[ Upper Manhattan Cinema, New York ]
Daisy didn't understand how Maria could extract so many insights from watching a movie. It wasn't like they were analyzing Shakespeare. Still, she humored her partner. "It depends on the situation. If it's someone I know, I'll be very sad. If it's someone I don't know, the most I can do is apologize."
Maria opened her mouth to respond, but Daisy raised a hand like a traffic cop. "Nope, you think too much. Let me ask you something. If our director and I fell into the water at the same time, who would you save first?"
Maria blinked. "Is there a tactical reason you're asking this?"
"We both can't swim," Daisy added helpfully, lips twitching with mischief.
That earned her a visibly buffering Maria Hill. Light blue eyes darted left and right as if scanning for cultural landmines.
"Then... I guess I'd save you," Maria said at last. "We're friends. Besides, the director probably has some backup escape plan, like a submarine in his eyepatch or something. You, on the other hand, have questionable self-rescue capabilities."
Daisy groaned and buried her face in her hands. "You sweet, logical, disaster of a woman... There's a generational gap in culture here, isn't there?"
Still, Daisy couldn't resist twisting the knife a little more. "Anyway, your question earlier? Inappropriate. Agents don't climb fences like caffeinated teenagers in a monster movie. They have methods. Even if they did scale a fence, they wouldn't be as reckless. And civilians? Why would they climb a fence for no reason? Instinct tells them to not tango with T-Rexes. We've had training. You don't have to worry about us."
Maria mulled that over. "...That makes sense."
Daisy gave a satisfied nod and refocused on the movie. The plot was tight, entertaining, and blessedly free of philosophical debates.
Maria eventually got sucked into it, even leaning forward in suspense once or twice. When it ended, she let out a breath like she'd survived the third act herself.
"The movie's good," she declared. "Ordinary people don't have many ways to deal with dinosaurs. But if they had training, could set up traps—oh! Pit traps, tripwires, maybe some sedatives—"
And off she went.
Daisy stared at her, bewildered. This was why the agents didn't like the movie. They thought the dinosaurs were weak!
Despite the lukewarm reception from the agents, the public loved the film. Its growing reputation and frequent screenings led to a steadily climbing box office. Not bad for a prehistoric popcorn flick.
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[ Later ]
Later, while Daisy was decompressing with Maria (and mentally filing away new ways to make her blush), an idea clicked into place. She'd been focusing too much on the high-end, genetically-mutated, accident-prone enhancements. But street heroes—those grounded, often-overlooked types—had potential too.
Unfortunately, most powers came from cosmic rays, chemical baths, or radioactive disasters. Not exactly avenues you want to casually walk down. Daisy preferred options that wouldn't derail her master plan—or require hazmat suits.
So, she acted.
After mentally combing through her options, she picked up the phone and called the Puerto Rico Police Department.
She'd spoken to the local police director before and casually dropped her shiny FBI number, which magically transformed the man's tone from skeptical to syrupy.
In fluent Spanish, she chatted pleasantly before dropping her question: "Do you have a man named Hector Ayala in your system?"
There was a brief pause, followed by a command barked at some poor soul on the other end. Ten minutes later, a fax machine spat out a stack of Hector Ayala's life story.
Daisy flipped through it with interest. The guy was a young Puerto Rican immigrant, recently arrived in New York and currently a student at Empire State College. His police file was a bureaucratic dream: home address, family tree, social security number, medical history—everything but his favorite sandwich.
"This has to be the guy."
Daisy recalled him from old comics—Hector Ayala, the original White Tiger. He got his powers from picking up a mysterious amulet. Street hero vibes. Ended badly. Shot outside a courthouse.
After his death, the amulet passed to his niece. She also became White Tiger. Also died tragically—taken out by Ms. Bullseye. Yes, that Ms. Bullseye. The same deadly maid now working for Daisy.
Funny how the multiverse loops around.
The amulet itself? Totally user-friendly. Wear it, get powers. Take it off, go back to being boring. No nasty side effects, no existential crises. Daisy was interested.
She started researching the amulet's origin. Her memory was fuzzy—something about the Sons of the Tiger? A three-man martial arts squad from back in the day. One held the tiger head, the other two had claws. Together they fought crime and, presumably, broke a lot of furniture.
Using Hector as a search anchor, Daisy ran big data scans. Activity radii, skin tones, behavioral patterns—you name it.
Eventually, she found them:
Lin Sun: the Oriental guy
Bob: white guy with anger issues
Abe: the black guy with some sense
The trio was low on power, high on drama. Daisy decided not to interfere. They'd break up on their own. No need for a heist if the loot takes itself to the curb.
She kept her distance and waited. And as expected, a woman came between Lin Sun and Bob. Tensions rose. Testosterone levels spiked. And then came the inevitable explosion.
One night, Bob snapped. Fists flew. Lin Sun fought back. Abe tried to be the UN. The girl panicked.
Daisy, watching from the shadows, rolled her eyes. "Calling them heroes is generous. They're barely above mall security."
Still, maybe if the tiger parts were united, they'd be stronger? Something to test.
In the end, Lin Sun got the girl, but the group fell apart like soggy cardboard. They left the tiger head and claws behind, literally tossing them on the side of the road.
Daisy dropped down, scooped up the amulets like free samples, and inspected the craftsmanship. Golden tiger head: solid. Tiger claws: sharp and clean. Definitely handcrafted by someone who cared.
In the distance, she spotted a shadow moving. Hector Ayala. Drawn by the commotion. Daisy vaulted over a second-floor fence, melting into the night before he arrived.
Back home, she laid out the pieces. Separated, they offered minor enhancements. Combined? They gave serious boosts—strength, speed, agility, stamina. Basically, the wearer became a tiger in human skin.
She tilted her head, smirking. "Not a bad addition to the collection."
To be continued...
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[ POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS ]