The Carnage Saga

It's your pal Cal again, dear readers!

And it's only been another hour or so.

Me and Mar are done taking a look at the ongoing projects in Valerie's lab, and she's already looking into that idea I got from Niv.

That Merge-O-Matic's got tons of potential besides putting Scotty and Deedee back together, you know.

So what do you want to put through it, Niv? Or who?

Well, for starters, we could create all kinds of crazy animal hybrids. We could make a dingodile, or a cockamouse, or a boarcupine! Or we could see what happens when you merge two people who are complete opposites together. Like, I dunno, a doctor and a ninja...

No, wait! Hear me out: Cal uses a pair of Bands to merge with Mar, Miles does the same with Future Quin, and then Val runs Calley and Mileton through the Merge-O-Matic! The four of them will become... uh... Calmarleston? Whatever, he'll have QUADRUPLE Omega power, he can call himself--

Vetoed.

I'm sorry, but that's just too ridiculous.

But Cal, think about it! With power like THAT, you could probably throw down with the Devourer AND the Light of Peace!

...

Alright, I'll put it in the “only if we absolutely have to” column, but no promises!

It really is ridiculous.

Look, the Merge-O-Matic is one of those things that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, so we're not going to start playing Will It Merge? with it.

Even though it would be fun.

The Nerd Squad built it for a very specific purpose.

Containing the Dark Demon once and for all.

Snrk.

So let's use it for that first, and then we can start talking about other ways we could use it.

Again, it can be dangerous if it's misused.

Scott's fully aware of what could happen if he goes through that machine with the Demon. That he could lose his nephilim powers.

He considers that price worth paying if it means the Demon never hurts anyone again.

And he's only giving those nephilim powers up until he dies again some day.

Scott didn't deserve to die in the first place.

Now, I get to make up for one of my biggest failures.

Yeah, he was a vicious bullying git when we were kids, and he didn't grow out of it until after I set his divorce from Gilda into motion by mentioning her PornHub career, but--

People aren't only who they are on their worst day.

Exactly. You are who you are on all of your days. Everyone's got good and bad inside them.

And even after Scott and the Demon were split, Scott never lost the potential to be bad. He didn't become incapable of doing evil, just less likely.

Heroes can do bad things, and villains can do good things, I've seen that many times before.

No one is pure good or pure evil.

Not even the fucking Tennebites. Once in a blue moon, a Tennebite comes along who doesn't really understand why their entire race hates outsiders so much, and sincerely wants to be friends with outsiders instead.

They might be a bit condescendingly bigoted about it, in a “white man's burden”, “you're a credit to your race”, “some of my best friends are black”, “but that's what Grandma always called people like you” kinda way, but that's still better than the alternative.

However, the thing is, any Tennebites who are found guilty of not obsessively hating everyone who isn't a Tennebite are quickly weeded out of the gene pool. It's like the Red Scare dialed up to eleven. They're (sometimes literally) branded as criminals, deviants, and traitors to their own kind, and deemed no better than the “krik”, unworthy of even calling themselves Tennebites. Their own parents will disown them for it. If they're lucky, they'll just be cast out or imprisoned for life.

Most of the “deviants” aren't that lucky.

And imagine what it's like for that to happen to a Tennebite kid, whose only crimes are not being like all of the other kids, and questioning the party line.

It's like... like sending an autistic kid to Gitmo for not standing up during the Pledge of Allegiance.

So, if there are any nice Tennebites, they don't live long enough to hit puberty.

But then there's Dehak. HE'S pure evil.

Don't forget that he didn't start out purely evil, Niv. Once upon a time, he was still a living human. A flawed man, perhaps, but he had yet to become irredeemably evil.

I still don't know all of the specifics of the transformation into a lich, but I do know one thing about it:

If you aren't irredeemable before you undergo that transformation, you will be afterwards.

