"Schiller walked over, picked up the old record player, gave it a pat, and said:
"Mm… It's probably broken. These antiques always have a few quirks."
Daredevil couldn't see, but he had definitely been startled by the blast of music just now.
"I never knew one of these antiques could make such a racket…" he said.
Peter added, "Looks like it's just like Steve—doesn't want to admit it's old."
In his head, Schiller growled a warning to the symbiote:
"If you ever blast music that loud again, you can forget about ever having another drink!"
The symbiote, however, chattered excitedly back at him. It took Schiller a while to piece it together.
The symbiote told him that, until last night, it had not actually reached adulthood—it was still just a juvenile. Normally symbiotes don't really have such a distinction, but this one was different, created specially by the Symbiote God. To grow, it needed to feed on energy.
Last night, it unlocked its genetic archive—the coded library written into every symbiote's DNA. This archive contained the keys to other symbiotes' powers: splitting and reproducing, infiltrating and controlling other matter, even mimicry and fabrication.
Schiller could immediately sense the difference. The symbiote's speech was finally coherent, no longer just the broken repetition of a tape recorder.
It explained that hidden within its genetic archive was the symbiote race's own language—the very language the Symbiote God used to curse.
Curious, Schiller tried: "Nat'aru?"
Almost instantly, a storm of emotions hit him through psychic waves—shock, anger, resentment. The symbiote was floored.
Through its explanation, Schiller learned that their language was unlike any human tongue. It wasn't words at all, but a directory language. Each syllable was a pointer to vast information encoded in their DNA, content that only another symbiote could unlock.
For example, "Nat'aru," though just three syllables, pointed to brainwave data spanning nearly half an hour—its meaning being every curse word the symbiotes had, dirtier than anything found on Earth.
The symbiote fumed: "That word! It deserves a beating!"
Schiller sighed. Useless knowledge acquired yet again.
Venom might be with Deadpool or in a S.H.I.E.L.D. petri dish, and other symbiotes hadn't appeared yet. Even if they did, why would Schiller want to stand around trading insults? He wasn't their god.
Later that noon, Steve showed up, having missed lunch, and saw Peter slumped in defeat.
"You still haven't finished your homework? Didn't you pull an all-nighter?" he asked.
"Damn right they did," Schiller muttered. He pointed at the table.
"You'd better ask those two game controllers about the beating they took. The puking drunkards could hear their button-mashing from two streets away…"
"Don't say it like that, makes you sound like a fossil," Pikachu said.
Steve waved them off. "Alright, enough sidetracking. I am heading out on a mission soon—not a big one. I'd like to take Peter with me, give him some field training."
"You'll have to ask Stark," Schiller replied. "Peter signed with him first."
"That lazy mole wants to keep Peter locked in some suffocating lab? What's he trying to make him, another pansy like himself?" Steve grumbled.
Schiller added, "I'll be leaving town soon anyway. Before I go, I'll try to talk to Stark. But you know as well as I do—the two of you don't exactly like each other."
"You're leaving? Where to?" Steve asked.
Schiller just shook his head. At last, Matt said:
"I think Peter really should go with the Captain. I'm not playing favorites, but the kids never once left the city they grew up in. That's no way for a boy to live."
"I'm heading west," Schiller finally admitted. "Haven't been in years, but I remember the scenery was beautiful."
Peter was already tempted. Matt was right: his family's finances had always kept him close to home. The farthest he'd ever gone was the outskirts of New York. And what American boy didn't dream of the Wild West?
Catching Peter's eager look, Schiller raised his hands.
"Alright, alright. I'll try to convince Stark. But you'd better take it easy—fieldwork isn't like a lab. Peter, if you get hurt, your aunt will cry a river."
Peter groaned. He'd wanted a wild adventure.
Steve warned, "Don't get your hopes up. This isn't a vacation. If you mess up, kid, the first one to beat you won't be the enemy—it'll be me."
"And who's your enemy, exactly?" Schiller asked. "I only want to know what I'm cleared to know."
Steve explained:
"Not a tough one. S.H.I.E.L.D. found some covert agents in the West. Assassins, really. They call themselves 'ninjas'—strike without a trace. They killed a state senator. That's small potatoes, but their leader seems to have bigger plans. And I could use the warm-up."
Matt stood. "The Hand. Elektra told me. They're searching for Dragon Bones. They haven't made progress, so they've been taking contracts at home, leaving bodies behind."
Schiller nodded. "S.H.I.E.L.D. surely knows this. Their inaction means things are still manageable. But if they want the Hand's true motive, they'll have to be patient."
