What If . . . Marc Spector Was Host to Venom?, page 1
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What If…Marc Spector Was Host to Venom?
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Marvel: What If…Marc Spector Was Host to Venom?
is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2024 Marvel
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Random House Worlds, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Random House is a registered trademark, and Random House Worlds and colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Hardback ISBN 9780593726860
Ebook ISBN 9780593726877
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Book design by Edwin A. Vazquez, adapted for ebook
Cover design: Cassie Gonzales and Jeff Langevin
Cover art: Jeff Langevin
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Contents
Dedication
Transcript of Video Interview
The Vastness of Space: America
Chapter 1: Marc
Chapter 2: Marc
Chapter 3: Venom
Chapter 4: Marc
Chapter 5: Marc
Chapter 6: Steven
Chapter 7: Venom
Chapter 8: Jake
Chapter 9: Jake
Chapter 10: Venom
Chapter 11: Steven
Chapter 12: Jake
Chapter 13: Venom
Chapter 14: Steven
Chapter 15: Jake
Chapter 16: Venom
Chapter 17: Steven
Chapter 18: Steven
Chapter 19: Venom
Elsewhere…America
Chapter 20: Jake
Chapter 21: Steven
Chapter 22: Venom
Chapter 23: Marc
Chapter 24: Steven
Chapter 25: Venom
Chapter 26: Steven
Chapter 27: Steven
Chapter 28: Jake
Chapter 29: Venom
Chapter 30: Steven
Chapter 31: Jake
Chapter 32: Venom
Chapter 33: Jake
Chapter 34: Steven
Chapter 35: Jake
Chapter 36: Venom
Chapter 37: Marc
Chapter 38: Steven
Chapter 39: Marc
Chapter 40: Marc
Chapter 41: Venom
Acknowledgments
The Vastness of Space: America
About the Author
_148433961_
For all of the odd couples out living
their best lives across the Multiverse
Transcript of Video Interview
Office of Dr. Emmet, Retrograde Sanitarium
Interview Subject: Marc Spector, 2:15 p.m.
Clinical Diagnosis: Dissociative Identity Disorder
Notable Issues: Violent outbursts, delusions of grandeur, detachment from reality
Dr. Emmet: Recording started at quarter after two. Sodium pentothal administered fifteen minutes prior. For patient’s own safety, limbs have been restrained to the chair. How are you, Marc? Did you have a good lunch?
Marc Spector: Your truth serum actually tastes better than your cafeteria. Hell, my Marine rations tasted better than your cafeteria.
DE: Unfortunately, I can’t influence the food service vendor. That’s the facilities department.
MS: I don’t know why you even gave me a shot. I got nothing to hide.
DE: Good. Then we’ll make progress today. Tell me about the two identities you stole. First, Steven Grant. Who is he?
MS: Steven’s an arrogant billionaire who spends too much time indulging in his fantasies.
DE: All right. And where does Steven Grant live?
MS: In my head.
DE: And Jake Lockley? Who is he?
MS: Cabdriver. Tough SOB. Impulsive. Ruthless at times. Blood doesn’t bother him.
DE: And where does he live?
MS: In my head. One big unhappy family in this skull.
DE: You see, that’s simply not true. You’ve stolen and integrated their identities as part of your own persona. Grant’s got a really nice mansion on Long Island. And a penthouse in Midtown. Look, here are the public records of purchase. (Sounds of shuffling paper) Lockley keeps his own shabby place somewhere. Wouldn’t want to imagine the number of rats in the walls. I will say, though, the one person who is sharing your headspace is this…Khonshu?
MS: (Laughs) Yeah, he’s there, too.
DE: It’s a good thing I’m an Egyptology buff. Khonshu, as in the Egyptian god of the moon?
MS: Heliopolis.
DE: Excuse me?
MS: Egyptian gods are actually interdimensional beings. They reside in a place known as “Heliopolis.”
DE: I see. Anything else you want to tell me about Khonshu?
MS: Yeah. He’s got an attitude problem.
DE: Noted. “Egyptian god with an attitude problem that travels between dimensions and hires former mercenaries like Marc Spector.” Now, tell me about Gena Landers and Jean-Paul Duchamp.
MS: (Pauses) Why are you bringing up Gena and Frenchie?
DE: Oh, didn’t you hear? They’re new patients here at Retrograde.