Which means our old pal Necrosis deserves everything that Reggae and Mortis have been giving him since he was decapitated. And Necky deserved it before we even met the asshole. He deserved it before most of us were born.

I know the first step, and the second, and just thinking about them makes me want to barf for a week straight.

Hrrrrrk.

So I really don't want to know the rest.

I wouldn't be able to stop barfing.

If there was ever any good in Dehak, he probably murdered it.

Or he cut it out like a tumor.

I know his type. He's the kind of villain who will do anything to avoid the Big Fire Below.

He'd tear the rotting flesh off his own bones with his bare hands if it meant that he wouldn't have to admit weakness.

My point is, I don't think Scott will start slipping back into bad habits after reabsorbing the Demon.

As Mervin said, his mergers prioritize the users' best traits, and the Demon is the embodiment of all of Scotty's worst traits. Traits that Scotty has already overcome, and can keep in check.

That, and me and Scotty were already patching things up when M-62 and the Gurus had him abducted. They're the ones who broke his mind by forcing him over Threshold X, so they're to blame for everything the Demon has done ever since.

The BEST thing about Deedee is all of that valuable Octovirate intel rattling around in his head. There was plenty of room for it. But our attempts to squeeze the intel juice out of him haven't been as successful as we would like. We've gotten a few drops at best. So yes, this DOES mean that inventing a magical machine to merge people together was the EASY way.

...Intel juice...?

We'll just have to see how this plays out.

If we're lucky, the Demon won't become a voice in Scott's head again.

If we're not, we have a few friends who can help us with that.

Deston's already been looking into the matter. You remember Launch, dear readers? The mare who switches personalities when she sneezes?

Well, Des has been wondering if it would be possible to... reconcile her dual personas. To reunite her fractured mind.

She's X-Positive, so the persona switching seems to be her power. At the very least, it gives her resistance to mind control. You push one persona down with a mind whammy, the other one pops up, it's like a seesaw.

Or rather, we thought that it was her power.

Des has a theory that Launch crossed Threshold X in a traumatic way and is suppressing those memories, that her split personality is a result of the trauma, and that it had a psychosomatic effect on her power. That her power might actually just be to change colors, and she's subconsciously using it whenever she switches personas.

We could probably confirm the theory by slapping a dampener on her and asking for Henry's help again, but he doesn't like using his hypnotic gaze on fluffies, so he may need some persuading this time.

Or we could just grab a feather.

Or some pepper.

And neither of Launch's personalities seem to acknowledge the other's existence. Asking them about it just confuses both of them.

So Des reckons that if Launch is suppressing some traumatic memories, helping her process those memories might be the key to reintegrating her alters, and granting her conscious control over her power.

The first step, he says, is getting the alters to acknowledge each other. Hard evidence is needed, he says. Getting her making the switch on tape should do it.

He's working out a video diary system for the alters to communicate with each other, too, since just writing letters won't work.

Neither of her personalities can read or write.

And there's no guarantee that they can work out an arrangement like me and Cal did. Hey, maybe WE could use the Merge-O-Matic together?

I think the result of you and me merging together is just me, Niv. Without your voice in my head.

I mean, we have pretty much all of the same memories, not counting any memories from your time spent outside the Calvin closet.

If Des could reintegrate Good Launch and Bad Launch, or Scott and Deedee, he could do the same to us.

Never mind, it sucks enough when you merge with someone else.

And I can't merge when you're out of the Calvin closet, so hey, it's not a perfect arrangement, but we can manage.

...

What?

Oh, uh, I was about to complain about you saying “Calvin closet”, but then I realized that I'm in NO position to judge.

Ah.

Yeah, you've got me saying “sussy baka sense” too now...

Right now, me and Marley are flying through the city, towards our next destination of the day.

As we pass Faucheuse Hotel, we see, down below, a man in an ugly sweater and a gold and silver alicorn mare walking out of the hotel, the former scratching himself.

When they look up and see us, the man promptly turns around and runs back inside, the alicorn irritatedly following him.

“Yu knu yu nu can wun away fwom him foweba!”

“Fucking watch me, Electra!”

Nope, still not ready.

Maybe we should put Ugly Sweater Guy in the Merge-O-Matic with someone who has a PAIR OF BALLS.

Actually, it's a refreshing change of pace.

Most of the abusers I've met insisted on taking a swing at me, even though they should have known that they couldn't beat me.

They keep shooting at me, and you'd think that they'd upgrade to adamantium bullets, but no, they keep shooting me with regular bullets, which I don't even need to turn to steel to block. I just do it to make it clear that the bullets aren't going to work.

They might as well be shooting marshmallows at me.

Fun fact, dear readers: when I copied Dwayne's superstrength, and the durability that comes with it, Pierre gifted me an adamantium razor, in case my hair was too durable to shave with a regular razor too.

It isn't. Remember, Dehak stole a couple of my hairs, I think he just yanked them out.

But I haven't had to replace that razor ever since.

Doc knows how bad we look with facial hair.

Well, if you want to try again, there are numerous magical ways to help things along. There's potions for encouraging the growth of hair.

Why are there so many balding wizards, then? I mean, look at Merv. Why don't those wizards just down a potion and grow some luscious locks?

Because they prefer baldness, Niv. Many wizards associate baldness with wisdom and arcane prowess. And you don't drink those potions, unless you want to grow hair on your tongue... and the inside of your throat and stomach.

Ew.

And that's if you're lucky, and don't grow hair in your colon too.

...Okay, it just went from gross to HILARIOUS!

Why did you tell him that, MIKA? I was deliberately refraining from mentioning it.

I was not aware that I shouldn't tell Niv.

He's basically Cal's inner teenager, with the sense of humor that comes with it. Niv thinks butts are funny.

I would like to point out that I still have a limit, and refuse to go through butt-shaped portals.

Hey, you don't complain when we visit Shyne's place anymore, do ya?

His family lives inside their grandfather's hollowed-out corpse, which is ALREADY fucked up on so many levels. That the entrance is in Old Grandad's GROIN is just the icing on the big stony cake.

Fair enough.

As we keep flying, we see someone with blueish-purple skin and black armor flying right towards us.

“DIE, GODSLAY--”

VA-VOOM

I vaporise him before he even gets close, and we fly through the smoke cloud, the people in the street below cheering.

“Goddamn, they're like bugs on the windshield now. Not even a threat, just an annoyance.”

“Dat wee-mine Mawwey: wen am daddeh nyu caw gunna be wedee?”

“As soon as Jack downsizes his time travel tech, Mar. Remember what Erwin said? Jack's ultimate goal is something like a wristwatch.”

Or maybe a tablet computer. Jack could call it, uh... a TimePad? It would be cheaper than an iPad, and unlike an iPad, it would actually be worth every penny.

Oh snap!

Was that really necessary?

For once, I agree with Niv. Apple's nowhere near producing something like ME yet. I do believe that the appropriate proclamation is “Suck it, Siri!”

I'm so fucking proud of you right now, MIKA.

“But once he can put that tech in a car, he can do that upgrade before he gets back to work on downsizing the tech.”

“Su, whewe-- um, wen am daddeh gunna gu?”

We turn left, now flying over Calvin Korkea Street. Or, as I sometimes call it when no one's listening, Me Street.

“It's not really about using it, Mar. It's about having it. If I wanted to, I could reenact the Back to the Future trilogy, but I don't have to.”

“Mebbeh skip duin da fiwst wun, cuz of dat whowe sub-pwot wif Maw-tee mummah faww-in in wub wif him.”

I take a moment to shudder at the thought.

“And I should probably skip doing the second one too, because I can guess who my Biff Tannen would be, and he wouldn't want to give his Hell Valley up. That just leaves the third, and everyone was kinda racist in the Wild West, so... look, the point is that I have the option. I have a DeLorean that was converted into a flying time machine. I can scratch a few items off my bucket list when it's ready to drive out of the lab. And the Nerd Squad added a back seat, so driving the kids to school is going to be fun.”

