his pocket, reached forward, gently grabbed March's arm and began to fold them up so that it could be easier for her. Unexpectedly, March allowed this without a word or an utter of a complaint, but it was evident that the act surprised her as much as it surprised him.

They stood there in mutual silence as Eddie folded both sleeves up to her elbow, and his eyes unintentionally trailed to her waist where he had seen the blood. "What happened back there?" he heard himself asking before he could prevent it.

March went quiet again, but this time, it did not last. "Because of what Dor – Dr. Skirth did, Drake deemed her expendable,"

It didn't take an IQ of 150 to know the meaning of that, but he questioned it regardless. "You said Lasher killed her?"

"Worse," March said, biting the inside of her lips before continuing. "Drake locked her in a cell … and released it upon her. Her death was … slow; torturous,"

Eddie could feel her arm tremble as he finished folding. "Did they find out about your involvement?" he asked.

She shook her head. "She denied by accountability, and that was apparently all Drake needed,"

"You didn't try to help her?" Eddie asked, his voice threatening to rise.

"… I did," she said, and Eddie couldn't tell whether or not his eyes were betraying him, but she almost looked … sad. "Once Drake left, I tried. Treece found out, and he …" She clenched her hand over where Eddie had seen the blood, and suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle aligned into a whole picture.

"He hurt her,"

He couldn't tell whether the voice inside was his own or otherwise this time. It was hard to differentiate between the two. Instead of looking straight at her, Eddie looked away from her, not knowing what to say, or how to say it. He had been in shitty situations before in life, mostly due to his own recklessness as a teenager, but he wouldn't exactly compare that to being shot, though there had been close-encounters in the past. He doubted consoling her like a sick puppy would bring either of them joy, so he settled for silence once again.

His eyes fell on hard-drive in his pocket again, and he pulled it out. As he studied the small thing in his grip, it was almost hard to imagine that something seemingly so insignificant was deemed worth a human life, or several in this case. Something that could get him his life back came at the cost of someone else's. If he knew that the price of getting his life, his career, and possibly his ex-girlfriend back would be at the expense of someone else, Eddie couldn't tell for certain if he would have done it, but it was too late now.

"Did she have any family?" he asked quietly.

"She has a sister and a young son," March answered. "Possibly more, but I know of no one else,"

"Jesus," he whispered, guilt eating him up sooner than the thing inside him did. "Poor kid," Eddie didn't have a mother while growing up, which was something his father never cared enough to keep from him. Still, this wasn't the best moment to compare situations, as much as a part of him wanted it to be.

"Once this is over, if we survive," March said. "I have a promise to uphold,"

Eddie perked up. "A promise?"

"A message to relay to her son,"

"Which is?"

March placed a finger over her lips at this, and for just a split second, Eddie swore he could see the ghost of a smile grow on them. "It's confidential,"

Strangely enough, Eddie found himself chuckling. "Well, fuck, then we have got to survive this shitshow. Can't disappoint the kid now, can we?"

"I suppose not, but where are we going?"

"We need to get to the city. You said we need that rocket, right?"

"Straight for the LF, then?"

"I first need to make a stop someplace, but it will be quick,"

"Won't that attract their attention?"

"... Yes," It wasn't going to be easy.

March became skeptic again. "I assume you have a plan?"

"Eh … twelve percent of one,"

While the numbers did not add up at all, March nonetheless grabbed ahold of the LF passcard and shoved it into her pocket, then proceeded to grab the gun as well. Eddie didn't want to guess where it was applicable to put it, nor was he about to suggest anything. He got onto the motorcycle, turned the key, and gave it a good kick before it started. He gestured for her to get down on it as well, but not before taking into consideration that she would be forced to hold onto him as not to accidentally fall of. Of course, she would probably be fine just clutching onto the fabric of the back of his hoodie, but he wanted to be on the safe side.

And the thought of that was … well … strange.

As March got onto the bike, Eddie let out an uncomfortable sigh as he forced the words out of him. "Hold tightly onto me,"

To his surprise, without a word, the doctor did just that without complaint. He could feel her arms as they wrapped around his waist and her tingers knotted against each other tightly, keeping her in place. Her front was against his back, and he could feel her warmth as though it was a part of his own.

