The next day, Daisy tied up her hair, slipped on a pair of stylish black-rimmed glasses, and stepped into her new identity: power professional. Dressed in a tailored suit, matching trousers, and a pair of conservative yet confidence-boosting high heels, she looked every inch the modern business shark. Alongside her came her suave external image manager, Mr. James Wesley, and the ever-efficient legal advisor-slash-maid, Ms. Matsumoto Maki, heading toward the towering headquarters of Stark Industries in the heart of Manhattan.
Naturally, no one rolled out a red carpet for them. After confirming their appointment time, the trio settled into the ultra-modern lounge area, surrounded by glass walls and abstract metal sculptures that screamed: "We have more money than taste."
Daisy crossed her legs, casually pulled out her tablet, and with all the calm of a seasoned hacker at brunch, began running a few of her personalized programs to quietly slip into Stark Industries' internal network.
She knew about JARVIS—who didn't?—but also knew Stark wouldn't be reckless enough to plug full AI into a publicly traded conglomerate. That kind of tech wasn't for the interns to mess with. And indeed, her scan confirmed it. After some deft digital maneuvers, she snagged access on par with a department head.
Peeking into the benefits page alone was enough to make anyone reconsider their career choices. From gourmet cafeteria food to spa days and top-tier insurance, it was clear why people would practically sell a kidney to work here.
Ten minutes later, Daisy nudged James with a sly elbow jab. "Hey, look what I dug up," she said, handing him the tablet.
"Software engineers, data scientists, analysts—they're all top-tier. These candidates were rejected by Stark Industries. Let's grab some of them before they get scooped by someone else."
The resumes were practically autobiographies—detailing achievements, awards, career history, family lineage, shoe size, and possibly favorite pizza toppings. And best of all, each came annotated with HR's salty little notes.
James, the former mob strategist turned suit-and-tie CEO, perused the resumes with a poker face. Several stood out immediately. He mentally earmarked them for poaching.
Any respectable businessman would have broken out in hives at the ethical implications of how they got this data. But neither Daisy nor James had ever let legality slow them down.
Half an hour passed before the poised, ever-graceful Pepper Potts appeared, click-clacking in her heels like the corporate queen she was. With a friendly smile, she extended a handshake to Daisy.
"Mr. Stark worked late last night," she said with the calm of someone who'd seen it all and had decided not to care. "He's on his way. Please follow me to the reception room."
Daisy mentally rolled her eyes. "Worked late" probably meant a wild night of booze, techno music, and trying not to remember the names of the women involved.
Still, she played nice and walked with Pepper, curiosity bubbling under her calm exterior.
Trying to stick to her mission, she casually asked, "Miss Potts, what's Mr. Stark like? As a person, I mean."
A bold question, but Daisy had a smile that could melt glaciers.
Pepper didn't even blink. "He's brilliant. A true genius. I believe he's going to change the world."
They hadn't been seated long when the door opened and in walked Obadiah Stane, president of Stark Industries, looking every bit the dignified corporate veteran. With his towering presence, silver beard, and smooth demeanor, he seemed like the kind of man who could sell nuclear warheads with a smile and make it sound like a charity drive.
Unlike most old-timers who wielded their age like a blunt weapon, Obadiah was open-minded and sharp. He chatted with ease, exuding an effortless charm.
But once they got into the meat of the meeting, the gloves came off—verbally, at least.
"Data analysis?" Obadiah said with a raised brow. "Can computers predict human behavior? Sounds like science fiction."
Daisy's maid and Pepper wisely bowed out of this intellectual clash. It was down to Daisy and James now.
James leaned in. "We can use collected data to determine consumer interests and preferences. It's targeted engagement—selling what people want, before they even realize they want it."
Obadiah wasn't easily impressed. "That's marketing. I asked if it can predict behavior."
Daisy picked up the baton. "We live in the digital age. Banking records, medical files, school transcripts, even online dating profiles—they're all part of the data trail. We stitch these together to create a digital persona. From there, it's about matching needs to solutions before the consumer even articulates the need."
The words flowed naturally, but halfway through, Daisy paused. Hadn't that sounded eerily like S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Insight Project pitch? Yikes.
Still, it had the desired effect. Obadiah's eyes lit up. This wasn't just some startup babble. This was the future.
"What if I want to acquire your company?" he asked. "Name your price."
Daisy smiled with all the grace of a cat who had just knocked over a vase and dared you to do something about it. "The market's too big for any one player to monopolize. If a small country owns a new weapon, others just keep watch. But if a superpower holds it, war is inevitable."
Obadiah blinked. The logic was twisted, but not flawed. Stark Industries already had a monopoly on weapons and tech. Throwing big data into that stew would draw every regulatory body and competitor's ire.
The government had already started flirting with Justin Hammer, hoping Hammer Military could rise as a counterweight.
After a long pause, Obadiah shifted tactics. He couldn't buy them. But he could learn from them.
"Ms. Johnson, your insights are impressive. Let's continue exploring partnership instead."
To prove their worth, Daisy's team was invited to connect to Stark Industries' supercomputer for a live demo of their analysis capabilities.
With Daisy's advanced algorithm—years ahead of anything currently on the market—there was no risk of being outshone.
Using data on global conflict zones and international supply chains, Daisy's system began to highlight untapped markets, suggesting potential new revenue streams for Stark Industries.
Everyone was silently admiring the results when the door swung open dramatically.
In strolled Tony Stark, fashionably late, of course. Navy-blue suit, snappy plaid tie, and that signature smirk nestled under his expertly groomed mustache. He looked like a man who'd just won a poker game against a Bond villain and then bought his car.
Time for the real show to begin.