“Daddeh am stiww gunna haf tu wait fow dat.”

“I know. But Young Quin will be starting preschool before long, Roxie's started pretending to cast spells, and Ronnie made his first kill last week. They're all growing up so fast.”

Before you freak out, dear readers, it was just a lizard, and Ronnie didn't so much as hunt it as he... stepped on it. By accident, I can assure you. While he was chasing a butterfly.

They got some big butterflies on Primal Earth.

And stepping on those doesn't alter history, because it's Primal Earth, not the past.

Eira was proud when Ronnie toddled into their tent with the lizard, though. She happily cleaned and roasted it up for him, praising his hunting skills like a Modern Earth mother calling her kid the next Leonardo da Vinci while pinning a drawing onto the fridge with magnets.

Judging by the look on his face when he chowed down, it didn't taste half bad.

On Primal Earth, you eat what you kill.

Except the green wobbly bit.

As for Young Quin, well, let's just say that there's a lot of preschools who would love to have the kid of a celebrity enroll, especially one of my kids.

Don't worry, the power dampening bracelet will stay on when he's at school.

Even once I start training him, until he knows the whole “great power, great responsibility” thing by heart.

I plan to binge the Spider-Man movies with Young Quin when he's... a bit less young. For kids with superpowers, superhero movies could technically be considered educational...

And with teleporting, blippers and portals, it doesn't have to be a preschool in our city, but I would prefer one close to home regardless.

It's a dad thing.

Now that Young Quin's approaching preschool age, I've been seeing a lot of gift baskets delivered to the apartment, pretty much every preschool in the city has sent me one by now, and most of them seem to have done their homework about my tastes.

One basket contained brownies baked by the art teacher.

Yes, they were pot brownies.

And not the worst ones I've ever had, but Tommy's are better.

He recently started venturing into white chocolate pot brownies, and the first batch he gave to the Cartel was sold out in a week.

The golden berry herd bought most of them. It was a big payday for the Cartel.

What I was saying was, these preschools have been vying to get into my good books, and they've clearly done their homework on me in their efforts to butter me up.

They're TEACHERS, Cal. Of course they would know the importance of doing their homework! Or have you forgotten how many times YOUR teachers nagged at you about not doing YOUR homework on time?

Hey, doing it on Monday morning is still on time! As long as it's finished by the time I turn it in, it should still count, whether I finished it five days or five minutes before turning it in!

I don't want to have this argument with you, Niv.

I had this argument with the late Principal Wolowitz too many times.

Sorry about that, ma'am. And sorry again for all those dicks I drew.

So no, I haven't forgotten.

Which is why, with help from the entire Cabal, I've been doing my own homework in turn, researching every preschool in town, Valerie running calculations and simulations, John running background checks, Deston making a list of wards to cast, Tommy loudly complaining about the school system and insisting that he's going to homeschool Moonflower, no matter what Pierre says.

Tommy himself was homeschooled, said home being the Mothership, so Pierre is right to be concerned, I think.

And all of this is to determine which preschool is the best, and safest one to send the kids to.

Probably not the one that sent you those brownies. I know we like to toke up a lot, but I wouldn't trust that art teacher to not be stoned during class. She might ask Young Quin to light her joint.

And as you can see, dear readers, Uncle Niv's been playing a part too, letting me know if a given school sets his sussy baka sense off.

Hey, I'm a part of YOU, Cal. So they're technically MY kids too, even if they still call me their UNCLE. I've got just as much a stake in this as you do, buddy. We've covered this already.

They're still a bit too young to really understand it.

I mean, how do we even start explaining you to them, Niv? “Remember that time Daddy went to Romania, and came back with these scars on his neck? And remember that time Daddy went to Las Vegas and Uncle Scotty di... went on vacation to a very nice place for a while? Well, here's what happened the night before...”

