The Devil Walks Again

As a politician, O'Neal wouldn't publicly promote an unregulated treatment, but after Daisy's special medicine cured the son of a heavyweight congressman, he took the calculated risk. He sent trusted aides to endorse the operation, and his aides moved swiftly, smoothing over contacts and endorsing the hospital under their names.

"Has the military been running secret experiments like this?" another elderly doctor pressed, eyes narrowed as he studied Daisy.

Daisy offered no response—just silence that left room for assumptions.

After two weeks, three patients from confidential channels were fully cured under the doctors' watch, finally allowing the hospital to launch without resistance.

Set in upper Manhattan, the hospital benefited from special clearance at every level. Pricing was modest and well within reasonable bounds.

...

[ ALS Hospital, New York ]

On the fifth day after opening, a woman in a dark outfit, sunglasses, and hat stepped into the clinic, asking directly for Daisy.

At first, Daisy didn't give it much weight. But when she learned that Maki had referred the patient, she made time and returned to New York to meet her.

"Lawyer Jeri Hogarth? I've heard of you. Your firm's well-known in legal circles," Daisy said, glancing at the card. She recognized the sharp-cheeked, lean woman instantly—a known figure in law and, if memory served, a close acquaintance of Jessica Jones. And also a no-nonsense lesbian lawyer.

Jessica was still a student, and Hogarth's firm was in its early rise. That Maki recommended her meant Daisy gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Honestly, it took courage to walk through the doors of that quiet, eerie hospital.

Hogarth had taken precautions. If clients learned she had a terminal illness, it could wreck her business. Reputation, after all, was her livelihood.

She'd gone through the trouble of a disguise, but stepping into the empty hospital, she realized how unnecessary it was. 

The place was unnervingly silent—only the sharp clicks of her heels echoed along the polished floor.

If not for that cold, clinical diagnosis of ALS, she might have walked right out.

But with her life hanging in the balance, she turned once more to the maid and requested a meeting with the one in charge.

Daisy, surprisingly young, didn't match the image Hogarth expected—she looked more like a patron with PR ambitions. Hogarth had seen the same move used for publicity.

Still, the seven hospitals backing this weren't run by fools. One being reckless was plausible. All of them? Unlikely.

With that logic, her doubt in Daisy shrank, her trust growing—not entirely, but enough.

"If you're here for treatment, we'll do our best. If it's questions you have, I'll answer them—on Miss Matsumoto's behalf," Daisy said flatly, wasting no time.

"Can you cure this disease?" Hogarth asked, her voice tight. The day she received her diagnosis, the world seemed to collapse. She'd double-checked, gotten second opinions, and still, every doctor had looked at her the same way: sympathy cloaked in inevitability.

This hospital was her last thread of hope. She wanted Daisy to say yes—but her mind resisted believing it.

Daisy smiled faintly. "You don't seem convinced, Lawyer Hogarth. You might rule a courtroom, but genetics? You're still in kindergarten."

With a deliberately cryptic tone, she added, "Real science is always decades ahead of public awareness. Otherwise, what do you think all those researchers are doing?"

Hogarth's expression darkened. Her legal instincts flared as she realized where this could lead—a classified military experiment? Her gut twisted with unease. If this went wrong, no judge or courtroom would save her.

"We won't force you," Daisy said coolly. "It's your choice. Of course, there are risks. And no, you wouldn't believe me if I said it's painless. Make your own decision." She stood, ready to walk out.

Hogarth grabbed her wrist in a panic.

Though Daisy could've easily pulled away, she let the touch linger, glancing at the lawyer with detached curiosity.

"Shouldn't I at least know the treatment plan?"

Of course not. How could Daisy possibly explain that it involved artificially replicating Wolverine's regenerative factor? That was not something a rational lawyer would accept.

So she offered a watered-down version—nerve repair, experimental cell therapies, and manageable risk. Then she left without further discussion. This wasn't about profit. It was a reputation play. And for Daisy, that meant she wouldn't waste time convincing anyone unwilling to leap.

Drawing on the research of old Yashida and Professor Charles' conclusions, and comparing the two with Danger's assistance, Daisy finalized a treatment plan through careful synthesis. She trimmed away the unstable variables and deliberately extended the treatment from three days to a month. It was slower, but far less excruciating.

She had done her part. Daisy wasn't here to be anyone's savior. If people trusted her, they'd come. If they didn't, they wouldn't. She wouldn't beg for faith.

The ALS conversation faded as quickly as it had ignited. Meanwhile, her reputation within S.H.I.E.L.D. rose with quiet certainty.

She made sure never to provoke the balance of power too much. Visibility was a weapon, but so was restraint. Now wasn't the time to dominate the stage.

...

[ S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Washington DC ]

One week later, as dusk fell, Daisy received a summons. She arrived promptly at Nick Fury's office.

The room wasn't crowded, but heavy with rank. Coulson was back from Antarctica. May had shifted to administrative duty. Crossbones lingered near the wall. Victoria Hand looked displeased as always. Sitwell nodded curtly.

She stood in silence as a few more agents filed in. Only when the door clicked shut did Fury rise from behind his desk. "There are two matters to handle. First, Air Force Colonel Rhodes has reported that Tony Stark is missing in Afghanistan."

Daisy was half-lost in her own thoughts and didn't register the words at first. Then it hit her.

Stark had vanished—finally. Her mind clicked into motion. There was only one move to make: short Stark Industries. She pulled out her phone and typed a message to Maki. It was time to move money—fast. Poverty was a disease, and she was ready to cure it.

Fury glanced at her from behind the desk, misreading her urgency as professional dedication. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Second issue—General Ross is currently tracking an experimental target. It's highly dangerous and extremely destructive. He's asked for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s support."

At the mention of "support," the room cooled. The more aggressive agents—like Crossbones—visibly lost interest. In their minds, babysitting a military op sounded like a waste of time. Better to be bored in bed than restrained by military orders.

To Be Continued...

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[POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS]