Eddie Brock burst through the doors of the Daily Globe's main office at seven in the morning, riding high on adrenaline and three cups of terrible break room coffee. His team had worked through the night, editing the Smith Doyle interview into something that would make broadcast history.
He didn't knock on Barney Bushkin's door—just pushed it open and strode in, a USB drive held up like a trophy.
"Boss! We got it!" Eddie's grin was wide enough to hurt. "Exclusive interview with Smith Doyle. The whole thing, recorded, edited, and ready to air."
Barney Bushkin looked up from his computer, and a slow smile spread across his weathered face. The owner of the Daily Globe had been in the news business for thirty years, and Eddie could see the gleam of recognition in his eyes—this was the kind of story that made careers.
"Brock," Bushkin said, leaning back in his chair with satisfaction. "I knew you could do it. You're the first journalist to get an exclusive sit-down with that man. Do you understand what this means for your reputation? For the station's reputation?"
Eddie set the USB drive on Bushkin's desk. "It means our ratings are going to go through the roof."
"Damn right they are." Bushkin picked up the drive, turning it over in his fingers like it was made of gold. "Tell me you got something explosive. Something that'll really grab headlines."
Eddie's enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "No smoking guns, if that's what you mean. But we got Smith Doyle talking about enhanced individuals, about the future of humanity, about his views on aliens and society. This guy isn't just some billionaire or superhero—when he talks, people listen. His opinions shape policy."
He pulled out his phone, swiping to a photo. "And I got this. Me and the man they're calling Earth's God, shaking hands."
Bushkin looked at the photo and laughed, a genuine bark of delight. "Beautiful! That's what I'm talking about. You're going to be famous, Eddie. When this airs, every network in the country is going to want you."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey that probably cost more than Eddie's monthly rent. "Your bonus is doubled this month. Hell, tripled. You've earned it."
Eddie felt warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the imaginary whiskey. "Thanks, boss. Really."
Bushkin poured two fingers into a glass, took a sip, and then his expression shifted to something more business-like. "Now that you've conquered that mountain, I've got another assignment for you."
Eddie's good mood flickered. Something in Bushkin's tone set off warning bells. "Yeah? Who's the interview?"
"Carlton Drake."
The name hit Eddie like cold water. "Carlton Drake? The Life Foundation guy?"
Bushkin nodded, setting down his glass. "He's a visionary entrepreneur, Eddie. Rockets, space exploration, the future of humanity—all that inspirational stuff. He wants to go on record about the Life One crash, assure the public that it was a tragic accident but that the space program is fundamentally safe."
Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets, his expression souring. "Boss, this guy is a snake oil salesman. The Life Foundation's been under investigation for ethics violations three times in the past five years. There are rumors about illegal human trials, unauthorized experiments—"
"Rumors," Bushkin interrupted firmly. "Unsubstantiated rumors."
"Still—"
"Eddie." Bushkin's voice took on a harder edge. "Carlton Drake could buy this entire company with pocket change. He could turn this building into a parking garage if he wanted to. Hell, he could probably buy the whole city block."
He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "I need you to ask him some softball questions about space exploration, thank him for his time, wish him happy holidays, and smile for the camera. That's it. Nothing fancy."
Eddie's jaw tightened. "I'm an investigative journalist, boss. Not a PR flack."
Bushkin played his trump card, his voice dropping to something that almost sounded sympathetic. "Eddie, do you remember where you were three years ago? Working for a tabloid in San Francisco, barely making rent, getting blacklisted from every major network because you pissed off the wrong people."
He stood up, walked around the desk. "We took you in when nobody else would touch you. Gave you a platform, gave you resources. Made you into the Daily Globe's premier investigative reporter. You have a gold-standard show because we backed you."
The words stung because they were true.
"But you're still an employee, Eddie," Bushkin continued, his tone gentle but implacable. "So I'm asking you—as a friend, as someone who's invested in your success—do this favor for me. For the station. Be nice to Carlton Drake, ask your questions, and don't go digging where you shouldn't."
Eddie stared at his boss for a long moment. Every instinct he had was screaming that Carlton Drake was dirty, that the Life Foundation was hiding something dark. But Bushkin had given him a second chance when no one else would.
"Fine," Eddie said finally, the word tasting bitter. "I'll do it. But I'm going on record saying I don't like this."
Bushkin's expression relaxed into a smile. "Noted. And appreciated. You're a good man, Eddie Brock."
Eddie turned and walked out of the office, already dreading the assignment. Something about Carlton Drake made his skin crawl, and he'd learned over the years to trust his instincts.
Still, a favor was a favor. He'd do the interview, smile for the cameras, and get it over with.
