Daisy couldn't help but grumble to herself—this shockwave version of her radar still had a long way to go. It was great for detecting motion and picking up vibes in a calm environment, sure. But during a full-on marathon through a chaotic cityscape, it became a mashup of echoes, visuals, and whispers all trying to share the same speaker. Compared to Daredevil's super senses? She felt like she was still using beta software.
"Hurry up! Check that side!" some fool yelled nearby.
Great. No time for a software update. Daisy dragged the unconscious tattooed guy into the shadows, like she was stuffing leftovers into a fridge. She'd interrogate him later, like a good detective with boundary issues.
She scanned the area. To her left, a boring old apartment building. Two steps later, she leapt like a caffeinated cat, grabbed the eaves, and vaulted up to the roof. She whipped out her pistol and took aim at the street junction.
Didn't take long before a guy with a mohawk waddled into view like he'd just walked off the set of a B-movie. People rarely looked up—city survival tip #17—and that gave Daisy the edge. Hidden in shadow, 20 meters away, with both hands steady on her pistol, she activated a faint shockwave to stabilize her arms. Bang—bullet fired.
Too late for Mr. Mohawk. The shot took him straight through the left eye and turned off the lights permanently.
She vaulted to the next rooftop, sensing more targets below. Two more goons, the same ones who'd been tailing her like lost puppies. Only now, with their buddy suddenly rebranded as wall art, they were jittery and backing off, guns out, heads swiveling.
Daisy lined up another shot but didn't feel confident. The distance was pushing the limits of her Beretta, and her superpowers didn't come with aim assist. Instead, she crouched and waited.
The goons fired blindly into the shadows like they were hoping bullets worked like prayers.
Realizing things were spiraling, one goon fumbled out his phone. Just as he lifted it to call in backup, another bang rang out. Warm blood coated his hand. He looked down, dazed, as his buddy collapsed with a brand-new forehead window.
Reacting fast, the remaining goon fired in her direction. His shots went wide. Daisy returned fire and clipped his left arm—finally, a direct hit!
Now visibly freaking out, the goon ducked behind a wall and peered upward. "We're not hostile! Madam just wants to chat!" he yelled.
"Oh, sweet summer cueball," Daisy muttered under her breath. Did he think she was born yesterday?
"You've got great aim! This has to be a misunderstanding!" he called again, trying the ol' bad-guy charm.
Meanwhile, Daisy was flanking him like a silent assassin. She knew better than to rely on plot armor. One lucky shot and she'd be toast. Better to end this quickly.
She tracked the goon's labored breathing. He crept along the wall, gun in one hand, dagger in the other, looking like a man auditioning for a role in "Bumbling Henchmen: The Musical."
Daisy planted her palm on the ground and sent a small shockwave rippling below. The wooden floor creaked ominously.
"Earthquake?!" he thought, just before a bullet turned his thoughts into abstract art.
With the bad guy down for good, Daisy gave his corpse the once-over. $2000, a Beretta 92F, and two full mags. Jackpot.
The other two corpses? Meh. One had no gun, the other's was empty. She scooped what she could, including wallets, and mentally calculated her loot. Back to a cushy $10,000. Nice.
Then it was time to deal with Mr. Tattoo, still napping in the shadows. She picked up a conveniently placed wooden board and gave him a little wake-up bonk. The kind that makes you question your life choices.
He jolted awake to find a gun in his face and immediately rethought his career.
"Who sent you? Why follow me?" Daisy asked, voice calm but eyes gleaming.
Tattoo Guy scanned the room, clearly weighing the odds of escape. Spoiler: they weren't in his favor.
Daisy, offended by his hesitation, shot him in the foot.
He howled.
"Try again," she said.
"I'll talk! I'll talk!" he whimpered.
"Smart man."
"It was Madame Gao! Her orders!" he blurted, eyes pleading.
"The old raisin-faced lady?" Daisy raised a brow. "I don't even know her."
Tattoo Guy averted his gaze.
"And what exactly would this crypt-keeper do if you caught me?"
At that, his face turned ghostly pale. "Sell you. Or... factory work."
Daisy's eye twitched. "This hag was planning to human-traffick me?! In this economy?!"
"Where's she hiding?"
He mumbled an address.
"You promised not to kill me," he reminded her, hope flickering in his swollen eyes.
"I won't," Daisy said sweetly.
Then—bang. Bullet to the brain.
As the guy slumped to the ground, Daisy shrugged. "Lesson one: never trust a pretty face."
She tucked her pistol back into her backpack, stepped over the mess like it was just Monday, and sauntered off into the alley, ready to leave four fresh corpses and a chaotic night behind her.
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[ Later ]
What surprised Daisy most about the entire evening wasn't that she survived—it was how easy it felt to kill. No panic, no cold sweats, no soul-crushing guilt. Just point, shoot, and move on. It was efficient. Clean. Strangely... necessary.
In her past life, she had never even been in a real fight. The idea of hurting someone had always come with heavy moral disclaimers. She was a rule-follower, a peacekeeper. Killing wasn't just unthinkable—it was impossible.
But this world didn't run on polite warnings or second chances. Here, hesitation could get you sold, tortured, or worse. And something inside her—maybe it was the shockwave power, maybe it was raw instinct—flipped a switch.
Her hands didn't tremble. Her heart didn't race. If anything, she felt more awake now than she ever had before.
It wasn't that she had become a killer. Not in the serial villain kind of way. But she had become someone who knew when not to flinch. Someone who understood the cost of mercy when dealing with merciless people.
And maybe that was the most dangerous superpower of all.