MS: They don’t belong here—
DE: Marc, Marc, they participate in your delusion. That means they are delusional as well. Delusional people are a danger to society. Fortunately, their support in your endeavors led us directly to them, so we can help them like we are helping you.
MS: Your “help”?
DE: Yes, exactly. For them and the general public. Gena runs a diner. Who knows how the delusions would affect her cooking? That’s a public safety issue. Duchamp—Frenchie, as you call him—former mercenary like you, right? Good with weapons, flies helicopters. Probably just as much PTSD as you, and not the type of person you want with firearms. So yes, they belong here. (Pauses) How’s that sodium pentothal treating you? Feeling more relaxed?
MS: I can’t relax. (Sound of chair rattling) Steven can, Jake can. I can’t.
DE: All right, one more name for you. Tell me about Marlene Alraune.
MS: (Sound of chair slamming) If you hurt—
DE: Ah, see, there you go. Violent outbursts. I’m glad to see those restraints are working. Billy, will you please tighten them? (Sound of grunts and clicking) You see how we are looking out for you? You can’t contain yourself. (Sound of papers shuffling) Isn’t that why Marlene left you? My gosh, you sure introduced some difficult times into her life. And her dad, Peter—that’s Egyptologist Peter Alraune, for the record—he died around you as well? That’s not a great start to any relationship. Actually, let me check, how many times has she left you?
MS: (Pauses) Twice.
DE: Good. Honesty. And why did she leave you?
MS: She didn’t want my life of violence to affect her anymore.
DE: Exactly. Now we’re getting to the core of it. (Sounds of rustling) This suit. You call it “Moon Knight.” You hurt people in it. That’s a problem. Let’s see, some of the things you’ve claimed in our notes. How many battles with Bushman? A werewolf? And take a look at this photo. You called it a “psi-phon” and you claimed to have defeated, and I quote, “a multiversal version of Moon Knight called ‘Moon Shade’ ” to get it.
MS: Where’d you get that?
DE: That doesn’t matter. Are you listening to yourself? Does this sound like something any rational person would say? Give me an honest answer.
MS: (Pauses) No. It doesn’t.
DE: Good. Every step forward is important. This is why I find you so fascinating. In fact, I’d say it’s the culmination of my life’s work to help you. Now, what should we get to next?
MS: (Pauses) I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do next. I’m going to bust out of here. Tonight
DE: As long as we’re being honest here, how do you plan to do that? Do you have a lockpick hidden away? A shiv made of soap?
MS: No. I don’t need those things.
DE: Then what do you have?
MS: Jake. Steven. Khonshu. They’re all I’ll need. They’re all I can rely on. You’ll see.
DE: I think we’re done here. Time is twenty-four minutes past two. Billy? Mr. Spector needs another round of sedatives. And electroshock therapy.
MS: (Laughter)
DE: Maximum strength.
The Vastness of Space
America
America Chavez was in trouble. And she knew it.
Not that long ago, such an instinct would be elusive, invisible to her. She’d been lost for so long, awash in the dream-like state of whatever had become her existence.
But now she felt like herself. Even though things had changed.
This trouble was different from the chaos of her childhood, or the battles of her teenage years. This time, the conflict came from the people she thought were on her side:
The Watchers.
Problem was, the Watchers weren’t always right. Which caused a bit of an issue given that America trusted her gut—and when she tried to explain this to the Watchers, they told her to stand down, stop intervening, leave people like Peter Parker and Stephen Strange alone.
The Watchers or her gut instinct?
She chose her gut instinct.
And she was right.
Because someone was involved, a mystery foe—someone whose actions echoed across time and space and reality—
No. Beyond reality. Multiple realities. Possibly all realities. And with it came a single identity, someone cloaked in the shadows, and through all of the collective observations of the Watchers, one name came to her:
A Whisperer.
Who was he? What was his goal? Why did he keep interfering? Just like he was involved with Loki before the incident involving Peter, Wanda, and the collateral damage unleashed around them.
A threat was coming, something ripping through different times and places and universes. Where would the Whisperer go next? What would be the point of divergence?
America floated in ethereal space, safe from the condemnation and prying eyes of the Watchers. They wanted her to follow the rules, go away, or maybe both.
Sorry. Not gonna work this time.
