-Broadcast: Pym Technologies-
Dr. Hank Pym's convertible pulled up to the main entrance of Pym Technologies—a sprawling campus of glass and steel that bore his name but no longer belonged to him.
The security guard at the gate did a double-take when he recognized the driver. "Dr. Pym?"
It had been years—maybe a decade—since Hank had set foot on these grounds.
"That's right," Hank said with a slight smile. "Still alive, despite what the board probably hopes."
The guard chuckled and waved him through.
Inside the main building, Hank approached the security desk. A young guard who clearly didn't recognize him held up a hand. "ID, please."
Hank placed his car keys and a crisp two-dollar bill on the counter, then tilted his head meaningfully toward the wall behind the guard.
The young man followed his gaze and saw the portrait hanging there—a younger Hank Pym, founder of the company, immortalized in oil paint.
The guard's eyes widened. "Oh! I'm so sorry, sir! Please, go right in!"
Hank picked up his keys and the two-dollar bill, leaving the guard red-faced.
As he walked through the lobby, employees whispered to each other. "Is that really Hank Pym?" "I thought he was dead!" "What's he doing here?"
Hank ignored the stares, his attention fixed on a man across the atrium—Darren Cross, his former protégé, currently schmoozing with potential investors.
"Good morning, Hank."
The voice came from behind him. Hank turned to find Hope van Dyne—his daughter—looking at him with an expression of careful neutrality.
"Hope," Hank said, his voice softening despite himself. "Would it kill you to call me 'Dad' once in a while?"
Hope's expression didn't change. She didn't answer the question. "I'm sure Dr. Cross will be especially pleased that you could make it today."
"Ecstatic, I'd say," a new voice corrected.
Darren Cross had finished his conversation and was walking over, hand extended. He was in his forties, impeccably dressed, with the kind of smile that never quite reached his eyes.
The two men shook hands. Hank's grip was firm, Darren's was firmer.
"Receiving your invitation was quite the surprise, Darren," Hank said carefully. "What's this all about?"
"You'll see soon enough." Darren's smile widened. "Won't he, Hope?"
Hope glanced at Hank, her expression unreadable. "We'll wait for you inside," she said to Darren, her tone professional, distant.
"So cold," Darren said with mock sadness, then put his arm around Hank's shoulders in a gesture of false camaraderie. "Some old wounds never heal, do they, Hank? Don't worry—she's doing great working for me. And I have something incredible to show you."
As they approached the elevator, a familiar voice called out: "Well, well. Long time no see, Dr. Pym. How's retirement treating you?"
Mitchell Carson. Older, grayer, but still carrying himself with the same bureaucratic arrogance. He extended his hand.
Hank shook it perfunctorily. "How's your nose, Mitchell? Still healing from our last encounter?"
Carson's friendly expression vanished instantly. He turned and entered the elevator without another word.
Hope looked up at Hank. "After you."
-Broadcast: Cross Technologies Laboratory-
Darren led the group—Hank, Hope, Carson, and several potential investors—into a state-of-the-art laboratory. Scientists worked at stations throughout the space, all activity stopping as Darren entered.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Darren announced, his voice carrying the practiced enthusiasm of a born salesman, "before we begin, I'd like to introduce a special guest. The founder of this company, my mentor, and the man whose vision made all of this possible—Dr. Hank Pym!"
The room erupted in applause. Everyone there had certainly heard of Hank Pym's legendary scientific achievements.
Hank nodded politely, a slight smile on his face—until his eyes landed on the architectural model at the front of the room. Bold letters read: "CROSS TECHNOLOGIES."
His expression darkened immediately.
Darren caught the change and his smile grew even wider. This was exactly the reaction he'd invited Hank to witness.
"Ever since Dr. Pym entrusted me with managing this company," Darren continued, pacing like a professor giving a lecture, "I've been dedicated to developing a revolutionary particle—one that changes the distance between atoms while simultaneously enhancing density and strength."
He gestured broadly. "I have no idea why this groundbreaking concept was buried in Hank's old research papers, gathering dust and cobwebs for decades. But the applications..." He paused for effect. "Imagine a soldier with the body size of an insect."
Darren pressed a button on his remote. The screen behind him lit up with combat footage—soldiers being knocked down by something invisible, tanks flipped by unseen forces, unmanned weapons firing with precision.
Each clip froze, zooming in to reveal a tiny figure—human-shaped but ant-sized—in the frame.
"The ultimate covert weapon," Darren declared. "An Ant-Man."
He turned to face Hank directly, unable to hide his amusement. "That's what they used to call you, isn't it, Hank? Pretty ridiculous name, I always thought. But it's great for marketing!"
Every head in the room turned toward Hank Pym.
Darren turned off the projection and walked slowly toward his former mentor. "Like those 'Astonishing Tales to Astonish' propaganda stories from the Cold War. Made-up nonsense to frighten enemy nations." He stopped directly in front of Hank. "Please, tell our guests—what's that phrase you always use when I ask you this question?"
Darren leaned in close. "Hank... is the Ant-Man real?"
Hank's face was carefully neutral. He spread his hands slightly. "It's just a legend, Darren. Urban mythology."
"Exactly!" Darren clapped him on the shoulder. "How could something so fantastical possibly be real?"
He knew Hank wouldn't reveal anything about the real Ant-Man suit, not in front of these people. That was fine. Darren had other ways of getting what he wanted.
Only Carson seemed unconvinced, watching Hank with calculating eyes.
Darren led the group deeper into the facility, to a specially constructed clean room that had cost millions to build.
"However," Darren continued, "the legend of the Ant-Man did provide inspiration. So I asked myself: with my breakthrough in molecular compression technology, could we shrink a living human being? Is it even feasible?"
The screens around them showed footage of lab technicians successfully shrinking various objects—phones, tools, eventually live mice.
"And now," Darren said, his voice rising with triumph, "it is no longer legend. Distinguished guests, I present to you the world's first practical shrinking technology: the Yellowjacket suit!"
A circular apparatus descended from the ceiling, illuminated by spotlights. Inside was a suit so small it required magnification screens for the investors to see it clearly.
"Oh God, no," Hank whispered, genuine horror crossing his face.
The investors crowded forward eagerly, studying the miniaturized armor on the display screens.
"The Yellowjacket is a versatile offensive weapon," Darren explained, warming to his sales pitch. "It grants the wearer the ability to change size at will, providing the ultimate tactical advantage in any combat scenario."
Hope glanced at Hank without speaking, her expression carefully blank.
Darren activated another video presentation showing CGI renderings of the Yellowjacket in action.
"In today's world, we face threats from every direction—yet we're constantly hampered by surveillance, international law, and political oversight. The Yellowjacket returns warfare to a simpler time. A time when power could be used directly to protect national interests without interference."
The video showed miniaturized soldiers infiltrating enemy facilities, sabotaging equipment, eliminating targets without ever being detected.
"As a multi-purpose peacekeeping platform, the Yellowjacket can handle any geopolitical conflict completely undetected. Whether deployed for intelligence gathering, industrial sabotage, or removing obstacles to peace—it is extraordinarily effective."
Darren's voice took on an almost religious fervor. "Imagine the applications: surveillance without detection, precision strikes without collateral damage, regime change without military intervention. One Yellowjacket suit provides infinite possibilities for protection operations."
He gestured at the miniaturized armor. "In the near future, armies equipped with Yellowjacket technology will create a healthier, more sustainable global environment. Through strength. Through decisiveness. Through the elimination of threats before they can fully materialize."
The investors were eating it up, practically salivating at the profit potential.
Hank Pym looked like he might be sick.
This was his worst nightmare realized—the technology he'd spent decades keeping secret, now being marketed as a weapon to the highest bidder.