The moment Felicia's footsteps faded from the hallway, Ethan moved.
He didn't hesitate. No time wasted double-checking locks or replaying the conversation in his head. He retrieved the small metallic canister from the drawer where he'd tucked it away minutes earlier.
Its surface was matte black, cool to the touch, marked with subtle containment symbols etched along the rim. A faint shimmer pulsed beneath the surface—dormant.
Ethan stared at it.
This wasn't just any regular asset.
It was his future.
The symbiote contained within was dormant—split from Venom, yes, but alive. Symbiotes were unique among alien species. They could replicate, mutate, and evolve with every host they bonded to. But the key wasn't just survival. Since this was a piece of Venom, it meant that if he could nurture this piece into a full symbiote, he could effectively gain the powers of Spider-Man for himself. Gaining all those powers without wasting a power slot was an opportunity he couldn't lose.
Ethan thought of the phrase to open his system. 'abilities.'
The blue dot flared back to life, and the familiar translucent screen materialized before him.
[Abilities:]
S-Rank: [N/A]
A-Rank: [N/A]
B-Rank: [N/A]
C-Rank: [N/A]
D-Rank: [N/A]
E-Rank: [Supercomputer Mind]
F-Rank: [N/A]
He only had 6 more slots to use, and if he could get a power without wasting a slot, he would do so.
Of course, there was also a problem; training a symbiote properly could offer a defense against superpowered threats. A weapon, a shield, and maybe one day… a partner. But because of the multiple creatures it's bonded with before the Venom symbiote was partial to rage and violence, and would amplify those traits within him.
He paced the room once, thinking.
To turn this dormant biomass into a functioning companion—or tool—he would need more than his current level of knowledge and intuition. The plan would require multiple overlapping sciences, each one more complex than the last.
The symbiote needed a nutrient-rich containment environment. Not just a glass tank with saline, but a system that mimicked a host body's internal chemistry: oxygenated plasma, trace proteins, and electrical stimulus to simulate neural activity. A living mimic of flesh, without the flesh. Ethan lacked the skills, lab, and money to develop such a system.
While Venom was a fan favorite, Ethan knew that he was the least unique of all the symbiotes before he became the King in Black. Ethan, however, found Scorn, the hybrid consisting of both technology and the symbiote, to be exactly the type he needed.
Ethan would need to build nanobots. Not just regular nanobots, but ones that were used to make the Endo Sym Armor. Not just simple machines, but units that could interface with organic tissue, relay biometric data and neural commands, and withstand the symbiote's attempts to override or reject foreign matter. These nanobots would also have to be powered by bioelectric energy, essentially drawing power from the body or host system without harming it. This would also require a level of expertise and technology he did not have at the moment.
The nanotech couldn't simply exist near the symbiote—it had to become part of it. That meant exposure to micro-soldering via vibration fields—teaching the symbiote's cells to accept and adapt to tech integration. Like teaching muscles to contract, the process would embed control structures into the biomass. Then came DNA imprinting—introducing his own genetic material to teach the symbiote who the host was. Just like Venom was bonded to Eddie Brock, Ethan's creation would know him as its first and only anchor.
The problem, as he mentioned before, was that symbiotes didn't just bond physically—they latched onto emotional and mental patterns. Rejection, fear, aggression—these could all spiral into catastrophic loss of control. Ethan would also need a neural interface bridge. A crude version could be made from hacked EEG/BCI devices used for prosthetics. The best possible method for such a combination would be a psionic connection to the user. He'd seen the tech before in medical journals. Merging it with psionic dampeners—like those in S.H.I.E.L.D. mental pacifiers— he was sure he could create a stable link between the host and symbiote without drowning the innocent alien in the negative emotions of its host.
Most importantly, with the interface, he could prevent the symbiote from becoming another Carnage. He had no interest in psychotic bloodlust. Ethan didn't believe himself to be a psychopath, but he doubted he could be considered a well-adjusted human being. With his trauma, he eventually affected the creature, so he'd need to deal with it soon.
Unfortunately, he had none of this.
Not the tech. Not the lab. Not the materials. Not the knowledge or nohow. Not even Forge's powers. Not yet.
So Ethan did the only thing he could do.
He opened the canister.
There was a hiss—barely audible—as the vacuum seal broke. The interior glowed faintly, and the symbiote responded instantly.
It leapt—liquid motion, tendrils coiling out like smoke—before slamming into Ethan's chest. He staggered back a step, eyes wide but steady.
It wasn't pain he felt.
It was... pressure. A weight. A pulse.
The biomass burrowed into him, seeping into his skin, his bloodstream. He didn't fight it. His heart pounded once, twice, and then slowed. The symbiote spread across his nervous system like fire warming through ice.
For a heartbeat, Ethan's eyes flickered black.
Then normal.
He took a slow breath.
No voices. No madness. No thoughts. Well, none other than the normal ones he already had.
Just quiet. That was both good and bad.
While the symbiote piece had chosen survival. It was cut off from its primary host. Brock was in San Francisco, far out of reach. To survive, it needed someone—anyone.
Ethan would do. For now.
And in return, Ethan would nurture it.
Until he could make it more suitable for himself.
He stripped off his hoodie and checked himself in the mirror.
No signs of corruption. No black veins. No twisted blemishes on his skin. The symbiote had burrowed deep, hidden. Dormant. But alive.
Exactly what he needed.
He slipped his hoodie back on, grabbed his backpack, and headed out the door.
There were fields he needed to study. Systems to master. Plans to refine.
Today, that meant a trip to the public library.
As he walked, the city continued its rhythm—cars honking, people bustling, pigeons scattering in clumsy arcs.
But inside Ethan's body, something alien pulsed—unsure but waiting.
The process had begun.