[ S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Washington DC ]
Daisy remained silent, eyes narrowed in thought as she combed through her memories. "Is the founder of the Yashida family still alive?" she asked slowly, gaze fixed.
Nick Fury gave a brief pause before replying, "He should be. We haven't received any news of his death."
With that, he pulled out a matte-black ID and handed it to her. The SHIELD insignia gleamed faintly in the dim light. "Your clearance level is now Level Five. SHIELD will foot the bill for the adamantium."
Looking at the eagle-engraved ID, Daisy hesitated. SHIELD was less an organization and more a black hole with benefits—once you stepped in, it took a tactical nuke to get out. But in a world like this, standing still was just another way of dying slowly. And having a juggernaut of an intelligence network at your back? Not a bad ace to carry.
She weighed the options like a poker player reading the table. Pros: backup, resources, tech, information. Cons: being bossed around by the one-eyed pirate.
Fury didn't pressure her—he just waited, unreadable as ever, like a hawk in a trench coat.
"Okay," Daisy finally said, accepting the ID. Whether SHIELD turned out to be a gilded cage or a ladder out of the shadows, they'd given her plenty without asking for much in return. For now.
Fury didn't so much as flinch, like he'd predicted this outcome from day one. Of course he had. Probably had it written in a file somewhere titled: How to Recruit a Rebellious Hacker Queen 101.
"Since you're one of us now, complete the mission as soon as possible," he said, making a move to dismiss her.
"Wait, wait, hold on!" Daisy raised a hand. Something just occurred to her. "Does the Bureau have any anti-mind-control gear? What if I run into Professor X and he decides I'm his new puppet?"
She had too many secrets jammed in her skull to risk letting a psychic rummage through them. Telepaths were cheaters with extra steps.
Her powers—vibration manipulation—weren't exactly useful against mental intrusion. Sure, Professor X usually kept his powers on a leash, but that didn't mean every telepath did. And she wasn't planning to gift-wrap herself for some psychic sleazebag.
Fury actually considered it seriously, which mildly surprised her. "X wouldn't target SHIELD personnel... but your paranoia is healthy. That's what keeps good agents alive."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a small metal case. Inside was a sleek patch. "Science Division designed it. Stick it behind your ear. It's discreet, nearly invisible. If someone tries to take over your mind, it heats up your neural pathways—enough to jolt you out and buy you time to escape."
"Great," Daisy muttered. "A psychic fire alarm."
"Also," Fury added as he picked up another stack of paperwork, "try not to cause earthquakes in busy cities. Hard to explain broken skyscrapers to the media."
And with that, the meeting was over.
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[ Daisy's House, Manhattan, New York ]
Daisy returned to her room and opened the case.
The packaging was ridiculous—like a Russian nesting doll designed by someone who used to work in luxury mooncake marketing. Box inside a box inside another box. Tin foil, vacuum seals, then finally... a transparent patch the size of a fingernail.
She stared at it. "SHIELD, you extra little gremlins."
It didn't look like much, but up close it was a miniature labyrinth of microscopic circuitry. It shimmered like a snowflake on acid. Daisy set it behind her ear and waited. Nothing. No sounds, no warmth, not even a buzz.
The patch clung to her skin perfectly, invisible unless someone was actively sniffing her ear. She knew SHIELD had likely included tracking tech in it—but she'd long stopped caring. She ate their food, used their gear, and will slept in their safehouses. They could have micro-tracked her toothpaste at this point.
Still, she didn't like relying solely on gadgets. She needed to develop her own mental defenses—like an internal firewall. Meditation, mental discipline, maybe even finding a way to train her brain like a monk with Wi-Fi.
Unfortunately, everyone who could teach her that was either a mind-reader, a cult leader, or the kind of person who thought murder was a valid greeting.
So, plan B: avoid all psychic freaks and just never make eye contact with bald telepaths in wheelchairs.
She packed quickly, showed her new SHIELD ID at the airport, and boarded a plane to Tokyo.
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[ Some Time Later ]
Mid-flight, Daisy flipped through the mission file. SHIELD's internal intel was clean and clinical—listing the Yashida family's rise post-WWII. A sanitized version of history.
But she knew better.
The old head of the Yashida family wasn't just some rags-to-riches entrepreneur. He was Hydra. Pure, no-ice, straight-shot Hydra. After Red Skull's downfall, leftover Nazis and Japanese ultranationalists fused into the new Hydra. And the Yashida estate on Shikoku Island? One of their shiny little fortresses.
Hydra's version of "helping rebuild Japan" was a euphemism for quietly taking it over. Subtle economic warfare. Manipulating policy, draining resources. The whole "shadow empire" playbook.
Kyoto housed Hydra's financial core, codename: Crown.
Naha's coastal trench concealed their underwater city, codename: Ichor.
And then there was the Yashida castle—formal, regal, and rotten at the core.
Between the three, they had tens of thousands of Hydra troops. Add in the fragmented remnants of the Hand, and Japan looked less like a nation and more like a Hydra petri dish.
Daisy wasn't panicked, though. Hydra was good at staying buried until it suited them. She was just the scout—and if things got hairy, she could always follow Fury's best tactic: Run.
This time, the big threat was Madame Viper. Also known as Madame Hydra, also known as the scariest thing to crawl out of a designer perfume ad.
She betrayed Hydra. Then rejoined. Then betrayed them again. Daisy had stopped trying to make sense of her allegiances. Poisonous, unpredictable, dangerous—like someone poured venom into a martini glass.
Daisy's job wasn't to fight the dragon. It was to open the gate, wave at Logan, and let the old man sort it out.
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[ Tokyo, Japan ]
Evening had cloaked Tokyo by the time she stepped off the plane at Haneda Airport. Daisy wore a cream trench coat over sleek pencil pants, a thick scarf, and carried a Burberry handbag that practically screamed, I steal your secrets with style.
Her contact found her quickly. Black suit, stiff posture, professional to the point of robotic.
He didn't even blink at her. Clearly, he'd been briefed. No small talk, no bow, just a silent car door opened.
Daisy climbed in. Tried a few light questions. The driver answered in stiff, short phrases. His Japanese was textbook. He was either trained not to talk or scared to. Either way, it was clear she'd get nothing useful.
So she gave up, pulled out her tablet, and connected to the local network.
Yashida Enterprises looked healthy from the outside. Strong leadership, solid profits, steady growth.
But that, too, was a mirage. The elder Yashida had never stopped manipulating things from behind the curtain. He wanted Logan's healing factor and had sunk billions into securing every scrap of adamantium on the planet.
The global market had been scoured clean. If it sparkled like adamantium, Yashida bought it.
On the surface, the company was thriving. Inside, it was a house of cards. The financial strain of acquiring the alloy had gutted their reserves. One more wrong move, and the whole thing could collapse into scandal.
Her official contact was Shingen Yashida—the son. In theory, the man in charge. In reality, a puppet dancing on Hydra strings.
To be continued...
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[ POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS ]