Morbius by Brendan Deneen

Author:Brendan Deneen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“DID YOU ever fight Spider-Man?”

Morbius blinked and refocused. He had been lost in a daydream about Martine. Or was it a memory? He wasn’t sure, but it had been beautiful. He wished he could live within that fantasy forever, but his mind returned to the cold, dank cell. He was getting hungry again, yet feared that another feeding might be imminent.

“What’s that…?” he asked.

“I know, I know… it’s a weird question, but I feel like I read in the Daily Bugle one time about the web-slinger fighting a vampire. Was that you?”

Morbius thought back to his many battles. He regretted some, if not all.

“Yes,” he said finally.

“Wow,” said Jake. “What was… what was that like?”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Morbius responded, “but I will tell you that he is annoyingly fast. And those jokes? The worst.”

He smiled then. Despite his protestations, it felt good to talk about this. He had never opened up quite this way to someone—not since the experiment. Since his life had been destroyed. By his own hand.

“Really?” Jake said. “I saw him once on the Upper East Side, after he’d beaten up Doc Ock and a bunch of his goons. His jokes were actually pretty funny.”

“Well, some of them are humorous, I suppose,” Morbius admitted. “The man is still annoying, though.”

Jake laughed. It was a good sound. Michael had always been able to make Emil laugh, too. He missed him a lot. Was haunted by what he had done. Murdered his best friend in the world.

At that moment, there was a noise at the door to his cell. He looked up and his face filled with rage. It was Thaddeus. A smile on his face. The jagged claw marks on his cheek had healed somewhat but were still red, a painful reminder of the hatred they shared.

“Good evening, Michael,” he said, disdain dripping from each word.

“Is it evening?” Morbius replied, not looking away. A primal part of him was excited; was it really feeding time again? Yet he had no desire to murder anyone else for his own survival. The human part of him wished he could just kill himself and save everyone the agony of his existence. He shook these thoughts away. This was no time for pity or weakness.

“It is indeed,” Thaddeus replied, “and today is your day.”

“I have no interest in feeding again,” Morbius growled. “So you can get your sick pleasure elsewhere.”

“I plan on getting immeasurable pleasure today, Michael,” the cultist replied. “It’s your turn again. In the arena. You’ve caused quite a stir among our customers.”

Michael looked down. Somehow, he hadn’t considered that another battle might be imminent. Perhaps because he had no interest in fighting another tragic prisoner for the enjoyment of hundreds of unseen humans—if they could be called that. Still, on some level he was excited. He was sick of sitting around, rotting away in this cell.

When he looked back up, Thaddeus was flanked by half a dozen cult members, their faces hidden within the shadows of their hoods.

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