[ Dr. Hank Pym Lab, Yale University, Connecticut ]
The most basic application of sensing vibration frequency? Spatial displacement.
Simple, right?
Scientifically, though, it's a beast. String theory—the darling of theoretical physicists, the bridge between the four fundamental forces and general relativity, the reason everyone in quantum circles has headaches—is the crux of Daisy's latest obsession.
According to string theory, all matter is made up of minuscule, vibrating strings. Some stretch across the cosmos, some slink between electrons like microscopic tightropes. After the Big Bang, a bunch of these cosmic strings were flung into existence—some stretching more than ten billion light-years. We can't see them, but gravity tells on them with subtle lensing effects. They're theorized to chill in binary star systems, created by gravitational resonance—two stars dancing together, shaking up standing waves. Each string, every vibration, links two stable points. Like cosmic subway stations.
For Daisy? The concept was tantalizing. Vibrate the right string, and poof—you move from point A to B. Instant travel. That is, if you didn't accidentally launch yourself into a sandstorm.
She had tried the trick before. Nada. But now, with Dr. Hank Pym muttering calculations faster than a blackjack dealer at a Vegas table, she could finally see where things had gone wrong.
While Pym still had his head buried in equations, Daisy quietly flexed her hands, comparing notes between science and supernatural instinct. She emitted low-frequency pulses from her palms, gentle "sizzle-sizzle" sounds crackling as she tuned into the quantum hum of the world.
Pym looked up, brow raised. "You're cooking something, Miss Johnson?"
"Just toasting the air," Daisy replied without missing a beat.
Light-blue halos began dancing around her fingers—faint at first, like birthday candle flames. Then, like a firecracker going rogue, the energy surged. Boom.
A small fireball erupted midair. Debris showered down. Sand whooshed out like someone kicked a beach into the lab.
Daisy took the brunt of it.
Dr. Pym scrambled for a fire extinguisher, only to stop mid-step. No flame. Just clouds of dust and what appeared to be half the Sahara scattered across his previously pristine lab.
"Pah...!" Daisy pushed herself off the floor. Her once-sharp blazer and trousers were now gray, dust-swept disasters. Sand was everywhere—hair, shoes, places that would haunt her for days.
"Yellow sand?" Pym crouched, inspecting the fine grit. "Where did you open a connection to?"
"No clue," Daisy said flatly, brushing her hair back and looking every bit like a glamorized refugee. "Is there a dimension called 'Dust Bowl Prime'?"
Pym chuckled. "Can't you shake it off? Literally? Should be easy for someone with your gifts."
"Watch and learn, Doc." Daisy summoned her power, gave a flick of her hand—only for the dust to jiggle in place like it was at a rave, then resettle stubbornly. "See? I'm not a living Dyson."
Pym frowned. "Your directional control is lacking. It's like trying to move a shopping cart with square wheels. Magneto had this problem too, early on."
"Yes, yes, heavy lifting, metal-bending trauma—I know the story," Daisy interrupted, then jabbed a finger at Pym's whiteboard. "And you made a mistake in that formula. Just saying."
With a huff, she vanished into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, she reemerged wearing a pristine white lab coat, hair in a ponytail, sand-free and fashionably smug. Meanwhile, the eighty-something-year-old genius was left to clean up and triple-check his work.
Turned out, Daisy was right.
It wasn't exactly his fault—the error was baked into the assumptions of modern quantum theory. Some inherited constants had shifted values mid-calculation, throwing everything off.
When Daisy returned, she looked like she meant business—and not the dusty disaster kind.
"Okay, so between 30,000 and 50,000 frequency range," Pym instructed, pacing and gesturing wildly, "you'll need to factor in distance, target mass, air resistance, ambient field interference—"
Daisy squinted. Some of it made sense. The rest? Advanced math that made her wish she'd cheated more in high school calculus.
"Try opening a ten-meter gate in here," Pym said, pointing across the lab. "Keep it local. Low stakes."
Simple enough.
Daisy inhaled slowly. She gathered her energy and fired a focused shockwave into the air. Light-blue energy surged, hit invisible resistance, then slipped through like a hot knife through Jell-O.
She felt it—like tugging on a rubber band made of reality itself. She targeted two points, then let the string vibrate.
A swirling vortex appeared, rippling in the air like a whirlpool made of light. Two meters high, one meter wide, spinning clockwise. Ten meters away, its twin answered the call.
"Ready!" Daisy called.
Dr. Pym lobbed a physics textbook into the first vortex. It sailed through and thudded out the other side.
"Space jump!" Pym grinned like a child.
Daisy, meanwhile, collapsed into a nearby chair, sweat dripping down her face. "Huff... Doc, got snacks? I feel like I just ran five marathons and did calculus at the same time."
Food? Not Pym's forte. He rang his assistant, who—thank every quantum deity—ordered delivery.
Daisy demolished three twelve-inch pizzas. She would've gone for a fourth, but pepperoni fatigue hit hard. A warm bowl of broth helped bring her back to life.
"Energy cost's that high?" Pym asked, wide-eyed.
"The power drain's normal. The brain drain is the killer. We've still got holes in the math. I'm spending more power on compensating for flawed variables than actually jumping. Optimize the algorithm, and boom—sky's the limit."
Pym nodded solemnly. "You'll have to learn advanced mathematics. I can tutor you."
Daisy groaned. "Is it too late to just marry rich?"
To be continued...
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[ POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS ]