Daisy hadn't expected to stumble upon this incident while out for a stroll. Who treated this guy after he was seriously injured? After a moment of thought, she realized there was no such information in her memory.
Before she could figure out what was wrong, Frank's breathing became increasingly faint. She sensed his heartbeat. Although she wasn't a doctor, Daisy knew his life was counting down.
She looked around, but no divine being descended to save Frank.
"It shouldn't be me saving you, should it? That's too strange… Alright, consider yourself lucky!" She deliberated for a moment, seeing Frank on the verge of death, and quickly reached out to his chest, activating her vibration ability.
With a very light touch, she injected a trace of energy into his heart, helping it to beat again.
"Ah—" Frank suddenly sat up reflexively, but his body was too weak and his movements too exaggerated. He sat up to a forty-five-degree angle and then fell back down again.
Blood gushed out as if it were free.
Daisy was speechless. This guy's reflexes were too fast, and her treatment method was a bit overbearing… Watching Frank pass out again, she was at a loss.
Calling an ambulance was clearly not the best option. The people targeting Frank had significant power, and it was likely she wouldn't be able to save him and might even get herself into trouble.
She could only treat him herself.
As a former struggling writer, she only had theoretical knowledge accumulated from reading novels, but the original Daisy, having outwitted and outmaneuvered her classmates, had basic medical experience.
Combining the two, theory met practice—perfect!
She glanced at the ground; faint bloodstains stretched from inside the park all the way to her car, as if afraid the enemy wouldn't know the target was in her car.
Daisy quickly drove out of Central Park, turned into a secluded alley, bought some gauze, alcohol, and needles on the way, then looked up basic treatment steps on her laptop and began on-site treatment.
Alcohol disinfection, then using counter-vibration to eject the bullets, and stitching the wounds—her speed was no less than that of the most skilled surgeon.
Her speed was fast enough, but her technique was truly shoddy. In the end, Frank was wrapped in gauze like a Zombie.
"Hey buddy, are you feeling better? Is there anywhere you want to go? I'll take you." Her method of waking people up was to slap them hard.
After five or six slaps, the other party finally woke up with difficulty.
He looked at her blankly, realizing he didn't know her.
"I was just passing by. You seem to be in a bit of trouble. I can't take you home; you'll scare my roommate to death looking like that… Do you have anywhere you can go? I'll take you?" Daisy said, pointing to herself.
Frank's eyes were blank, filled with a deathly pallor, as if he had no attachment to life.
Daisy waited for several seconds, realizing he wasn't responding.
She could only find an unoccupied house nearby, vibrated the lock open, and, supporting the future Punisher, stumbled inside.
The furnishings inside were very old. She didn't know if the original owner had moved or died. She placed Frank on the bed, and he still remained silent.
"We're strangers, and this is as much as I can help you. You'll have to recover on your own." Daisy said, pulling open the door to leave, but her left foot stepped out and then returned.
She rummaged through Frank's wallet. This guy might have been a soldier for many years and had no concept of money; there wasn't even a dollar in his wallet.
"…I'm not rich either. I'll give you two hundred. Don't think it's too little." Daisy feared this guy would starve himself to death, so she painfully took two hundred from her entire savings and slipped it into his wallet.
The floor and tabletop in the room were covered in a lot of dust, so theoretically, the original owner wouldn't appear anytime soon.
Ordinary people with a cold or fever need dedicated care, but Frank didn't need any. Relying on the tough physique he developed from fighting on battlefields, he could recover on his own. He was a true soldier king and didn't need outsiders to worry about him.
Back in her rental, she opened her computer and began to investigate.
The internet only reported a shootout in Central Park, with some people seeing bodies, but who the warring parties were, and the exact number of casualties, remained unknown.
Thinking of the tragic fate of the Punisher's family, Daisy sighed, practiced her abilities for a while, and then went to bed. Touching her wallet, which now only had five hundred dollars, she was truly too poor to sleep.
While pondering how other transmigrators earned their first pot of gold, she also felt like she had forgotten something, but eventually drifted off to sleep… The next day, Daisy simply brushed her teeth, washed her face, and ate bread while gesturing into the air with a fork.
She really couldn't think of any profitable business. She did have some software ideas that could make money, but they all required costs, at least labor costs, and she didn't want to lock herself in a room for half a year coding. That wasn't her lifestyle.
As for other things, she had no clue.
Writing? There was no Harry Potter in this world, but she felt that even if she copied the original text, it might not succeed, and besides, she couldn't remember the original text.
Drawing comics of Superman and Wonder Woman from next door? She also didn't have that skill.
She walked out of the room and opened the car door, and the smell of blood inside almost made her stumble.
She had forgotten last night; she should have washed the car. This car was rented… Now, after one night, the smell was indescribable.
The car had to be returned, but not like this.
A car full of blood, how would she explain it if asked?
Daisy scratched her head a bit, then decided to go to a car wash.
She definitely couldn't go to a legitimate car wash. She could only go to those car washes with gang backgrounds.
Searching her memory, she drove to a place called "Veles Taxi."
This was Russian gang territory, responsible for painting, modifying, customizing, and car washing, among other services.
Daisy covered her face. The chances of a conflict were as high as eighty percent. To be honest, she wasn't worried and was even a little excited.
But thinking about weapons made her a bit troubled. She only had the self-defense taser left by her predecessor. She couldn't possibly buy a handgun just to wash a car, could she? That was too absurd… Deciding to play it by ear, she drove through Hell's Kitchen, making several turns, and finally entered the Russians' territory.
This was an underground parking lot, and because it was daytime, there weren't many people.
Two men were talking in the middle of the lot. Daisy had seen one of them before: James Wesley, who represented Kingpin in acquiring land. He was still wearing a crisp suit and glasses, looking refined, in stark contrast to the several burly men scattered around.
Opposite him stood a thin man. The two were arguing in low voices about something. Hearing the car engine, they both turned to look curiously.
The thin man gestured to his subordinate to go and check.
A big man walked to the car and roughly asked, "What do you want?"
Daisy was a bit speechless. She had clearly come at the wrong time. She could only say in a hoarse voice, "Car wash