<

Her words were much less coherent than her movements as she jumped to her feet. The white suit, battered as it was, shifted and roiled and turned to black, her hood taking on the telltale sharp edges as the Venom symbiote took the wheel.

Still, she was at half-capacity. She needed to escape.

<

As strong as he was, he still had obey physics. He was on top of her. Legs coiled in quickly, pressed against him and thrust outward to cast him aside.

"There's something about not liking me when I'm angry to be said here," she muttered.

>

<

It was her turn. A clawed hand caught the next fist before it could connect, despite the fact that the arm had been broken.

Gwen was barely conscious, but there was a second being ready to pilot right now. This was a matter of survival and that was what the symbiote did best.

>

<

Then the coffee shop was replaced with stars. Repeated stars. She heard something about telling someone something. The message was unclear. She was definitely concussed at this point. Not sure how he wanted her to convey any kind of message.

>

<

"I hope ... they had ... insurance," she muttered. She could taste blood. Something else was broken. But a cracked rib was different than the way her arm was splintered.

She had to get away. She lifted her good arm, aiming at something down the road, and fired a web in hope to pull herself away.

<

She felt her arm give way, felt it bend in a way it shouldn't, and her vision was white with pain. And for Gwen, pain came with anger. She screamed again and started punching with her off-hand, punching at his arm, at his face, whatever she could as hard as she could hit until he let her go.

<

She screamed. A guttural sound of anger and panic. And then her strength failed her.

Her symbiote could protect her from a lot. But she was still human underneath it. Which meant human meat and human bones.

>

<

Well ignore this.

Her fist clenched and the white suit turned black abruptly along her arm, the symbiote writhing. It shifted suddenly, spiked barbs shooting out from all along her arm where he was holding her. If he didn't let go, his hands would be impaled.

<

Still, she could do more than punch and she was very flexible, so Gwen resorted to her real weapons: her legs. Jumping and twisting as much as her captured wrist might allow, she jackknifed to throw a firm kick toward his chest, with much less held back this time.

<

When her hand collided with his with a meaty thud and he seemed entirely unfazed by it, she knew she had held back too much. His fingers wrapped around her fist.

"Whoa, dude, don't get handsy, you're not my type," she quipped. He was smart. Take away a Spider-Person's mobility quickly.

>