"Not an ad. A film. A disaster film. Something that plants the idea in the public's mind that this world isn't safe — and that a group of people is quietly keeping it from falling apart."
"Think about it: the Costa Rica incident is a perfect source. We just adjust the framing. For audience appeal — the main characters aren't agents, they're scientists. The villain isn't Darren Cross and it's not giant insects. It's dinosaurs."
Daisy walked Coulson through the plot of Jurassic Park, hitting the major beats. A film this iconic had somehow never existed in this world. A minor criminal offense. She'd barely need to alter anything — it would practically write itself, and it would sell.
Phil Coulson stared at her. He spoke slowly. "And... you think this accomplishes something?"
Daisy tapped the desk once. "Absolutely. First: it gives ordinary people a sense of stakes. The world isn't as safe as they think. Their safety exists because someone is paying the price for it. Second: it builds goodwill with local governments. I reviewed the records — almost every site in our past operations has been abandoned, and those governments have grievances against us. A successful film could open the door to developing those locations as tourist destinations down the line." She paused. "And third — it does something for morale internally. Agents are people. Regular people. Any one of them could take a bullet and be gone. Giving everyone something lighter, something to be part of — I genuinely think that's worth something."
She finished and waited for Coulson's response.
Coulson thought for sixty seconds, then deployed the legendary S.H.I.E.L.D. senior agent technique: pass it up the chain.
He told her to wait, stepped outside with his phone, and made the call.
Daisy pulled out her tablet and started refining the script, mentally casting the leads. Some of the details had gone blurry with time. She vaguely remembered something about Samuel L. Jackson appearing in the original Jurassic Park... Was she about to get Fury to play himself?
Half an hour later, Coulson came back.
"The Director's position is: you may proceed — but as a private individual. All coordination is on you. Ideally, actors are untested new faces rather than active-mission personnel. S.H.I.E.L.D. will provide funding and technical support."
Daisy agreed without hesitation.
She was already heading for the door when something stopped her. She turned back. "Coulson — didn't you direct for a few days once? As a cover identity?"
"...That was a cover identity."
"Then you're directing this film. I'll produce. Brush up on the basics when you have time. That's settled."
She didn't wait for an objection. One hand up in farewell, she was gone.
"Me?" Coulson stood alone in his own office, feeling the absurdity of the moment. He was directing a film? His real skill level topped out at a TV episode, maybe. Though having him involved wasn't entirely without value — he could keep Daisy from going off the rails. He'd have to loop in Fury again.
Daisy's first stop was her two sort-of best friends.
Hill was still slightly off — distracted, eyes not quite landing anywhere.
Sharon just about choked. "Film? Jurassic Park? That island we just came from?!"
That island! Daisy confirmed it with enthusiasm. They were going to use the island's geography as their primary filming location and build a landmark film out of it.
Growing up in America meant most young people — whatever else they were — had a little bit of "famous someday" lodged somewhere in their chest. Hill and Sharon both felt a flicker of it, just for a moment. Then they both remembered their actual jobs and shook their heads together. Even accounting for how bad most people are at recognizing faces, neither of them could afford to go public.
Daisy wasn't interested in appearing on camera either — just philosophically opposed to exposure.
The elite trio wasn't performing, but both women could help with connections.
Peggy Carter had spent decades as an intelligence officer and diplomat, with relationships threaded across every corner of the world. Most of her contemporaries were dead — but her legacy still stood, and some of the children of people she'd helped could be called upon.
Sharon used those connections to get Daisy an introduction to the Costa Rican ambassador, who would in turn connect her to the local government.
Hill, who'd spent years at Fury's side, had a network of her own. She volunteered to reach out to a handful of advertising partners. By that same afternoon, fifty million dollars (~$50 million USD) in funding had been secured.
In the original timeline, Jurassic Park was produced in 1993 at a budget of sixty-three million (~$63 million USD). But that had been a prestige director, high-salary talent, and every form of production insurance imaginable.
Daisy's version was different. The cast would be internal S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel — pay them a reasonable rate and they'd be grateful. Set construction? Computer effects? Combat choreography? None of it was a concern with this team. Backed by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s institutional credibility, they could approach governments directly and expect cooperation. Marketing costs alone would be cut in half.
When Daisy ran the numbers... she estimated she could skim somewhere between ten and twenty million (~$10–20 million USD) for herself. She was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s original treasury raiders; it would be wrong to disappoint that legacy.
First order of business: have her assistant James Wesley set up a new company.
The name: Sky Pictures.
Wesley didn't understand why she was pivoting so hard into a completely different industry — but when he saw fifty million dollars in readily accessible capital, he shut up immediately.
Selling detergent was profitable, sure, but the margins got eaten down through every link in the supply chain. Fifty million sitting liquid was a different kind of impressive.
Daisy would hold thirty percent of the new company. S.H.I.E.L.D. held the remaining seventy.
She hadn't put in a dollar. But every operational detail was hers to manage.
She handed production logistics to Coulson — S.H.I.E.L.D. had talent in every department. The script was already mostly done in her head; a professional pass to smooth it out and it would be ready. Casting was the real challenge.
The two lead scientists — a man and a woman — she'd initially had in mind for Fitz and Simmons. When they found out they might be movie stars, they went pale with excitement.
Then came screen tests.
Simmons was fine. She was a biologist; her alignment with the female lead was nearly perfect, and the role didn't demand anything too technically demanding in terms of performance.
Fitz, on the other hand, was a complete write-off for the male lead. Too green. The moment the camera was on him, he froze. And the role required an emotional arc — starting out impatient and dismissive with two young children, ending up fighting for their lives through a dinosaur-infested park. That kind of internal journey was completely beyond him right now.
She bumped him to the supporting role of a curly-haired mathematician. In that one, he was borderline acceptable.
"So who plays the lead?" Daisy leaned back in her chair, legs crossed on the desk, thinking hard.
He'd need to be good-looking. He'd need to be a real actor.
One name surfaced — not one she wanted, but the only one that made sense.
Grant Ward. The other Daisy's former partner. A S.H.I.E.L.D. Level 7 operative. A HYDRA mole. Devastatingly handsome, and above all else — a genuinely excellent actor. He'd gone undetected for years; if anyone could play a role convincingly, it was Ward.
And as a coincidence she could have lived without — the male lead in Jurassic Park was also named Grant.
Daisy sat with the discomfort for a moment. The strange feeling that came with it. But in the end, she decided she'd go talk to him. She could at least ask what he thought.