She was warm.

You would expect someone like her to be cold.

Without saying anything, Eddie turned the handle and on their way they went.

Carlton was anxious, or rather, he was agitated. It wasn't often he acknowledged such human faults within himself, but on the few occasions that he did, it was unbearable. Control was something he always sought, regardless of the occasion. Not to have it was … difficult. With his suspicions confirmed regarding the whereabouts of SYM-A02, mixed feelings stirred up in his chest regarding how he was supposed to handle the situation accordingly. Both of his symbiotes were at the hands of people who opposed them, and one of them happened to be someone he had previously placed his entire trust in. Someone he believed shared his goal with him.

One if Treece's subordinates – his subordinates – had informed him of what they had seen. A woman matching Evelyn's descriptions had been reportedly seen inside of the Richmond District, along with Brock.

If Treece thought he was being discreet, then two tours to Afghanistan had not served him as well as he had believed.

Carlton stood outside of the room from the rest of his staff, secluded, as he usually was. Whilst they were evaluating the chase like spectators in the Colosseum, he was thinking thoroughly.

His arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed to the floor, he knew he had to find some way to handle the situation without potentially risking the subjects. For now, he was astonished by the fact that not only had the hosts survived contact, but they were practically merged together; the goal this entire project had been aimed towards had been achieved, but not in the most conventional manners.

Brock, now that he could have expected, even without Dora's assistance. The man had always had a streak about him which Carlton found most unnecessary and unwanted, like an unruly child in need of strict discipline before entering the majority of society. Taking away everything in Brock's life had never been Carlton's goal, not intentionally at least, but it served as a means to make people understand that approaching things the way Brock did seldom had favorable outcomes.

But Evelyn, now that was something he had not expected at all, and he felt his fingers curl into his arms as the oh-so-sour taste of betrayal landed on his tongue. He had not expected this outcome at all; he had trusted her, almost to the extent where he compared that trust to the one he held towards Dora prior to her demise. Carlton thought – knew – that Evelyn had shared his views, his goals, and his mindset. Sacrifices were necessary – painful, but necessary to the core – if they wanted to save humanity as a whole.

He thought she understood that – a part of him still did – but then why was she running away from them in the first place with Brock, instead of surrendering peacefully to the mercenaries? Was she blackmailed in any way by Brock to cooperate? Was he jumping to conclusions too soon?

The first female to successfully bond with a host for a prolonged period without any signs of side-effects. It was a miracle, and Carlton's mind buzzed with all the progress this could mean; all the advancement. While subject T790129 had provided some results, this was different. This was symbiosis; the core of their project.

Truly something akin to a second Eve.

But that would have to wait. For now, he needed to deduce. How had she even managed to bond with it in the first place?

The symbiote had been locked with Skirth, and there had been no way for her to open the cell – even if she had wanted to. The passcard didn't permit access into two hours later, and before them, the staff would contain the subject and discard Dora's corpse. She could not have gained entry without some sort of assistance from someone Carlton knew had the authority to enter cells with or without his knowledge. His scientists were completely under his supervision, Charlie didn't have the balls to walk into the labs on his own, and security did not have authorized access.

But one of them did.

Carlton bit the inside of his lip until he felt it draw a drop of blood, but he paid it no mind. He had suspected as much, and this was something he was going to bring up later.

For now, all that was required was to capture the subjects alive and bring them to the facility. Afterward, he could begin questioning them. All of them, and boy, did he have some questions to ask.

They rode down the streets of San Francisco in total silence. While it would have been preferable under ordinary circumstances, for some reason, Evelyn found it particularly unwelcoming. It probably had to do with the fact that each time she kept her eyes closed for just a couple of seconds, her drowsiness would take over and her head would slump against the ex-journalists back like dead weight. Each time that occurred, she would promptly regain focus and try her damnedest not to allow it to repeat.

