Inhuman transformation involves Kree genetics—every Inhuman is essentially a hybrid of Kree and human DNA.
Even among Inhumans, Black Bolt doesn't need his lethal voice. With raw physical strength alone he can send the Thing flying. At full fury he can fight to a standstill against the Omega-level mutant Vulcan—Emperor of the Shi'ar Empire and Cyclops's own brother. At half strength he can't beat Thanos in his normal state, but he can still deal the Mad Titan serious damage.
Compare that to Daisy? Well. She was respectable by ordinary standards these days, but the gap between her and Black Bolt was still a chasm.
Even with the heart-shaped herb enhancement, she was probably a cut above Medusa and Gorgon's tier—but Black Bolt was still out of reach.
When she dug down to the root cause, the only answer was blood purity. Hers wasn't high enough.
As Queen of the Inhumans, Medusa had once announced to the world that their people had reached the Moon thirty thousand years ago. Their technological capabilities had ensured that bloodlines were handled with optimal precision. Daisy had lost the race before it even started.
But she had her own advantages. Her memories told her that S.H.I.E.L.D. still had a Kree corpse in storage—and that specimen's genetic data would be invaluable as a reference.
There was also Carol Danvers, who had merged Kree genetics into her human body and become Captain Marvel. That case was worth studying too.
Then there were the Quantum Bands—the artifacts that had made the hero Quasar—currently sitting in Nick Fury's hands.
And that wasn't even touching the Tesseract. All things considered, S.H.I.E.L.D. was sitting on an extraordinary collection. She still had a long way to climb.
"Miss, the Baxter Foundation has inquired about renting access to our supercomputer," the maid reported two days later.
Renting out supercomputer time was routine work. Many companies and individuals couldn't afford a machine of that scale, so they leased processing time instead.
Daisy was in the middle of tutoring Lorna in algebra and frowned slightly. From the way the maid looked at her, it was obvious she'd never heard of this foundation.
The maid quickly pulled up the file. "They support young scientists and innovation across the United States. Currently they're funding a hundred and thirty-five projects. The Baxter Foundation has already confirmed the existence of dark matter, developed a quad-core superchip, and developed self-driving cars. Their theoretical research on a space elevator is also complete."
She flipped to the last page and paused. "They're currently researching the enhancing effects of cosmic radiation on the human body..."
That got Daisy's attention. She ruffled Lorna's hair and nudged her toward Tangbao, then took the file and read it carefully.
Two lines in, she confirmed it: this cosmic radiation project would ultimately give birth to the Fantastic Four.
Foundations operated differently from corporations. They accepted donations from backers across society, evaluated promising targets for funding, and returned a share of results to their investors when a project succeeded. The foundation itself generated no revenue—tax law granted it a raft of exemptions and deductions, making it a perfectly legal income-sheltering tool for the wealthy.
Daisy skimmed through quickly. The applicants wanted access to her supercomputer, so naturally they'd submitted a project summary—not fully detailed. This was a supercomputer, not a gaming console; if she got tangled up in anything illegal, the liability would fall on her too.
The application was serviceable. The language wasn't flashy. The current project lead was listed as Reed Richards, and everything was still in early preparation.
Get me a meeting with the foundation's director.
She wanted the experimental data that would come out of this. That crackpot Reed had ideas years ahead of anyone else—at a time when everyone else was looking at the ground, he was already reaching for space. You had to admire the audacity.
Just one day later, Reed Richards arrived at her villa with his friend, bodyguard, and driver Ben Grimm.
Reed was every inch the scientist—tall and lean, with a mild expression, and a tendency to stumble over his words whenever money came up. Because he didn't have much of it.
For someone widely considered the world's greatest all-around scientific mind, he should have been living comfortably. Instead he was scraping by, cutting every corner he could find.
Never mind that Reed Richards owned a building called the Baxter Building at the corner of Madison Avenue and 42nd Street in Manhattan. On paper, the word "poor" had no business being in the same sentence as him.
A man who owns a Manhattan skyscraper and he's still broke? Then I must be destitute.
The reality was that Reed was not doing well. His experiments cost a fortune. He was juggling the building's mortgage—already four payments behind—while renting out the lower floors just to cover day-to-day expenses. The tenants complained constantly about the safety hazards his experiments created, so occupancy was never great. Add to that his regular habit of funding young innovators, and what you got was a man who appeared to have food and shelter but was, in truth, deeply, perpetually broke.
"Both of you, please sit." To set a professional tone—and to seem a bit more mature than she actually was—Daisy had changed into a coffee-brown business suit. At home she usually wore whatever was comfortable.
That wardrobe switch had produced a minor incident: the little lion hadn't recognized her at first glance.
Reed settled in without ceremony. Ben Grimm—the bald, broad-shouldered one—gave the little lion a careful once-over, satisfied himself that the lion was not about to attack anyone, then sat down beside Reed.
"Giving you access to our supercomputer—as far as I'm concerned, that's not a problem," Daisy said, getting straight to it. "I only need the machine at night, so I can rent you daytime hours by the hour."
She made her position clear upfront. The usual business posturing wasn't worth anyone's time with Reed. He was a pure scientist.
Sure enough, the directness earned her an immediate look of approval from him.
Though two beats later, a flicker of awkwardness crossed his face. He'd calculated all of this, of course—had specifically sought her out because even with her own computing needs, a machine like hers would still have idle capacity during the day. Compared to national labs and major corporations with fully booked schedules, she would be far easier to work with.
But there was the other problem, the more immediate one.
He couldn't pay her.
Daisy didn't know Reed was broke. As far as she was concerned, the man owned an entire Manhattan building. How could he possibly be strapped for cash?
She shifted the conversation, seemingly at random, to science. "Mr. Richards—what exactly is this cosmic radiation project? I understand Earth's magnetic field filters most of what reaches us, but why specifically go into space to observe it? Isn't this radiation basically just protons?"
Reed exhaled quietly. The money question hadn't come up. He'd have had no choice but to answer honestly if it had—outright lying wasn't something he could do—but Daisy hadn't asked. His plan was simple: use the supercomputer first, deal with payment later. One word: delay.