Daisy put on her most apologetic expression. "Professor, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't have technology that can reach the White Hot Room." She turned to Storm. "Wakanda almost certainly can't manage it either. As for my own teleportation—it's Earth-bound, I'm afraid." She kept her actual capabilities well out of the conversation.
Perhaps the old professor could lean on Baldy for something. Daisy had no idea. She'd delivered the news, at least—they wouldn't spend every day fruitlessly scouring the planet for Jean. She considered her obligation to the woman fulfilled.
From a global safety standpoint, Jean staying somewhere peaceful, harmonious, and far from Earth's particular brand of chaos was a hundred times preferable to her coming back. This planet was a mess. Something could always go wrong, some idiot would always push the wrong buttons, and the Phoenix Force would flare up—and then everyone would be in trouble. The current arrangement was perfectly fine.
Professor X had just regained consciousness and was still visibly exhausted. Cyclops wheeled him away to rest. Daisy turned to Storm to discuss a separate matter.
"The trainee called Shadowcat—could I speak with her? Someone needs her help."
They were on good enough terms, and Storm had no principle-level objection, but it would still need to be Kitty's call.
Storm led her through the school until they found Shadowcat in one of the corridors.
Brown hair, a round face, eyes that always seemed to be running half a beat behind the rest of the world.
When Daisy explained she needed Kitty's help to save someone, the girl looked genuinely baffled. "I don't know anything about healing... me?" She glanced at Storm, hoping for rescue.
Daisy ruffled Kitty's hair like she was coaxing a younger sibling. "I heard you're a computer prodigy. A top-of-the-line laptop—what do you say? Come take a look with me?"
That landed immediately. Kitty cut her eyes sideways at Storm, as if seeking permission.
Storm rolled her eyes and thoroughly washed her hands of the situation.
Daisy hadn't tipped off Baldy or Frank yet—she wanted to see where Kitty's abilities were first. By her estimate, a Shadowcat who would one day help people phase through time could probably pluck a bullet out of a skull in her sleep. But mutant powers were unpredictable; without pressure, they generally didn't get exercised. If this girl turned out to be less capable than expected, it was smarter to test first.
Back at Daisy's villa, she found a solid wall and gestured for Kitty to demonstrate. Go ahead.
The little lion was sprawled on the floor, appraising the newcomer. Growing rounder by the day, its increasingly cartoonish face broke into a massive yawn.
"What is that—a lion?" The movement startled Kitty clean off her feet. She shot half a meter (about 1.5 feet) into the air, and a scream was clearly forming. Daisy rushed to calm her down, and while Kitty was looking the other way, landed a firm kick on the lion to get it to settle.
When Kitty learned it was just a pet—and a somewhat dopey-looking one at that—she relaxed. But when Daisy suggested she try petting it, Kitty mustered her courage twice and still couldn't close the distance.
This kid has less nerve than Lorna. Daisy revised the mental scorecard and moved on, gesturing at the wall. Laptop is waiting. Let's see it.
One hand on the wall. Two slow breaths. Under the influence of material incentive, Kitty's face went completely focused—a hundred times more focused than Daisy suspected she ever was in class.
With a clean whoosh, she phased through. No stumble, no dramatic collision with the wall.
Phasing through solid material entirely was harder than partial phasing. Daisy ran her through a second test: reach through a closed box and retrieve the object inside. No problem. Phase herself, then phase whatever she was in contact with. All of this was Kitty's most basic beginner-tier application.
"Keep practicing. What you'll be treating isn't a box—it's a human life."
A classroom teacher delivering that line to a teenager in full rebellion mode would have earned an eye-roll. Under financial motivation? Kitty lit up and started drilling with visible enthusiasm.
Having a reason made all the difference. She figured anyone who lived in a place like this wasn't going to lie to her about a laptop.
Daisy contacted Baldy. Nick Fury, always sincerely gratified when anyone still thought about his old comrades, expressed warm approval.
"I'm glad you're still thinking about this. I'll get Frank to New York as soon as I can." They ended the call, and by the following evening, Fury had arrived personally—escorting a noticeably thinner Frank Castle through her door.
"I remember you... what's your name again?" Frank's eyes were ringed dark from sleeplessness. The bullet in his skull had been working on him steadily, and the images of his family's deaths surfaced without warning, never once fading. His memory was beginning to fragment—the massacre was perfectly clear, but nearly everything else had gone hazy. He could just about hold on to Daisy; her name was gone. They exchanged brief greetings. He was sedated, and Daisy began working through the treatment plan.
"Even if the bullet comes out, he won't make a clean recovery from this." Daisy wasn't a doctor, which was why she'd brought in an authority: Dr. Stephen Strange, the renowned neurosurgeon.
Dr. Strange—not yet the Sorcerer Supreme, not yet anything other than the best hands in the field—was there for the paycheck, and he billed by the minute. After reviewing Frank's full file, he delivered an assessment that was accurate if somewhat blunt in the delivery.
Frankly, the current iteration of Stephen Strange had a deeply unpleasant personality. Insufferably arrogant. Especially when he'd barely glanced at the reports before pocketing a sizable consultation fee—Daisy found his face increasingly difficult to look at.
She saw him to the door with minimal warmth.
"If your hands ever break, don't come to me."
Treatment still beat nothing. Daisy spread Frank's skull X-rays out for Kitty, pointing to the bullet's position. "Get your bearings before you go in. Don't pull his brain out with it."
Kitty was visibly nervous. Eyes darting. A small throat-clearing that gave her the air of someone about to perform a recital.
"I'll throw in a mechanical keyboard on top of the laptop. Any model you want."
Seeing Kitty's anxiety, Daisy sweetened the offer.
Kitty's eyes snapped up. "Can I pick the laptop myself too?"
"...Of course."
Deal concluded. Kitty studied Frank's head with the expression of someone sizing up the newest laptop model—barely containing herself.
"Be careful with—" Daisy caught the girl's escalating excitement and felt compelled to intervene.
"Don't worry!" Kitty thumped her own chest.
Future co-leader of the X-Men, Kitty Pryde had the nerve for moments like this—she simply hadn't found her arena yet. Fired up by material incentive, she fixed her eyes on Frank and slowly brought herself to stillness.
Watching her eyes go bright and intent, Daisy said nothing. She waited.
Kitty's hand went translucent. Slowly, she slid it into Frank's skull. Daisy glanced over at the monitors. Blood pressure. Pulse. Not a single fluctuation.