Falling

This host was one of the most unstable beings they had ever connected to. At first, the host's protection cells were attacking them none stop and the temperature was surging drastically. They shuddered in discomfort and continued to consume the tiny cells.

The host was unconscious and as hard as they tried, the host's life was slipping from their clutch. It was too hot, they would boil like their siblings if action was not taken rapidly.

Kill the cells. Devour!

They pursued the defense cells that attacked and tried to cook them and found the source. Inside the host's bones was a production center for the defense cells. They promptly ate all they could find, scraping the production centers clear out of the bones.

The spongy red tissue was cleared from the bones, leaving a hollow expanse behind.

With the defenses gone, the host's body started to cool from the dangerously high temperatures. They were no longer being ambushed and even felt healthier for having consumed some of the host's body.

Just as they were about to settle back, foreign cells began to attack the host! Viruses and bacteria from both inside and out started to multiply.

Everything was falling apart. This host was as good as dead, but luckily a potential new host was standing over them, trying to assist the host. Perfect for the taking. However, they should probably understand the language of this species before going to a fresh host. With that thought, the symbiote connected to his host's mind.

Thoughts and feelings they never knew even existed washed over them.

His name was Arthur Morgan, and he had venom under his skin.

John Marston was concerned. Ten days ago Arthur had gone out to rescue that rat, Micah. Three days ago Micah returned to camp, having robbed a bank coach. John was about to shove his revolver down the man's throat when they learned Micah hadn't seen Arthur since the jailbreak.

A search had been arranged. Charles was looking in and around Strawberry, Hosea was checking Arthur's most common hunting grounds, Javier, Bill, and Dutch were scouring the region between Starwberry and Valentine.

Which is why John and Saddie were currently in Valentine. John threw down a coin on the counter and motioned the bartender over.

"Excuse me sir, but I'm looking for my brother. His names Arthur, he's about yay tall, light brown hair, scar on his chin?"

The bartender shook his head, but a man at a nearby table piped up.

"I have a man at my clinic that matches that description, his names Arthur Callahan. That your brother?"

Callahan was Arthur's go-to pseudonym.

"Yes, that's him. Clinic? You a doctor?"

The man nodded and signaled for John to follow him out of the saloon.

"Yeah, he's been here about a week. I hate to tell you this son, but right now it's very touch and go for Arthur."

That. . . that couldn't be right. Arthur never got hurt, at least not to the point of near-death.

Micah. Micah must have shot him.

John picked up the pace towards the clinic, the doctor jogging to keep up.

"How badly injured is he?"

The clinic's door was nearly thrown off its hinges as John burst through the door. The doctor directed him towards the back room. John stopped and gaped.

Arthur was as pale as a sheet, sweet causing his hair to stick to his forehead. A nurse sat next to him, dabbing his face with a cool rag. Short harsh gasps were the only thing verifying that Arthur was still alive.

"I'm sorry Mr. Callahan, you misunderstood. Your brother hasn't been injured. He's ill. I don't know what, but I fear he may not have much time left."

John took the nurse's seat, accepting the cool handkerchief from her.

"Could you please go to the general store? My friend Saddie should be there. Please tell her Arthur's here and that she needs to go get the rest of our family."

The host. . . no, Arthur Morgan. His name was Arthur Morgan. They watched as handfuls and slivers of his life bombarded their memory.

Arthur's first substantial memory was of his father smacking him across the face, knocking the toddler to the floor. Pain, turmoil, fear, and beneath it all; the first spark of resentment.

His mother died.

His father drank and abused before he was hung.

Living on the streets, seeing mothers spoil their children but spit on him when he begged for food.

The spark of bitterness grew, seeped into his bones, circulated through him like a snake's venom.

Then Arthur met Dutch and Hosea-

They were shoved unceremoniously out of the memories, a barrier slammed between them. They were still bound to Arthur's psyche, but it was a restricted union. They missed it. They had never missed anything before.

"Stop."

Arthur spoke, his words shaky, lungs struggling to take in air. Yet he spoke to them.

"You can't have them."

Anxiety and hostility spread through them both. Like the venom Arthur felt in his mind.

Venom.

Human's possessed names. Distinctive sounds only for them. It was considerably different than the Klyntar, who solely knew one from the other through half connections and thought. They craved.

'I am Venom, and you, Arthur Morgan, are mine.'

Venom dove deep into the body and began to rebuild. This host, this man, was unique. Venom would not relinquish him.