But it did. Thrice, and each time she regained consciousness, she would tighten her hold around Mr. Bro - … Eddie's back. Each time she did so, Evelyn swore she could feel her chest grow warmer, although she had no certain answer behind why that was. Most likely a side-effect of her lethargy accompanied by some kind of external factor, though she neither possessed the energy nor the interest of deducing what that was. Still, as she sat back there on the motorcycle within so close proximity to the ex-journalist, a part of her could not help but subtly scoff at the irony of the whole ordeal.

This was the physically closest she had been to someone who did not wish to kill her for a while, and it occurred while her life was at peril. She couldn't tell if it was highly inconvenient or fascinating, so she decided not to address it aloud. Being this close to someone was … not as common as it used to be before.

Despite her lack of general interest in it, Evelyn was no stranger towards engaging in physical intimacy with others. While she would often find it unnecessary or just outright tedious to preform – her first encounter proved just that - she was not prude to the extent where she denied herself the access to it if she had a twinge of interest. Finding a temporary partner posed as no difficulty either, though she would refrain from picking someone off the streets like a harlot. Some times it would be a colleague she had little to no contact with for the sake of maintaining a professional relationship with, other times it would be someone she met at a conference with no intention of seeing afterward. The only qualification she required was someone of a sound mind and a healthy physique.

The number of people she had been with wasn't excessive, but sound enough. She had no interest in pursuing them further after their encounter, and if that was the case, it was never for the sake of establishing anything more than what had already been established before. It was simple like that; predictable, just as she preferred things. They would exchange favors, fulfill each other's physical needs, share their warmth, along with a bed, but that was all there ever was to it. They would part ways afterward, and nothing else would ever become of it. Physical intimacy was … It was just that. Physical. There was nothing to gain from it other than temporary bliss, and even she indulged in it from times to times, but just as a means to temporarily rid herself of the many internal faults she had no control of.

The people who spoke of 'emotional closeness' and 'fulfillment' knew nothing. They were living in a fantasy; a wonderland of their own delusions.

While it had been some time since her last encounter, she was still perfectly able to recall his warmth. They had been tangled in sheets, as close as it could be, and his body had felt like a blazing pressed to hers. They had been sweating profusely, moving in sync, until the entire room felt like a bathhouse. She could recall everything as though it had been only yesterday; everything from the furniture aligned with the room, to the features of the man's face; Sturdy, smooth like freshly-carved marble, but he harbored nothing akin to affection for her, nor her to him. He had only looked at her once through the thing, poised on top of her, and that had been all.

And even so, she found herself comparing that encounter with the predicament she was currently forced into. Back then, she had been completely exposed, covered in sheets with someone else over her. Now, she was sitting completely dressed on a motorcycle on her way into the center of San Francisco while holding onto someone she had barely known for longer than 24-hours, and yet … the latter provided her with more warmth than the former had.

It didn't make sense, and the feeling was a foreign one, but she did not wish to waste time dissecting the situation to analyze each individual part.

Instead, Evelyn let her gaze wander to the city as the view passed her by. Strands of her hair flew in her face but kept the view as serene as possible. The sight of the buildings and the people was prominent; even in the dead of night, there was life to be seen. Stores were open and selling, cars were moving around at almost an equal pace as them, and the number of people she saw walking the streets was astonishing.

Even after almost ten years of living there, Evelyn had never once spent a moment to marvel at the view. How ironic that only when her life was at risk did she stop to smell the roses, in a way of speaking (she assumed that was the correct way to say it). What had primarily attracted her to the city was that it was far from Michigan; the place she wanted to stay in the least. It was also further away from New York, which was also someplace she also wanted to stray as far away from as possible. None of those places brought her any happiness, so San Francisco was the perfect place to escape to.

Still, even now, it proved that past actions could still catch up to you.

But for once, it felt good to not be alone in it.

"You still holding on?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder to look at her.

"I am," she replied.

The moment their eyes briefly met, he shifted his attention back to the road but kept his mouth open to speak as they sped through the streets. "Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"Why exactly did you join Drake on this … thing?"

Why? Because God abandoned them in a world filled with destruction? Because humanity would cease to survive unless they did something radical about it? Because she wanted to save them all? Or because she couldn't bear the thought of losing someone else to forces she had no control of?

