[ Outside Wakanda, Africa ]
While sleek aircraft hummed through cloaked skies and scientists in Wakandan labs toyed with vibranium-powered marvels, the border tribes still herded goats on dusty plains. Kids ran barefoot through the fields, and the scent of dry grass carried with the wind. For the ordinary people here, the high-tech utopia of Wakanda's heart might as well be a fantasy.
Daisy didn't comment. She wasn't here to liberate anyone or launch a revolution. She came for two things—vibranium and the legendary heart-shaped herb. If King T'Chaka or Prince T'Challa wanted her help in putting down a tribal rebellion, they'd only need to name their price. Daisy would oblige—whether that meant drone strikes, machine gun fire, or poison gas. Morals were luxury items. And she didn't deal in luxury.
Her sharp gaze caught a series of symbols scrawled across the adobe wall of a nearby hut. They were carved with intention, probably some sort of tribal decree or historical record. She pointed them out to Storm.
"Ororo, what does that say?" Daisy asked, feigning innocent curiosity.
She already recognized the writing—it was Wakandan script. Daisy had spent nights hunched over old notes left by Killmonger's Father. But while his translations were reliable, there were no phonetic guides. Daisy could read and write Wakandan fluently now… just not speak it.
The real world is not the movie world. It is impossible for the whole universe to speak English. In order to get closer to Wakanda, she must learn this language.
Storm tilted her head slightly. "It's old Wakandan. I recognize it."
Daisy turned to her with a bright, deliberately charming smile. "Teach me?"
Storm hesitated. Just a second. But what reason could she have to refuse? T'Challa and the old king dreamed of Wakanda engaging with the world, yet feared exposure. What they needed was someone to be a bridge between Wakanda and outside world.
Daisy's level is a little low in SHIELD, but it's also a good start. And if Daisy wanted to learn the language, it was a step in the right direction.
Storm nodded. "Of course."
What she didn't know was that Daisy had already mastered the script. All she needed now was the sound—the rhythm of native tongue and nuance. Storm assumed the learning curve came easy due to Daisy's agent background. Truth was, when you've survived HYDRA assassination and SHIELD's training simulators, you tend to pick things up fast.
In the process, the two women grew more familiar with one another. Storm, despite her disciplined exterior, had the heart of a rebel. As a girl, she'd run wild through Egypt's alleyways, picking pockets and dodging police—not the life of someone content to herd sheep. She had spirit, and a storm's unpredictability. Daisy could see it.
Although she is now restrained by Professor Charles, her nature is still hard to change. She still likes an adventure and the excitement with it, and now she is very much looking forward to the story told by Daisy about leading agents to encircle and suppress the Nazis.
They weren't friends. Not yet. If they met on the battlefield tomorrow, they'd probably trade a witty line or two before trading blows. But they were… acquainted. And that was enough for now.
It wasn't until the evening of the next day that T'Challa returned. He found the two women beneath a sun-faded canopy, Daisy reciting Wakandan vowels with surprising ease.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, his posture as regal as ever. "Wakanda has indeed been infiltrated. My father wishes to speak with you."
Daisy stood, brushing the dust from her suit. "Finally. I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."
He smiled, clearly pleased to see her engaging with the culture. Like Storm, he took her language studies as a gesture of goodwill. Naïve, maybe—but useful.
Soon, the three boarded the sleek vibranium aircraft again, gliding through the layered protections that surrounded Wakanda. Daisy counted them—electromagnetic interference, cloaking tech, some kind of harmonic wave that likely blocked psychic intrusion. Each layer whispered secrets the world had never heard.
As they passed through, the mountains parted to reveal Wakanda in the golden embrace of sunset. Daisy didn't need to fake surprise—it was breathtaking.
----------------------------------
[ Wakanda, Africa ]
Crystal-clear rivers flowed between towering cliffs. Buildings rose from the earth in a beautiful contradiction—ancient stonework infused with glowing tech and futuristic designs. Tribal patterns and holographic signs shared the same walls. Temples were lined with solar arrays. Villagers in traditional garb carried market baskets through bustling streets where levitating trains shot past overhead.
Wakanda was chaos in symmetry—civilization nestled within wild roots. A paradox sculpted from history and progress.
T'Challa glanced sideways, gauging her reaction.
Daisy raised an eyebrow. "You know, I'd ask how you developed this level of tech, but something tells me you won't give me a straight answer."
"You're correct," he said with a faint smile.
She smirked, folding her arms. "Figures."
But in truth, Daisy had already pieced it together. It was all about vibranium. Its energy-absorbing properties had turned it into a perpetual power source. Planes, trains, energy weapons, even the lights in the palace—they all ran on vibranium. With infinite clean energy, scientific advancement became exponential.
Still, Wakanda's progress was… selective. Daisy noticed the disparity. Laser spears sat beside ceremonial machetes. High-speed rails ran through cities where vendors still carried vegetables on their heads. Holograms coexisted with ancestor shrines.
Their technology tree wasn't just skewed—it was warped. Built to preserve royal control, not elevate the masses. Most Wakandans she saw still lived in conditions not far removed from rural towns in Puerto Rico.
She wore a neutral expression, masking her disdain with performative awe. Let them have their pride.
The aircraft touched down outside a palace that looked more like a fortified temple. There, waiting in two rows, stood the royal guard—Dora Milaje. Shaved heads. Crimson armored uniforms. Each woman armed with a spear that crackled faintly at the tip.
Laser-spears disguised as tribal weapons. Daisy almost applauded the genius. It was smart. If the people rebelled with steel, the royals would answer with searing plasma.
As she passed between the lines of stone-faced warriors, Daisy glanced at them, then quickly looked away. She couldn't tell any of them apart. Not out of disrespect—just a bit of face blindness. Like when Americans try to distinguish between twins in a kung-fu movie.
She leaned toward T'Challa and whispered, "So, any royal etiquette I need to know? Bow, kneel, wear a chicken hat?"
T'Challa chuckled. "This isn't a formal audience. Just be yourself."
Daisy gave him a mock salute. "You got it, Prince."
They stepped into the palace, where elegance met utility. Marble floors met obsidian pillars. Tribal carvings were accented by glowing blue veins of embedded tech. The first to greet them was the queen mother.
She wore an elaborate headdress that made her look like a high-fashion chef. Beside her stood a small girl, maybe seven or eight, her bright eyes wide with curiosity.
"Shuri," T'Challa said fondly. "My sister."
Shuri peeked up at Daisy with a half-hidden smirk. The look of a future troublemaker.
Daisy gave a wink. "Nice hat," she said, deadpan.
The queen, however, was not amused. Her gaze held subtle steel. Not hostility toward Daisy specifically—but toward any outsider. The kind of chill that made you instinctively check for hidden blades.
T'Challa noticed and smoothly diverted her attention by launching into a passionate retelling of Wakanda's history—probably a pre-rehearsed distraction tactic, while leading Daisy to continue walking inside.
To Be Continued...
---xxx---
[POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS]