[ Stark Industries HQ, New York ] [ October, 2006 ]
Tony Stark strolled into the reception room with the brisk confidence of someone who thought the world should be grateful for his existence. His gaze did a quick scan, effortlessly skipping past the men and barely registering the maid. Then his eyes landed on Daisy.
Aha. Target acquired.
He tugged at the cuffs of his suit like it was a performance, extended a perfectly manicured hand, and greeted, "Ms. Johnson, a pleasure."
Daisy could practically hear the ding of a smug meter maxing out. This guy gave off the kind of energy that screamed, "I'm not just better than you—I'm better than you while looking incredible." Like a peacock in a custom-made Armani suit.
Suppressing the urge to jolt him with a well-placed shockwave, she gave his hand a polite but lukewarm shake. Internally, she was already counting how long she had to endure his presence.
Compared to Pepper Potts' elegance and Obadiah's composed charisma, Tony Stark felt like a frat boy who inherited a tech empire and decided women were just another gadget to tinker with.
And tinker he did.
He took a seat, looking like he owned not just the room but the building, and immediately started grilling her. "Data analysis? Doesn't sound very technical. Your method seems... basic. I could probably code that in my sleep."
His tone was pure condescension. Gone was any pretense of civility. This man had chosen tech over charm, and science over social cues. Daisy kept her cool while mentally tagging him as "Exhibit A in unchecked genius syndrome."
Tony dismissed data analysis because he had Jarvis. Big whoop. Daisy smirked internally. Her algorithm didn't need a British butler AI to run circles around basic trend prediction.
Just as everyone was about to die of secondhand embarrassment from Tony's monologue, the analysis results came in.
Afghanistan.
That surprised even Daisy. She stared at the data. This war-torn region held the highest potential for economic expansion?
Wait. Stark was going to Afghanistan to make a deal with the military because of her algorithm? Was she... designing the plot without realizing it?
She raised a brow. "You've avoided Afghanistan until now?"
Obadiah replied with the kind of vagueness that screams classified info. "Our focus has mostly been on the Americas and Africa. The Asian market's been... low priority."
Uh-huh. Daisy could smell a buried scandal from three continents away.
She tapped the screen. "Fighting's intensifying. U.S. forces have pulled back into major cities. Tribal factions are desperate for high-impact weapons. Missiles could shift the balance."
"If the conflict escalates—which it will—they'll need more: radar, armored vehicles, rifles. Basically, the full war buffet. Stark Industries could feast on this for years."
Obadiah's eyes lit up like someone had handed him a golden goose. He clapped politely, clearly impressed.
"The proposal stands: Sky Data Analysis Company joins Stark Industries' advisory group—$1.5 million annually. Plus $300,000 for today's consultation."
Tony looked mildly annoyed, as if someone had sold his favorite toy without asking. "You're really throwing that much at a data set?"
But he let it go. Barely a scratch on his wallet.
Business concluded, hands were shaken, and no banquets were expected. Stark was too rich to treat startups to steak dinners.
Still, he tried to save face with a last-minute dinner invite to Daisy.
She shot him down so fast it created wind resistance.
Thus ended their first meeting, leaving both parties thoroughly unimpressed with each other.
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[ Sky Data Analysis HQ, New York ]
Back at their modest HQ, the team had a debrief.
With buzz building and competitors sniffing around their algorithm like sharks in a data pool, Daisy made a bold pivot.
"Shift the company's focus. Forget general markets. Medical data is where we go next. People pay anything for better health. Especially when it's their own life on the line."
The room nodded.
"Time to scale," she added. "We've got the money. Let's get the talent."
James cleared his throat. "One thing. We got contacted by a capital investment group."
Daisy raised a brow. "Which one?"
He checked his notes. "Ekana Capital Management. East Coast firm. Focused on genetics, media, nano stuff. Deep pockets."
Daisy's face twitched. Oh, she knew that name. During her early info-gathering days, she'd clocked Ekana as a front for Hydra. It sounded classy, but it might as well have been called "Hail Capitalism."
Their sudden silence made sense. A SHIELD asset running the company now? That threw a wrench into Hydra's subtle infiltration game.
"They ghosted you after the first chat?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Let's keep it that way."
After a cozy dinner courtesy of her lovely maid-turned-chef, Daisy headed straight back to S.H.I.E.L.D.
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[ S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Washington DC ]
Within thirty minutes, Nick Fury was reviewing her 500-word debrief.
Even in October's warmth, the Washington HQ was chilly thanks to arctic-grade air-conditioning. Fury sat stoically in his usual leather ensemble, cool as ever.
He read the report. Once. Then again.
Daisy did not hold back.
Her verdict on Stark?
Mean. Crude. Horny. Egomaniacal. Couldn't cooperate to save his life—and if it came to that, maybe they shouldn't.
Fury didn't take every word as gospel. But with SHIELD's background checks and surveillance, he had to admit—her roast was backed up by facts.
He signed it, filed it, and moved on to the next folder.
Three names. Three girls. All promising agents in training.
Now, how to use them?
One-by-one, Fury initiated secure video interviews with top agents. No group meetings—less chance of collusion.
After all, this wasn't high school. This was S.H.I.E.L.D.