As soon as Ethan Cole stepped through the door of his apartment, he didn't even pause to take off his shoes before sprinting up the stairs to the second floor.
Entering his bedroom, he immediately sat at his desk and tapped furiously on his computer, eager to check the latest surveillance results.
"Five persons matching the profile were identified, all located on Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn and Queens," the system announced.
Ethan quickly scanned through the files of the five suspects, comparing each one meticulously to the mental image etched in his memory. Even the blurry screenshots were examined carefully—he missed no detail.
"Don't bother. None of these five are him," Venom's gravelly voice came from his shoulder, followed by a light knock on Ethan's head.
"I've memorized his face clearly. Even if the computer images are blurry, I won't confuse him with anyone else," Ethan replied firmly.
Despite Venom's advice, Ethan kept studying the images intently.
"Hmph," Ethan sighed and leaned back in his chair after finishing the review.
Though he had braced himself not to get his hopes up, disappointment still gnawed at him when none of the candidates matched Rick Foley.
If it were up to him, Ethan thought bitterly, he wouldn't want to wait another second. He wished he could teleport straight to that damned murderer's side, snap his neck, and grind him to dust piece by piece.
Noticing the anger and frustration brewing inside Ethan, Venom patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry. With this kind of surveillance, you'll catch him soon enough."
"When the time comes, just save my head, alright? And if things go sideways… well, you don't have to keep it."
Ethan rolled his eyes at Venom's dark humor. Somehow, it felt like he should be thankful for that.
Just as he was about to respond, a new alert flashed on the screen.
"Match found: similar person spotted near a 7-Eleven convenience store in the outskirts of Brooklyn."
"That's him!" Venom growled hoarsely.
Ethan squinted, pressing his face close to the monitor as he watched the man standing outside the convenience store.
The resemblance was undeniable — same messy brown hair, rough stubble, and those cold, calculating eyes Venom had drawn in his sketch.
"Kang dang!" A sudden bang shattered the bedroom window, and Ethan reflexively dove out through the opening.
The moment he hit the ground, the black, viscous symbiote surged over his body, covering him completely in a living shadow.
"Bang!" A powerful explosion of black goo blasted Ethan forward, leaving behind a deep crater in the pavement.
Without hesitation, Ethan let Venom take full control, channeling the symbiote's speed and agility to race towards the location.
The stash of chocolates Venom had eaten earlier proved useful now, fueling his speed as they soared between buildings like a streak of black lightning, then darted along the streets in a blur.
Inside the convenience store, Rick Foley was oblivious to the danger creeping closer.
He casually picked up a few cans of beer, bottles of cheap whiskey, and some random snacks before heading to the checkout counter.
"Give me another pack of Marlboros," Rick demanded, pointing at the cigarettes behind the counter.
The young cashier quickly grabbed a pack from the shelf, slipping it into a bag with the rest of Rick's items. "That'll be twenty dollars and twenty-five cents."
Rick fumbled through his pockets but came up empty. "Shit!" he cursed loudly.
"Hey, buddy, I don't have change either, so forget the fifty-four cents," Rick sneered, raising his chin arrogantly at the cashier.
The cashier hesitated, clearly intimidated by Rick's rough demeanor. "Sorry, man, but I'm just a temp here. If the boss finds out I undercharged you, I'm out of a job."
"He's an old drunk with a bad temper," the young man added nervously. "He even suspects me of stealing change, so he keeps an eye on the surveillance cameras."
Following the salesman's trembling finger, Rick Foley's sharp eyes immediately caught the small, dome-shaped surveillance camera mounted on the ceiling right above the counter.
"Damn it!" Rick growled, shooting the salesman a furious glare. That damn kid was clearly trying to warn him discreetly that the store was under constant watch—and that old man boss was always watching through the cameras.
The salesman flinched under Rick's menacing stare, his unease deepening by the second.
The guy in front of him wasn't the kind to explode in violence over small things—at least not yet. If he had realized how dangerous Rick Foley truly was, he would have let him walk out without a word. But now that the words had been said, regret was useless.
Rick's fury boiled over. He roughly rummaged through his bag, grabbed a handful of cheap snacks, and slammed them onto the counter with a sharp thud.
"These should cover your five cents and four cents! What a damn convenience store!"
With that, Rick snatched up his bag and stormed out, slamming the glass door behind him so hard the chime rang through the street.
Left behind, the young salesman could only sigh and stoop to gather the scattered items, carefully placing them back on the shelves.
"Goddamn gangster!" he muttered under his breath, dusting off the shelves angrily. "Tomorrow, I'm telling that fat old boss I quit."
If it weren't for the higher hourly wage, he never would have worked so far from the city. The farther out in Brooklyn, the worse the crowd got. Today was a brutal wake-up call—and it wiped out whatever hope he had left.
Rick Foley's anger didn't subside as he stormed away from the store. If he wasn't trying to stay low, he would have drawn the pistol holstered at his side and fired a few rounds at that idiot clerk just for good measure.
Ever since joining the gang and prowling the streets of New York, no one dared mess with him inside convenience stores or other low-level joints. When he was in a good mood, he tipped generously.
All it took was a scowl and a hand resting on the small pistol at his hip for people to freeze, raising their hands without daring to resist.
Of course, this kind of respect only worked in the outskirts and less policed areas of the city. Downtown, it was better not to attract too much attention.
"Fucking annoying!" Rick muttered as he tossed his things onto the passenger seat of his beat-up sedan and started the engine.
He headed back to the dingy basement hideout where he'd been laying low.
He had actually left the United States yesterday—or so he thought. But due to suddenly tightened border inspections, the fixer arranging his exit told him it would be days before he could get through. The fee for expediting had also increased by nearly 30%.
Thinking about all this, Rick's frustration peaked. Why did nothing go smoothly these past few days? He should have just gotten out right after finishing his job, instead of waiting here in this dump.
"Squeak~!" The basement door creaked loudly as he slammed it shut behind him.
He dumped his bag on the cracked concrete floor and spun around to turn on the light.
But the flickering, barely functional bulb gave out with a loud pop—the wiring in this decrepit place had finally failed.
"Fuck!" Rick cursed, banging his fist against the peeling wall in rage.
He collapsed on the battered mattress and pulled out the cigarettes he had just bought.
Normally, Rick wouldn't care much for plain smokes. He usually preferred something stronger—weed or synthetics—but today he needed the comfort.
An orange flame danced in the darkness as he lit up.
The brief flare illuminated the basement just enough for a moment.
That's when Rick's eyes caught movement—right across from him, a black, viscous figure crouched low.
Narrow, icy eyes locked onto him without a shred of warmth.
The grotesquely wide mouth, packed with razor-sharp teeth, stretched into a sinister grin.
A long, bright red tongue slithered from between those teeth, flicking like a restless serpent in the dim light.
"Wha—!"
A terrified scream ripped through the basement, then abruptly cut off.
Outside, the crows nesting in the nearby street trees seemed startled by the sudden cry, bursting into harsh, discordant caws that echoed down the empty streets.