Patrick Mulligan thought that when he had set aside his life for heroism somehow things would be better. He thought that things would be more black and white, but he quickly found out that once he had devoted his life to the cause it only became more complicated. Being bonded to a homicidal alien baby with the power to toss cars didn’t help the situation either.

Not long ago he had a family, a wife and baby son, a good job as one of New York’s finest, and privacy. Now he found himself without family, he had left his family to keep them from the young monster attached to him and to spare them the life of a hero’s family. That seemed to be the most dangerous job of all, not being a hero but being close to one. It seemed it was almost weekly when some super villain would come across the airwaves with some hero’s child or significant other and threaten to destroy them unless the hero revealed their identity or some other stupid gimmick. He couldn’t put Gina and baby Edward through that.

His job was gone too, he couldn’t be a policeman and a hero; the two did not work together. Now he worked swing shifts at a large office building as a security guard. He was glad the guys couldn’t see him now with a gray shirt and black tie on and a lame sewn on security badge. And if that wasn’t bad enough he wasn’t even allowed to carry a firearm either, despite his police training.

Privacy? That was gone now too. Toxin, the alien symbiote infant that attached itself to him, was a part of all of him. Though their minds stayed separate, they only did so in command only. Toxin could hear his thoughts and feel his emotions just as clearly as Patrick himself could. Patrick couldn’t recall a night with his wife without Toxin butting in like a child with questions and inappropriate comments.

Are we having fun tonight? There was Toxin now. Patrick could feel the infant alien’s excitement in anticipation of their nightly escapades. After Patrick went to his new, crappy one bedroom apartment he would eat and then Toxin would take over physically, literally covering Patrick in itself.

“Where do you feel like patrolling?” Patrick tried to get Toxin to think more about why they were doing what they did instead of the actual physical activity.

I don’t know. Toxin told him. You choose the location and I’ll do the rest.

“I don’t think so,” Patrick whispered to his counterpart as he slid his badge to clock out. “We had an agreement, remember. I get to use your strengths for 6 hours a night, but you get playtime for two hours each night, as long as you don’t commit grand theft, arson or homicide.”

Why can’t I have my playtime at the beginning of the night?

“We tried that once,” Patrick reminded. “You refused to help me for the rest of the night.”

Fine. Toxin sounded sullen.

“Next time I take a day off you can have the whole night for playtime,” Patrick compromised. “How does that sound?”

Really?

“As long as you don’t wake me up or break our agreement,” Patrick agreed.

When’s your next night off?

“I don’t know,” Patrick sighed. “I’ll look at the calendar when I get home and we’ll choose one, ok?

Promise?

“Promise.”

Do you wanna swing home? It’s a helluva lot faster than that damn bus you take.

“I thought you’d never ask!”

“Nobody move!” the tallest man shouted. “This is a robbery, but nobody has to get hurt. Just calmly lay face down on the floor and put your hands on your heads. Keep your movements nice and slow.”

Mohan, the owner of the small store, stood behind the counter with his hands up. A few of his customers screamed in fright but they quickly stifled their voices as the robbers advanced on them with pistols held at the ready. Slowly they all began to follow directions, no one wanting to be the first or the last down.

The men robbing the place were all young and had their faces covered in ski masks. To Mohan, who had endured several robberies, it was easy to tell that they were new to the game. They were nervous, they jumped at the slightest sound and didn’t seem as concerned with the time as they should be. Most places in New York City had silent alarms linked directly to an alarm company who would contact police when it sounded on their end. Mohan was one of the few who didn’t.

“Alright you, Punjab!” one of the young criminals came to Mohan and pointed the gun at his face. “Hand over everything in the cash register!”

With one hand still up Mohan quickly did as he was told, opening the till and pulled out all of the cash. He figured they didn’t really want the checks or receipts. If he wasn’t so terrified of being shot he might have laughed then.

“Did you bring something to put it in?” he asked, seeing nothing in any of the robbers’ hands but guns.

