Ethan Cole—had no idea that the darkness was already creeping up behind him, ready to swallow him whole. His only concern was to get home quickly; his stomach growled fiercely, reminding him that he hadn't eaten all day.
After finally returning to his small apartment, Ethan ate and settled in as usual. Lately, he had developed an unusual craving for chocolate—not just any chocolate, but the rich, dark kind with deep, lingering flavors. He avoided junk food and anything overly sweet, favoring something that left a smooth aftertaste, much like the complex symbiote he had become bonded with.
After the meal, he slipped under the warm covers of his bed, the soft weight comforting him. The new school semester was about to start in a few days, and things would soon become hectic again. There was little leisure time left, so he took this chance to rest fully.
Lost in thought, Ethan quickly drifted into a deep sleep.
But as he slept, something strange stirred beneath his skin. His abdomen began to swell slowly, pushing the quilt aside as a thick, viscous black substance began to ooze out. It stretched and writhed, as if trying to break free from some unseen restraint.
This was no ordinary liquid. It was the living symbiote, bonded to Ethan since that fateful encounter with Spider-Man and Venom days ago. The symbiote extended, tentacle-like, reaching and probing the air, but after more than half an hour, it had barely moved half a centimeter.
Suddenly, an immense force from within Ethan's body sucked the sticky black tentacles back inside. The mass divided and folded back in, leaving no sign of disturbance except the displaced blanket.
The next morning, Ethan shuffled downstairs. Old York, the grizzled pizzeria owner who had taken Ethan under his wing, waved a newspaper while speaking, "Eat your sandwiches and drink the milk. Afterward, we'll restock the supplies. Business has been good lately—should last another week."
Ethan sat down with a tired sigh, rubbing his eyes. Despite sleeping soundly, a lingering fatigue weighed on him. He attributed it to the strange dreams—visions where he was nothing but shifting black slime, twisting and contorting without form or rest.
Old York grumbled as he read the morning papers, clearly unhappy with the media. "Look at this garbage," he said, tossing the newspaper toward Ethan. "Besides the usual celebrity gossip and meaningless fluff, there's nothing substantial. Even the Daily Bugle is obsessed with Spider-Man, treating him like some masked savior just because he sells papers."
Ethan frowned, glancing over the headlines featuring Spider-Man's latest exploits. "What do you really think of him?"
Old York's eyes narrowed. "Spider-Man? He's passionate, reckless, idealistic… and honestly, kind of pitiful. Sure, some people appreciate his heroics, but most are just entertained by the spectacle. I worry about his parents—no one wants their kid living on the edge every day."
Ethan nodded thoughtfully. "I actually met him a few days ago."
Old York's expression turned serious. "Met him? How? Were you in danger?"
Ethan recounted the encounter: "I was returning to my car after shopping when some thieves tried to steal it. They saw me and decided to rob me instead. If Spider-Man hadn't shown up just then, those guys would've ended up dead. My gun isn't a toy."
Old York relaxed slightly, approving Ethan's resolve. "Good. You have to be tough. When you face enemies, never hesitate. Mercy only puts you and those around you at risk."
The pizzeria owner checked his watch and stood. "It's late. We need to head out. We'll be back by lunch. I hope the guys on the team have improved their skills."
Old York's strict standards were well-known. Years ago, his pizza was infamous for its terrible taste—overcooked dough, bland sauces. That's why business had been slow.
But everything changed when Ethan arrived. Using his unique talents and careful recipes, Ethan had transformed the pizzeria's offerings, bringing in new customers and reviving the business.
Old York once told Ethan that his former master chef had given up on him, but Ethan's stubbornness and creativity had proved otherwise.
The old timers still joke about the terrible "Old York Special" pizza, which remains on the menu as a nostalgic, hidden item. Some customers even order it occasionally, claiming the bad taste now makes them feel… strangely nostalgic, or even oddly uncomfortable—like a weird affliction.
So the "bad pizza" stays as a quirky legacy.