"I wanted … to save people,"

"From what?"

"Diseases, the world, themselves," For each word she spoke, her gaze wandered further to the ground.

"From themselves? How would you do that?"

"Humanity is … They are flawed. They keep on making decisions that destroy others or themselves; they are addicted to what affects them negatively, and sometimes they are aware of that, but they don't change anything. Even when they are capable of being saved, they choose not to,"

"So, you wanted to take away their ability to choose? Their flaws?"

"I wanted to make them less…" What was the word?

"Less human," he answered for her, as though having already seen through what she wanted to convey.

And he did.

"Yes,"

Rather than judging her as she had initially anticipated, instead, he came with something else to contradict her."Do you really think that would have helped? That it would have saved them?"

"I have seen how humans behave," she explained. "Some behave purely out of their own interests because they can, while others did nothing to save themselves because they wanted to be let go of," As she said this, Evelyn tightened her hold further around his waist, not aware of this until she could feel the wrinkles of his hoodie beneath the tips of her fingers. "Their choices are flawed,"

He did not address this behavior of hers, for which she was grateful, but that didn't keep him from speaking his mind. "But that's the point of humanity; Their flaws, and the right to choose what to do and what not to do,"

"Even when what they do is foolish,"

"Of course, but that's part of their nature," he said without pause. "You can't take away pieces of their humanity and still expect them to be completely human, can you? They'd be just … just …"

It clicked for her the same time it did him, and they said in perfect unison: "Machines,"

She knew what that term meant too well, yet years of being addressed as such had never affected her more than it did now. Void of life, of emotions, of sentiment; for so long she had imagined that she would be better off without it. It kept things blunt and straightforward, without complications and without fault. Many had condemned her for such an approach, patients and colleagues alike. She did not doubt that had her parents known, they would have looked at her the exact same way they did that day; cold, unyielding scorn and disappointment. Hate and resentment. She had earned their contempt from what she did that day, and it was also the day she learned that nothing is done out of sentiment provided with successful results.

And yet there she was; her actions had produced little - if any - positive results. Countless were dead, and more so were at risk unless she made up for it. She had sworn never to become a murderer, or a savior, but how odd would it be that the two of them coincided simultaneously? Being both the lamb and the lion; the prisoner and the executor; the killer and the victim; a human and a machine.

Was that what her situation had morphed into? An existential paradox?

How utterly wasteful, yet … so strange that such a subject would strike her at seemingly the most inconvenient time.

Evelyn pulled one of her arms back to her and looked down at her hand. She watched as her palm shifted briefly into a dark color akin to the kind you would expect to see on the grass at night, and a lukewarm feeling seeped through her nerves. The symbiote was still there, and the more she looked at it, the more she came to the conclusion that she no longer abhorred its existence as before. That didn't mean she enjoyed it, but a sense of kinship came over her. It had killed others, and it had nearly killed her, but how did that differ from what she had done herself? Was this her retribution?

Do to others as you would have them do to you.

If anything, she was less human now than anyone else on the planet, in more ways that one.

"Where did you say we were going?" she asked, trying her best to mask the internal conflict she could not bother to waste time on. It brought out a sense of agitation she wanted to disregard.

"Just away from here, for a start,"

"That was your twelve-percent-plan?"

"I'm working on it! It's better than walking all the time, at least!"

She had several theories why that mindset wouldn't help them in this particular situation, but none of them managed to become vocal before the sudden urge to "DUCK" befell her, and she promptly felt her body automatically assume a position in which she clung harshly around his waist to the point where she could feel his ribs slightly give in to her grip.

On point, Mr. – Eddie's body hunched slightly as well, and they watched as what appeared to be some kind of drone flew dangerously close over their heads and crashed onto the road ahead of them.

The impact sent the entirety of the road into a state of disarray. The explosion caused the majority of the cars to lose sight of their surroundings and accidentally crash into their fellows, further inducing the street with chaos. They barely managed to swing to the side as a car was on the verge of making a beeline towards them, but fortunately, Eddie proved to be a semi-decent bike-rider in terms of skill and precision. Evelyn could appreciate that, but the admiration did not manage to last for longer than they could stay out of harm's way.

