[ New York ]
Unlike Daisy, who treats planning her future like a cat treats a bath — total chaos — Angela's parents have a crystal-clear life blueprint for her. The only reason she ended up in this hymn-happy missionary school was because of its cozy relationship with Yale. You see, back in the day, Ivy League schools were basically church clubs with Latin exams. So if you behave, sing praises loud enough, and avoid setting anything on fire, you might just get a holy recommendation to the Ivy gates.
But, alas, life has its plot twists.
"Why are they shutting it down?" Daisy frowned. She wasn't exactly the school's choir queen, but with no other landing pad in life, this God-blessed institution was currently her entire scaffolding.
Angela shrugged, lip gloss in hand: "Some big company wants to bulldoze Hell's Kitchen and gentrify the whole place with yoga studios and overpriced coffee shops."
Daisy whipped out her trusty laptop, typed like a caffeine-fueled hacker, and found the culprit: United Construction Corporation.
Her eyes narrowed. "These guys? Already?"
In Daisy's memory, United Construction was the polite front for Wilson Fisk — better known in hushed tones as Kingpin. The man wasn't quite at the top yet, so how did he get his greedy mitts on Hell's Kitchen this early? Daisy remembered this land grab coming after the whole alien showdown with the Avengers, not before.
Back at school, things were falling apart faster than Daisy's understanding of physics. Teachers stopped pretending to teach, students stopped pretending to care, and everyone was either packing up or freaking out. Well, except for the school board members — those guys were grinning like cats in a canary store.
Daisy even spotted James Wesley — Kingpin's polished assistant who looked like he was born in a three-piece suit — smoothing things over with the board like a high-level real estate butler. The school board, star-struck by money, bowed to Wesley like he was the second coming of Sitwell, the ever-present bald brother of shady deals.
The talks went fast. Too fast. Whether she liked it or not, the school was going down. Daisy had two options: join the rat race, or find a new school and try to pull off the ancient art of "graduating."
She had powers, sure, and a double-lifetime's worth of wisdom — kind of. Making money didn't scare her. Picking a side did.
The criminal underworld? Hard pass. Daisy had no intention of getting involved in selling nose candy, black-market kidneys, or untraceable grenades. Plus, the underworld was a man's game — and women climbing the mob ladder were about as rare as unicorns with driver's licenses.
Legit business? Tempting, but if you make too much noise, both S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra will come sniffing. One might offer you a job. The other might offer you a disappearance.
And Hydra? Hydra was massive. Movie-Hydra looked like a molehill compared to the mountain it really was. We're talking corporations like Typhon Group with a quarter-million employees — all unknowingly working for the world's largest evil HR department.
Then there's Hydra agents lurking in governments like mold in a frat house. Finance departments, spy agencies, even Canadian intelligence — you name it, Hydra's in there sipping coffee.
Plus, there's A.I.M., the weirdo science gang Iron Man clashed with, and various crime cells around the globe. Not to mention their spy network, with S.H.I.E.L.D. just being one oversized chess piece.
Hydra had assets in the hundreds of billions, and a global network of elite, loyal soldiers numbering around 100,000. Daisy was strong, but she wasn't ready to go toe-to-toe with a paramilitary megachurch.
Meanwhile, she had a more pressing concern: her wallet was back to doing its best impersonation of a black hole — sucking in everything and leaving nothing.
Fat, gullible tourists with loose wallets were scarce. Angela suggested a joint job at the local convenience store.
Daisy blinked. "Excuse me? Me, working a register? If Tony Stark starts cleaning toilets, then maybe I'll consider a cashier gig."
So she rented a car and cruised around Manhattan for a day, casing companies like Stark Industries, Oscorp, and Rand Enterprises. No entry. No interest.
Eventually, she ended up near Central Park, hoping to unwind. But as luck would have it, police tape, flashing lights, and the words "gang shootout" turned the whole place into a scene from a gritty crime drama.
Daisy turned to leave — then stopped cold.
Back at her car, someone was bleeding out in the back seat. Her enhanced senses picked up shallow breathing.
She stepped back, ready to call 911 — then paused. Her vibration-frequency ability kicked in. She sense that this man was... good? Honest. Brave. Noble. Basically, the anti-Hydra.
Well dang, good guys were unicorns these days. Might as well help one out.
She opened the door. "Hey! Hey, big guy! Stay with me!"
She flipped him over — a chore even with her powered-up muscles. He was built like a fridge.
Three bullet wounds. One dangerously close to the heart.
She fished out his wallet. "Frank Castle… Oh crap."
Daisy's jaw dropped. This was the Frank Castle. The man who would one day go full Punisher, mowing down bad guys with more firepower than a video game loot box.
She looked at his unconscious face.
"Well, Uncle Punishment, looks like you're catching an Uber to destiny — and I'm driving."
Central Park had just claimed the lives of Frank's family. The man in front of her was a time bomb wrapped in trauma. But for now, he needed help. And Daisy? Daisy had just found her first real ally.
And maybe, just maybe, a way to kick her story into high gear.