Fraternity Headquarters—Main Building
Smith stepped out of the gravity chamber, sweat soaking through his training clothes. He'd been pushing his limits at fifteen times Earth's normal gravity for the past four hours, and his muscles burned with the pleasant ache of genuine exertion.
Fox was waiting for him in the corridor, tablet in hand and a knowing look on her face.
"You asked for intelligence on the Life Foundation," she said without preamble. "I have it. Friday helped compile the data overnight—pulled financial records, personnel files, facility blueprints, security footage. Everything."
Smith took the towel she offered and wiped sweat from his face. "Walk me through it."
They moved to a nearby conference room where Fox had already set up a holographic display. She tapped the tablet, and a three-dimensional image of a man appeared—late thirties, impeccably dressed, with the kind of smile that belonged in a toothpaste commercial.
"Carlton Drake," Fox began. "British parents, American citizen. Earned his PhD in molecular biology from MIT at nineteen."
She swiped, bringing up research papers and patent filings. "His breakthrough was a gene therapy treatment that doubled life expectancy for pancreatic cancer patients. Revolutionary work that put him on the map."
Smith studied the image. In the original timeline, Drake had been a fanatic, willing to sacrifice countless lives in pursuit of human evolution through symbiotic bonding. A man who genuinely believed the ends justified any means.
"He founded the Life Foundation five years ago," Fox continued. "Started in medical research, made a fortune, then pivoted hard into aerospace. His stated mission is finding new habitable worlds for humanity."
More data scrolled across the holographic display. "Current market cap was two hundred thirty billion dollars. After yesterday's crash of the Life One spacecraft, it dropped to two hundred twenty billion. Ten billion dollars gone in a single trading day."
Fox pulled up video footage—grainy, distant shots of emergency responders in hazmat suits combing through wreckage in what looked like a forest. "This is from the crash site. Malaysia, remote location. The Life Foundation deployed their own recovery team before local authorities even knew about it."
Smith leaned closer, studying the footage
"What else do we know about their operations?" Smith asked.
Fox brought up facility schematics. "Their main research campus is in San Francisco. High security, restricted access, very compartmentalized. They've been recruiting test subjects through homeless outreach programs—officially to help provide medical care, but..."
"But actually to use them as guinea pigs," Smith finished.
Fox nodded grimly. "We don't have proof yet, but the pattern is suggestive. People go into Life Foundation facilities for 'free medical treatment,' and a concerning percentage never come out."
Smith's hands clenched. In the movie, Drake had killed dozens of homeless people testing symbiotic bonding. The man had considered them acceptable casualties, disposable resources in his grand vision.
The symbiotes themselves weren't evil—Venom had proven capable of genuine heroism when bonded with the right host. But Drake's methods were monstrous.
"I want continuous surveillance on the Life Foundation," Smith said. "Deploy our best assets. I want to know everyone who goes in and out of that facility. I want their communication intercepts, their financial transactions, their supply chain."
He met Fox's eyes. "And start preparing a team for direct action. I'm thinking Red Guardian, Selene, and Michael. They can handle enhanced threats."
Fox's eyebrow rose. "You're expecting combat?"
"I'm expecting complications." Smith gestured to the holographic display. "The Life Foundation is playing with fire, and when it burns, I want us ready to contain the damage."
He thought about the symbiotes, about the chaos they could cause if Drake managed to bond them with hostile hosts. Riot had nearly succeeded in calling down an invasion force in the original movie. If that happened here, it wouldn't just be Eddie Brock and a single symbiote standing against it.
It would be a war.
Fox made notes on her tablet. "I'll have surveillance teams deployed within the hour. And I'll brief Alexei, Selene, and Michael on potential deployment."
"Good." Smith turned back to the display, studying Carlton Drake's smiling face. "Keep this quiet for now. I don't want to tip our hand until we know exactly what we're dealing with."
Fox nodded and moved toward the door, then paused. "Smith, can I ask what you're expecting to find?"
Smith considered how much to tell her. Fox was his most trusted lieutenant, but some knowledge was dangerous.
"The Life Foundation isn't just playing with space exploration," he said finally. "They're experimenting with something that could change the definition of human. And knowing Carlton Drake's history, he's not going to let things like ethics or safety get in his way."
He looked at Fox directly. "Just trust me on this one. When the Fraternity starts investigating, you'll understand why I'm concerned."
Fox studied him for a moment, reading the tension in his posture, the certainty in his voice. She'd learned over the years that when Smith Doyle had that look, something dangerous was on the horizon.
"I'll have the team ready," she said quietly, and left the room.
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