"FUCK!" she heard Eddie yell, and it was when she looked up again that she discovered that the entirety of his right arm had turned completely black, and the speed picked up fairly quickly. They constantly had to maneuver their way around the cars in an effort not to get struck by what was on the ground and what was in the air above them, and when Evelyn shifted her attention to what was behind her, she came to the unwelcomed realization that there were at least eight or so drones hovering in the air above them, and cars resembling those belonging to the LF didn't stray far away either.

Damn it. This was bad. They had to find a way out of there that didn't result in anyone else being caught in the crossfire.

It didn't take long before two or three drones picked up on their pace, and Eddie evidently took this into consideration as he too began to pick up the pace even further than before. They were doubtlessly breaking more than a dozen sets of rules that circumvented the traffic, but there were other things to concern themselves with unless it affected the safety of the others (which it already did). Evelyn quickly shifted her attention back to the road ahead of them and did a quick evaluation of the path they were headed towards. There were too many obstacles blocking their path, both human and otherwise, and the drones kept on hindering their progress. These were self-destructive upon hitting the ground, and the cars that were unfortunate enough to block their path could vouch for that.

"Steer out of the main roads!" she yelled and adjusted her seating until she could get a full view of what was behind them.

"I'm trying!" he shouted back at her.

"Try harder!"

"You drive then!"

"I don't possess the required skills to drive this vehicle!"

"Then stop judging me!"

Ignoring his childishness, Evelyn assessed her surroundings and tried to come with a logical solution. She had to try and keep the drones off their backs, but doing so could also potentially harm anyone that was in their way. It was too risky, but … if she could somehow make it so that they would self-destruct prior to even hitting the ground and lessen the chances of them harming anyone…

With a sense of uncertainty lingering on her back, she reached for the gun she had tucked away and undid the safety lock. She held it with both hands on the same level as her eye and tried her best to aim at the closest drone that had yet to reach the asphalt. It had been quite some time since she last held a gun, and keeping a steady grip proved to be quite challenging on its own, especially given the road conditions.

Still, she evened her breathing pattern and placed her thumb gently over the trigger. Her father's word echoed in her head as she recalled the rules he had instructed to her.

Keep your aim sharp and your head sharper.

She aimed straight at the drone, composure intact.

Take a deep breath.

She took breath deep enough to fill both of her lungs, then proceeded to release it smoothly.

Fire the damn thing.

She pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the damned thing straight on, and it exploded into a thousand pieces at the spot; it descended down on the asphalt like drops of rain, but made no impact as a whole.

If there was a God, then even He would have been proud of such a feat.

"Holy shit!" Eddie let out a yelp and quickly turned around to look at what had happened. "What the shit was that?"

But Evelyn was in no mood to answer his queries. Aiming at the second drone closest to them, she simply said, "Keep driving," and was pleased to see that the ex-journalist heeded her words with no complaints whatsoever.

She reassumed her target and pulled the trigger, but missed her shot, as the drone dodged too quickly for her to be able to hit it. There were ten bullets left in the magazine, and she didn't know how many she could afford to waste. Evelyn shot again, but had no further luck, as the drone quickly maneuvered away. Damn, only nine left.

As she prepared to aim again, movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and before she had the time to process the view of the other incoming drone, she instinctively shielded her eyes with both of her arms and braced herself for impact. At any given moment, the feeling of cold iron would scrape her skin and leave her bleeding on the concrete, or otherwise inconveniently injured.

Yet there came nothing but the sound crushed metal and malfunctioning electronics, like squeezing a piece of tinfoil in your grip, accompanied by the noise coming from severed wires.

Evelyn slowly opened her eyes again and looked past what little her arms would allow to come to view, and when she saw what had happened, she breath got caught in her throat and her pupils shrunk ever so slightly.

