[ All of this is so hilariously pertinent that Venom almost wonders if this wasn't a coincidence, running into this strange young man with the spite in his eyes, the same venom that'd come to be his own namesake. It's familiar, at the very least— the simmering sentiment of revenge, the anger that reflects like an infinity mirror until your reflection becomes an afterthought and the replication of it becomes the more prevalent function.

He knows what it feels like, the hollowed-out desert of a soul that runs on loss and fury. The need to sink his fangs into something tangible, for blood shed for blood. It used to be the only thing he had, but his indignance was always for a different reason than the insistent, grit-teeth purpose that Andyr is laying out for him now—

—it was never about himself, no. Not for Venom. ]

...If that's your fight, I have no reason to tell you to stop.

[ That is likely not a very responsible adult thing to say, huh. Most people would tell a young man hell-bent on ripping apart his enemies with his teeth, his nails, to keep himself from self-assured destruction. To be sure, Venom wants something better for this boy with his irregular eyes and the imposed artifice in his spine, but there are things that are beyond his reach.

So all he can do, as always, is hope that Andyr makes it. ]

If that's how you want to leave your mark, then fight for it. [ For something better. For a world where preexisting frameworks become obsolete. Unnecessary. ] ...But remember that what you're doing is for the future. Not to tread familiar ground.