[ Daisy's House, Manhattan, New York ]
Daisy closed her eyes, fingertips brushing over the amulet with a sense of practiced reverence. There was a mystery buried inside the thing—a hum, a memory, maybe even a soul. To Daisy, it didn't feel like a soul trapped inside so much as a spiritual echo—a frequency-based imprint of the tiger's instincts, snarls, and muscle memory at its peak.
Unfortunately, the thing was about as responsive as a brick. Dead objects tend to lack ambition.
When she slid it on, her power didn't spike the way it used to when she first started messing with enhanced gear. No surges, no wild boosts. It was roughly on par with her current level. The amulet didn't offer her raw power—just the echo of something once majestic. Speed? Still hers. Endurance? She was already better. Tigers weren't built for marathons, after all.
Unlike those street-level types needing every bit of juice they could squeeze out of mystical hand-me-downs, Daisy didn't need enhanced attributes. What intrigued her was finesse—the flow of motion, the deep muscle instincts. When the amulet clung to her neck, it felt like knowledge had downloaded straight into her tendons. She didn't learn—it remembered for her.
Acceleration in close range. Precise shifts in direction. Obstacle-clearing without breaking stride. Gravity-defying wall runs. All the glorious, terrifying motion of a beast in full charge—and she could access it like muscle memory she'd forgotten she had.
The real gem, though? Intuition. Pure, distilled animal instinct. Danger didn't sneak up anymore—it whispered.
Her foresight sharpened. Not quite Spider-Sense level, and still trailing behind Wolverine's absurd beast mode, but it was something. Reaction speed crept above baseline too—not enough to Matrix-dodge bullets, but enough to bend just in time.
She spent hours testing it, flipping, running, absorbing. But no matter how many times she activated it, there were no more tricks up the tiger's sleeve. The White Tiger Amulet had limits, and she was dancing far beyond them now.
She did recall there were deeper abilities buried in the amulet, but compatibility was a nightmare. Trying to tap into them felt like sharing a body with a grumpy ghost cat. Clunky, awkward, and thoroughly uncooperative.
And frankly, she wasn't about to open her mental doors and invite a big cat in for tea.
So, research ended there.
She repurposed the claws and tiger-head charm into a bracelet—tastefully lethal, like everything she wore—and disguised it as simple jewelry. Accessible, functional, stylish. Always on hand.
The amulet? Useful, but not vital. She could hand it off without much loss. Maybe to someone who actually needed it. Maria Hill came to mind.
Maria had eyes like a tiger anyway—light blue, cold, unblinking. They followed Daisy everywhere, made her feel like prey and predator all at once. It was unsettling… and deeply, deeply attractive.
As for the whole Hector thing, Daisy had no regrets. She hadn't stolen an opportunity. She'd rerouted fate. Hector, his niece, his sister—they were all alive because of her. That should count as salvation. She didn't owe guilt. She deserved thanks. And they could go back to Puerto Rico and enjoy their second chance.
America was too dangerous anyway.
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[ S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Washington DC ]
By the time the movie hit theaters in June 2007, the country was already grumbling about the next election cycle. Campaign season was creeping in, but for the moment, the world was watching something far more entertaining—dinosaurs.
Professionals grumbled. Paleontologists clutched their fossil charts. But none of it mattered.
When the executives at every major studio waved off the scientific nitpicking with, "Yeah, but we're not making a documentary," the experts got the message: Sit down and enjoy the popcorn.
And they did.
Theaters filled. Kids squealed. Adults gasped. People laughed, cried, and left grinning. Jurassic Park was a hit. And the money followed.
Cinema chains didn't dare skim a cent off S.H.I.E.L.D.'s take. According to the deal, the first week's box office flowed directly into the agency's account. Fifty million dollars, transferred cleanly.
Nick Fury didn't see it coming. The one-eyed pirate had casually tossed the film project into Daisy's lap months ago like it was pocket change. Now that it returned as a small fortune, he was suspicious.
S.H.I.E.L.D. was known for spending. Lavishly. Recklessly. Obscenely. The World Security Council was already grinding its collective molars about the hemorrhaging budget.
But this? This was the first time they'd made money.
So naturally, Nick called Daisy.
Her first time in a while inside his icy command office was… underwhelming. The air conditioner ran like it was cooling a meat locker. The man himself sat behind his desk, trench coat perfectly pressed, eye patch gleaming, bald head reflecting enough light to give someone a tan.
"You've got good instincts and sharp logistics," Fury began, tone even but measured. "But I didn't expect you to have an eye for talent."
Daisy tilted her head, intrigued. Maria had hinted that Fury wasn't a fan of the film, so the compliment landed sideways.
Still, accepting praise from a superior like a golden retriever was amateur hour. She gave a humble shrug.
"I barely did anything. Phil Coulson handled most of it."
Pushing credit upward to the boss's right-hand man? That always earned quiet approval. Fury stayed silent, eye locked on the horizon like he was seeing some metaphysical threat no one else could.
Daisy resisted the urge to comment on the gleam of his dome.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"Sharon—don't ask about the adamantium. I've already contacted a supplier for you."
Daisy blinked. Of course he knew. Of course. She played it cool.
"How much?" She was sitting on a healthy movie cut, but adamantium wasn't exactly bulk bin material.
Fury's smile was... not a smile.
"You don't have to pay. S.H.I.E.L.D. will cover it."
Instant red flag.
"Right. And what's the catch?"
"No catch," he said smoothly. "Just a mission."
There it was.
Daisy sighed. "I'll pass. I can shop around the market myself."
"You won't find it. It's not sold. Not really. The only available samples are locked in cutting-edge labs in major countries. Even for you, it'd take time to... borrow one." Fury leaned back like he wasn't openly encouraging theft.
She considered the teleportation logistics of a heist like that, then shook her head.
"So S.H.I.E.L.D. has some in stock?"
"Of course we do. But that's not free either. Mission first."
Full circle.
She gave him a tired look. "Fine. What's the assignment?"
"Solo op. Hill and Sharon have other duties. You've got the best chance of pulling this off. Not because you're the strongest—though you are. But because you know how to disappear."
His gaze sharpened.
"Agents aren't tanks. We're not there to win wars. We're there to survive. Escape under fire is a skill, not a flaw. That makes you better than Hill or Sharon in this case."
Daisy raised an eyebrow at the flattery-disguised pragmatism. So her survival instincts were now elite agent material. Go figure.
Still, she accepted the compliment.
"Do you know Professor X?" Fury asked.
She nodded. Of course. The file was thick. Leader of the mutants, telepath, peace advocate. The whole package.
"Logan's heading to Japan," Fury continued. "A mutant with precognition warned Xavier he's walking into danger. The professor asked for assistance—discreet, off-the-books."
"Lemme guess. That's me."
"And," Fury added, "the adamantium you want is in Japan too. Shingen Yashida is expecting you. He'll supply the alloy."
Daisy exhaled.
She could work with that.
And if anything went sideways, well—she could always do what she did best.
Disappear.
To be continued...
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[ POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS ]