Monday, October 1, 2012, rolled into New York City with the crisp, unforgiving chill of early autumn. It was the kind of miserable Monday morning where students dragged their feet toward homeroom and corporate commuters marched to their desks like exhausted oxen.
Peter Parker, however, was skipping first period for a medical check-up.
Since Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers were currently deployed in Southeast Asia, Peter had to rely on the city's other resident super-genius. He stood in the gleaming, sterile white sub-basement of the Baxter Building, the headquarters of the Fantastic Four. He wasn't the only one getting a physical; the three mutated survivors pulled from the underwater Hydra base were in the adjacent observation rooms.
Dr. Reed Richards stretched his neck—literally elongating his spine three feet across the polished chrome examination table—to get a microscopic view of Peter's chest.
"Your baseline physical condition is surprisingly robust, Peter," Reed muttered, his voice echoing slightly due to his elongated vocal cords. "But what truly fascinates me is this alien organism. This... symbiote. It defies standard evolutionary biology."
The sleek black armor covering Peter's shoulders suddenly rippled. A mass of inky black liquid peeled itself off his collarbone, forming a monstrous head with jagged, milky-white eyes and rows of translucent, razor-sharp teeth.
"Hello," the symbiote rasped, its voice vibrating the air in the lab. "I am Venom."
A thick black tendril whipped out, snatched a king-sized chocolate bar directly from Peter's hand, and swallowed it whole, foil wrapper and all. The creature's appetite was utterly terrifying. If Tony Stark wasn't theoretically footing the bill for his grocery runs, Peter knew his new partner would bankrupt him within a week.
Reed's eyes widened—expanding to the literal size of dinner plates as his malleable anatomy reacted to his scientific excitement.
Venom froze. The massive, terrifying alien monster took one look at Reed's gigantic, ballooning eyeballs and elastic neck, hissed in genuine horror, and shrank back against Peter's spine.
He is a freak, Venom echoed in Peter's mind.
"Don't be rude," Peter muttered under his breath. He looked back at the scientist. "So, what's the verdict, Dr. Reed?"
Reed's eyes snapped back to normal proportions. His neck retracted like a tape measure until he was standing upright, tapping away at a holographic console. "This creature is essentially a molecular aggregate organism. It doesn't possess a traditional cellular structure. You could obliterate ninety-nine percent of its mass, and a single surviving molecule could absorb ambient matter and regenerate the whole."
Reed swiped his hand through the hologram, expanding a 3D model of Venom's structure. "Furthermore, these molecules are highly reactive. It can bond with and assimilate inorganic matter. That means the vast majority of the symbiote currently covering you isn't actually alien biomass—it's drawing on the surrounding environment to rapidly expand its volume."
Peter nodded slowly. That perfectly explained his new limits. When he had sealed the collapsing underwater laboratory and pinned an entire mercenary squad to a city block, Venom had absorbed the moisture, concrete dust, and debris around them to artificially inflate its mass in seconds.
"Based on these metabolic readings," Reed continued, tapping his chin, "if you push the symbiotic bond to its absolute limit, your performance should far exceed what you've demonstrated. The symbiote should be capable of temporarily mimicking other forms, allowing you to traverse specialized terrain or shapeshift your extremities into complex structures."
Peter glanced over his shoulder. Well? Can we do that?
No. I cannot, Venom answered honestly, the heavy voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness. The strong ones can do that. I am not a strong guy.
Peter held back a laugh. Fair enough, buddy. We'll stick to the basics.
"There is one crucial variable you must monitor," Reed warned, his tone shifting into absolute clinical seriousness. "This creature feeds on phenylethylamine to sustain its neural net. As its host, you are locked into a continuous neurochemical feedback loop. When your brain releases phenylethylamine—which is heavily tied to emotional regulation—the symbiote amplifies the signal."
Peter crossed his arms, the black suit shifting smoothly over his muscles. "Make it simple for me, Doc. My emotions are going to run hotter? My impulses get amplified?"
"Precisely," Reed nodded.
Peter had already felt the edge of it—the sudden rush of adrenaline, the darker hum of power when he hit someone a little harder than necessary. He exchanged a brief, internal feeling of agreement with the symbiote.
"I don't think that's going to be a problem," Peter shrugged. "Venom and I have an understanding. We talk things out."
Even if his drive to protect people was amplified, what was the worst that could happen? He'd just graduate from being a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man to a highly aggressive, planetary-defense Spider-Man.
"What about the others?" Peter asked, changing the subject. "The three from the lab?"
Reed brought up three new medical files. The results matched what Peter had already guessed.
"The two teenagers—Tyrone and Tandy—have tapped into opposing dimensional energies," Reed explained. "The boy acts as a conduit for the Darkforce dimension. He can render himself intangible to physical and energy attacks, and teleport across vast distances. The girl generates Lightforce. She can project solid light constructs, primarily daggers, which can violently purge toxins or heal cellular damage."
"Sounds like a solid team," Peter noted.
"They are functionally dependent on one another," Reed corrected, his brow furrowing. "Their energies are perfectly complementary. If they do not regularly vent their respective powers into each other, the buildup will become fatal. They are locked into a symbiotic relationship of their own."
Peter nodded quietly. Whether Cloak and Dagger decided to become street-level heroes or just tried to survive their new reality was up to them. He wouldn't push them into the vigilante life.
"And Martin Li?" Peter asked, leaning forward. This was the one that worried him. Li was a genuinely good man, a billionaire philanthropist who poured his fortune into homeless shelters.
"His situation is highly volatile," Reed said, pulling up a brain scan that flashed violently between bright white and pitch black. "The serum fractured his psyche, resulting in a distinct split personality. He possesses two diametrically opposed abilities. One allows him to heal severe trauma. The other allows him to project a negative energy field that incites extreme, violent emotions in anyone it touches. Utilizing either power physically forces his neural pathways to shift toward that specific personality."
Peter grimaced. He couldn't let a good man lose his mind to a chemical accident.
"That sounds bad... but I think I have a temporary fix," Peter said, snapping his fingers. "I know a guy.. The Iron Fist. He's a street-level hero who spends half his life meditating on inner balance and chi alignment. I'll ask him to teach Martin how to control his energy flow. Keep the darkness in check."
"An unorthodox, but structurally sound approach," Reed agreed. He turned off the monitors. "Oh, before you go, Peter. When are you planning your next excursion into the multiverse? I require more measurement data to finalize my own dimensional shuttle designs."
Peter stared at the brilliant scientist, completely speechless.
As a designated Patriarch within the Web of Fate, Peter possessed the ability to travel to parallel dimensions to repair broken spider-totems. But it wasn't a joyride.
"Dr. Reed," Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask. "If I feel a tremor in the Web, it means a Spider-Man in another universe is in mortal danger. For their sake, I'm really hoping my spider-sense stays completely quiet."
"Ah. Yes. Statistically, that would be preferable," Reed conceded, looking slightly disappointed.
"I gotta run, Doc. I'm already late for second period!"
Peter fired a black web-line toward the open ventilation shaft above and launched himself upward, the symbiote carrying him seamlessly into the darkness.
A few seconds later, the heavy lab doors slid open. Johnny Storm strolled in, a cup of coffee in hand, wearing a designer jacket over his Fantastic Four uniform.
"Hey, Reed, someone in the lobby said the web-head was here..." Johnny trailed off, looking around the empty, gleaming laboratory. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Did I miss him again?"