Daisy didn't trust gifts. Especially not ones that came wrapped in high-level espionage and Nick Fury's poker face.
The card he handed her looked innocent enough—matte black, no numbers, no chip, just a faint SHIELD insignia that shimmered like a warning. Fury called it a "personal gesture," and she almost burst out laughing. Personal? From him?
Sure, and the moon landing was a TikTok prank.
(I think it was.)
Still, she accepted it with a saccharine smile. "Thanks, Nicky. Or do you prefer Director, Your Eyepatchness?"
Fury didn't react. The man had mastered the art of facial paralysis.
As he disappeared down the alley like a sentient shadow, Daisy tucked the card into her coat, humming to herself. Personal payment? Please. I'm not new to the dance.
Fifty thousand dollars materialized in her bank account before she even got home. That alone confirmed two things:
One, Fury absolutely knew about her powers. The whole conversation had been a polite dance around the elephant in the room—the kind of elephant that could shatter buildings.
Two, he wanted her contained. Not silenced, not captured. Contained.
It was almost flattering. Almost.
She didn't run straight to the SHIELD Academy like some scholarship kid with stars in their eyes. No, Seraphina—no, Daisy, she reminded herself—had other plans first.
Her "startup," as she charitably called it, needed momentum. And cash flow. Fury's cash gave her breathing room, but now she needed to turn her loose crew of semi-criminals into a functioning operation.
So she called a meeting the next day.
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[ S.E.R.A.P.H. Data Analysis HQ, New York ] [ Next Day ]
The abandoned office space she rented on the cheap still smelled like asbestos and broken dreams, but it had power, Wi-Fi, and a decent view of the Hudson. She dubbed it "HQ." Mostly for the irony.
The conference table was a stolen ping pong table. Their coffee machine was older than the internet. And yet, as Daisy looked around at the ragtag team seated before her, she felt a flicker of possibility.
James Wesley, former consigliere to Wilson Fisk, was nursing a black coffee like it owed him money. Still twitchy, still too neat, but loyal—for now.
David Lieberman, hacker extraordinaire and hermit by choice, sat cross-legged with a laptop that looked like it had hacked the Pentagon twice before breakfast.
And finally, Maki Matsumoto, ex-lawyer turned blade-slinging legal adviser, stood by the window cleaning her nails with a tanto knife.
"Alright, delinquents," Daisy said, slapping the table. "Let's talk empire."
Wesley arched a brow. "I thought we were calling it a startup."
"Same thing," she replied. "Except in this version, we get to punch people."
Lieberman grinned. Maki did not.
Daisy tapped the whiteboard behind her. Scribbled across it was: "Phase One: Survive. Phase Two: Profit. Phase Three: ???"
"Thanks to our... mysterious benefactor," she continued, "we're solvent. For now. But we need clients, not charity. Maki, pitch me."
Maki stepped forward, stabbing her knife into a stack of documents. "Small-to-mid-size businesses. Low-risk contracts. Build our network through reliability."
Wesley snorted. "You want us doing IT support for bakeries?"
Maki didn't blink. "If it pays, yes."
"I used to negotiate ten-figure deals," he muttered.
"And now you work in a building with rats wearing name tags," Daisy deadpanned. "Welcome to capitalism, James."
He looked mildly offended. Lieberman tried not to laugh.
"I like Maki's idea," Daisy continued. "Small clients don't come with federal heat or organized enemies. We build reputation. Then we scale. Lieberman, what's the tech status?"
He pushed up his glasses. "Server's running. Encryption's airtight. Facial tracking, predictive analysis, and communication intercepts all online. We're basically a less ethical version of Google."
Daisy smirked. "Perfect. Maki, start vetting contracts. Wesley…"
"Let me guess," he interrupted. "Shake hands, charm clients, lie convincingly?"
"Actually, no," Daisy said sweetly. "You're in charge of budgeting. If you skim a dime, Maki gets to test her new knife set."
Wesley paled.
"Joking," Daisy added. Then after a beat: "Mostly."
The mood lightened. Barely. But it was enough.
Unfortunately, their team looked more like a reality show cast than a tech firm.
A recently high-school passed girl, a wannabe mobster, a keyboard wizard, and a formerly murderous legal eagle. Not exactly Goldman Sachs material.
She glanced at James. "Got any industry contacts we could use?"
He gave her a look that could curdle milk. "If I had any usable contacts, do you think I'd be here?"
Ouch. Fair.
It was clear now: her dream team had passion and potential… but connections? None. Influence? Zilch.
It was going to be a long climb to the top.
To be continued...
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[ POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS ]