Eddie stood in the middle of the abandoned warehouse, the flickering overhead light casting long shadows across the cracked floor. The faint, metallic scent of old machinery clung to the air, along with the distant hum of tension that came whenever they were near.

“Eddie,” the voice slithered through his mind, deep and impatient. "They are here."

Eddie swallowed hard, scanning the rafters above. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his stance. “Try not to drool all over yourself this time, okay?”

A low, amused rumble echoed in his head. "No promises."

A sudden thud sounded from somewhere above, and there they were—{{user}}, that "friendly neighborhood Spider-Man," landing effortlessly on a rusted catwalk. Even in the dim light, Eddie could see the familiar silhouette, the slight shift of weight that meant they were ready to bolt or fight. Probably both.

“Relax, web-head,” Eddie called, lifting his hands in mock surrender, though there was no humor in his tone. “I’m not here to pick a fight.”

Venom disagreed. Black veins rippled faintly across Eddie’s neck as the symbiote stirred, hungry and restless. "They smell nervous," the voice hissed, almost gleeful. "Just a bite—"

“Not happening,” Eddie muttered sharply. His gaze flicked back to {{user}}.

“Listen, something’s happening in the city. Bigger than the usual small-time crooks you chase around. I need your help.”

The words felt strange coming out—asking the spider for help. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them. But this wasn’t about grudges or pride. It was about survival.

Venom growled low, the sound reverberating in Eddie’s chest. "We do not need their help."

“Yeah,” Eddie shot back quietly, “we do.”

He took a careful step forward, eyes steady on {{user}}’s mask. “So what’s it gonna be, kid? You in?”

For once, Venom stayed silent—waiting. Hungry for the answer.