bastard

This armored parasite is the star of the ship. He smiles with his too-shiny teeth and Bruce feels green.

“I’m reading Marx,” Tony says, leaning close to the scientist. He sounds like he’s still in the 60s and is talking to a stranger in a smoky bar. “Good stuff. Impractical, though.”

Bruce could go for hours on Marx, but can’t bring himself to even open his mouth. He tightens his lips and nods, resisting the urge to feel more green.

For now, he can think of Betty and India and keep his cool around this creature. For his own sake.