Actually, that IS a good way to start. Just... leave out the parts where I tried to take the wheel and convince you to genocide the dinotites...

I think those parts of the story will have to wait until the kids are older.

Like, old enough to watch a horror movie without being traumatized.

I'll take a deranged serial killer who can't stand the sound of teenagers fucking over the COSMIC horror shit we've gotta deal with these days, Cal.

At least Jason Voorhees can be killed, even though, like most horror movie villains, he won't STAY dead as long as people keep buying movie tickets.

We've had to deal with a number of villains who refused to stay dead, Niv.

Yeah, but those assholes can still DIE! Killing the Devourer or the Light of Peace CAN'T be as easy as ripping Umbra in half, or deleting one of Hans' backups!

The Devourer and the Light aren't a problem yet. Right now, we only really have to worry about the former's servants, and the latter's Pax puppet.

And the odds of Pax teaming up with, say, Dehak are zero. Like oil and water, cats and dogs, Crips and Bloods.

There's an obvious conflict of interest.

We leave the street named after me behind, getting closer to our destination.

We're now flying past City Hall, a group of tourists taking selfies with the statue of me.

Don't spoil the surprise, dear readers, but that statue is going to get a new addition soon.

You'll find out what it is, next Calvin Korkea Day, and let's see if you can't guess what it is.

We could just teleport to our destination, but we're still early, and it's a nice day today, we've got a bit of time to kill by taking the scenic route.

So far, today has been peaceful.

But this peace won't LAST. I've been feeling like shit's about to hit the fan all day, Cal. And I don't know WHICH asshole that shit's gonna come out of.

We've gone over the likely candidates, considering the state of things at the moment. The ChaotiX even has a betting pool going.

Just to be sure, I've got members of the Carnage squad patrolling Frisco in shifts. There's a lot of team members betting on him making a move.

I want to be sure that all squad members are well-rested by tonight. Because if Carnage does attack soon, like Venom thinks he will, I don't think he'll be attacking during the daytime.

Yeah, it's not really thematically appropriate.

Hopefully, I'll get some time to read Where's My Cow? to Young Quin and Roxie tonight, before shit hits the fan.

John recommended that book to the parents in the ChaotiX, and now Deston wants to talk to the author about co-writing a fluffy version.

Where's My Fluffy? could be yet another bestseller.

Fluffies are damn near everywhere, but how many kids live near or on a farm?

When John's son was little, John would be home by 6 on the dot to read Where's My Cow? to Johnny every night, no matter what.

No. Matter. What.

John said that if he missed it for a good reason, he'd start missing it for bad reasons.

Sometimes I think he's a better father than me.

Anyway, Niv, you made a valid point. I suggested to Sonia that Hunters should try hunting vampires during the day, but she said that it just didn't feel right.

Plus, it's wildly unfair. Vampires burn in sunlight, but the living don't burn in moonlight.

Okay, but if a vampire is as bad as Varney, or Ianos, who gives a shit if it's unfair? If they're being hunted, it's because they're preying on the living, and THEY wouldn't give a shit if THEY had an unfair advantage. Remember, when you play fair and your enemy doesn't, you LOSE.

Again, fair enough.

I'm not afraid to fight dirty if I gotta, and a lot of Hunters would be dead if they didn't fight dirty sometimes. Sonia's told me stories.

The classic “lure the vampire into a place open to the public, put crosses on all of the exits so they can't leave, and get the vampire kicked out by the staff” trick always gets a laugh.

And Sonia told me about one Hunter who slew a vampire for feeding on innocent young women by breaking into her house while she was out, having a priest bless the water heater, and waiting for the next time the vampire took a shower.

Which wasn't very long, because one of his colleagues was chasing the vampire, and she didn't notice the truck full of manure until she was covered in its contents.

While they did spy on her getting undressed in the bathroom, it was only to make sure that she would fall for the trap.

She was covered in shit. Vampires may have a reputation for being sex on legs, but even a vampire can't make that sexy.

Whipped cream, yes, mud, maybe, but NOT shit.

Also, both of those hunters are gay. No, not a couple. Although there is a gay couple in the Association, and don't call them Brokebat Mountain if you know what's good for you.

Naturally, the trap worked, and what was left of the vampire was washed down the drain with the manure.

Another Hunter was able to smoke out a bunch of vampires who were hiding in an office building by having that same priest bless the sprinkler system's water supply and flagrantly ignoring the No Smoking sign, lighting a cigar right under a smoke detector.

The Association has a number of priests, rabbis, and other such holy men on speed dial, because they can turn pretty much anything into a holy weapon. A water balloon, a golf club, Sonia's chain whip...

Point is, yeah, vampires aren't afraid to fight dirty, and I know from experience that the best counter is to do the same, and exploit the fuck out of all of those weaknesses they have.

But still, Sonia just thinks it's wrong to hunt them during the day.

It would be like... oh, I don't know...

Wearing a sweater at the swimming pool.

Me and Marley land at our destination.

The house of Dr. Sander Gwenn, hematologist and blood mage, or hemomancer, as he prefers to call his other profession.

He's one of the few blood mages on the side of good, and we've dealt with a lot of blood magic, so a guy like Sander is an invaluable asset to the ChaotiX.

In fact, I've offered him a membership. I've offered to make it official.

Like Mervin and Billy, he's thinking it over.

I've decided that we need a dedicated squad for magical matters, so if Mervin and Sander accept, that squad will have two more members.

Judy, Robert, Beta, Prometheus, Reiner and his Luggage, Annette, June and obviously Deston are already lined up for that squad.

Yes, the Luggage is an official ChaotiX member too. We just stuck a logo patch on its lid.

And the new squad's going to need a name.

I didn't even hear Victor's suggestion before I reminded him that he's been banned from naming squads.

Sander doesn't live in the Magical Quarter, but this is near the area.

François's townhouse isn't far from here either, Fran usually has Sander over for tea a few times a week.

We land right outside the front door, and I ring the bell.

ding-dong!

I can feel that Sander's at home. I can sense his life force, and that of his fluffy, a blood red unicorn mare by the name of Mary, inside the house.

It feels like Sander's upstairs... probably working in his study... and Mary's in the living room, watching TV. I can hear the muffled sounds of the TV.

Then I feel Sander's life force moving downstairs, towards the front door, and sure enough, it opens, revealing Sander, wearing a transparent, bloodstained raincoat over his black business suit.

If I didn't know the guy, that would be creepy as FUCK. He looks like he just finished torturing someone in his basement.

Out of context, it DOES look bad...

But Sander wouldn't hurt a fly.

He doesn't even like blood magic, but it's the best way to fight blood magic.

Gold doesn't do jack to blood magic.

Sander sees us staring at the stained raincoat, and grins.

“Oh, I just spilled some beef blood and slipped on the puddle, don't mind that. Is this about your offer, Cal? Because I'm still thinking about it...”

Yeah, Sander doesn't use human blood, or fluffy blood. He gets most of the blood he uses in his craft from a local butcher.

I shake my head.

“No, no. I need to pick your brain again. We've got a situation going on, and your expertise may come in handy.”

“Do you mean my expertise in hematology, or my expertise in hemomancy?”

I look down at Marley, and he looks up at me.

Then we both turn to Sander, and we both shrug.

“Yes.”

“Su can we come in, San-dew?”

He nods, taking the raincoat off and heading inside.

“Come on in, let me throw this in the laundry and I'll get you something to drink...”

After sitting down in his living room with a loaded tea tray, Sander turns the TV off.

It's Golden Flower tea, the same brand François likes.

Mary grumbles about her show being interrupted, but Sander insists that this is more important.

After she begrudgingly accepts it, I explain the whole situation about Carnage to Sander, telling him everything we know, and everything we've guessed.

“We're pretty sure that his Klyntar bonded with him via his bloodstream...”

“Ah, now I see why you came to me.”

There's a lot of guesswork involved, but the ChaotiX has two Klyntar, so, we have access to plenty of information on their biology.

When I'm done, I take a big gulp of tea, all that talking having made me thirsty.

If the tea goes cold, I can easily warm it up.

“So what do you think you can do with this knowledge, Sander? If Carnage's Klyntar has effectively replaced his blood...”

“I can't say anything for sure at the moment, Cal. If I had a few samples of Carnage's biomass to study, perhaps then I could do something to help you.”

“Consider it done. We've collected a lot of samples, dude. Carnage has been very busy in San Francisco.”

“An da bas-tuwd nu haf bin cwean-in up af-tew him-sewf.”

“We know the weaknesses of the Klyntar, but he does too, so what we need... is a trump card. Something he won't see coming. Something out of left field.”

Marley looks up from his bowl of tea.

“An dat, San-dew, am whewe yu come in.”

Mary giggles.

“It am yu too hu came in, Mawwey.”

“Fig-yuw of speech, Mawy. Su aww we gutta du am git yu sum sam-puws, wite?”

“We just left Faucheuse Tower, I can easily contact Val and have a Nerd Squad member bring what you need. Or you can go to the Tower, Merv's there right now.”

MIKA, get on that, please.

Contacting Madam Valerie as we speak, Cal.

Thanks.

“You'll have your samples within the hour, Sander. You know how fast the ChaotiX can move. If we felt like it, we could drive every delivery company out of business, simply by being a lot faster.”

“Yu haf huwd of nex bwite time dee-wih-vew-wee? We cud du nex min-it dee-wih-vew-wee.”

I laugh at that remark.

“Yeah, but we'd be rendering a lot of normos unemployed. We'd need to do something about the unemployment problem before we start implementing big changes like that. I mean, we've got a legion of robots just sitting around on Devil Island, we could turn it into a factory that manufactures... well, pretty much anything that can be manufactured. Smartphones, cars, fuckin' aglets... and those robots aren't as smart as, say, Al, or Prommy. My robros wouldn't complain if we put all of those Schlechtniks and Bauherren to work.”

It's like a sweatshop, only with none of the guilt, and you don't even have to pay the workers peanuts. Nuts and bolts, maybe.

Sander chuckles, and takes a sip of tea.

“I see your point, Cal. Keep treating me like this, I might accept your offer to join.”

“There'll be perks, Sander. Next time I get wounded in battle, you can help yourself.”

“It am bwing yu own boww.”

“And I just--”

“Take it as a given that there'll be a next battle. Venny said the same thing. Are you sure that you aren't actually a very pale Saingan, Cal?”

I gently tug on my ponytail. Hey, I can touch my own hair all I want, it's my hair. I grew my hair out long just because I felt like it.

“This is my natural hair color, dude. And I wasn't born with a tail.”

One of my sisters was, but it was removed. Tina's didn't look like a monkey tail, though.

More like a rat tail...

“So, uh, there's evidence against this theory.”

Including the fact that my parents were both human, and the additional fact that they were my birth parents.

Even though Dad thought it was hilarious to tell me that they found me in a crashed spaceship as a baby, until I was six years old, and Mom finally told him to quit it.

He even made a fake crashed spaceship to “prove” it, keeping it under a tarp in the garage so he could dramatically reveal it to me. It was made of balsa wood, tin foil and silver paint, but it looked real enough to young me's naive eyes, and I started seriously worrying that I was an alien.

Then I figured that if I was an alien who crash-landed on Earth as a baby, that would make me Superman, and my parents realised what a kid might try to do after drawing the inaccurate conclusion that he has superpowers.

