-Broadcast: Dale's Office-
Scott walked into his manager's office, trying to project confidence despite the nervous energy coursing through him. "Hey, Dale!"
"Come in. Have a seat." Dale's tone was professional, neutral—impossible to read.
Scott sat down, his eyes immediately drawn to the manila folder on Dale's desk. His stomach dropped.
Dale picked up the folder, flipped it open. "So. You spent three years in San Quentin State Prison."
Scott's shoulders sagged. "You found out."
Dale's smile was slight, knowing. "Baskin-Robbins always finds out, Scott."
"I'm sorry I didn't say anything when I applied," Scott said quickly, words tumbling over each other. "But I... no one would hire me if I told the truth. I just needed a chance—"
"Burglary," Dale read from the file. "Grand larceny. Breaking and entering. Computer fraud—"
"Listen, I know how it looks," Scott interrupted desperately. "But you have to understand—I've gone straight. I'm not that person anymore. I just want to work, support my daughter—"
Dale suddenly raised his hand in a crisp salute.
Scott blinked, completely thrown. "...What?"
"I just wanted to salute you, man."
"I... I don't understand."
Dale's smile widened. "I couldn't be happier to have you here!"
Scott's heart, which had been sinking into his shoes, suddenly soared. "Really? You mean it?"
"Yeah! Absolutely!" Dale leaned back in his chair, looking genuinely impressed. "You really stuck it to those rich corporate bastards at Vista. When I was reading your file, I was thinking: 'Wow, I know this guy! He's working for me?!'"
Relief flooded through Scott like a physical wave. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm really happy to work here. I'll cherish this opportunity, I promise—"
"But you're still fired."
The words hit Scott like a bucket of ice water. "Wait. What?"
"Yeah, I have to let you go."
Scott's mind reeled. The emotional whiplash was giving him vertigo. "Fired? But you just said—"
"Dale, this wasn't a violent crime!" Scott's voice rose with desperation. "I'm a good employee! You said so yourself!"
"Oh, absolutely it wasn't violent," Dale agreed cheerfully. "It was a cool crime. A badass crime, actually. Which is why I'm gonna make you a deal." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "What happens next, let's keep between us, okay? When you pack up your locker, if you want to... I don't know... liberate a mango smoothie or something on your way out? I didn't see anything."
Scott sat there, stunned into silence, as his hope of going straight crumbled around him.
-Present Day-
"Poor Scott," Second-Generation Spider-Man said, shaking his head. "He finally found legitimate work, and just like that—gone."
"Most businesses can't afford to hire ex-convicts," Dr. Connor explained. "It's not just about trust. It's about liability. If something goes wrong—theft, violence, anything—the company gets sued for negligent hiring. They knew about the criminal record and hired him anyway. The legal exposure is enormous."
Second-Generation Harry had a different perspective. "Actually, if Scott were here, I'd hire him in a heartbeat for Oscorp."
Second-Generation Spider-Man looked at him with surprise. "Why would you do that?"
"Because anyone who can pull off what he did at Vista Corp—breaking through their security, manipulating their financial systems, exposing corporate fraud—that person has extraordinary technical skills," Harry explained. "Skills you can't learn in any classroom. And if he genuinely wants to reform, if he's willing to use those abilities legitimately... that's someone I want on my team."
Second-Generation Spider-Man considered this, then nodded thoughtfully.
-Broadcast: The Streets of San Francisco-
Scott walked along a crowded street, sipping a smoothie—presumably the one Dale had tacitly encouraged him to steal. His expression was distant, defeated. He tossed the empty cup into a trash can and headed toward the Milgrom Hotel, a run-down building in a questionable neighborhood.
The moment he entered, loud rock music assaulted his ears. Men and women swayed near the entrance, already drunk or high despite it being early afternoon. Scott ignored them and headed straight for Luis's room.
He opened the door to find Luis at the stove, carefully preparing waffles with the concentration of a master chef.
Luis looked up in surprise. "Hey, Scott! What're you doing back? Shouldn't you be at work?"
"I was," Scott said flatly, tossing his bag onto the couch. "I got fired."
"Damn! They found out who you are?"
"Yeah."
A voice from the corner called out: "Baskin-Robbins always finds out, man!"
Luis nodded sagely. "Baskin-Robbins don't play. They're serious about background checks."
He gestured with his spatula. "You want a waffle?"
"Sure."
Only then did Luis remember his manners. "Oh! Scott, this is Kurt. He did five years in Folsom. Computer wizard—hacking, encryption, you name it."
Kurt, a thin man with intense eyes, nodded at Scott. "Pleasure."
"Yeah. Likewise."
Scott looked at the other person in the room—a younger guy lounging on a beanbag chair. "And you are?"
"Dave." The man grinned. "That Vista Corp job was beautiful, man. Really beautiful work."
Kurt sat up straighter, suddenly interested. "The Vista job? Wait—I heard about that heist! That was legendary!"
"Technically," Scott corrected, settling into a chair, "it wasn't a heist. Heists involve threats, intimidation, violence. I hate violence. What I did was burglary. I prefer to use my brain."
Dave smirked. "So basically you're saying you're soft. Like a girl."
Scott shrugged, unbothered. "If you say so."
Luis brought over plates of waffles, his excitement building. "So Vista was overcharging customers, right? Adding hidden fees, inflated interest rates—millions of dollars stolen over years. Scott reported it to management and got fired for being a whistleblower."
His voice rose with admiration. "Guess what he did? Hacked into their security system—military-grade encryption, by the way—and transferred all those millions back to the customers who'd been ripped off!"
Dave jumped in: "And then he posted all the transfer records online! Made them public!"
"And then," Luis continued, building to his favorite part, "he drove the CEO's Bentley—his custom, $300,000 Bentley—straight into the company swimming pool!"
Scott set down his fork and looked at Luis with exasperation. "What are you doing? Why are you giving them my entire life story? What's your angle here?"
Luis's enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "Okay, fine. My cousin talked to this guy two weeks ago. It's a job. A perfect little job, actually—"
"No," Scott said immediately.
"No, no, wait—this guy is perfect for you! Right up your alley—"
"No!" Scott stood up. "I told you, I'm done. I'm not going back to prison. I can't go back."
"He's a retired millionaire!" Luis pressed. "Rich as hell, sitting on a huge nest egg, totally isolated. Perfect target—"
"I don't care," Scott said firmly. "I'm not doing it."
-Present Day-
Tony looked at Scott with amusement. "Looks like you're going back to your old profession whether you like it or not."
Scott spread his hands helplessly. "I don't have an 'old profession'! At least not yet. But I have to say, Vista Corp sounds like they had it coming."
"Don't worry about them," Tony said, patting Scott's shoulder. "The moment this broadcast hit, Vista's stock probably dropped thirty percent. By tomorrow, they'll be drowning in lawsuits and regulatory investigations. Public opinion doesn't forgive corporate fraud."
Indeed, across the country, former Vista Corp customers were already celebrating. Class-action lawyers were preparing filings. Regulatory agencies were opening investigations.
Nothing terrified corporations quite like global public exposure of their crimes.
The broadcast continued, showing what came next for Scott Lang—and how a desperate ex-con trying to go straight would become essential to saving the universe.