Variant Strain

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Peter's feeding tendrils unwrapped from his body and plunged into the column of flesh, even as he tore at it with claws and talons.

Fury overwhelmed him, but some part of him did not miss that his tendrils were not working as they should have. Tendrils also unfolded from the column, entangling with his, merging and seemingly folding together into writhing cables of flesh.

Even through the haze in his thoughts, he could feel something odd. He could taste the difference. The staleness of his meal. There was a sense of nearly unpalatable age to what came surging into his body.

He screamed. No words could form as he felt his mind being overwhelmed by the rush. With others it had been like being carried along by a river of thought and memory. He would be subsumed in it briefly before resurfacing.

Here he was standing on a beach watching the water rush away from his feet as tsunami rose from the horizon.

There was no transition.

One moment he was inside Hank Pym, spreading his body to encompass the tremendous central column and screaming in anticipation of his sense of self crumbling under the immense force of mind... then he was on his knees in the center of the chamber.

The column was gone. The fleshy viral matting surrounding the room had gone gray and was sagging under its own weight. In spots it was actually peeling away from the bare stone that comprised the chamber. The formerly glowing red veins no longer held any light. The few computer monitors that had survived were still showing various closed circuit TV signals, but nothing of consequence.

The dim light the monitors shed only seemed to highlight the deeper dark of the open elevator shaft ahead of him. The thunderous heartbeat and the clacking were gone.

There were more noises. Screams and shouts. Explosions and gunfire. The sounds were approaching.

There was memory as well.

Memories.

He fished the phone out from his pocket. It was past four in the afternoon. The self-destruct was in place and counting down.

He swallowed, throat suddenly too dry. Everything felt so... heavy and strange. His body shuddered.

An explosion rocked the chamber. One wall was torn apart as men began hurling themselves through even before the dust settled.

A handful of guns were aimed at him.

Captain Bradley was in front. Pistol in one hand a riot shield strapped to the other.

Memory again. He must've picked up another shield since the fight in Jessica's chamber.

He recognized Shultz, Blake and Petruski, closer to the fringes of the group. Obviously they'd found the rest of their team.

"Don't mov--" Bradley began to say, but he was cut off.

The voice was a hoarse croak, but it was loud enough and clear enough to cut through the noise and freeze them in place. "Self-destruct has been initiated. You have ten minutes to get out before the building collapses on top of your heads."

Bradley paled and seemed about to say something, but before the Thunderbolt Captain could manage, he had hurled himself at the open elevator shaft. Shots rang out behind him and one bullet passed clear through where a lung would have been.

Before they could close the distance. He shouted once more, "This way out."

He raised an arm that blurred into red and black transforming into a single massive blade and a compressed cable of flesh all the way to his shoulder.

Another bullet slammed into his thigh, the pain exquisite but distant.

The blade shot up into the distant darkness before embedding firmly in something far above. The side of the elevator shaft he surmised. The cable contracted, reeling him upwards at tremendous speed.

His lips peeled back into something that might have been a smile. He let muscles bunch and snap in his shoulder, whipping him past where the blade had been anchored. The blade released itself then shot back out, embedding once again further above him.

Below, there were flashes of gunfire as someone shot up the elevator shaft at him. The red glowing veins from his extended cable arm were probably giving them something to target, but he continued to rocket his way up to the top of the elevator shaft.

Every so often he'd drift too close to walls and use the opportunity to kick himself further up until he finally smashed through the closed elevator doors at the top of the shaft.

Double doors leading to the roof of Gentek Tower were open as promised.

He sprinted through them, his arm blurring back to its normal form.

Sunlight felt so very good after all that time.

His smile widened as his skin warmed.

Legs pumped and running was accomplished.

He made for the eastern edge of the roof and just before stepping out into thin air he leaped, flaring heat and shifting his weight to irrelevance.

The cool air battered at him briefly as he soared. Mass and heat shifted internally and his glide leveled out. The city stretched out beneath him. A tiny, fragile thing that was far more vulnerable than it should have been.

Far beneath and behind him came a muffled thump. He glanced over his shoulder and found that Gentek tower was beginning to collapse in on itself. The numbers whirled in his mind given how deep they'd been and how quickly a well-prepared soldier could climb up an elevator shaft. There should have been enough time for the Thunderbolts to have escaped, but he couldn't say for certain.

His eyes weren't sharp enough to pick out anything at that distance, but there were a few familiar splashes of yellow among the crowd surrounding the ruined building.

He felt an unexpected tremor run through his body briefly. He closed his eyes then and focused on his destination. The wind whipped past him as he neared the East River. His long, shallow glide let him cross to Queens without using the bridge, but he lost a lot of altitude during the glide and eventually had to roll into a jog in an alley that was out of sight of the Forest Hills barricades.

He ran then. He gave the closed off roads wide berth and kept his speed to just a little above what a normal human might manage. The difference was that he didn't tire. His limbs never slackened from their efficiency.

He supposed he could have made it back sooner, but he needed the run. The chance to stretch his legs. The time in Gentek Tower, sealed away from everything just made the feel of the sun and the wind on his face all the sweeter.

It would be brief. Jessica would still need to be dealt with. So many details needed to be dealt with... he almost wished he could just let it go, but that simply couldn't happen.

He had responsibilities.

But he was also weary. He needed time and rest and a chance to work through all that had happened.