Matt sank back down, troubled. He knew S.H.I.E.L.D. was watching him and Elektra. Their quiet now didn't mean it would last. He needed a way to free her.
Schiller clapped his shoulder.
"I know what you're worried about. You may be clean, but your girlfriend may not be. You won't let her play spy to save herself—that's just as dangerous. So here's my advice: whatever these Dragon Bones are, they're valuable. The Hand wants them badly. Don't you think Kingpin would want them too?"
Matt understood. Villains didn't always cooperate—conflicting interests could give Elektra a way out.
Later, Schiller was chauffeured to Stark Tower. He found Tony holed up in his lab, drowning in armor work.
"At this rate, I'll be the vampire, not you," Schiller remarked.
Tony tightened a wrench angrily. "You don't know what the Army said yesterday. They want my suits. Guess what?"
Schiller stayed silent.
Tony tossed the wrench aside, staring at the armor.
"You were right. I can't just abandon what the enemy wants. They want to turn my suits into war machines. Should I dismantle them all? Would that bring peace? Stop the war? No. They'd just find another way. And the people I could've saved—gone."
"You turned them down," Schiller said flatly. "And they countered with the usual trick—'Fine, forget the suits, just give us conventional weapons,' right?"
Tony pursed his lips. Of course, Schiller was right. Oldest trick in the book.
"So my only option is S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Tony asked.
He slumped into a chair. "What drains me most is knowing every path is a trap, yet still having to pick one."
"I don't know if Howard realized this when he built S.H.I.E.L.D.," Schiller said. "But I suspect he did. He was smart. Like you."
"You want me to side with S.H.I.E.L.D. too? Sure, it'd save me trouble. If they back me, no one else can touch the suits. But I can't shake the feeling this choice will cost me more later."
"Then don't choose," Schiller replied.
Tony frowned. "But—"
"You've trapped yourself into thinking you must pick a side. You don't. Stall. If one pushes, hint that the other's offer is tempting. Keep them competing."
Schiller smirked.
"You're not choosing because of pressure. You're choosing because of leverage. And who can tempt Tony Stark, the richest genius alive? Your price is sky-high, and deservedly so."
Tony pulled a twisted expression.
"So you're saying I should act like some girl stringing along two boyfriends—pretend I might pick whoever performs better, but actually pick neither, and just enjoy the attention?"
Schiller deadpanned, "Stark, that metaphor sums up your rotten personality perfectly."
Tony spread his arms proudly.
"Who understands women best? Me, the irresistible Tony Stark."
Schiller called out, "Jarvis, the cameras in Pepper's office were working last night, right? Can't wait to see this Casanova in action."
Tony bolted upright. "Wait—Jarvis, you weren't broken yesterday?! You still had the cameras on?! Don't you dare pull it up—fine, fine! I admit it! Some women I don't understand. At the top of the list? Pepper."
Jarvis beeped. "Miss Potts has been on the line for twenty-three minutes."
Tony nearly leaped out of his chair.
"Just kidding, sir," Jarvis said smoothly.
And Schiller added with a grin:
"So, who really understands women best? Jarvis!"
Footnote:
Venom, one of Marvel's most iconic symbiotes, is best known for bonding with Eddie Brock after separating from Spider-Man during the Secret Wars arc in the 1980s (The Amazing Spider-Man #252–#300). However, Marvel has toyed with alternate histories and "what-if" scenarios for decades, and one of the strangest came in Deadpool: Back in Black (2016, written by Cullen Bunn).
That miniseries filled in a gap in continuity: after Spider-Man rejected the alien costume, but before it properly joined Eddie, the symbiote briefly bonded with Deadpool. The result? A wildly unstable team-up that leaned into Deadpool's chaos, fourth-wall humor, and unpredictable morality. The symbiote enhanced Wade's already absurd combat skills, but also absorbed some of his fractured psyche—hinting at why Venom's personality has always been darker, more erratic, and more talkative than most other symbiotes.
This "Deadpool-Venom" moment isn't part of mainline 616 canon in the strictest sense—it's treated more like a hidden-history gag and an alternate take on the alien's journey. Still, it's become a cult-favorite storyline among fans, often referenced in mashups and crossovers.
So when this novel jokingly mentions "Venom being with Deadpool or in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s petri dish," it's a nod to that offbeat Back in Black arc, blending established Marvel history with playful remixing. It underscores the chaotic, anything-goes energy of this crossover universe—where even the unlikeliest pairings are fair game.