Which wasn't such an inaccurate conclusion after all, of course. I got the last laugh in the end, on the day fire first came out of my hands, and I haven't stopped laughing ever since.

But that's why Mom told Dad to knock it off and come clean, before I jumped off the roof with a bath towel cape on.

It was almost a case of a prank going horribly right.

Yeah, that's where I got my tendency to screw with people from. My dad could be a wily son of a bitch too.

Er, a wily son of a witch.

In hindsight, it was hilarious, and I may do the same with Young Quin.

Hey, he crossed Threshold X the week we brought him home from the hospital.

And I could get an actual spaceship and crash it just for the sake of this prank.

You're a father. It's your obligation to make terrible jokes.

“Is Venny still dating Akira? I forgot to ask last time I was at the butcher.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, but Konba and Jack broke up... well, it wasn't really a relationship, you know how Saingans are, Sander...”

“Venny went into a bit too much detail about her hookup with Akira at that party last Christmas. So yes, I do know.”

“Konba did the same, yeah. They're like Iokans or Dunnans, they don't really have any taboo against talking about sex stuff in public. They're very... casual about it.”

“That is why Saingans and Dunnans get along so well.”

“Yuh, Konba sed dat tuu. But wuz we nu tawk-in abowt Cawnage?”

“Right, Mar. Enough gossip, let's get back to business, because we've got a lot left to do today, and we might have a lot more to do tonight.”

“Mebbeh we shudda jus tewwuh-pow-ted hewe af-tew aww.”

“Too late for that now, buddy.”

Meanwhile, in San Francisco, two cops walk out of a police station, and immediately see a man, cocooned in a sticky black web-like substance, the black cocoon dangling from a streetlight, its helpless occupant futilely struggling to break free.

“Help! Please cut me down! Arrest me! I don't care, just get me out of this stuff and away from that shitrat!”

The cops recognise the webbed-up man as the notorious Smelly Litterbox Bandit, a burglar who specifically chooses houses that are occupied by people with fluffies to rob, because his calling card is dropping a deuce in the litterbox.

Hence his nickname.

The cops look up, seeing Venom swing away on black webs.

thwip

While Tom, like most fluffies, can't read or write, his slimy friend can, which is how Venom's Klyntar half learned Michelle's name.

Her name is on her office door, and the placard on her desk.

So, Venom has left a note behind, stuck to the Smelly Litterbox Bandit's face, the one part of his body currently exposed.

It says:

However, if the cops had chosen to look down, instead...

They would have seen something red and slimy, watching from a storm drain before scurrying away into the depths of the sewers.

That might have been more deserving of their attention.

Elsewhere in Frisco, Michelle Howard walks briskly through the alleyways, following the directions she was given by her new mysterious benefactor.

He insisted that they meet in person, to discuss the... finer details of the proposition he has for her.

Michelle is only about 50% certain that this isn't going to end with her being drugged, mugged, violated, and/or left for dead in a dumpster.

But her benefactor promised that he would not allow her to come to harm.

Eventually, Michelle reaches the end of the metaphorical bread crumb trail, finding herself looking at a white door.

“Was this always here?”

She slowly and tentatively opens the door, walking through it with hesitation.

And she finds herself in...

A blank white void.

She looks around, seeing that the door has vanished behind her.

“Hello?”

Her voice echoes through the void.

'llo... 'llo...'llo...'llo...

When no one else replies, Michelle remembers the instructions she was given. She was instructed to say something specific.

“Is someone there?”

'ere... 'ere...'ere...'ere...

Then a new voice replies, the deep, calm, masculine voice with an ambiguous accent that Michelle recognizes as the voice of her benefactor, coming from all around her.

“There's only me.”

Michelle nods. She was instructed on what to say next, too.

“And who are you?”

'ou... 'ou...'ou...'ou...

Suddenly, Father Lucian Pax appears right in front of Michelle, wearing his white robe and a warm smile, spreading his arms wide.

“I guess you'll see.”