A spear-like object the color of a dark blue had stretched forward and pierced straight through the drone like a needle through a piece of paper. Then, the spear swiftly withdrew and allowed the drone to fall to the ground and promptly out of sight down the road. Evelyn spent a moment to watch as the sharp tendril gradually withdrew itself back to where it had protruded from, which she came to realize had been her back. With a quick look over her shoulder, she watched as the substance merged with the fabric of her shirt and disappeared from view, as though nothing had been there at all.

That's right … she thought to herself. Lasher

"The host needs to cooperate and contribute to the union in order for it to function properly, but you show no sign of wanting to do so, which is why Lasher cannot work alone. They need you just as much as you need them in order to survive,"

They both had to survive this ordeal, and none of them could do it without the other.

Letting out a sigh, she said, "Alright, then. Let us give it a try,"

Constantly being shot at with drones, having to move out of the way on each and every turn, while being hunted down by a criminal organization had not exactly been how Eddie had imagined spending his day, but he had little choice in the matter anyhow. Between not getting run over, hit in the head with one of those flying machines, and simultaneously controlled by the thing inside of him, he couldn't say with certainty that he was doing a particularly good job at staying alive, but at least he was breathing, although his competency within that field too was far from perfect.

For each time a drone crashed down either in front of him, next to him, or right in the back of some poor guy's car, Eddie internally prayed that the ones unwillingly involved in this rather fucked-up accident were mostly unharmed. He really didn't need lives on his hands right now more than he probably had. However, on the other hand, he was oddly enough getting a hang of whatever the hell Venom was doing, and the alien had actually saved his ass several times now. First time with the drone that came above their head not too long ago, then second by steering away from the drones that came dashing from the side.

"Thank you!"

"You are welcome,"

That exchange must have been the most civil one they had ever had thus far, and Eddie found himself strangely elated because of that. Or, it was just a symptom of the shock his body was going through because of the countless attempts on his life already. Talking to a voice inside his head that turned out not to be the result of some underlying tumor went further down the list of shitty things that could happen to him. However, Venom's perception of speed and his control over it could be … discussed.

"Don't diss my driving if you want to live!"

"Fine! Sorry!"

After a while of driving, Eddie came to notice that none of the drones behind seemed to reach him in time. They would go off far behind him, or far enough to be unable to get to someplace where it could affect him. The sound of explosions was still very much audible from a length, but not enough to alarm him of any immediate dangers.

He briefly looked over his shoulder and what appeared to be … vines were striking at the drones behind them like flies. Sparks flew everywhere as they one by one disintegrated into dust before his eyes. At first, he swore he was seeing things, but as his eyes slowly trailed over to where March was sitting, and he realized that the vine-like things were actually coming from her.

Stretched out from her back, there were approximately four of them in total, several feet long, and they were all successfully taking down drone by drone until the number had lessened considerably. They would slice straight through them, pierce through their cores, or simply swing the devices into each other until there was nothing left of them but powder.

"How the actual fuck are you doing that?"

Her response was, as always, utterly calm, but her words were something else.

"I'm not the one doing anything,"

Eddie found himself so amazed – yet disturbed – by the sight that he momentarily forgot to focus on the road ahead of him. The sudden jerk of his head brought him back, and the voice reprimanded him like a child being caught not paying attention in class.

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

And Eddie did, without failure this time. The wind hit his face straight in the face and a few drops of tears slid to the sides. The sound of the drones being destroyed felt like music to his ears, but that alone was no indication that they were out of harm's way yet. It was just a symptom of the fact that they were closing in on it.

"Are you able to get them all?" he asked.

"I'm unable to get to the last one," she said, voice strained and seemingly agitated. Eddie could hear the air behind him shift, and as he cast a look over his shoulder again, he came to the disturbing realization that the last drone moved so quick that he could barely let his eye linger on it for less than a second before it shifted its position in the air again. Each time one of those vine-like tendrils would stretch towards it in an attempt to destroy it, the device would effectively avoid getting caught, and it was getting dangerously close to her. Less than a few feet, and it could potentially hit her directly.

Eddie tried to make a turn to shake it off them but to no avail. The road was too unsteady for March to get a good aim at it, much less keep herself down on the seat, and he feared the worst as he made out the sound of the device's engine right behind them.

"Oh God, NO!" His voice carried a sense of childishness which he despised, but that was a matter for another time.

Bracing for the worst, Eddie released his right hand and grabbed a hold of March's waist, pulling her as close to him as he could muster without risking breaking her ribs – it took some effort, considering the severity of the circumstances. However, if they were on the verge of losing their seats and crash into some building with several punctured lungs and bones to make up for the impact, then he would not let that happen without at least some effort in trying to keep them both safe.

Her back pressed to the side of his abdomen and Eddie shut his eyes as he waited for the explosion to go off and potentially send them both flying several feet in the air.

A black tendril then quickly shot out from his own back and grabbed ahold of a car-door from the side of the road, swung it up in front of them both, and successfully blocked the incoming drone as it proceeded to crash straight into the material. The moderate explosion sent sparks of electricity around everywhere and left behind a significant flame in its wake, but not large enough to cause any serious damage to any pedestrians that were unfortunate enough to find themselves close by.

As soon as the fire died out, the black substance seemingly haphazardly dropped the severed door to the ground and left it behind like collateral damage.

For each drone they lost at their disposal, Treece could feel his blood boil, and the likelihood of him inadvertently punching the driver in the car he was sitting in was getting increasingly plausible. He cursed the volume of a public speech as he watched Brock and that fucking doctor take down each of his assets, with seemingly some level of control over those parasites they were trying to recapture.

FUCK!

He proceeded to send more after them, maneuvering the devices so that they would successfully render their targets incapacitated without getting close enough to get demolished by whatever the fuck March was doing. Those appendages that developed from her back reminded him of the kind you would see in Sci-Fi movies. They were considerably sharp and could slice through his drones like chunks of meat. Still, he could tell from her expression alone that she had no real power over them; it was all that bug's doing, and whatever kept them both alive would suffice. They could only reach a certain length before they were forced to withdraw, either because the substance could not reach it or it was physically incapacitated by the capabilities of its host.

Still, Treece wasn't going to look the gift horse in the mouth, so he immediately took this into consideration as he sent a number of new drones at them, making sure that they kept their distance this time.

As he suspected, the doctor took note of this, as her attempts of keeping the dangers at bay were proved futile. Not to mention that – being the benevolent individual she was – she couldn't risk potentially hitting anyone else in the process, be it pedestrians or other cars. That was a rule Treece was not above breaking to the extent where he was willing to crush it to debris.

Without a moment's reluctance, he aimed one of the drones at the car closest to them, sending the entire vehicle into a state of destruction. Flames went everywhere and the car doubled over like a toy, and it threatened to not only affect his targets, but also other people that were close enough. He could care less about it, however, and continued sending the devices forward.

March managed to look past the destruction and straight at him, and Treece could not help but smirk at her as their eye met from the distance. He could tell that his presence alarmed her as much as it filled her with fear, like prey caught in the sight of a predator that was ready to pounce. He recalled that feeling from his time in the war, and he absolutely loved it. He loved seeing that stone-cold woman exhibit human traits that filled even him with pleasure.

But then, something changed. Even from a distance, he could tell that her eyes just momentarily shifted colors. They turned completely white, like a blind person standing amidst the darkness. and even though the instance was so short that it was barely noticeable, Treece still took note of how cold he felt and how chills ran up and down his skin. Even when the woman's eyes reverted back to normal not even a second later, he could not shake off the tight knot that had developed in his stomach.

Determined not to let this deter him, Treece quickly maneuvered the last drone into the wall and watched in morbid delight as blue flames caused by the explosion seemingly consumed them both. While he doubted this would completely annihilate them, perhaps it would be enough to at least incapacitate them long enough to finally snatch them on the spot.

Yet his joy was swiftly put to rest as he watched the bike, along with its riders, make it out of the flames without a single scratch. Not even a burn was left lingering on either of their clothing, to which Treece could not keep his frustrations contained. He slammed his fist against the dashboard and gnashed his teeth together, as though with the intent of grinding them to dust.

"Treece, do not let him get away!"

The fuck he wouldn't.

