[ Abandoned Warehouse, Tokyo Outskirts ] [ Some Time Later ]
"Huh—" The enemy slumped like a marionette with cut strings. Daisy finally exhaled, her breath visible in the chilly warehouse air. Using her powers for an extended period was starting to feel like trying to run a marathon with a piano strapped to her back.
Her nightgown clung damply to her skin—useless now. With a grumble and a roll of her eyes, she peeled it off and changed into her usual getup: practical clothes with enough hidden weapons to qualify as a mobile armory.
Next step? Damage control—specifically, the green, venomous kind.
First, a towel over Madame Viper's mouth. A precaution, really. The woman carried venom in her teeth. Daisy had read the file—spit, bite, or fake a yawn and boom: instant toxin. And Daisy didn't have time to play roulette with poison.
Interrogation was off the table at the Yashida Manor. Too public, too many eyes. Same with the SHIELD contact point. The moment she stepped in, Hydra would probably deploy a cavalry of goons with a 'Free Viper' banner and an over-the-top rescue plan.
No, what she needed was an off-grid place. Isolated. Secure. Cold, unfortunately.
She found an old warehouse that looked like it had retired sometime during the Cold War. A little lock-snapping later, she was inside, dragging Viper with her like a very glamorous bag of laundry.
Chains. Four of them. Industrial-grade.
She strung Viper up spread-eagle—classic villain monologue position—ensuring all limbs were secured but circulation was intact. She wasn't a monster, just creatively assertive.
The warehouse was cold enough to make her regret not stealing a coat. She rubbed her arms and glanced at the barely-dressed super-spy now hanging like an avant-garde art piece.
The wind howled through cracks in the roof, rattling the chains and setting an eerie ambiance. Madame Viper stirred.
Her lips were cracked. Eyes fluttered open with practiced wariness. Even dehydrated and half-frozen, the woman had grace. She blinked once, surveyed her surroundings, and fixed her gaze on Daisy.
A flicker of calculation. No panic.
Daisy saw it—the wheels already turning behind those lethal green eyes.
In theory, seduction was her weapon of choice. Viper had flipped more agents than a bored dealer in Vegas. But Daisy? She wasn't some fresh meat intern from SHIELD with boundary issues.
No, this time she'd run into another queen—and one with far fewer rules.
Viper tried a smile. Smooth. Dazzling. If Daisy were anyone else, it might've worked. But Daisy just smirked and reached into her pocket.
"I've seen your photo," she said casually, circling like a lioness who just remembered she skipped lunch. "Dr. Green, right? Personal physician to old man Yashida. Why the assassination attempt? Feeling underappreciated?"
Viper's voice came low, hoarse but still sultry. "Yashida's idea. Said you and his son were scheming to steal his legacy."
Daisy blinked slowly. "That's cute. So he's sending hitwomen in lingerie to deal with government affairs now? Must've skipped that in 'Hostile Takeover 101.'"
She wasn't buying it. Neither was Viper, apparently, because even she winced internally at how flimsy the excuse sounded.
Daisy drew a dagger—not to use, just to test. She flipped it, caught it, and gently dragged the flat edge along Viper's stomach.
"Torture?" Viper laughed, throat rasping. "Sweetheart, I've been captured fifteen times. By warlords, cult leaders, you think this is scary?"
She lifted her chin in defiance, trying for sultry but mostly managing windburned cobra.
Daisy sighed. "Yeah, you're right. Conventional methods are kind of outdated. So let's upgrade."
She pressed her hand to Viper's lower abdomen, fingers splayed. Then—buzz.
Vibrations. Not enough to cause internal bleeding, but enough to make someone wish they'd studied accounting instead of international terrorism.
Thirty minutes later, Viper looked like she'd been thrown into a pool and then steam-dried.
When she woke again, Daisy was lounging nearby, tapping away on a tablet like she was waiting for an Uber.
"Still not feeling chatty?" Daisy asked, tying her hair back into a messy ponytail.
Viper wheezed. "You... mutant freak... What the hell kind of power is that?"
Daisy grinned. "Just a little Eastern massage technique. Real underground stuff. Very niche."
Despicable? She didn't think she was despicable. Whose torture was so gentle and silent, and could also bring happiness?
Then she zapped her again. Another thirty minutes. If Daisy had a punch card, she'd be getting a free coffee by now.
Viper passed out again. Her calves were twitching like noodles under a strainer.
Daisy stared at her with a mixture of pity and professional detachment. "We can do this all night. I've got stamina. Also, I had espresso."
Suddenly—
"A-choo!"
Daisy jerked. A sneeze?
Viper had managed the daintiest but most pitiful sneeze imaginable. Snot, sniffles, everything. A full Disney-princess-caught-in-the-rain moment.
Daisy looked outside. Silence.
"Oh, you clever girl," she said with faux admiration. "Trying to sneeze a distress signal? Planning for your allies to GPS-track your nasal spray?"
Viper looked miserable. Her black hair locks were glued to her face, her lips dry, nose dripping, eyes bloodshot. She resembled a drowned raccoon with a modeling contract.
She cursed in Hungarian. Then French. Then finally English.
"I'm freezing, you sadistic brat! Give me clothes or let me die with dignity!"
Daisy tilted her head, mock-surprised. "Ohhh! You care about your image. Interesting."
Of course. Femme fatales always had a code. Hair immaculate, eyeliner sharp enough to cut diamonds. Even while dying.
If she died of a cold, Chthon, couldn't come to settle the score with her, right?
"Look," Daisy said, walking over with deliberate calm. "You could scream. You could beg. But I know what really hurts you."
She pulled out her phone and casually snapped a photo.
"This... this is going on the Meme Group."
Viper gasped. "You wouldn't."
To be continued...
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