Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, the disguised Venom twitched his finger as if pulling a trigger — only to realize, after several futile motions, that his hands were empty. For a moment, he looked utterly lost.
"This…"
The white of his eyes shifted slightly as he instinctively raised his head, glancing around. What met his gaze was the golden-red Anti-Hulk Armor, a space as large as half a football field, and the glass room beyond—all clearly visible to him.
This wasn't a war zone. He tried to recall what had just happened, but could only find fragmented, disjointed memories.
A minute ago, his anti-hero squad, the Circle Four, had been ambushed. Their female Ghost Rider was instantly banished by magic, her life or death unknown.
At almost the same moment, X-23, Wolverine's daughter, was blown into a mangled heap—barely clinging to life, saved only by her healing factor.
Realizing what had happened, Flash immediately ordered General Ross, now transformed into Red Hulk, to evacuate with X-23, while he stayed behind to cover their retreat. After that… after that? What happened next?
He clutched his head in confusion.
Flash Thompson, Agent Venom, had once been a high school classmate of Peter Parker.
He'd been the star quarterback of Midtown High—his speed earning him a lifelong nickname: "Lightning." The fame and respect were his, yet deep down, he'd always envied Peter's nerdy intellect.
What's so great about being book-smart anyway?
With that mindset, Flash had bullied Peter all through high school.
Ironically, though the public despised Spider-Man, Flash had become one of his most devoted fans—so much so that he even founded a Spider-Man Fan Club, inviting everyone except Peter Parker to join.
Once, when Daily Bugle reporters came to ask people why they hated Spider-Man, Flash had driven them off in a rage.
Later, when Flash and Peter both enrolled at Empire State University, Gwen Stacy helped them reconcile, and they eventually became friends.
Flash enlisted twice. During that time, Gwen died at the hands of the Green Goblin. Flash attended her funeral, expressing genuine sympathy to Peter.
He returned to the army afterward—and during the war, both his legs were blown off, confining him to a wheelchair.
After a long period of depression and rehabilitation, the U.S. military—ever eager to make "use" of its discarded soldiers—approached him to participate in the Symbiote Super Soldier Program, turning him into the one and only Agent Venom.
All those memories came flooding back as Flash took a tentative step forward. The massive Anti-Hulk Armor didn't attack. He called out cautiously, "Stark?"
He remembered the collapsed buildings, the streets engulfed in flames, the endless screams echoing around him.
That kind of devastation was far beyond their ability to handle. He'd wanted Red Hulk to call the Avengers for help, but the next moment, everything had gone dark.
Maybe… maybe Iron Man and the Avengers handled it, and I was rescued after losing consciousness? Flash wondered hazily.
The sound of mechanical gears turning filled the air as the Anti-Hulk Armor's helmet slowly opened. From within, Ethan's face appeared. He smiled gently at the dazed Agent Venom.
"Hello there, Lightning."
"Who the hell are you?" One of Agent Venom's eyes widened in alarm.
From his shoulder, a blob of black liquid oozed out, forming a hazy face—a face that seemed sorrowful, its pale eyes drooping slightly.
"Flash…" the black face murmured, its lips trembling, as though unsure what to say.
Its eyes flickered with complex emotion, searching for words that didn't exist.
"Venom? What's wrong, buddy?" Flash asked, confused. It felt like he was in some kind of dream. Venom hadn't spoken to him like this in ages; they usually communicated through neural links—it was faster that way.
But something felt… off. He couldn't feel his symbiote anymore.
"You—"
The black liquid turned toward Ethan, hesitating. It didn't have the heart to say it, but Ethan gave a silent nod, signaling it to speak the truth.
The black liquid rippled, as though sorrow churned within it. Finally, it lifted its gaze toward Flash.
"You're already dead."
Memories surged back—Flash's joys and sorrows, his relationships, his dreams and hopes—all rising from the depths of the symbiote's consciousness.
In that moment, Venom seemed to recover a long-lost fragment of its own soul, becoming something more than a creature, something almost human.
Flash's mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
"D-dead…?!"
He stammered, disbelief and fear twisting his face. His trembling hands reached up to touch his own face and body, desperately trying to confirm if he was still alive.
"Forty years ago… there was a war," Venom said softly, its voice heavy with grief. Then it began to recount everything—how the heroes fell, how it had survived through the four decades since, and how Ethan had eventually found it and brought it here.
When the tale ended, Flash slowly slid down against the wall, his body trembling.
In the dim corner, he sat in silence, reliving his past—his battles, his comrades, his enemies, and that dreadful war that had left him crippled.
But now, he was nothing more than a shadow—an echo from the past.
He closed his eyes—or what he thought were his eyes—trying to calm the storm within.
Memories and truth tangled together, leaving his mind in turmoil. He no longer knew what to believe… or where he should go.
Symbiotes, in truth, possessed a kind of hive consciousness network. Every host's mind was, at some point, uploaded to that collective.
Because Flash had been bonded with Venom for so long, he could freely drift within that mental network—but he could no longer touch any living symbiote or influence the real world.
It was only when Venom reabsorbed a trace of Flash's genetic material that he was able to briefly return to the world of the living.
"So what then—you've spent these forty years… eating people? Possessing monsters?" Flash asked, staring at the floating black face, his tone full of disappointment.
Honestly, he'd always thought he'd managed to make Venom a little kinder. Well… maybe just a little.
Venom nodded slowly. There was no expression on its liquid-black face, only those pale eyes flickering with turmoil.
Flash's brief return had burdened it deeply—the guilt of those long, bloody years came crashing back, forcing it to face just how monstrous it had become.
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