Norman Osborn

The research base was located right next to the Golden Gate Bridge, a prime location.

Back in the day, Carlton Drake had paid a hefty price and made numerous promises to the San Francisco City Government to acquire this land.

From a business perspective, the site had given the Life Foundation significant exposure.

Maybe they reaped great profits, but Drake never took a loss.

It's worth mentioning that the construction of the base cost billions of dollars.

Considering the internal enhancements over the years, along with the purchase of medical and research equipment, the total investment easily exceeded ten billion.

This was an astonishing fortune.

However, for a colossal entity like the Life Foundation, this asset was just a physical part of their wealth.

As a leader in the pharmaceutical industry, their true wealth lay in the patents they held — a veritable goldmine that countless competitors coveted.

"Free the volunteers!"

"The homeless deserve rights and freedom!"

"Damn the Life Foundation! Damn Carlton Drake!"

"Boycott the Life Foundation! Drake, step down!"

Outside the base, people gathered at the gate, shouting and making their disdain for the Life Foundation evident.

Security personnel stood behind the gate with firearms, looking at the protesting crowd outside, faces filled with helplessness, unsure of what to do.

For these people who were just there for a paycheck, the lives of the homeless meant very little.

Carlton Drake stood at a high point in the base, looking down at the excited crowd of protesters through the floor-to-ceiling window, his eyes blazing with anger.

"A bunch of idiots!"

He gritted his teeth, realizing he had underestimated The Bugle.

The latter's ability to shape public opinion had far surpassed anything the Life Foundation could achieve.

And now, the situation had escalated beyond just a PR problem.

Even top officials from the San Francisco City Government had begun questioning him.

The implication was that the Life Foundation could only consider itself unlucky.

If things went badly, he himself might end up in prison.

"Eddie Brock."

He muttered the name a few times, clenching his fists, and asked his assistant, "Have you found out anything?"

The assistant replied, "Eddie Brock is currently the editor-in-chief at The Bugle, but he hasn't appeared there for over a month. We traced his last recorded movement to a plane ticket from New York to San Francisco."

"So, Eddie Brock should be in San Francisco right now."

Drake mused, "That means the video was shot by Eddie Brock, and this whole incident can be traced back to that bastard!"

After a pause, he asked, "What did The Bugle say?"

"Uh…"

The assistant hesitated, "They refused our request."

"Very well."

Drake's expression was cold and emotionless. "It seems this matter can no longer be resolved by conventional means."

Meanwhile…

Inside the research base, in the symbiosis research center.

Eddie, locked in a glass room, had no idea what was happening outside.

Seeing the other homeless people around him, many of whom looked listless, with some even lying motionless on the ground, he felt a fear he couldn't put into words.

He suddenly felt a pang of regret.

Tap-tap-tap!

Suddenly, a woman in a white lab coat approached him.

Eddie looked at the woman in front of him, swallowing nervously, guessing that she was there to take him for one of those illegal human experiments.

He felt a sense of despair.

When the glass door opened, Eddie tried to escape, but the woman's security guards restrained him.

"Tie him up."

The woman said casually, "He's a precious volunteer. At this rate, each one we use could be our last. We don't know if we'll get any more."

"Don't worry, we won't break your toy."

The security guard chuckled.

Eddie's heart sank.

After they brought Eddie to another glass room, the security guards, as if foreseeing what was to come, quickly distanced themselves, leaving only the female researcher.

"You're going to get what you deserve, you witch!"

Eddie couldn't help but curse.

"Eddie, given the circumstances, you should know who's really going to get what they deserve, right?"

The woman smirked, her tone mocking.

Eddie was stunned, frozen in place.

"You…you…you…"

He stammered, his shock written all over his face. "You know me?"

"Of course, Eddie Brock, the famous reporter, the first fool to challenge Drake."

The woman stared at Eddie, saying slowly, "I won't lie; I'm actually a fan of yours."

…

Outside the research base.

Phil was at the front of the protest crowd.

From his perspective, The Bugle was in a position of absolute dominance in this battle without smoke and gunfire. It was a massive victory.

Since the scandal broke, the Life Foundation had been taking hits, utterly defenseless.

"Boss, we've got Carlton Drake cornered at the Life Foundation's research base. Under immense public pressure to restore its reputation and limit losses, I think Drake will soon hold a press conference and promise to release the volunteers."

Phil was excited as he spoke to Anton on the phone, "This idea was brilliant — using public opinion to pressure the Life Foundation. You're a genius."

It was Anton's command that had spurred him to organize the protest.

After the protest began, he slipped away, hiding among the crowd.

Because at this point, he had no control over the crowd, and revealing his identity would only put him in danger.

Let's not forget, after all, that San Francisco was still the Life Foundation's territory.

"Very good. Stay safe, keep hidden, and don't let anyone from the Life Foundation know you're a journalist. Report any changes immediately."

Anton advised him patiently.

After hearing Phil's report, he knew the Life Foundation was probably ready to wave the white flag and surrender.

With Carlton Drake's intelligence, he had surely realized by now that the unusual attention wasn't solely due to The Bugle.

The smooth formation of the protest, though helped by Phil, was likely aided by other forces behind the scenes.

At least half of these protestors were probably actors hired by those hidden hands.

Ring ring ring!

Suddenly, Anton's phone rang again.

The caller was J. Jonah Jameson.

"Old man, you can praise me now." Anton answered with a grin. "I hope my actions haven't disappointed you."

"Don't get cocky. Do you think this was all your doing?"

Jameson dismissed him without hesitation. "Get downstairs. I've sent a driver to pick you up. We're going to meet someone."

"Huh?"

Anton was surprised. "Who?"

"You'll find out when we get there."

Jameson hung up decisively, leaving Anton with no chance to ask further questions.

When Anton got in the car, the driver said nothing.

Soon enough…

To Anton's surprise, the car stopped in front of the Osborn Tower.

Jameson was already waiting.

"Let's go."

Jameson led Anton into Osborn Tower. "Someone wants to see you."

"Who?"

Anton thought for a moment and then guessed.

"Norman Osborn?"

He was taken aback.

Although he felt fairly certain, he couldn't help asking the old man, "So, the one stirring things up behind The Bugle is Norman Osborn?"