Daisy's reflexes were sharp enough that the initial shock passed in seconds. One look at the car told her everything: another Porsche—a red 911. Even if Steve Rogers had somehow crawled out of the ice, he would never drive something like that.
The details didn't add up either. This guy was too breezy, too effortlessly pleased with himself. Tony Stark projected the same devil-may-care energy, but underneath it was deliberate—controlled. This young man, by contrast, gave Daisy the straightforward impression that he was simply enjoying his own face.
"Got you pretty good there, didn't I?" He leaned out slightly, that grin spreading. "Happens more than you'd think."
"Honestly? The family resemblance is real. Captain America is my distant uncle on my dad's side—they've even got photos together in my dad's album. Come with me and I'll show you?"
Something apparently crossed his mind. He rummaged around inside the car for a few seconds, then produced a magazine. The cover featured Daisy's full-length Vanity Fair shoot.
"Hey—I recognize you. You're even prettier in person. What's your name? Dinner later? There's this place I know, great atmosphere, you'd love—"
He hadn't finished the sentence before Daisy placed him.
Johnny Storm. Future member of the Fantastic Four—the Human Torch, to be precise. His sister was Susan Storm, wife of Reed Richards, Mr. Fantastic himself. Johnny was Reed's brother-in-law, and together with Reed's closest friend Ben Grimm, the four of them would become one of the most famous superhero families in history.
The Fantastic Four didn't exist yet. In the meantime, Johnny Storm was coasting on the resemblance to Captain America to charm his way through the city's female population—and he wasn't ashamed of it. In fact, he was proud of it, wandering from flower to flower and living a thoroughly carefree, indulgent life.
"Boring." The word came out flat and cold.
The light turned green. She accelerated smoothly away.
She'd barely made it ten seconds down the road when she heard the engine behind her.
"Your car's pretty quick! Feel like a race?"
Johnny wasn't just asking—he demonstrated by flooring it and pulling past her, engine howling.
Daisy sighed. The Long Island roads were decent, the conditions were fine, and yes, there was enough open lane—but there were other cars out here. Was this really something you just did?
There was a speed limit. Plenty of celebrities and athletes had made the news getting pulled over for exactly this. Daisy generally considered herself a law-abiding driver. It wasn't about her abilities. It was about basic standards.
"Go after him! He's getting away!" Lorna, entirely unbothered by any of this, was practically vibrating in her seat, looking like she wanted to grab the wheel herself.
"Relax. And do not activate any magnetic fields on a public road."
She thought about it for a second. She could ignore this. She should ignore this. But Lorna would never let her hear the end of it, and honestly—the speed limit existed, but so did the fact that even the IRS was too cautious to audit her taxes. A few traffic cops weren't going to be a problem.
Besides. She could fly faster than a sports car. This wasn't a challenge that meant anything.
"Hold on." She gave Lorna one warning, which Lorna received with bright, anticipatory eyes rather than any sign of fear.
She floored it. The 5.7-liter V10 cracked open its full output in one roar. The car launched forward like a crossbow bolt, and nineteen seconds later she blew past Johnny.
The burst of acceleration startled him. He was reckless, not reckless-and-careless—the last thing he wanted was for the two of them to end up in an accident.
Daisy checked her mirrors. His speed was high, but she could already see he couldn't close the gap. She'd pushed the car to its absolute mechanical limit. Lorna was shrieking with delight. Johnny was a regular human driver, and car skill only gets you so far when the other person has genuinely maxed out the machine.
Eating her dust, eyes locked on her taillights, Johnny was breaking down what he was seeing. He couldn't pick apart the specifics—but the driving itself was unmistakable. She's good. Seriously good.
The flirtatious energy was long gone. This was something that demanded full concentration. He had no interest in scientific research, and he'd never been able to hold down an ordinary job—but if he couldn't even win at driving, what was the point? What was any of it worth? Being beaten by a beautiful woman left him feeling genuinely desperate about his future.
Push. Push harder. He could fall, but he was not losing this.
"He's gaining!" Lorna reported from the back, eyes fixed behind them. "Faster, Daisy!"
She glanced in the mirror and understood immediately. Johnny had pushed himself to one hundred and twenty percent—every ounce of skill he had, plus a few tricks he hadn't shown yet. The car had been modified.
"Modified car, is it. Fine."
Daisy's left hand extended out the window. Gravity wrapped around the chassis. The car that was already running at its ceiling found another gear from nowhere.
"There is no way a Carrera GT is moving that fast!" Johnny's expression was pure disbelief. Ten years behind the wheel and he knew exactly what he was seeing. This was past the vehicle's rated top speed—not "within engineering tolerances" fast but past the limit that existed in a controlled lab environment fast. He was doing the math: that had to be approaching 400 km/h (roughly 250 mph).
Daisy decided that using her powers to bully someone in a street race was a little excessive. She eased off, swung into a side street, and slipped into the city.
"Damn it." Johnny hit his brakes and pulled to the curb, staring at the space she'd just occupied. Nitrogen boost and she'd still disappeared on him. There was only one explanation: that car had been modified with technology that eclipsed anything he currently understood.
He was going to find his sister's boyfriend—Reed Richards, one of the smartest scientists alive—and make him fix that the moment he got home.
The race was forgotten almost as soon as it was over. They'd come from Long Island with a purpose: to visit Midtown High in Manhattan.
Despite the "high school" in the name, it also served the middle school grades. It was widely considered the best secondary school in New York, the kind of institution wealthy families competed to get their children into. The academic reputation was solid, the environment was decent, and Daisy had a personal connection to the place—Peter Parker went there.
Meeting the principal, however, stopped Daisy in her tracks.
She walked in, looked at the man behind the desk—plaid button-up, dress trousers, dress shoes, reading glasses perched on an aggressively honest face, hairline several centimeters lower than was strictly fair—and her brain refused to process what she was seeing.
That's Phil Coulson. That is absolutely Phil Coulson. Does he have a twin?
They'd been on the same mission against the Hulk not even a week ago, and somehow the man had also been running a middle school this entire time?