The two metal giants locked up and traded blows.
Thanks to Daisy, Stark's reactor was running at full capacity—his best fighting form by far. Obadiah's "washbasin" reactor, by contrast, was a step down even from the original. Responses lagged. Energy output stuttered. Speed output was inconsistent. All those minor flaws accumulated, and before long, Obadiah was losing ground.
"Who do you think will win?" The vehicles kept moving; Daisy grabbed Coulson for another quick jump. They were observing—technically—though it had started to feel more like watching a sporting event and offering commentary.
"Stark, almost certainly. His power supply is better." Daisy's tone was completely flat, as if none of this had anything to do with her.
"Which design do you think is easier to mass-produce?"
Daisy blinked at the question. "Obadiah's, obviously. Stark's suit costs a fortune. You couldn't field it at scale."
She didn't mention that Stark's suit ran a fully integrated AI, while Obadiah's was operating on a basic exoskeleton motion-capture system. The two weren't even on the same level in terms of operator interface.
Iron Man could execute precise, complex movements. The Iron Tyrant couldn't. Obadiah and whoever had helped design the thing had clearly recognized that limitation and built a suit that compensated for limited agility through raw toughness. Bigger. Thicker. Harder to put down.
It was a defensible approach. But even the toughest defense eventually breaks. Out on the open road with Iron Man hunting him, Obadiah fell further behind by the minute and started reaching for his backup plan.
"Kill the woman!" His voice came through the control system, distorted and buzzing.
His intent wasn't actually to kill Pepper. It was to break Stark's focus.
It worked. The moment a mercenary pressed a gun against Pepper's head, Stark flinched—and Obadiah had him pinned on the ground, delivering a relentless beating.
"We need to get to Miss Potts. Can you get me there?" Urgency had crept into Coulson's voice.
Daisy squinted into the distance. Her vision was better than Coulson's, but it was dark and the truck was far. She could make out maybe three or four figures inside.
In under ten seconds, Stark was being hammered into the pavement while the truck pulled farther and farther from the fight.
Daisy looked down at her outfit. Not ideal for this. But Coulson wasn't going to handle three or four armed mercenaries by himself.
She opened a portal above the truck and stepped through.
The truck was moving fast. Daisy floated in midair above it, dropped Coulson onto the roof, then landed beside him.
Wind screamed past. Coulson pressed flat against the roof and signaled: now what?
Daisy extended her fingernails—razor-sharp—and sliced a large opening through the roof. Then she dropped in first.
The outfit turned out to have its advantages. All four fully-armed mercenaries froze for a split second. A beautiful woman cutting through a truck ceiling wasn't something their training had covered. They genuinely didn't know what they were looking at.
Daisy registered Pepper—already unconscious, a large bruise forming at the back of her head. One less problem.
She moved fast. Her nails opened a mercenary's throat. Blood sprayed across the interior of the truck, and the remaining three finally snapped to attention—weapons coming up.
Close quarters, and bullets at point-blank range were a genuine threat to Daisy. A ricochet in this confined space would be everyone's problem.
A precise kick to the most vulnerable anatomy of the nearest mercenary—not sadism; the skirt simply didn't allow for anything higher. Then a concussive shockwave sent the farthest one punching through the side of the truck and out into the night.
The last one was already grappling with Coulson.
Not quite Crossbones. Not quite Garrett. But a Level 8 SHIELD agent hadn't earned that designation through paperwork.
Three exchanges. The mercenary went down. Daisy's opponent was already handled.
They pulled Pepper out of the truck.
Coulson signaled Stark: hostage secured.
Stark was back at full force in an instant.
Obadiah fought hard. But he was behind on control systems, power supply, and mechanical design simultaneously—and when all three fail at once, you don't just lose. You collapse.
"I'm heading out," Daisy said, a little awkwardly. The fingernail method was devastatingly effective and visually impactful, but the aftermath was deeply unpleasant. Her hands were covered in sticky blood.
She watched Tony drag Obadiah out of the Iron Tyrant, confirmed there was nothing left for her to do, gave Coulson a wave, and teleported home.
Shower. Bed. She'd barely been down for two hours when Fury called.
"I need your professional opinion. I'm outside your building."
She considered ignoring him. Then thought better of it. She pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, and headed downstairs—bringing Tangbao, her lion cub, along for the trip. Other people walked dogs. She walked a lion.
They met at the small park not far from her apartment.
The park had become Tangbao's territory. Every household pet in the surrounding blocks had learned to take the long way around.
"What's your read on Tony Stark's armor?" Fury's eye tracked the lion at her side. The creature glanced up at him—apparently deciding he was familiar enough not to be worth inspecting—and set its head back down by Daisy's feet, dozing.
Daisy wasn't entirely awake herself. Being dragged out at this hour to discuss armor wasn't her idea of a good time.
She stifled a yawn, gave Tangbao's head a pat, and said, "Strong. Strong in every category."
"If I supplied the materials—could you replicate it? The power system is the critical piece, right?"
Daisy had long since started thinking about SHIELD as her organization rather than just her employer. She grasped the full implication immediately.
She didn't answer right away.
"Difficult," she said at last. "Stark's mechanical engineering knowledge isn't something I have. And the operating system is its own problem. If SHIELD wanted to reverse-engineer it, the best we could realistically achieve is something marginally better than the Iron Tyrant."
Fury—unaware that Daisy had essentially appointed herself Director in her own head—was quietly impressed. She'd understood his full intent without being told. He filed that away.
"A few of my experts are saying his armor is already in a class of its own."
Daisy smiled. So Fury thought she was young enough to be baited into proving herself. She knew exactly what he was doing—and she still didn't appreciate it.