Perhaps there wouldn't be enough time, but what had happened at Gentek had bought a little time. A dead hive was the best that he had been able to manage.

It was precious little, but every moment was valuable. He would need to rest and be safe... even if just for a little while. He could take stock and plan out his next move.

He came to the door and reached out to knock.

His arm trembled violently for a second as he did. Tendrils flicked out briefly and he grabbed at his wrist with his other arm.

That... would simply not do.

He grit his teeth and knocked.

"There you are, Peter. We were getting worried." Anna Watson greeted him with a broad smile as she opened the door for him.

Unable to help himself, his eyes flicked down and he realized she was still wearing the same oversized man's shirt that she'd slept in. She still hadn't done the buttons up all the way up.

Helpful memories.

He forced his eyes to meet hers and he smiled back as best he could while she ushered him in. "Yeah... I... couldn't find anything. Got a little tied up, but they're not letting anything through the barricades."

Aunt May was dozing in the recliner, her foot was still swollen, but looked better than it had yesterday.

Anna nodded, "Poor dear. The pain-killers keep knocking her out. I'm just glad she's getting some rest instead of fretting about you." Her expression was mild, but there was just a hint of disapproval there.

He gave a self-depreciating smile and ducked his head briefly. "I can handle myself."

"I'm sure." Her smile warmed him far more than it should have. Damned uncontrollable teenage hormones.

He ran his tongue over his lips in a familiar gesture. Nerves. Hunger.

MJ walked down the stairs, no longer in her hoodie and she treated him to a quiet smile. "Welcome back."

Gwen followed close behind and was grinning broadly, "Hey, Petey. Any more news?"

He noticed that the two girls seemed to have become somewhat friendlier towards one another since the previous night. At the very least, MJ no longer seemed to be wary of Gwen.

He shook his head. "Sorry, no. Everything's still buttoned up. Including the closer grocery stores." He blinked, "Where were you guys?"

"We were watching the news in my room." Gwen said with a flick of her hand. "The weird stuff's spreading to Manhattan. The terrorists just blew up a building in Manhattan too. No one's reporting mutant zombie things like we've got here though."

Anna, who had walked over to May and was gently brushing the older woman's hair to one side, replied distractedly, "We were all watching it down here, but then May fell asleep and I didn't want to risk waking her up."

"Somebody should get started on dinner then." Gwen said, glancing hopefully around the room.

Anna put her fists at her hips and shook her head, obviously amused. "Honestly. I can't believe that May's the only one here who knows how to actually cook."

Gwen held her hands up, "I take after my dad. He can't do anything but takeout."

MJ chewed on her lower lip for a second before she volunteered, "I think there's some instant pasta-roni stuff from what we brought. I'll do it. Let her sleep."

Anna turned her warm smile on MJ, "That's my girl."

He felt his eye twitch briefly and shuddered, fighting down any larger tremors. A bare whisper of words rose up from the back of his mind, No. Mine.

"I... I've had a long day. I'm going to go freshen up a little first." He took a deep shuddering breath, "Might... um... might take a nap first."

They traded puzzled glances as he raced down to the basement, not bothering to turn on the light in the room as he ducked into the bathroom.

He stared at his face in the mirror.

More memories.

So many faces in this mirror.

This one should have been familiar.

Peter Parker's face. Thin. Young. Keen-eyed.

His left eye continued to twitch.

It was growing uncontrollable.

Almost as bad as Warren's little tics and twitches.

The twitches grew and the skin rippled beneath the movement, spreading outwards.

"Stop it." He said sharply and slapped his hand over his twitching eye. The brief, sharp pain focused him and he could feel the muscles still beneath his hand.

Then his hand began to tremble. He grit his teeth, staring down at it, desperately willing its movement to stop. "Stop. Stop fighting."

His heartbeat spiked.

Black and red feeding tendrils unfolded from his hand and wrist. Then around his eye. He forced them back through sheer will, but when he looked at the mirror again, his features were sagging.

Where the tremors had been, the flesh and skin seemed to be going limp and slowly peeling off his bones.

The hollow of his eye socket revealed itself even as the eye within the socket retreated, leaving only a shadowed hollow. This didn't seem to affect his ability to see, but he could feel it spreading to his cheek, dripping the flesh slowly down his neck.

He could already see the finger bones-- phalanges-- peeking through his fingertips.

The voice of the Wicked Witch from the Wizard of Oz played through his mind.

I'm melting! I'm melting!

He slammed his fist into the sink, setting the soft putty-like flesh splattering against ceramic.

"Get out." Peter said sharply. His voice grating as it forced its way past his throat.

"Stop it." He snarled at his reflection, his breathing quickening with the strain. "We don't want to lose control. Not here. All of them are here. Your loved ones. You don't want to lose control right now. Think of them."

The melting stopped and his features began rebuilding themselves, but they were coming back wrong. A different face was beginning to emerge from the half-melted ruin.

He snarled once more and the features stilled, then tendrils erupted from the drooping flesh, blurring his face back into Peter's. His fist had also seemingly reconstituted itself.

"This will protect them." He said slowly to his reflection. "Trust me. It will be safer if you let me do what needs to be done."

A tremor ran up his spine and he visibly shuddered. "Stop fighting me."

Never.

He gave an exasperated sigh before finally asking in a calm, mild tone, "Would you like to watch your own hands kill them, Peter?"

The tremors stopped.

I'm going to kill you, Pym.

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