Chapter 95: T'Challa

[ Near Lake Turkana, At Kenyan Border, Africa ]

When the topic drifted to weapons of mass destruction, Storm could only manage an awkward smile, clearly unqualified—or unwilling—to speak on the subject. Her silence said more than words. Daisy didn't press. Not yet.

"I still don't buy the theory that there's some secret advanced tech in Africa that even SHIELD doesn't know about," Daisy said, arms crossed as her sharp eyes narrowed. Her voice held the smooth confidence of someone used to holding all the cards. "But I follow the clues. And the other side? They're good. Military good. Trained, coordinated. Their current field commander is Batroc—the Leaper. French mercenary, peak human conditioning, ex-Olympic weightlifter. A real thigh enthusiast."

She said that last bit with a wicked grin, and Storm couldn't help but chuckle under her breath.

Viper has great power and influence. She hired a large group of mercenaries through many of her connections and using various middlemen.

Those mercenaries and Daisy landed in kenya about the same time, but Daisy played with the lions for a few days on the road just to stay behind, and now she was trailing the mercenaries by three full days.

Truth be told, Daisy hadn't expected Viper to get her hands on Batroc.

Bartok has a cool head, quick thinking, and is very skilled in various fighting techniques, especially leg techniques. In the movie 'Captain America The Winter Soldier', he was able to fight Captain America on equal terms for few minutes. His strength is worthy of recognition.

She and Storm traveled together. The wilds of Africa passed them by as they made a stop in evening for resting. It was during evening that Storm's backup finally arrived. Reinforcements, she'd said.

The man who approached was tall, dark-skinned, and moved with the grace of a trained predator. Gentle eyes. Neatly kept beard. Muscles lean and quiet like a panther stalking through underbrush.

Daisy turned, a knowing smile already curling her lips. "Ororo, this the cavalry sent by Professor Charles?" Her tone was playful, but the undercurrent was unmistakable.

Storm visibly flinched. That name—Charles—was like salt in an open wound. Her gaze dropped, guilt carved into her features.

"I didn't mean to deceive you, Daisy. But… this has nothing to do with Professor Charles."

Daisy laughed secretly. She dealt with people from Hydra and SHIELD every day, but now she was initially little uncomfortable meeting this group of righteous people. But after knowing their personalities, she realized that these people were so easy to deceive.

She shifted her weight, pretending to tense. "So, what's the play here? Are you in cahoots with those guys?"

Storm waved her hands defensively. "No! I promise you, this has nothing to do with those mercs. But what's happening now has nothing to do with Professor Charles. Please believe me."

"Yeah, sure." Daisy raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Because I look like someone who takes strangers at their word."

At this point, the man beside Storm stepped forward with both hands raised in a gesture of peace.

He is T'Challa, who had just received the title of Black Panther from the old king. Originally, Black Panther and the king should have been the same person, but under the old king's arrangement, T'Challa got the title of Black Panther and the heart-shaped grass enhancement in advance.

"I am T'Challa," he said slowly in perfect English, his voice calm and poised. "The people you are pursuing are tracking me. Or more precisely, my homeland. Please believe us, we have no ill intentions."

Daisy tilted her head. "Oh? And which particularly secretive homeland would that be?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he and Storm led her to a wide, empty clearing. No fences. No buildings. Just nature. But Daisy's instincts screamed otherwise.

She ran her hand through the air, palm brushing what looked like nothing—and felt like something.

"Holographic cloaking tech?" Her eyes narrowed. "Did you guys develop this yourselves, or is it a Western hand-me-down?"

T'Challa remained cool. The condescension didn't faze him. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small device. With a smooth press, a sleek, obsidian aircraft shimmered into view like a ghost peeling off its disguise.

It looked almost alien. Oval body. Turbine engines on either side. Rear thrusters glowing a cool blue. Silent. Odorless. Efficient. Nothing like what SHIELD—or even Stark Industries—was currently producing.

"Alien spaceship?" Daisy asked, letting the awe show just a little.

T'Challa smiled faintly. "Wakandan design. Our plane."

He gestured gallantly. "Come, Miss Johnson. We can talk more on the way."

He said "talk," but the moment they boarded, T'Challa's version of conversation involved rocketing into the sky at full speed. Clearly, chasing down mercenaries came before tea-time diplomacy.

Despite their efforts, they found nothing more than human footprints. No signs of the actual intruders. Whoever trained these people knew how to make ghosts.

Daisy leaned back in her seat, arms folded, watching T'Challa with a predator's patience. "What exactly are you hiding?"

He glanced at Storm, who gave a nod. Then he turned back to Daisy. "These uninvited guests seek the secrets of Wakanda. Please, come with us. My father—the king—will answer your questions."

Daisy gave a thoughtful pause before finally nodding. "Fine. Lead the way, Prince."

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[ Outside Wakanda, Africa ]

The aircraft shifted direction, soaring toward the mountains. But their first stop wasn't Wakanda proper. Not yet. T'Challa brought the ship down outside the Wakanda—into what the locals called the Border Tribe.

"Rest here for the night. We'll continue in the morning," he said before flying off solo, clearly with business of his own.

Daisy stood amidst the village, taking in the strange mix of modern secrecy and ancient rural life. Children—barefoot and muddy—chased after goats. Adults herded sheep and rode horses. Dusty. Harsh. Unapologetically real.

She turned to Storm, eyebrow arched. "Okay. Real talk. If your people can build a cloaking spaceship out of alien-grade tech, why are we surrounded by people herding sheep like it's the Middle Ages?"

Storm sighed, already anticipating this question. "This is the Border Tribe. Their role is to act as the country's first line of defense. Traditionally, they've chosen to live outside the capital's luxury."

"That's the story?" Daisy asked, incredulous. "So… Wakanda has flying saucers in the city, but the folks keeping watch are stuck playing farmville in reality mode? Makes total sense."

With such unfair treatment, it is no wonder that the border tribes defected to Golden Jaguar on the first day he became king.

There really is something wrong with Wakanda's national policy, and it would be unfair not to rebel.

Storm actually asked T'Challa a similar question, but the answer she got was this.

"It's a matter of ancestral tradition. The first of the Border Tribe made the choice willingly—"

"Sure, those folks were willing." Daisy cut in, voice dry as the red soil. "But would the next generation be willing? Are these folks here willing? Because judging by the bitterness in their eyes, I'm betting no."

Storm didn't have an answer for that. And her silence spoke volumes.

Daisy ran a hand through her hair, gazing around. "You know, with all that tech, they could just set up remote surveillance. Use drones. Sensors."

Daisy sighed. "Look, I'm not here to judge your nation's policies. But if this is the first line of defense, it's got some pretty gaping holes. No offense to the goat squad."

Storm launched into a nervous explanation, mixing in cultural heritage, tribal pride, and something about 'living in tune with nature.' By the end of it, even she looked like she wanted to slap herself for the nonsense.

Mercifully, Daisy let it go. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the village. The two women walked in silence for a while, absorbing the quiet thrum of Africa's hidden heart.

To Be Continued...

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