Daisy scratched her head, utterly baffled. Applications of her new power were popping into her brain like microwave popcorn, but actually understanding them? Totally not her territory. Her knowledge of science had long been offered back to the teachers of a very forgettable school system, somewhere in a country she didn't care to remember. The original Daisy wasn't much better either—spending her days singing hymns and memorizing scripture like she was auditioning to be a choir nun. Sure, her church school didn't ban physics like it did Darwin, but science was treated more like a seasonal guest star than a lead character.
Basically, she and physics were like distant cousins—vaguely related but not on speaking terms. Whenever the physics teacher took a day off (which was often), the theology teacher would strut into the classroom like a boss and crack open the Book of Job. Who needed Newton when you had Nehemiah?
So when it came to concepts like vibration, frequency, transverse waves, or string oscillation, Daisy's understanding was about as deep as a puddle in the desert. Combine both past and present Daisies, and they still couldn't outscore a decent junior high student on a pop quiz.
Learning math and science, Daisy now realized, was not just about grades—it was survival. She had a power that could literally shake the earth, and she barely understood how to use it. Time to hit the books again.
Thank goodness for the internet. Everything from string theory to how to tie a tie was just a Google search away. She didn't need to split atoms or solve quantum paradoxes—just enough knowledge to not accidentally implode her apartment.
But her first skim through various academic theories left her more confused than a pigeon at a chess match. She decided to pace herself and come back later when she wasn't half-asleep.
Putting her laptop away, Daisy sprawled across the bed, her mind drifting to another pressing issue: her genetic flaw.
Just like Black Bolt—sorry, Bald Brother Black Bolt—the royal king of whispered destruction, Daisy had a downside to her power. The problem? She couldn't turn it off completely. The more she used her vibrations, the more they kicked back—right into her own bones.
In the OG timeline, Daisy's bones were practically a patchwork quilt from micro-fractures caused by her own powers. She had a frequent flier card at the S.H.I.E.L.D. med bay.
This version of her? Built differently. The Terrigan Crystal Mist she inhaled seemed to have given her an edge—maybe even an exclusive upgrade package. She felt stronger, and more in control than ever before.
Her finesse allowed her to tap into subtle frequencies, even reading the emotional state of people nearby. Some guy named David R. Hawkins once claimed all things vibrate at different energy levels—Daisy could now feel it. Angry people? Low buzz. Happy people? High hums. Pure-hearted souls? Practically Mozart on subwoofer.
She didn't need faith to feel goodness. Mother Teresa might've vibrated at saint-levels. Daisy? She was tuning in like a human lie detector.
Precision also meant she could neutralize recoil—yep, firearms were now basically laser pointers in her hands. No awkward two-handed grip like a newbie agent in a spy movie. Recoil? Nullified. All thanks to micro-vibrational feedback.
Her bloodline boost, improved reaction speed, and upgraded stamina had turned her into a low-key super soldier. She wasn't hitting bullseyes blindfolded yet, but she could easily hold her own at an amateur marksman event.
In the early stages, though, she had to be frugal. Power consumption was like battery life on an old phone—overuse led to crash. She was chasing finesse, learning how to get big results with tiny effort.
If Whitebeard from One Piece could vibrate the air to split oceans, so could she—eventually. And if she ever cracked quantum mechanics, she could tear open dimensions like DC's Vibe. But for now, baby steps.
The Puerto Rico arc had wrapped. Two more days of tropical sightseeing, and Daisy hopped on a flight back to New York. Her two Glocks never saw action, so she sold them and the ammo to a gun shop. With $700 in her pocket, Daisy was feeling like a financially literate Avenger.
She didn't have guns anymore, but she had something better: power. Real power. Enough to knock over a vending machine with a thought—if she ever needed a free soda.
Her short-range shockwave ability was cool but kinda basic and hard on the joints. It looked awesome in action but left her feeling like she ran through a wall afterward. Still, it was handy enough to give her peace of mind walking through sketchy neighborhoods.
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[ New York ]
Back in her shabby New York apartment, Daisy walked in to find her roommate Angela—a girl with a fashion sense that leaned heavy on glitter—studying makeup from a magazine like it was a sacred tome.
Daisy sighed. "You should probably try a different shade—that one looks like you lost a bet."
Angela, headphones in and completely oblivious, looked up, startled. "DAISY! Girl, you're back!" she squealed, launching a full-body hug like a caffeinated panda.
Angela's roots were deep—none of that watered-down generational stuff. She looked like her ancestors had just arrived via Portuguese ship. But she was Daisy's ride-or-die, the only friend she had left.
"So? Did any of those prep-school rejects mess with you while I was gone?" Daisy asked, shrugging off her backpack.
Bullying was as American as apple pie and poorly maintained lockers. Even in superhero universes, most kids got the wedgie treatment. Peter Parker, Barry Allen, even Clark Kent caught their share of swirlies.
"Nope," Angela said, her tone suddenly serious. "They've been way too distracted. Haven't you heard? The school's about to shut down."
Daisy blinked. "What? Shut down? Why?"
Angela shook her head. "Budget cuts."
Cue the dramatic music. This was not the sequel Daisy was expecting.