The first person Fury called in was an old subordinate — Phil Coulson, the easygoing veteran he trusted most.
Coulson had already thought it through. "Sharon Carter will always put the country first and won't compromise her own principles," he said when asked about the candidates. "Maria Hill and Daisy Johnson will both follow orders. Hill would make an excellent executive officer. Johnson is too aggressive."
Fury made no comment. He took careful notes and patched in the second agent.
"Johnson's combat ability is flawless," Hawkeye reported. "Give her the right training and she could take my place. The other two have no real fighting instinct."
"All three are average," Melinda May said bluntly. "Daisy's slightly better, if I had to pick."
"How much longer do I have to babysit these three? Boss, just give me a real assignment already." That was Black Widow — done with every word.
Nick Fury listened to the reports and quietly weighed the three women in his mind.
No question, all three were exceptional. But if he was being honest with himself, he favored Hill. They'd worked together before — there was a natural understanding between them. The problem was that Hill had her own ideas about everything. She didn't just follow orders blindly.
Sharon's flaws were few, but so were her standout qualities. She could do everything competently and nothing brilliantly — a mark against her.
Daisy had her own set of problems. She was aggressive, quick to solve things with her fists. From a field agent's perspective, that was enormously useful. From a leadership standpoint, Fury suspected she'd be a headache.
This is going to be a pain. Nick Fury frowned and closed the files. He'd give it a little more time before deciding.
Back at the Academy, Daisy's routine clicked back into place — combat training, quantum physics coursework, nothing had been neglected. With an eye on everything the future might throw at her, she'd also started learning a new language: Old Norse.
The legendary runes that Odin himself had supposedly discovered by hanging from a tree for nine days and nine nights, pondering the cosmos until the knowledge came to him.
In the Marvel universe, knowing Old Norse couldn't hurt.
"Why would you pick that language?" Sharon genuinely couldn't follow the logic. Daisy's interests jumped around like a pinball.
"Curiosity. Pure curiosity." Daisy's explanation carried absolutely no sincerity.
Combat and languages came easily enough — but quantum physics was a wall. Progress through the Academy curriculum was too slow, and she was convinced half the current theoretical framework was flat-out wrong. What she needed was a real authority in the field to help her sort through it systematically.
She brought the request up with Coulson, carefully, indirectly. The man was basically a college advisor as far as she was concerned.
"A top-tier physics professor? What's wrong with the professors here at the Academy?"
She gave an awkward smile. Theory needed to connect to practice, and she had her powers — she was the practice. The Academy professors only analyzed from a purely theoretical angle. Honestly, she found their lectures stiff and mechanical. Pure textbook recitation.
"All right, I'll ask around," Coulson agreed.
Daisy figured he'd have to report up the chain, run through a screening process, find someone qualified, then spend days convincing them to cooperate. She expected this to take at least a week.
She was called to the conference room that same afternoon.
It was a small group — all familiar faces. Phil Coulson, Black Widow, Hill, Sharon, and herself. Five people total.
She was about to say she hadn't signed up for a mission when Coulson caught her eye and gave a small shake of his head: wait.
He pulled up the big screen. A photograph appeared — a lean, somewhat gaunt elderly man.
Coulson addressed the room, but he was really speaking to Daisy. "Dr. Hank Pym. World-class authority in biochemistry, quantum physics, robotics, artificial intelligence, and entomology."
Daisy's brow lifted slightly. She knew exactly who Hank Pym was. The original Ant-Man. In Marvel canon, the man represented the absolute peak of human intellect — in the same tier as Tony Stark, Reed Richards, and Bruce Banner.
Someone like that as her tutor? More than adequate. But judging by the setup in this room, nothing was going to be that simple.
The original Ant-Man was in trouble. He needed S.H.I.E.L.D. Daisy gave a small nod to signal she was in.
Coulson didn't acknowledge her. "Dr. Pym served with S.H.I.E.L.D. once — he's something of a founding father. Lately, he's run into a bit of a problem."
"What kind of problem?" The word mission lit something up in Black Widow. She'd had enough of teaching.
"He's disappeared. Our analysis division believes he's being held by some organization or individual."
"Who took him?"
"Unknown."
"Where is he being held?"
"Unknown."
Black Widow and Coulson traded questions and answers like gunfire, burning through the known facts in seconds.
"The last confirmed sighting of Dr. Pym was at his laboratory in Hungary," Coulson said, sliding the tablet across to Black Widow. "You can start there and collect leads." He sat back. His briefing was done.
Black Widow stared at him. "We?"
Coulson offered one of his signature unreadable smiles. "That's right. The four of you. These three are young — they need someone to lead them. That's you."
When it became clear Black Widow wasn't thrilled about it, Coulson's expression went flat. "These are orders from above."
Daisy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Orders from above, right. Throw a top field agent, a legacy recruit, a future deputy director, and herself together on one mission — who else could have cooked up that combination but Fury?
She also had fresh appreciation for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s backlog management. Pym had clearly been missing for a while. Otherwise it was too convenient: she'd made her request that morning and by afternoon there was a mission on the table. That file had probably been sitting in Nick Fury's in-tray collecting dust. Treasured former colleague — she'd bet the old man barely remembered who Pym was.
She turned the team composition over in her mind: one top-tier field operative leading three rookies who weren't completely useless. It had a certain Secret Warriors energy. Whether this would turn out to be their proving ground was anyone's guess.
While Daisy was lost in her own thoughts, the others were already moving — everyone snapping into compliance and heading back to pack their gear.
"We leave in fifteen minutes," Black Widow called after them, voice carrying a note of irritation. "Bring your weapons. This is live."
Back in her room, Daisy stared at her belongings and realized she wasn't quite sure what to bring. This wasn't like Puerto Rico — she had an organization behind her now. There wasn't much to prepare.
She clipped her modified Chiappa Rhino revolver—"Love and Hate"—to her hip, tucked a Glock into her boot — standard issue for every agent — grabbed two blades and extra ammunition. Her base layer and tactical suit were both soft enough to fold into the sling bag she usually carried. Prep complete.
She stepped out into the hallway and found Sharon waiting — standing next to a full tactical pack the size of something you'd carry to Afghanistan.