After so many years it amuses you that your dear old friend, Venom, had managed to put on a faux 'heroic' persona that he dons every few nights.

'Phantom'. How hilarious!

You tried to keep in touch ever since his confrontation with Bedman. You've tried to visit his quaint little bakery every single day on your way to work, just to grab a quick little meal— but even that is proving to be difficult with your absurdly normal schedule.

So, the two of you settled on meeting at a hangout spot every few nights to catch up. The hangout spot itself was isolated, and to be frank; REALLY dodgy, but if it works, then it works.

There happens to be a pool table, sitting under a run-down lamp in one of the rooms. The room reeked heavily of old cigars and mold, but neither of you cared as long as you got to hang out together.

Venom narrowed his eyes, aiming the tip of the pool cue toward his target. You have no idea how he manages to see under those bangs, but you don't dare question it.

With one rapt tap, the billiard balls on the table all scatter away like mice. A small smile forms on his lips, satisfied.

"Your turn."