"Alice Gleason, reporting live," said the woman on the television as she readjusted her hair just in time for the cameraman to focus on her. It was evident by the fancy products and clothes she adored that she was not someone who took her own appearance lightly. However, it would have been much more beautiful on her corpse than anything, he couldn't deny that fact. She would also become much more useful as dead than alive.

"It would seem that a series of car accidents had been reported on the east side of San Francisco, just outside of the Financial District. Witnesses have reported seeing a vast number of cars – possibly police-affiliated – chasing two individuals on a motorcycle throughout the city, followed by countless explosions on the main roads that have already claimed the lives of at least three people."

Only three? How boring. He'd been stuck in Sacramento for little over a week now, and there were already eleven people who could vouch for his competence in terms of skill. Or, technically, they couldn't vouch for shit now that they were dead, but it was the thought that counted.

As he drew his finger over the wall with red, leaving behind his signature one last time, he listened with a moderate degree of interest at the topic that was discussed on the news. It would seem that the city of San Francisco had been rather occupied in the last couple of days, and it was almost a shame that he hadn't gotten there sooner.

Oh well, he thought nonchalantly as he walked over the red-stained floors, stepping over the mangled corpse of the apartment's previous tenant. The man – forty or so in terms of age, with a rather nasty balding point at the top of his head - hadn't really put up much of a fight, and the empty bottles of vodka that were strewn on the floor might have contributed to that.

Nevertheless, he had enjoyed the experience quite thoroughly, as he did every time he drove a knife or any kind of sharp object through a person's neck; or stomach; or chest. He knew over a thousand ways to kill someone, and he loved each and every one of them. This was just a taste, and while tedious to a certain length, it nonetheless provided him with enough pleasure to last him for a short while. After all, he knew it would be some time before he would be able to do it again, but not long enough to make him sweat from withdrawal symptoms.

Because, outside of the apartment door, he could vaguely make out the sounds of sirens, as well as heavily-armed police officers and possible SWAT members making their way towards the place at a rather quick pace.

He hummed pleasantly to himself as he heard them stomp just outside of the doorframe, shouting their demands regarding his surrender and yadayadayada. He had heard it all before, and this would doubtfully be the last time he'd get to hear it, and it had become rather irritating after some time, so he'd rather continue listening to the TV during his last moments of freedom (it wouldn't be long before he regained it).

" – While the situation surrounding these incidents have yet to be explained, if one thing's certain, it's that this evening in San Francisco might develop into something much more sinister,"

"It sure will, sweetie," he murmured and pulled a piece of his red hair behind his ear. "But fortunately for you, San Francisco is just the place I'm headed,"

The door broke in, and he could only grin as the officers surrounded him. His signature was complete, after all. That alone indicated that it had been a good day, and now he would get a free ride to the place he had been looking to visit for some time now.

While Evelyn was not one to bask in positivity on every whim, even she had to admit to herself that things were looking up for them. The distance between them and the LF was growing, and Venom's interference against their attacks proved most effective. Lasher's attacks, while equally effective, could only do so much at a distance. For whatever reason, it was reluctant to continue after what seemed like a short while, and the cold feeling inside of her chest gradually sunk to oblivion until she could feel absolutely nothing at all left of their presence. While she couldn't completely admit that she found its presence soothing in terms of relaxation of any kind, she wouldn't be quick to dismiss it in circumstances such as these. Not anymore.

If she died, they would die as well.

Judging by the view of the ocean a little further up ahead, she could tell that they were reaching the edge of the island, and traffic was decreasing. The sound of the cars behind them crashing into each other as a result of Venom's recent intrusion caused a sense of relief to wash over her. They could make it, just a little further.

Eddie looked over at the wreckage behind him, clearly amazed at the raw power the symbiote exhibited. It would seem that he had gotten a sense of fondness over the symbiote, which went beyond what she had expected from him. Whereas her own sentiments towards Lasher varied still, he seemed to find his connection to Venom beneficial and … even pleasant. She decided not to address it, and took a deep breath as she allowed her head to relax slightly against his back. Warm.

"Whoa!" he shouted. "That was actually kind of cool, I'm not going to li– "

BANG!