[ Some Island in Costa Rica ]
The elite agent was still showing off her stripes—even in a battlefield crawling with nightmare fuel and zero room for error. Despite having barely caught her breath and being armed with what might as well have been a potato gun against the oversized horror show outside, Maria Hill had managed to take down a monstrous centipede and half-maul a gooey caterpillar with surgical shooting.
Daisy swooped in like a caffeine-fueled storm, and together, they turned the oversized bug into fine organic puree. When the battlefield finally fell quiet again, Hill bent over, bracing her hands on her knees, panting hard.
She wasn't superhuman, didn't have laser eyes, nor could she bench-press tanks. Her weapon? A standard-issue Glock. Her power? Sheer determination and the kind of cardiovascular endurance that gym instructors dream of. Add in the sleep deprivation (courtesy of a certain Asian massage discussion echoing in her brain all night), and it was a miracle she hadn't just sat down mid-battle to cry.
Yet, she fought and won. That's Maria Hill.
"You okay?" Daisy asked, brushing insect goo off her sleeve.
"Peachy. Just took down a mutant centipede using cardio and spite," Hill answered, shooting a glance at Daisy—long enough to spark a flicker of tension, or maybe just an excuse not to look at the splattered caterpillar guts.
"Do you know what mutated these guys?" Maria asked, massaging her wrist.
Daisy nodded, channeling her inner science nerd. "Could be Dr. Pym's Pym particles. They shrink atoms, right? Theoretically, if you reverse the process, you get a Godzilla-sized bug buffet."
"Add a little mad science and a dash of gene-splicing, and boom: Entomology from Hell," she added.
"Scientists," Hill muttered with a dramatic sigh. "Always poking things they shouldn't."
Daisy grinned. "Rich, poor, Nobel Prize-winning or wanted by Interpol—they all manage to mess up the planet equally."
Just then, distant gunfire echoed from the compound. Like someone hit the unmute button on chaos. They exchanged a glance, reloaded, and sprinted toward the action.
The inside of the building looked like a deleted scene from a war movie—bodies everywhere, walls riddled with bullet holes, and no clear indication of who these highly-trained, faceless goons were.
Black Widow and Sharon were in full survival mode, firing from cover with only pistols. They were almost boxed in when Daisy and Hill crashed the party.
"Where's the doc?" Hill called out, snapping off two shots with perfect form.
"Underground. We get him and torch the research or we'll have Big Bug Summer every year!" Natasha shouted back, ducking gunfire like it was just Monday.
Daisy glanced at the attackers—military-grade firepower, brutal efficiency, dead silent. Everything screamed Hydra, except for the lack of gaudy green and yellow uniforms.
"If I yelled 'Hail Hydra!' right now, you think they'd answer?" Daisy quipped to Hill, who rolled her eyes.
"Let's not test it. I'm not in the mood for a cosplay fight."
With Daisy providing cover fire like a pro gamer on a killstreak, the tide shifted. She picked up an M16, lit up the battlefield with rapid bursts, and marveled at how her body seemed to love the chaos.
Her dynamic vision kicked in—she couldn't quite see bullets yet, but she could read gun motions and aim just a heartbeat before the enemy. That half-second advantage? Deadly.
She was doing so well, even Hill spared a moment to glance her way—her lips parted, maybe to say something flirtatious, maybe just impressed, but the battlefield wasn't the place.
Sharon, Maria, and Natasha regrouped, grabbing weapons and tightening the noose on the attackers. Their fire was clean, precise, and merciless.
The enemies? Still fought like zealots. Not one flinched, surrendered, or ran. Just pure loyalty or maybe brainwashing. The kind that screamed "Hydra special."
When the last one dropped, they swept the field for clues—nothing. Blank slates. No ID, no insignia, unfamiliar faces. Like they were summoned from some secret villain factory.
"I'm gonna let Nicky worry about this headache," Hill said. (Yes, Daisy caught the use of "Nicky" and tucked it away for future teasing.)
With the enemies down, they moved on. Daisy lagged behind slightly, watching everyone toss away their rifles like candy wrappers.
"You're just gonna toss it? It's an M16, not a paper plate," she mumbled, reluctantly copying them.
They descended into the underground lab. The code-locked door got a Natasha-brand explosive knock, and with a satisfying boom, it opened.
Daisy finally laid eyes on Dr. Hank Pym.
He looked like every prestigious grumpy scientist you've seen in a lecture hall—glasses, wrinkles, hair greyer than a storm cloud, and an expression like he was smelling something bad. He glanced at Daisy and gave her less attention than a waiting room magazine.
He brightened only when he saw Natasha.
"This place needs to go. My research—stolen! Don't bother with me, just catch that thief!" he barked, like he owned the place and they were just interns.
Daisy blinked. "Wow, okay. We just saved your wrinkly butt, maybe dial the drama down, Doc."
Natasha wasn't fazed. She handed out orders like a boss.
"Daisy, take the doc and get out. I'm going after the runner. Hill, Sharon—torch the lab."
Daisy lit up a little. She knew Nat gave her the job so she could talk shop with Pym. Even if he was a bit… testy.
"Come on, Doc. Try not to mutter about atoms and betrayal the whole way."
She led the scientist out, casting one more look back at Hill. Their eyes met. Awkward tension sparkled in the air like static—brief, unspoken, but absolutely there.
Daisy gave her a quick wink, and Hill—looking like she'd rather be shot again than admit it—smirked before turning away.
To be continued...
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[ POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS ]