"HYDRA predates your history books—I'm not particularly interested in origins, but I'll tell you this much: the Red Skull was never the founder. He was one big name among many."
Viper gave a rough sketch of HYDRA's history, contradicting herself in several places. Daisy listened and came away with a headache.
"Honestly—it's just a bunch of ambitious people who couldn't stand the existing order, thrown together under one roof. The name could have been anything. HYDRA had the reputation, so that's what people rallied behind." She wasn't invested in the history lesson, but her summary was exactly right.
Nobody at the top cared about HYDRA's grand objectives. The senior leadership each had their own agenda. The grand objectives were there to keep the foot soldiers obedient.
"Daisy, if you want out, I'll cover for you. If you want in—honestly, it's not a major commitment to me. Right now, HYDRA can help push through that Deputy Director position. Ultimately, the choice is yours."
Under Daisy's careful steering, Viper felt like she held the initiative—and handed the decision back. She wanted to see what Daisy would do with it.
"Will HYDRA destroy the world?"
"At least I won't."
"Will HYDRA destroy S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"That's S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal problem. Nothing to do with me."
"Will HYDRA—"
Daisy fired questions. Viper returned answers. By the end, Daisy was half-convinced HYDRA was a benevolent community organization with excellent member benefits.
Daisy made a show of deep, agonized deliberation—performing a lost young woman at a crossroads with impressive conviction.
She thought it over and over—though she was already quite willing inside, she still had to finish the act.
"Ophelia—was everything you just said true?"
Viper couldn't guarantee it entirely. She replayed her own words in her head, gave a slightly uncertain nod. "I didn't consciously lie to you."
Daisy produced the lasso. Viper, seeing the rope, assumed some kind of sinister use was incoming and shifted half a step back.
"This is the Lasso of Truth from Greek mythology. I'd like us to be straightforward with each other."
Viper had never heard of any Lasso of Truth, but she'd signed a pact with Chthon—the mystical side of things was not unfamiliar territory.
She cocked her head with mild curiosity. "The person tied up has to tell the truth? Can I borrow it sometime?"
Daisy's expression went slightly strange. She flicked her wrist and sent the lasso sailing—after traveling ten meters (33 ft), it snapped back to her palm.
"Seen enough?"
Viper looked thoughtful. "Could I try it on one of my servants? Let me see how it works."
Daisy agreed without hesitation.
Her imitation lasso was no substitute for Wonder Woman's genuine article, but according to Daisy's tests, once it wrapped a target, it unleashed an overwhelming pressure—as if something monstrous and incomprehensible was lurking inside the coils. Under that terror, people entered a dissociated state and answered whatever they were asked. Not quite a truth compulsion, but close enough to count.
Viper called in five servants—women she'd flagged as suspicious but couldn't pin anything concrete on.
The faint Phoenix pressure concealed inside the lasso was not something an ordinary person could withstand. Today was Viper's lucky day: one of the five broke under questioning. Baron Strucker's plant.
Under the weight of that terror, the servant talked without hesitation—everything she knew, no omissions. Viper listened with her expression going cold and flat. Daisy felt a chill too: this was the moment she learned that her private dealings with Viper had already come to Baron Strucker's attention.
The spy's fate required no commentary.
Viper collected herself quickly. The knowledge that Strucker had been wary of her actually made Daisy gaining a senior position inside S.H.I.E.L.D. seem like a good thing—they could form a tighter alliance, one visible, one in shadow, working together against Strucker from two angles.
Viper wound the lasso around her wrist. "Ask me."
Viper confirmed everything she'd said was genuine. She wasn't interested in ending the world, and she had no stake in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s survival. Their interests didn't conflict anywhere that mattered.
Then it was Viper's turn to ask. Because Daisy was the lasso's current owner, the Phoenix pressure carried a residual effect on her too—she had higher resistance, but uncomfortable questions could still go unanswered.
Viper's questions jumped around.
She asked whether Daisy objected to Viper conducting human experimentation. Daisy said as long as it didn't touch anyone close to her, she didn't care—then added that Viper should keep it to a minimum.
"If someone tried to kill me—would you come for me?"
"I would, Ophelia. You're my friend."
Viper gave a final hmph and tossed the lasso back.
Daisy didn't linger. She left the villa quickly. Their alliance was now considerably stronger, and with Viper's endorsement, her HYDRA standing was fully official.
With Viper's backing secured, Daisy graduated from pseudo-HYDRA to full membership. With Fury and Ward having thrown in with her—and keeping Crossbones close with a steady hand—her position within S.H.I.E.L.D. grew steadily more entrenched.
On the outside, Hammer Industries was moving well. As the Hammer Drones cleared the Department of Defense's evaluation, the company's stock price began a steep, accelerating climb.
Nobody turned down more money. Military acceptance was one market; Daisy started thinking about another. Could the NYPD absorb the Drones too?
Hammer Industries held all the IP. The military wouldn't demand exclusivity in principle—but Daisy sent people to coordinate with them anyway. The defense stakeholders who held equity in Hammer arranged things smoothly on their end. The Pentagon's response came back quickly: the latest model was reserved for military procurement; older generations could be sold domestically at the military's discretion.
Three separate meetings with Captain Stacy produced a tentative agreement in principle. Daisy's plan was straightforward: sell the police the models the military had already phased out. It reduced the NYPD's casualty rate, generated steady revenue, and cost her nothing. What was there to object to?
She thought this was genuinely a good thing for ordinary New Yorkers.
She was wrong within three hours of the announcement going public—a wave of controversy hit her squarely in the face.
"Ms. Johnson, why are you working against the trajectory of human progress?"
"Ms. Johnson, multiple outlets are reporting that you have antisocial personality traits—could you respond to those characterizations?"
"Ms. Johnson—"
A wall of reporters had formed outside the Manhattan courthouse. Further back, crowds were demonstrating with anti-war protest signs.
The whole thing had started with the most absurd possible catalyst: some New Yorker with too much time on his hands had decided the Hammer Drones lacked legal authority, had no right to use lethal force, and went on an extended tirade about human rights superseding machines—even when the humans in question were criminals—and about treating them humanely.
This individual had filed suit against Hammer Industries and the NYPD—and then, apparently running out of targets, added the Department of Defense to the complaint.
The court had wanted no part of it. But with several competing defense contractors, a handful of media outlets, and a cluster of lawyers pouring fuel on the situation, it somehow metastasized into a genuine legal case.