While Old York remained hard at work inside the pizzeria, tending to sauce proportions and barking orders in his usual no-nonsense tone, Ethan Cole was busy weaving through the side streets of Manhattan like a veteran courier.
With his sharp reflexes, photographic memory, and an intuitive understanding of the city's layout, he could make all his deliveries in nearly 10 to 15 minutesa pace that left every other delivery rider far behind. His ability to avoid traffic jams, construction routes, and even the occasional villain attack made him a standout. It wasn't luck. It was experience. And perhaps, something more.
"Only one order left," Ethan muttered, reading the address scribbled on the receipt. "Last one, then I'm clocking out." He looked around, locked in the route in his head, pulled on his helmet, and took off in a blur.
The sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, casting a long amber shadow over the city. Soon, the neon glow of Midtown eateries and apartments would replace the warmth of day. The pizzeria would close shortly after this last run.
Ethan could stay out longer if he wanted to. The surge rates at night were tempting. But Old York always insisted on a clear boundary: "Don't chase the extra dollar. Live your life. If you can't enjoy your money, it's just debt to your future."
Ethan agreed with the old man's worldview. He wasn't earning for greedhe was earning for freedom. And if that meant working less and living more, so be it.
"Buzz buzz~!" Ethan hummed along with the rev of his motorbike, zipping down an alley shortcut that carved between two brick buildings near Hell's Kitchena back route he had discovered himself during a previous run. Delivery shortcuts were like gold, and Ethan mined them constantly.
Moments later, he handed off the final pizza box to a customer. A platinum-blonde woman, dressed in a low-cut silk robe and stiletto heels, opened the door and gave him a once-over.
"Well aren't you the cutest thing on two wheels," she purred, lips curling into a smile. "You sure you don't want to come in and share a slice?"
Ethan laughed awkwardly. "Appreciate it, ma'am, but I've got a kitchen full of yelling and oregano waiting for me."
"Shame." She winked. "Come back anytime."
"People are way too friendly these days," Ethan muttered to himself as he put his helmet back on. Her perfume still clung to the air as he kicked up the stand and sped off into the night.
The sun had vanished, and a thin crescent moon hung in the sky, casting a silvery-blue sheen over the rooftops. The streets were mostly empty now, the sounds of the city replaced by occasional gusts of wind and the distant hum of an elevated train near Queens.
"I'm starving," Ethan mumbled, clutching his stomach as it growled in protest. "Haven't eaten since noon."
He leaned forward and gunned the throttle. The bike shot forward like a missile, its tires kissing the pavement in sharp arcs. The night air whipped around him. The sheer velocity thrilled him.
Something about high-speed movement felt naturalhis eyes sharpened, time slowed, and instinct took over. He had already started comparing himself to Takumi Fujiwara from Initial D, but here in the Marvel Universe, he was more like Robbie Reyes on his Hell Charger… just without the flaming skull.
While Ethan raced back toward the pizzeria, a strange movement caught his attention up aheada black cat, twitching near the intersection. Its coat was matted, its eyes pitch black, and white froth dripped from its mouth, staining the whiskers in erratic, stringy clumps.
The cat stumbled awkwardly, its body jerking in unnatural spasms. It looked rabidpossibly poisoned, or worse.
But Ethan didn't notice it at first. His focus was forward, calculating angles and timing for a clean corner slide.
The cat, however, noticed him.
Its eyes locked onto his approaching silhouette. Thenwithout warningit sprang into the road like a launched projectile.
"Yo!"
Ethan barely had time to curse before slamming the brakes. The front wheel locked instantly.
The physics didn't care.
The momentum launched him forward, his body soaring over the handlebars like a ragdoll. His motorcycle flipped twice before crashing into a rain-filled ditch, scattering shards of broken metal and pizza stickers.
Ethan slammed into the cold asphalt, rolled through a puddle, and finally came to a stop on the curb, his body screaming in protest.
"Damn… What the hell just happened?" he groaned, breath knocked from his chest.
He blinked, dazed. His head spun. But slowly, he sat up and took stock.
The cat? Gone.
Probably disappeared into the narrow alley behind the fire escape. All that remained was the haunting image of its twitching silhouette and those empty, soulless eyes.
"Was that… rabies? Or something worse?" he wondered. "Felt like that cat targeted me."
It didn't add up. No ordinary animal reacted like that.
Ethan pulled off his helmet and winced. "Hisssscrap, that hurts." He rubbed his shoulder and checked for injuries.
His jacket was torn in several places, and the side of his jeans had skid marks, but strangelymiraculouslyhis skin was intact. No blood. No broken bones. Only some bruising and a lot of dust.
"That's… weird." He tilted his head. "That fall should've cracked a rib, easy."
Maybe it was the helmet. Maybe it was luck.
Or maybe it was something else entirely. Something… inhuman.
He rose to his feet, staggering slightly, and limped over to his overturned bike. The front wheel was bent. The headlamp was cracked. He wasn't riding this thing home tonight.
With a frustrated sigh, he reached for his phone to call Old York.
