A new administration settled into power. The rewards followed naturally.
Daisy had already collected hers ahead of schedule, so she was exempt from the queue. The rest of Obama's campaign staff and advisors received their various forms of compensation: some walked directly into government positions; others used the résumé entry to land senior roles at major corporations. Business owners got favorable policy; nonprofits received funding. Those who'd wanted recognition got recognition; those who'd wanted money got money. Even Hank McCoy—Beast—came away with a prize: an appointment as Minister of Mutant Affairs in the new cabinet.
She and Beast were on decent terms. The man had chosen his own road, and Daisy respected that, even if the road in question had considerably more thorns than most. Beast could switch between a human form and his natural blue-furred appearance, and Daisy suggested he use the human form for his first day. Low profile. Build trust before making a statement.
He refused. To demonstrate that mutants weren't dangerous, he went to work exactly as he was—blue-furred, broad-shouldered, looking more gorilla than civil servant—and settled behind his new desk.
Daisy watched from a rooftop across the street as a crowd assembled outside his building, holding signs.
Beast walked through them without breaking stride and disappeared into his office.
She let out a quiet sigh. Aside from scaring the public half to death, what exactly did that accomplish?
She turned to Logan, who'd come back to New York with the group. "Not going back to Japan? What about Mariko and Yukio?"
Wolverine had been standing on the same rooftop, watching Beast until the blue shape vanished through the doors. He sighed. "Nothing between me and Yukio. She's a good girl—she'll find the right person. As for Mariko, she went back to her father."
He left the rest unsaid. Daisy could fill the gaps: the dream version of someone is always better than the real-world version. Once the day-to-day friction sets in, the heroic image rarely survives intact. Going back to ordinary life was probably the right call for both of them.
"So what now?" Mystique and Rogue had gone to South America. Logan had followed them partway before turning back on his own. That said something.
"Stay at the school a few days." He shrugged. "Storm and the Professor want me around. I'll teach some classes. Pave some paths, chop some wood, fix up what needs fixing—paid by the hour."
He and Xavier had apparently already worked out the arrangement. It was either that or take a long walk with no particular destination.
---
The new President was settled. Life returned to its usual pace.
Daisy walked into her office to find Jasper Sitwell standing in front of her desk with the expression of someone losing a fight with their own digestive system.
"Director, there's a minor complication with the Faustus program," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. The office wasn't the place to be specific.
"What happened?"
"One of the subjects has completely lost control. The agents are trying to contain her, but it's not going well."
Daisy had no particular desire to involve herself in Hydra's internal problems. But power came with obligations, and Hydra's support wasn't something she could afford to lose at this stage.
She grabbed Sitwell's arm and walked him into the women's restroom.
His expression went from constipated to thoroughly baffled. A moment later, both of them were standing inside Hydra's secret base under the Potomac River.
Sitwell stood still for a second, recalibrating. Then his loyalty rating visibly climbed three levels. He gushed about it—almost embarrassingly—and demonstrated his appreciation with a pair of Hydra slogans delivered in the Bavarian accent that someone had apparently taken the time to teach him.
The scene inside the base was not a "minor complication."
A brown-haired young woman—1.75 meters (five foot nine), solidly built—was tearing through a corridor of Hydra agents like she was clearing bowling pins. They went flying left, right, into walls and down to the floor.
Underground facility. Heavy weapons were out of the question. They were fighting back with rubber batons and riot shields, and it was not going well.
"What's her name?" Daisy watched from the entrance without immediately moving to intervene.
"Jessica Drew. Her parents accepted Hydra funding for genetic research. She was cross-contaminated with experimental spider DNA during the process—it gave her remarkable physical capabilities. The European division transported her here for Faustus conditioning. The conditioning hasn't taken."
Sitwell was concise when it counted.
Daisy stared at the woman currently hurling a Hydra agent the full length of the corridor and slowly shook her head.
The original Spider-Woman.
Seven tons of lifting strength. Flight. Venom blasts. Not a lightweight problem under any definition.
The current Jessica Drew had been held in suspended animation—her body was seventeen years old, but her mind had never developed past seven. She hadn't been trained by either Hydra or the Taskmaster. Whether to step in was genuinely complicated.
Because the person who had funded Jessica Drew's parents' research wasn't just anyone.
It was Viper.
"You really know how to cause problems." Daisy moved forward, boot heels quiet on the tile.
The agents were losing ground fast. Jessica Drew planted a kick into a riot-shield operator and sent him flying. The corridor was clear ahead of her. She bolted for the exit.
"Come back here." Daisy uncoiled the Lasso of Truth from her belt and let it fly. The loop caught Jessica Drew around both ankles. She hauled back.
Even setting aside raw power, Daisy was stronger. And the Lasso's authority was enough to freeze a seven-year-old's instincts cold—regardless of what kind of body those instincts were operating.
A metallic crash. Jessica Drew went down hard. She lay there, stunned and motionless.
"Stand down—all of you, out. She's with me."
The agents cleared the room with visible relief. Several of them paused on the way to squint at the slender rope around the ankle of the woman who'd just put twelve of their colleagues on the floor.
Daisy turned to Sitwell. "Find me a room. Something that looks lived-in, not like a cell. This woman's development is incomplete—the emotional regulator is not an option here."
The room was ready in minutes. Daisy brought Jessica Drew inside and closed the door.
Her psychic abilities had grown considerably these past months. Emma Frost had given her several additional techniques to work with. Daisy settled both hands against the sides of Jessica Drew's head, fingers hovering just above the temples. She closed her eyes.
She needed to understand what was inside. If she found a blank slate, she'd help. If she found darkness already rooted—she'd return her to Viper and walk away.
She stepped through.
Ahead of her, vast and cold, a mountain rose from nothing.
Mount Wundagore. The mountain where Jessica Drew had been born—one of the most storied locations in the entire Marvel world.