Mark looked at J. Jonah Jameson's doubtful face and spoke with calm patience. "Stories about Tony Stark are everywhere. Every paper has them, so how will yours be any different?" Mark continued, "On my way here, everyone was reading about what happened last night. You should probably ask your staff how the fifth edition is selling."
He had a degree of respect for Jameson. It was impressive to build the Daily Bugle into a major newspaper. The man's journalistic integrity was certainly questionable. His constant crusade against Spider-Man was proof of that. Ironically, that was exactly what made him so useful. Mark did not need someone dedicated to the absolute truth. He needed a man who knew how to craft a narrative. The stories he planned for the future would not always be completely factual. Some would need to be exaggerated. Others would be entirely made up.
"Get me the sales numbers for the fifth edition," Jameson yelled into his phone. He was still not convinced but he could not ignore Mark's point.
A moment later, his secretary replied. "Sir, the fifth edition has sold out completely."
"Sold out?"
Jameson stood frozen with wide eyes. He suddenly jumped from his chair and shouted into the phone. "Get Eddie in here right now. I want the armored man on tomorrow's front page. I need clear photos and lots of them."
For Jameson, sales were more important than anything else. He would put a story about a talking dog on the front page if he thought it would sell.
A young reporter with a camera around his neck quickly entered the room.
"Eddie, get me a full story on this armored man," Jameson ordered while pacing around his office. "I don't care how you do it. Use money, use contacts, use whatever you have to. I want high-quality pictures on my desk before the end of the day." He was in his element as an editor and seemed to forget Mark was even there.
"Should I write a positive or negative story?" Eddie asked.
Jameson glared at him. "Negative, you idiot. Bad news always sells better. You should know that. Say he is secretive and mysterious. Suggest he was part of the bank robbery and had a falling out with his crew. Just use your imagination to fill in the rest."
"I understand, boss," Eddie said. He was not surprised. He had only asked to be certain about the direction. He already knew what kind of man Jameson was.
As Eddie turned to go, a calm voice spoke from across the room.
"No. You will write a fully positive article."
Eddie turned to see the young man who had been sitting quietly. "Who are you?"
"I am the man who owns your boss," Mark said without raising his voice. He stood up with a polite but firm smile. "If you do not follow my instructions, you will be unemployed by morning."
Eddie quickly looked at Jameson, who stood with a twitching jaw. "Do what he says," Jameson grumbled.
Mark walked to the desk and laid down a stack of glossy photos. "Here are the pictures you need. The headline should be something bold. Maybe 'A God Arrives to Save Humanity' or 'Incredible Man Catches Bullets in His Hands'. I want this article to praise him. He is a hero and a protector of the people. You are not writing news. You are creating a legend."
Jameson looked at the photos, a look of pure professional admiration on his face. The headlines were perfect. They were exciting and made you want to know more without giving everything away. It was a brilliant strategy. For the first time in a long time, Jameson felt like someone else understood the business of selling papers.
After all the arrangements were made, Mark left the Bugle and rode his motorcycle toward Queens. While young people got their news online, print papers were still very influential. The Daily Bugle was an important tool for shaping how the public thought.
"That reporter Eddie," Mark thought to himself as he sped down the street. "I wonder if he is the same Eddie that becomes Venom." In most timelines, a journalist named Eddie Brock bonded with the symbiote. If that happened here, he could be a useful person to know. But for now, it did not matter. He was just a young reporter trying to make a name for himself.
"Midtown High is the first stop."
It did not take long to reach the large, red-brick school in the heart of Queens. Finding Peter Parker would be the hard part. But this was the most likely place to start. If he was wrong, Professor X could always use Cerebro to find him.
Mark parked his motorcycle and started walking toward the entrance when a confident voice called out to him. "Hey there, handsome. Are you a student here? My name is Lily."
He turned to see a tall girl with long blonde hair and a fashionable outfit. She carried herself with a flirty and direct energy. She was clearly a student at Midtown High, a relaxed public school where social popularity was often more important than homework. Mark, with his black leather jacket and expensive motorcycle, definitely stood out.
'These girls are very forward' Mark thought with a quick chuckle.
"Sorry, I am not a student," he replied. "I am looking for someone. Do you know a guy named Peter Parker?"
"You're not a student?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "You don't look that much older than us."
Mark gave her a charming smile. "I didn't mean any offense. You are very pretty. I just happen to be a few years older."
His answer seemed to work. Her expression softened. "That's better," she said, flipping her hair. "Yeah, I know a Peter Parker. He's a bit of a nerd, though. Are you sure he is the person you are looking for?"
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