Multiple cosmic windows opened in front of her, all of the clues and details that trailed the Whisperer leading her to these look-ins across realities.
Except for one. A single particular window was just for her. She reached through that particular one, a place where she stashed a few of the things from her physical life, the stuff that didn’t really prove necessary in the dream-like space of her existence, yet somehow it felt right.
Her fingers wrapped around the sleeve of a worn denim jacket, with red and white stripes along the shoulders and a large star sewn on the back.
Cool. She hoped it still fit.
As she wiggled her arms into the sleeves, she looked at the scene ahead—two figures she wasn’t exactly familiar with, but she needed to know more, her skills as a Watcher coming into play here even while defying the others’ orders.
Venom, a symbiote creature that traveled as a large black blob, at least until it joined with a host. Strong, brutal, amorphous, and very adaptable, the symbiotes used their bodies for many things: forming weapons, covering surfaces, creating barriers. Also capable of leaping universes, and when it chose to have a face, it bore rows of sharp teeth and a nasty red tongue.
And when joined, these strengths mixed with the powers and essences of the host in a delicate balance. Or in some cases, not exactly balanced. More like reluctantly shared, one way or the other.
The Whisperer’s trail led to Venom. And Venom appeared to be stalking someone else, on a multiversal collision course with…
A white cape and cowl over white boots, white body armor, white gauntlets, and a white mask. Glowing white eyes bore out from the mask, and on the chest sat the distinct curve of a crescent moon.
Moon Knight. Or Marc Spector, former mercenary and ex-Marine, now guarding the streets of New York City—and occasionally beyond. Yet something stood out about Spector; in some ways, he was a guy in a suit with weapons and martial arts training. But in other ways, he was different.
Because Marc Spector was the chosen Fist of Khonshu, an Ennead being—or as most humans knew them, the gods of ancient Egypt. But to the Watchers, well…the Ennead were just another set of interdimensional creatures that sometimes caused too much trouble.
One more particular thing stood out about Marc, though. Because he wasn’t just Marc. He was also Steven Grant and Jake Lockley—not in the way some people assumed fake identities to trick people. No, those were fully formed personalities, as dimensional as real people, a shared brain that worked in ways not even America understood.
She’d leave that one to the human medical experts.
Venom and Moon Knight. So many questions about where things went from here. America knew she had to intervene, but when?
For now, she would Watch. But as she settled in to consider what lay ahead, a new thought came to mind, one that caught her by surprise and brought a smile to her face.
The jacket still fit, after all.
America adjusted the jacket’s collar, then gave the front an instinctive tug like she was a teenager again, a reminder to herself of different times long ago as she prepared for the journey ahead—no matter where or when it led.
Chapter 1
Marc
Marc Spector looked behind him.
The buzzing, inconsistent lights and grimy brick walls of the dim sewer system made it hard to tell for sure, but somewhere farther down the tunnel, a silhouette stood.
Was that…
The lights blacked out for a second before coming back, but for a flash, Marc saw it clearly, as if the desert sun shone directly on it:
The imposing silhouette of a man, long cloak draped over thin limbs and staff in hand.
Plus a massive bird skull for a head.
Khonshu.
The Egyptian god of the moon wasn’t always the best—or most sincere—ally for Marc, but given that Marc had pledged to be the Moon Knight, avatar of Khonshu, well, they helped each other out of a lot of jams.
In this case, the bird skull turned his way, then Khonshu tapped his staff, causing an echo that Marc heard over his own pounding footsteps. Then the lamps flickered again and Khonshu disappeared, leaving only decaying infrastructure and skittering rats. Just the empty shadows of a sewer passage. A New York sewer passage, one that tracked right underneath Retrograde Sanitarium, where Marc had just led a daring, brutal escape: first breaking free from his cell, then recovering his things from storage and donning the Moon Knight suit, then liberating his friends from the clutches of Dr. Emmet and her oppressive guards and orderlies.
And now? Underground, on the way to freedom. Sanity versus insanity. New York versus ancient Egypt. One mind versus infinite possibilities.
Not that long ago, the love of Marc’s life told him that she needed to distance herself from him, from the life of violence that swarmed around him. He’d tried explaining to Marlene that the violence stemmed from the balance of everything in his head, of dealing with Steven Grant and Jake Lockley, of being pledged to serve Khonshu as the deity’s Fist. But the how and why didn’t matter to her.
