[ Puerto Rico ] [ August 2006 ]
Daisy had a hearty breakfast at the hotel and casually struck up a conversation with the front desk attendant. After mentioning her totally hypothetical concern about local safety, the attendant cheerfully recommended a nearby gun shop—like it was a coffee shop and not a place that sells instruments of loud persuasion.
She dropped $1,100 like it was Monopoly money and picked up two Glock 18s and a couple boxes of ammunition. One Glock for the waistband, one for the backpack. You know, just in case she had to go full Tomb Raider before lunch.
In the following days, Daisy became a ghost story enthusiast and an amateur historian. She roamed the libraries, haunted online forums, and pestered locals for urban legends. Meanwhile, she spent three straight days visiting the San Juan Police Station, claiming she was trying to find her long-lost birth parents based on a girl she saw online. The police tried to help her finding her parents.
But let's be real: the family reunion story was just a cover. Her real objective? Sneak a few Trojan horses into the police database and snag the architectural layout of Old San Juan. She wasn't exactly an architect, but with some educated guesswork and a dash of memory from the future, she flagged a few hot zones worth investigating.
Old San Juan, originally San Cristobal, was a fortress built by the Spanish to throw shade (and cannonballs) at anyone who dared sail by. According to history, it was prime real estate for supernatural secrets. Daisy was pretty sure the ancient underground city she was looking for lay beneath this fortress.
Normally, a large organization like S.H.I.E.L.D. or even our dear double-crossing Hydra (hi, bald brother Sitwell!) would have rolled in with plasma drills and excavation squads. Daisy? She didn't even have a shovel. Buying one to go tomb raiding solo seemed more like the setup to a Netflix dark comedy.
So she took the smarter route: research. She practically lived in the San Juan Library, where she inhaled dusty reference books and improved her Spanish under pressure. Eventually, she stumbled on a juicy ghost story about a guard tower where, according to legend, eleven soldiers vanished without a trace. Locals believed demons lived beneath it. Creepy? Definitely. But to Daisy, it screamed secret tunnel.
August in Puerto Rico was boiling. Streets were narrow, but peaceful—no high-speed chases or spontaneous shootouts. Locals hawked trinkets under beach umbrellas, unfazed by the world. Daisy stocked up: ropes, daggers, glow sticks, compressed food, water, and most importantly, sanitary pads (pro tip: great for insoles during long treks—her military training trauma never forgot).
She sketched her own rough map, left all her electronics behind, and went full 90s explorer: beige shirt over a tank top, jeans, sneakers, a mechanical watch, and a miner's hat with a flashlight strapped on. Very "Archaeologist Barbie, Apocalypse Edition."
On a bright sunny afternoon, she quietly slipped into the demon-infested guard tower. The place was abandoned, dusty, and probably hadn't seen a broom in fifty years. Jacket on, flashlight ready, she poked around.
Soon, she found a weed-covered hole with stone steps. Gun raised, she descended into what turned out to be a former wine cellar. The last soldiers here apparently loved their booze so much they built a basement for it. After knocking on tiles like she was trying to summon a genie, Daisy discovered a crudely sealed tunnel on the west wall. A few kicks, and it opened like a poorly locked fridge.
Channeling every tomb raider novel she'd ever read, Daisy cautiously tested the air. Cool breeze? Check. Creepy vibes? Double check. She crawled in, miner-style. One hour of awkward, sweaty crawling later, she deeply regretted her bra choice. Sports vest > fashion.
The tunnel eventually opened into a wider, darker passage. Right on cue, her flashlight died. Classic.
Covered in dirt and optimism, Daisy realized she had made it into the ancient underground city. Cue spooky chills and a surprising thrill.
Instead of fumbling for a glow stick, she instinctively reached for the Obelisk. At her touch, its smooth black surface lit up with glowing orange-red stripes—a holographic map! Future memory + library research = confirmation: the lines formed a layout of Old San Juan, converging to a single point.
The Obelisk now emitted a faint, eerie light and somehow communicated: this way, chosen one.
And just a few steps away? Bones. Lots of bones. Soldiers, explorers, small animals—none of them made it out. Controlled by the Obelisk, they wandered in and dropped like flies.
Unfazed (okay, slightly fazed), Daisy squared her shoulders and headed deeper into the forgotten city, ready to carve her destiny out of stone and legend.
Somewhere, Bald Brother Sitwell probably sneezed. Or felt a disturbance in the Force.
Daisy grinned.
Let the adventure begin.