“Shit!” one of them swore.

Mohan quickly grabbed a plastic bag from behind the counter and dumped the handful of money in. There was nothing worse than a pissed off criminal with a gun except lots of pissed off criminals with guns. Unless, of course, they were superhumans, which it didn’t seem like any of these guys were.

“Here!” he said quickly, dropping the bag on the counter. Now that the initial fear of the gun was over he began to glance about for ways to get his money back. They were obviously inexperienced, something he wasn’t.

A siren sounded in the distance. “It’s the cops! He must have pressed a silent alarm or something!” another robber came running in from outside by the door where he had been standing as a lookout and to deter new customers from entering.

The guy that held the gun to his face grabbed the money and cocked his pistol. Mohan wanted to drop behind the counter, but he knew it would be no defense against such firepower.

“Don’t make things worse!” the tallest criminal commanded of Mohan’s guard. “Let’s just get out of here.”

The gun-wielding robber hesitated for just a second then turned and ran toward the door. Something in that instant, maybe a rush of relief or a second surge of adrenalin, gripped Mohan and, as they fled, he grabbed a large glass rum bottle, leaped over the counter and charged after them.

They were already getting in their getaway car. Furious, Mohan flung the bottle with all of his adrenalin-boosted might, and watched as it shattered against one of the robber’s knee. The robber screamed as his buddies dragged him into the car and peeled off.

Pat had heard about the robbery as it was being reported over the police radio; he had one that he had kept from his days as an officer. He had been eating a miserable microwave dinner, getting ready to go on patrol, but at the sound of the call Toxin had taken over and covered Pat from head to toe.

He jumped to the nearest open window and gripped the sill in his now clawed hands. He extended his hand and shot a long stream of black webbing from his wrists. It was something Toxin’s grandfather Venom had learned from Spider-man and had passed on to his son Carnage and thus onto Toxin. He swung from his apartment window, thirteen floors up, over the city streets below bathed in the soft glow of streetlights.

The robbery wasn’t far from his apartment; crime was never too far away. With his security job Pat could only afford an apartment in a low-income part of town, which, for obvious reasons, was where most crime took place anyway.

Swinging, as Toxin called it, was the one thing that Toxin had brought into his life that Pat had learned to enjoy just for the pure thrill of it. Risking his life had been a part of Pat’s life for a long time now, first as a police officer now as a hero. Though of course, now he didn’t have a whole police force to back him up, or the law at all for that matter either.

It wasn’t long until he slowed down his swing to swoop low over Mohan’s Convenience Store. Once he was sure he had the right spot he let go of the biodegradable material that Toxin created to replicate Spider-man’s webs and dropped to the concrete ground below.

“I don’t know who you are but I’ve had enough trouble for the day!” a short man with large vodka bottles held in his hands like weapons growled.

“Relax,” Pat tried to make his voice as calming as possible. The last thing he needed was to get Toxin all riled up before they even found the criminals. Already he could feel his adrenalin rushing through him. “I’m here to help. What can you tell me about the men who robbed your store?

Not yet! He thought furiously at his symbiote.

I can sense him, he means violence, he stinks of fear and anger.

That’s because he’s the victim.

“Are the police sending you people out to help them now?” the short Indian-American sounded like he was still filled with adrenalin himself.

“Yes,” Pat lied. He wasn’t sure if he had thought of the idea or if Toxin had used him to say it.

“There were five of them, a bunch of young guys, stupid and inexperienced, but they all had guns. They took all of the money in the cash register and left in their getaway car. It was an older Ford I think.”

“Is there anything else?”

The man hesitated.

“What is it?”

“One of them is injured.”

“Do you have any of his blood or a piece of his clothing?” he asked. Thanks to Toxin’s improvements from his father he was able to track anyone within a pretty big area as long as he had something to start with.

“If there is anything it is over there,” the man pointed over to a large broken bottle in the parking lot.

It looks like we weren’t the first ones crazy over there tried to use a bottle of vodka on. Toxin noted.

Take it easy on the guy. He doesn’t have claws and super powers to defend himself with, of course he’s going to be jumpy.

Toxin walked over to the puddle of vodka. If there was any blood it had long ago diluted itself into the alcohol, however there were a few strands of material left on a broken shard of glass. Pat picked them up and held them between his fingers, Toxin’s viscous form soaked them up.

Can you get anything off of them?

Yes. Hehehehe. I feel funny.

I’ve never heard you laugh before. Are you okay?

Yes, we’d better hurry if you want to catch, them they are getting further away but I still have them.

Great, let’s go!

Above the city flew a news helicopter painted white and red. Their spotlight shone down on the highway traffic below, slowly following a speeding brown car. Inside it was anything but slow. A pretty woman with perfectly styled hair and a large toothy grin sat in the chopper speaking into a headset.

“This is Linda Edwards with a special live report from the channel 12 helicopter. As you can see from the live footage we have several police cars chasing what looks like an older brown sedan. No word yet as to how the chase began, but as you see on the viewscreen they have no regard for the law.

“The car is speeding down the freeway at speeds in excess of one-hundred miles per hour and is swerving through traffic with no regard to human life. We hear police are laying a spike strip a little ways up the freeway.

“This just in, though the police had originally tried to pull over the vehicle for speeding it turns out the car is stolen and the young men inside are suspects in an armed robbery committed only moments ago.

“Wait! They’re taking the exit! This is even worse. I believe they are trying to lose the cops by mixing in with heavy traffic. Unbelievable! They aren’t even slowing down as they merge onto Center Avenue. These people obviously have no regard for the lives of those around them.

“Don’t change the channel, we’ll keep the live footage coming as we go to Commissioner Handberg who is joining us via telephone.

“Wait! Oh my God! Is that Spider-man? Someone just swooped down and saved two pedestrians as they were about to get run over.”

Below Toxin dropped the young couple off on the sidewalk and continued swinging toward the getaway car. There was no doubt anymore that these were the crooks they were looking for. Pat snarled inside; it was one thing to hold up a convenience store but now they had nearly killed two people. Young punks like these were what was wrong with society today, no consideration for others at all.

He was approaching them now. He could hear one of them screaming obscenities at the pursuing policemen as if it were their fault they were in trouble. Toxin increased his mass, knowing he would need it.

This was it, he was over them. He let go of his webbing and floated in the air for a split second that seemed to last forever, then he dropped. With a crash he landed on the hood of the car, his claws digging into the metal. The driver’s eyes went wide. Toxin opened his mouth, revealing nearly forty long fangs, and roared at him.

In response, the young punk slammed on the brakes but Toxin was ready. He drew his hand back and smashed his fist through the windshield and grabbed the wheel. He steered them as the tires skidded past shouting onlookers until they came to a merciful stop, but he wasn’t done yet.

With another mighty roar he ripped the hood from the car. Shattered glass fell on the road like rain. Their sweet screams filled his ears and he grabbed the driver. He was the one who had nearly killed that poor young couple. He pulled the twenty-something robber close and smiled. Toxin’s tongue came out of his mouth like a thing alive, lashing back and forth menacingly.

He smelled urine. He looked down, there was a large wet spot spreading on the punk’s baggy black pants. Toxin drew him close and growled deeply, he could feel the rumble deep in his throat.

“You could have killed someone!” he shouted. The young masked robber blubbered loudly, tears and saliva spilling down his face. With a flick of his wrist Toxin tossed the criminal aside, sending him tumbling twenty feet away. The robber screamed in pain as his thigh twisted, snapping his femur.

Three of the four remaining criminals scattered, the last one lay in the car sobbing with his hands on his bloody knee. Toxin ignored him, he wasn’t a danger to anyone. Pat tried to concentrate on where they were all going; he felt a buzzing in the back of his head, making it hard for him to focus.

