What If . . . Marc Spector Was Host to Venom?, page 21
“Looks like we’re going to need some more coffee,” Gena said, stretching her arms over her head. “You do your job, I’ll do mine.”
“Khonshu,” I asked, not just to address him but also to not confuse Gena and Frenchie, “how much time do you think this body has left?”
Unknown. I seem to be able to keep it—
Tire screeches interrupted the Egyptian god, and soon bright flashing reds and blues reflected off the diner’s front windows. Gena scooted out of the booth and ducked down, and Frenchie’s swinging knees collided with the table, his full body reacting as he reached into his bag for…
A gun.
“Frenchie,” I said slowly, “I don’t think a shoot-out with the cops is going to help anyone right now.”
“Marc Spector!” a megaphoned voice yelled. “Come out with your hands up!”
“How’d they find us?” Gena asked in a loud whisper. “Why are they looking for you?”
“The security footage. At Retrograde.” I pictured Venom walking up to the security camera, removing the blackened Moon Knight mask to stare right into the lens. “Venom was covering all possibilities to give them the advantage.” Outside the window, I counted four cars, with possibly more coming in. I suppose I should have been flattered at gathering that much attention. Though, tearing through an entire asylum’s worth of security would do that. Did they count my work in this or was I only being framed from the Marc-turned-Venom stuff?
Guess it didn’t matter. Police car after police car pulled up, filling the street outside of The Other Place. Doors slammed, voices carried, and some very determined people wanted me. One look between the blinds showed many, many guns drawn.
I glanced at my friends, the way they put up with the insanity of Marc, Steven, and Jake—and Khonshu, for that matter. They’d dealt with enough, I couldn’t let them face an onslaught of cops. And I was sure that this universe’s Marc would agree.
“I’m gonna surrender myself.” I stood up with my hands in the air.
“What?” Jake, Khonshu, Gena, and Frenchie all asked at the same time, for the most interesting of noises. Inside, Jake punched at his surroundings, but I held firm.
“Listen, we don’t get anywhere with this unless we find Marlene.” From my coat pocket, I grabbed Mr. Knight’s mask and handed it to Gena. Her brow furrowed as she took it, and both of them watched as I slid out of Mr. Knight’s coat and vest, folding them neatly on the chair. “I need you two to find her, and then figure things out for me.” I shook my tie loose and rolled it neatly before putting it on top of the stack. “Keep these safe for now.”
“What are you gonna do?” Gena asked as she creased the Mr. Knight mask.
I took in a heavy breath, then turned to the window, the slits between blinds filled with flashing red and blue lights. “I’m gonna be Marc Spector.”
You would not want this.
But you are not here.
Marc Spector is still present in our body, yet dormant. Instead, the Whisperer has done something to suppress you. As if you are locked in a room, with the Whisperer guarding it. He is here instead of you, in my thoughts and influencing my actions, a constant buzzing noise that spikes as he reacts or exerts his will.
With the morning sun creeping over the horizon, we arrive at Marlene Alraune’s door, a small single-story home with several neatly trimmed shrubs in front of the porch. We are no longer wearing the Moon Knight suit, instead something that Eddie would have called “casual”: a black T-shirt, loose gray pants, and boots. Though we cannot hear you anymore, we figured you would not mind us raiding your closet at Spector Manor to dress more appropriately.
You may not believe it, but we do have some understanding of your society.
We take steps up the porch, one hand holding a bag containing the psi-phon. The wood creaks under our weight as we approach. There is tension in this body—you may be dormant but you still echo throughout the body, and your anxieties are grounded in every muscle.
We knock.
And then, a voice—a small, tinny voice from above us. We look up to see a circular camera above the door.
“I’m not answering the door for you, Marc. This is way too early, even for you.”
Now we must act as if we were you, as naturally as possible. Yet we do not know you on the same level as we knew Eddie. We do not know your history with Marlene Alraune, except for brief memories and emotions you shared with us.
We just know that you are not on the best terms with her. Which leaves a bit of a challenge, considering everything happening. And the Whisperer, he is here listening, projecting his will, telling us that one false move means the end of the Hive Mind.
He is not exactly being helpful.
So…we will try our best.
“Hello, Marlene.” We raise a hand in a wave. “Can you talk with us?”
“Is this a joke, Marc? ‘Us’? Like I want you and Steven and Jake arguing with me? Maybe you three should stop arguing first and learn to coexist in your head before you try coexisting with other people. At least stop blaming them for our breakup.”
Our description of ourselves means something different to Marlene. The Whisperer buzzes with annoyance, causing a sharp pain in my eardrum that ripples through the internal symbiote. “I have a question about something your father was researching. Can you let us in?”
“No.”
Nothing happens. No further words come from the speaker and the door definitely does not open.
In this moment, we wonder just what you had done to this person to make her so uninviting.
“Let us repeat ourselves. We need information about something your father researched. Can you—”
“No, I can’t let you in.” Her tone shifts into a clear annoyance. “So what happens now? I suppose you can just stand there. Can you roll out the garbage bins if you’re going to be here? Collection is tomorrow.”
“We are not—”
“They’re on the side of the house. You only need to open the back gate.” We look up at the camera and we feel Marlene staring right back at us. “Or you can leave me alone. You know, like you promised.”
Perhaps it would be easier if we took over the body and used our abilities to rip the roof off the house. We think this as a bit of a joke, but you recoil at it. If you could break through the Whisperer’s walls, we are certain you would have plenty to say.
Instead, we will simply try again.
“We need information—”
“Oh my god, Marc.” Her voice now comes with a heavy sigh. “No, wait a minute. You’re not Marc right now, are you? Dammit, what have you gotten yourself into?”
With that, we hear footsteps thump through the house. Then clicks as the door unlocks—more clicks than usual. Many more clicks than Eddie had at his apartment.
The door swings open and Marlene emerges, clad in a bathrobe and slippers, steaming cup of coffee in one hand. She takes one step forward onto the porch, then shuts the door behind her. “Security lock,” she says, and the camera overhead beeps before all those clicks happen again.
She looks at us. Then the bag. Then back at us. We stand still and meet her eyes. And somewhere inside this body, we feel you shiver.
“What did you do with Marc?”
We attempt deception. “We are Marc—”
“I don’t think Steven has gotten into the royal ‘we’ so let’s just cut the crap.” She points at the bag. “It’s about this, isn’t it?”
We pull the psi-phon out and let the bag drop to the porch. We hold the psi-phon up for Marlene to inspect.
“What is that thing?” Marlene leans in to look at the device up close, her tone darkening with her question.
“It is called ‘the psi-phon.’ An entity known as ‘Moon Shade’ once commanded it but we defeated him, and then it was lost. Now it is crucial and must be activated.” We pause and wait, though her face does not show any recognition. “Your father studied it.”
“Will you stop it already? I know Marc Spector. You,” she said, leaning forward to tap our forehead, “do not sound like Marc Spector. Or Steven Grant, or Jake Lockley, for that matter. Are you Khonshu right now? Puppeting the person that used to know me best? You know, thanks to Khonshu, I can’t even watch documentaries on Egypt anymore. That’s how much that stupid bird has messed things up.”
Her defiance is intense. Unexpectedly intense. She stands taller now, intimidating despite being clad in a light green bathrobe, all without blinking. She holds her cup of coffee like a weapon, like she may throw it on us at any moment.
The buzzing in our ear grows louder. It spikes, causing our knees to buckle as the Whisperer rages, demands more. The piercing noise interferes with the body for a fraction of a second, enough for our grip on the psi-phon to loosen.
And for Marlene to catch it.
“You’re being weird over some headphones?” She pulls the psi-phon up and her eyes narrow as she looks at it closely. “What, do you need me to fix the Bluetooth for you again?”
Inside, you laugh. Or it feels like you laugh, a ripple of joy and bemusement within us.
We will try again. “We need your father’s research on the psi-phon.”
“Well, I’m not giving it to you. So now you go and leave and head back to wherever Khonshu is nesting at the moment. Unless you really are here to take out my garbage bins.” She shoves the psi-phon into our hands, then takes a sip of her coffee. “And tell Marc and the boys that I said hello.”
Something new is happening. A burning sensation, but not within this body. No, the buzzing gets louder, and across the Multiverse, it is as if a series of tiny drills go into every part of the Hive Mind. So small, so precise that they may not even notice.
But we notice. We know that is a first step, a fraction of what is threatened. Is it real? Or is it a message from the Whisperer? We cannot tell, not with the Whisperer in our head, only that he has plans to attack the Hive Mind. How much has he done? How strong are his capabilities? We do not know, but we cannot risk it. If the Whisperer acts on his threats, then all is lost. “We are begging you,” we say, though the words struggle to come out. “There is much more at stake than you can possibly know.”
“I’ve heard that before. You don’t spend years with Marc Spector without hearing about some world-ending threat.” She laughs and shakes her head. “You know, some of the time, it’s actually true.” Marlene steps closer, so close now that we feel her breath against our cheeks. “So which one is it? Real or fake?”
There is a door in our body, one that you are trapped behind. Except now we can feel you pounding on it, screaming and yelling. The buzzing noise gets louder again, and we finally understand.
The buzzing is as much a threat to us as it is a tool to drown you out.
The Whisperer does not want us communicating. In any way.
“It is true,” we say. “And Marc is…dormant right now. But within.” We tap our chest and let the body take a deep breath. “He is still within.”
Marlene closes her eyes, though movement darts back and forth beneath her eyelids as if she is working out some deep, powerful idea. Finally, she opens her eyes. We wonder what you think of this, but under the shrieks of the Whisperer, we cannot hear you. We can barely control our own movements during this.
“We need information about—”
She shakes her head and mutters what sounds like a curse word under her breath before her eyes open and she stares right at us. “I know one way to get through to Marc.”
Before we can respond, she pulls us in tight, her mouth pressed against ours.
The balance in our head feels different.
The buzzing goes away.
Where there was once the Whisperer’s wall of sound, we feel a trust. Urgency, relief, panic, yet through that all, a trust.
You are here. Marlene has connected enough to push the Whisperer away, but for how long?
Perhaps not long enough.
We offer you control.
Yes, you say.
We relent. And you take over. “Marlene. Marlene, you did it. You broke through.” Marlene’s expression and posture soften, and though a clear divide exists between you and her, her relief is visible, even to us. “Listen to me. I don’t have much time. I know I have put you through a lot. I know I have brought so much pain to you. I would not be here if it weren’t really dire circumstances. And I know I don’t seem like myself right now, and that’s because I’m not.” Now your mind is racing, a panic at the information you must convey in the little span you have. You feel the Whisperer fighting his way back in; we sense it, too.
The buzzing returns. Low, small, but there.
Whatever you need to say, Marc Spector, do it now.
“I’m going to disappear in a few seconds. Someone else will take over this body. The thing with the psi-phon, give them enough information to get started, but leave a vital piece out. Someone else is coming to help, but for them to get here, you need to slow everything down.” Marlene shifts, her face hard and serious, like she has handled missions from Marc before. “This is a hostage situation and we need to buy time. Do you understand?”
She doesn’t speak right away. Instead, her lips purse for a moment, then she nods. “Yeah, Marc. I do.”
You sigh at that. Your relief is palpable. And now you start saying things that cause this body’s temperature, heart rate, breathing, all of it to go haywire. “I miss you. I miss what we had, but I’m gonna keep my promise. I’m going to stay away. To keep you safe. Just,” you say, your hands shaking, “get us through this, all right?”
This seems to confuse Marlene. Her facial muscles twitch and twist in ways we cannot read. And you, you react similarly. You two stand there in silence, as if neither of you knows what to make of this moment.
The buzzing grows. Louder, much louder—and fast. You speak quick. “And one more thing—trust Steven and Jake. They’re going to—”
The body tremors. Now you are locked away again. That buzzing noise is back. Marlene looks at us, her eyes cloudy with tears while also narrowed in…frustration? Anger? Sadness? It is hard for us to know.
But as our posture shifts, she seems to understand. More importantly, you have put her through enough that she seems to take it in stride.
Now it is us standing with her in silence. Except in our head, the Whisperer asks what happened with Marc. We will tell him the truth. Enough of the truth, that is.
Marc experienced sentimentality. Emotions. Now he is gone.
The Whisperer is satisfied with that. And now Marlene changes. She is putting on a front. We know this because somewhere deep down, you can sense this.
“Look, Marc, I’ll be honest with you,” she says. “I remember the psi-phon. I mean, that deal with Moon Shade, that was wild. Wait right here.”
She says a command to the security system and all of the locks protecting her plain wooden door unlatch themselves. She disappears into the house, and we wait.
The Whisperer waits.
And grows suspicious.
In our mind, he sends a message—an image, really. Of the Hive Mind. As we see it, we hear the buzzing get loud, loud enough to drown out the sounds of the rushing cars and passing airplanes and walking children around us. But this time, the buzzing comes with something else—the sense of flame at our hands, at the threshold of the Hive Mind.
The Whisperer demands results.
And the noise grows. The heat intensifies. We remain steady, strong on our feet, but the noise shakes our connection to the body, steals our strength, and then—
The door opens. Marlene returns.
We stand up.
“Here.” Marlene holds up a folder of papers and waves them around before shoving them into my hand. “Take it and leave.”
The Whisperer’s noise is buzzing. It grows calm, steady. We scan the folder, knowing what Marc told her earlier, yet we push those thoughts aside. We cannot give the Whisperer any insight into what Marc has planned.
“This will work and—” we start. But a harsh sting stabs us from the inside. The Whisperer exerts control. We crumple to one knee before standing straight up, now a passenger as the Whisperer influences this body’s movements, its actions.
“Something is missing here.” The words come out of the body but are not from our mind. As the Whisperer pushes us further, the very fibers holding this body together burn, a pain that is equally paralyzing and electrifying. “What have you left out?”
Marlene remains steadfast in her posture. She looks at us and we remember what Marc said—that Marlene is smart. “My father researched this. Not me.”
“This shows how to power the psi-phon. How to activate it. Not how to use it. It is useless without that.”
As the Whisperer speaks, sweat forms along the body’s forehead. It trembles and weakens, and our vision blurs in and out, the noise now screaming in our head. We debate ejecting from the host, yet doing so would be the end of the Hive Mind and we cannot allow that.
Everything that happens from here belongs to Marlene.
Her head tilts, her eyes narrow. She is watching, processing, and finally she straightens, an exaggerated sigh filled with annoyance. “Let me check one more place. I have a bunch of my father’s things.” Time passes, though for us, we cannot measure how much as the body stands there, the nerves and synapses of this body under duress as the Whisperer’s ire grows. Marlene returns, another stack of papers in her hand. “I know you are not Marc. I know when Marc is himself. I remember things he said.” She presents them and looks straight at me. “Here’s the rest. Now go.”
We look at it—a schematic, notes on connectivity and function. The Whisperer sees through our eyes and suddenly…