But even as he tried to brush off the event, the image of that cat wouldn't leave his mind. He had seen something in its eyessomething aware. Not just wild, but… intentional.
And in the Marvel Universe, a creature that acts out of instinct is one thing.
A creature that plans?
That's a problem.
Looking at the motorcycle that had crashed into the drainage ditch, Ethan Cole smiled bitterly and muttered, "Most people use the drainage for U-turns, I go straight into the damn thing."
He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Guess I'm no Ghost Rider yet." With that, he jumped into the ditch, wincing as he landed near the bike. The canal wasn't especially deep, but the weight of the motorcycle was no jokedefinitely no lightweight StarkTech hover-bike, that's for sure.
Ethan braced himself and tried pushing. It was sluggish, and the muddy ground gave poor footing. If this didn't work, he might have to call in a tow. Luckily, his phonesome local off-brand but sturdyhadn't cracked when he tumbled. If it were one of the delicate models from his old life, the screen would've shattered the second it sniffed concrete.
That thought sparked something.
He'd been thinking about financial ideas before, mostly sidelined because of how much time he'd devoted to helping Old York resurrect the pizza shop. But nownow he realized there was an entire world of tech Marvel hadn't even reached yet. He'd seen drones used by Alistair Smythe, but no proper AI integration like Jarvis-level assistance existed in public sectors. The tech gap alone could make him and York richassuming he stayed alive long enough.
Shaking that thought loose, Ethan scanned the roadside. He spotted some fallen timber and old discarded crates by the tree line. With effort, he dragged over some logs and used stones to secure both sides. It was a crude rampbarely functionalbut better than nothing.
He eyed the makeshift slope. "Sketchy, but maybe I can 'Hawkeye' this and nail it first try." He grit his teeth and started pushing the motorcycle up.
To his surprise, the slope held. The wheels engaged. The motorcycle rolled upward, and within seconds, it was back on solid road. Ethan let out a breath of relief, wiping grime off his arms. "That wasn't so bad. Wheels really are a game-changer."
He flexed his arms experimentally. No sharp pain. A few bruises, but overall fine. Just another scrape in a long list since bonding with the Venom symbiotealthough the symbiote hadn't re-emerged in days now. That worried him, honestly.
Ethan checked the motorcycle over: scratched bodywork, bent mirror, but mechanically intact. Helmet on, engine engagedhe took off toward the shop, stomach howling in protest.
"Gugugu~," his stomach growled louder as he revved down the dim, quiet street.
"Starving. Hopefully York saved me a slice this time."
By the time he returned to Old York's Pizza, most of the staff had cleaned up and left. The "Open" sign was flipped to "Closed," but warm light still glowed from inside.
He rushed in, immediately homing in on the plate of pizza left out for him. Without hesitation, Ethan scarfed down two slices like Spider-Man during finals week.
From the kitchen emerged Old York, carrying a tray of steaming French fries. He stopped in his tracks, staring at Ethan's tattered jacket and dust-streaked jeans. His eyes narrowed.
"What the hell happened to you?" York barked, moving closer to examine the damage. His gruff tone couldn't mask the concern underneath.
Ethan gave a dismissive wave as he gulped Coke. "No big deal, I almost ran over a black cat. Slammed the brakes too hard, flipped the bike."
Old York's hand came down hard on Ethan's head with a smack.
"Ow! What was that for?!" Ethan yelped, mouth still full of half-chewed crust.
"I told you not to drive like Johnny Blaze!" York snapped, face red with anger. "You're not a damn stuntman, kid! At that speed, you don't brakeyou hit! You're lucky it wasn't a person. You could've died over a cat!"
Ethan frowned. "It looked possessed, okay? Its eyes were pitch blacklike Symbiote black."
Old York raised an eyebrow. "…You sure you weren't hallucinating from hunger?"
"I know what I saw," Ethan muttered, quieter now. "It didn't look right."
York exhaled sharply and pulled a wad of wrinkled bills from his apron pocket. He tossed them on the counter in front of Ethan. "That's your pay. Take a break. No more deliveries this week. You're off until further notice."
"What?" Ethan protested, mouth still half full. "C'mon, it's just a scratch"
"Not up for debate." York cut him off. "Tomorrow, you stay home. Study. Hang out with your friends. Hell, go spar with that Parker kid or whatever you do. Juststay alive, alright?"
Grumbling, Ethan slumped into his seat, stuffing more pizza into his mouth like it might change York's mind. No such luck.
Oddly enough, his appetite hadn't faded at all. If anything, it had grown. He'd eaten three slices already and could still go for another round. Is the symbiote reawakening? Or am I just…growing again?
He remembered back when the changes first beganfaster reflexes, night vision, and an insatiable hunger. Signs that the Venom symbiote was adapting, bonding, and evolving. Was it happening again?
York shot him a side glance from the kitchen. "You eating for two or something?"
Ethan smiled sheepishly. "Maybe."
He didn't say it aloud, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the thought: something was changing inside him again. And that black catthose eyes. It didn't feel like a random event.
It felt like the beginning of something bigger.