Let me handle this, Toxin told him in his head. He leapt off of the car and landed in front of one of the terrified robbers. The young criminal fumbled with his pistol, trying to point it at Toxin, but he was shaking so hard he couldn’t seem to get a handle on it. Snarling, Toxin batted him aside, smashing him into a wall. He leaped again to the next criminal.

This one had ran straight to the police. The robber clung to a police sergeant’s pants begging the officer to save him. Meanwhile the cop stood slack-jawed staring at Toxin as the symbiote advanced on him.

“Freeze!” Another cop, this one a woman, shouted at him, her pistol raised to his face. Toxin spun to face her, his teeth bared. He saw the fear in her face, her hands shook but she stood firm.

Stop. Pat commanded his symbiote weakly. Toxin grabbed the cop’s gun and broke it in his powerful hand. Undeterred, she pulled out her taser.

Stop! Pat commanded again, this time more forcefully. Toxin dodged the taser and formed his forearm into a scythe-like blade.

Stop! He practically screamed at the alien bonded to him. This time Toxin listened; with a leap he landed on a wall and swiftly began to crawl across it, leaving the scene of destruction behind him.

“A monster.” He heard someone say.

“Venom!” another person called out. Pat winced at that comparison.

What had he done? He looked back and saw the destruction that lay below him, emergency personnel scrambling about trying to reach all of the people that had injured themselves trying to avoid the speeding car. One of the robbers lay moaning in the car with a bloody knee, another lay a good distance away with his leg lying at a twisted angle. Glass was everywhere and one of the police officers was puking.

Toxin turned and fled the scene as fast as his artificial webs could take him, not wanting to look back again.

New York City glowed at night, a veritable rainbow of colors from all of the advertising shining up into the sky. Above the traffic and the noise of the crowds below, the rooftops were almost completely silent. Almost. A solitary figure in red and blue sat crouched on a rooftop surveying all below him.

“Spider-Man!” a voice called out from below. The figure looked to his left. Toxin crawled towards him from below.

“You made a lot of noise out there tonight,” Spider-Man said as the symbiote crawled within earshot.

“I know,” Toxin said humbly. “I don’t know what to do. When I met you I wanted nothing more than to be a hero, someone that made a difference, like you.”

“Stop,” Spider-Man said. “You’re making me blush.”

“Now all I have done is scared innocent bystanders and injured those who were helpless before me.”

“Sounds like an average day in the life of a hero to me,” Spider-Man said light-heartedly.

“I’m serious!” Toxin growled angrily. “I nearly killed one of New York’s finest. The worst part is, I found myself enjoying it.”

Spider-Man shuddered; he remembered all too well the rush of giving in to a symbiote’s desire. The symbiotes feed on adrenalin and would do whatever it took to get the chemical pumping through your system.

“A great man once told me that with great power comes great responsibility. I can’t think of a greater power than having a new life in your hands, especially in your case, and I can’t think of a greater responsibility.”

Toxin let the viscous cover peel back from Pat’s head, revealing his face to Spider-man. “I am failing in my responsibility.”

“You only fail when you give up,” Spider-Man told him.

“If I don’t give up I may be putting lives at risk!”

“And if you do? What then? You just sit in the apartment and watch TV with the symbiote? You know he wouldn’t tolerate it. At least in trying to be a hero you give him a focus, something to turn all of that power into something good.”

“There are other ways of giving up.”

“Like suicide?” Spider-Man sounded disappointed. “I know about the sacrifices you have had to make to become a hero. You left your wife and newborn son to protect them from yourself. Don’t make all of that sacrifice be for nothing.”

“Gina would never forgive me for that.”

“Well, it’s been a load laughs, but I think I hear someone screaming for help,” Spider-Man stood up and looked over at Toxin. “You coming?”

Pat stared at his hero for a moment, this thin man that had been giving his all to this city for fifteen years. If Spider-Man could do it, why couldn’t he?

“I thought you’d never ask,” Pat grinned as the symbiote covered his face once more and they both swung away on their webs together. New York City had a new hero in town, one that wasn’t going to give up.