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Not a single living human in sight the whole way. Instead, scattered zombies wandered here and there, a constant reminder of how tragic and broken this world had become.
Any stragglers that crossed his path, Venom simply ran them over without hesitation.
"...This is klkb... we've got seven people here... we need emergency medical assistance…"
The crackling, static-filled voice of a woman came through the battered old radio just as Venom was amusing himself by mowing down zombies on the road.
It surprised him—he hadn't expected such a run-down receiver to still work.
What really caught his interest, though, was the fact that there were still living people out here.
If his memory wasn't failing him, Alice had fallen into this exact group's trap. They were the ones who'd caught her.
As night settled over the desert, the temperature plummeted. Without the blazing daytime heat, Venom's body felt more normal again.
"At last," he muttered with a crooked grin, "something to make this boring desert trip a little more fun."
His tongue slid across the blade of his transformed arm before it melted back into flesh. Then he pressed the gas, speeding toward the signal's source.
…
The building looked like it had been abandoned for decades. Dry wind whipped weeds across the ground, circling beneath a tall flagpole at the entrance.
Venom approached slowly, his appearance completely altered.
He wore a black trench coat, his features refined and striking—like some delicate, handsome youth.
Inside, the place was a wreck: shattered windows, walls streaked with dried black blood, eerie graffiti scrawled everywhere. The stench of ruin hung heavy.
There were broken chairs and smashed tables, but nothing useful left.
In the apocalypse, survivors had stripped it bare long ago, then zombies had wandered through and finished the rest.
Now it served no purpose but shelter.
And yet the distress call had come from here.
Deeper inside, his footsteps echoed. Faintly, he picked up the sound of a woman sobbing, carrying through the hollow, silent rooms.
Signs of human life.
Not long after, Venom found the source: a short, overweight woman sitting alone. With his senses, he could tell she was still alive.
Hearing him approach, she slowly turned.
"My baby… please…"
She looked to be in her thirties or forties, her expression numb with grief and exhaustion, ground down by the endless torment of this world.
In her arms, swaddled tight in filthy cloth, was a baby—its condition impossible to see.
"Please! Save my child!"
She rose unsteadily, muttering under her breath as she held out the bundle to him.
Venom didn't reach for it. He didn't want to touch something so dirty.
With a casual flick, he knocked it from her hands. The bundle hit the floor, cloth unraveling.
It wasn't a child at all—just a broken toy, crudely made and smeared with grime.
"You threw my baby on the ground!"
The woman suddenly grinned, exposing yellowed, half-rotted teeth. Her foul breath was enough to make someone gag.
The grief on her face was gone, replaced with smug triumph. A shotgun appeared in her hands, leveled straight at Venom's chest.
But Venom didn't even flinch. She wasn't worth his concern.
The sound of weapons cocking echoed around him. Within seconds, a filthy mob surrounded him, brandishing guns, machetes, clubs—anything that could kill.
"Always works, Mama," one of them sneered, licking his lips like a starving dog. "And this one looks tender."
From the radio, the same desperate plea repeated:
"We're surrounded… please, someone help us… anyone, please save us…"
The old woman's grin widened, still muttering like she was casting a spell.
Venom regarded them—these swaggering fools who had no idea how close they were to death—and couldn't even be bothered to argue.
"God, I hate clean pretty boys like you," the old woman snarled, eyeing his clothes. "Let's see how long that face lasts."
She barked an order, and her crew jabbed their guns at Venom, forcing him to walk.
At the center of the building, the floor gave way to a massive pit.
Venom stepped to the edge and glanced down, his brow furrowing slightly.
Human ribs, half-chewed, littered the ground below. This wasn't their first time.
Then came the growling—dogs.
A pack of snarling, corpse-like beasts snapped at the air behind a fence, drool dripping from their jaws.
Zombie dogs.
Faster, stronger, and far deadlier than regular zombies.
The pit was clearly a game for these scum. A gladiator arena. Once you went in, you never came out.
"I'll show you what fear is," the old woman hissed, pressing the shotgun into his back. "Jump."
In the twisted world left after the fall, cruelty was entertainment. Watching another human torn apart was the only thrill they had left.
The mob jeered, waiting for the show.
Venom stood calm, unshaken. Then, in a low, steady voice, he finally spoke:
"Watching's boring. Why don't you go down there and try it for yourselves?"
He said it with a faint smile.
"Oh my God! He's threatening us? Kid, do you even realize the situation you're in?"
They were so close, guns pointed right at him. None of them believed this kid could pull off anything.
"....."