Chapter Text
In the midst of a cold night, a dark figure leaps from the top of one building to another. She makes sure to keep her landings as quiet as possible because although the city seems abandoned, there is always the chance that one of his creations is still around.
She scans the ground below her as she jumps. The chance of finding another human resistance group is slim to none, yet she still continues to search. She needs to find that one small inkling of hope. She needs to see that he isn’t in complete control.
It’s dark, she notices, not that that’s anything new. His followers don’t need light to see anything. She learned that the hard way. No, the only light this side of the world sees comes during the day, yet even then this new world is dangerous. One small slip-up and the hive will converge upon you. Once that happens, there’s no escape.
The young woman furrows her eyebrows, remembering the number of turned humans she’d killed out of necessity. She’s lost count of the number of times she’s used her powers to snap one of their necks. She knows it isn’t their fault, she knows they are being controlled. Hell, she’s the only one that can possibly understand what it's like, yet she can’t let them call him to her location.
Suddenly, the figure sees movement in the corner of her eye. She looks towards it, hoping to see what she’s been searching for, but that hope is extinguished when all she sees is a raccoon digging through an old dumpster. She sighs in defeat and lowers herself for yet another jump.
The dark figure makes her way to the top of one of the larger buildings in the area. She sits down on the edge of the rooftop. Even after everything that’s happened, even she needs time to take a break, to remind herself why she continues to fight. She closes her eyes and listens to the vibrations around her.
It’s quiet. The once bustling city is a ghost town. The only forms of life left are the ones born from nature, the ones unaffected by the mist. The mist that you helped create.
The figure shakes her head. She’s tired of blaming herself, no matter how true it may be. All you can do now is make it right, a familiar, fatherly-like voice inside her head says.
God, what she wouldn’t give to see his face again, all of their faces in fact. The figure knows that there’s a good chance that they were turned. She knows that there’s an even larger chance that they were killed. Yet, despite the probabilities, she continues to search for them, for any clue that will lead her back to her family.
It’s been months, a different voice in her head tries to reason. If they really did make it out, why haven’t they come back for you yet?
The figure tightens her grip on the edge of the building, small cracks in the structure slowly inching out from her hands. She takes a deep breath as the voice continues. Maybe they don’t want you anymore. Maybe they’ve finally seen you for what you really are. A monster.
“Shut up,” the figure says to no one but herself.
You should’ve known this would happen. You never were a good fit. Why else would you be sent back so many times?
“Shut. Up.”
You turned your back on them. You hurt them. You betrayed their trust yet again.
“Stop!”
You had a place to call home and you threw it away. You had people who loved you and you threw that away too.
“No!”
Andrew died to free you and what did you do with that freedom? You tried to give it away again. It’s no wonder the team hasn’t come back for you.
“You’re wrong!”
Poor little Mary Sue Poots. Always playing the victim when we both know it was your fault for the pain you received. How could anyone ever love someone like that?
The figure clutches her head as she screams in anguish, “NO!”
You know it’s true. You were always destined to be alone. You are a plague. Don’t you remember? Wherever you go, death follows.
The figure bangs her fist against her head, trying to make the voice shut up even as the building beneath her begins to crumble.
How many people have died because of you? How many people have pointlessly sacrificed themselves so that you could continue living?
The woman cries out in agony as her own mind continues to remind her of what she’s done, of the lives she’s inadvertently taken.
Who are you going to let die next? Coulson? May? Lincoln? Whose life is the most expendable?
“None of them are!” she yells out.
Then what about your life? the voice counters.
The figure freezes. She looks down at her trembling hands, “I…”
How much better would this world have been without you in it? How much better would it be if you ceased to exist?
“I can’t…”
But you can. So do it. Cleanse the world of your presence.
The figure reaches into her back pocket and pulls out one of her many throwing knives. She holds it over her bare wrist.
Do it and you can finally be at peace.
She lowers the knife so that it just barely cuts into her skin. It’s then that she realizes her mistake. “No!” she yells as she tosses the knife off the edge of the building. “I’m not done yet.”
Daisy looks up into the night sky with newfound vigor, “I will not let those people die in vain. This is my mess and I am the one who will fix it.”
The young inhuman extends her hands toward the ground and quakes herself to the next building over. She can’t give up, not now. Not while she still has something worth fighting for.
Despite how much she may want to give up, the world needs her to stay alive. It’s what Coulson would want her to do. It’s what May has trained her to do.
She has to keep going, if not for herself then for the people she cares about. Daisy will turn the world back to the way it was no matter what it may take to do so.
No. Matter. What.