"Sorry, Scott."
Manager Dale wore a fake smile as he spread his hands. "Company policy. We don't hire people with criminal records."
Scott didn't say a word.
He took off the pink uniform shirt and tossed it onto the counter before walking out of the ice cream shop.
The sunlight was blinding.
It had only been a week since he got out of San Quentin Prison, and he still wasn't used to the outside world.
In the beat-up Ford van parked by the roadside, Luis was animatedly gossiping about something. When he saw Scott climb in with his head lowered, he stopped mid-sentence.
"What happened?"
"Got fired."
Scott buried his face in his hands.
All he wanted was a normal job. Pay child support. Then go to his daughter Cassie's birthday party.
That was it. Nothing complicated.
Luis patted his shoulder and lowered his voice.
"Bro, normal jobs aren't for guys like us. But I got something. One big score—enough to buy Cassie a castle."
He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket. A crude map was drawn on it, with an address circled in red.
Next to it were two words.
Old guy's mansion.
"There's a safe inside with something good. Security system's ancient. For an electronics master like you? It's basically free money."
Scott stared at the paper.
He didn't want to go back to that life.
But Cassie's birthday was next week. His ex-wife had already issued the ultimatum: no job, no home—no seeing his daughter.
He was silent for a long time.
Finally, he took the paper.
---
The night was thick and quiet.
Luis parked the van at the end of a deserted street and pointed at a Victorian-style house in the distance.
"That's it. Old guy lives alone. At this hour he's probably dead asleep. After this job, we're getting lobster!"
Scott ignored him.
He stared at the eerie house under the moonlight, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the van.
He hated this feeling.
His heart pounded like a drum, and his palms were slick with sweat.
But when he thought of Cassie's disappointed eyes, he forced the hesitation away.
He vaulted the wall, landed silently, and circled around the house.
Cut the phone line.
Pulled the main breaker.
The entire house plunged into darkness.
At the basement window, he worked quickly—suction cup, glass cutter, a neat circular cut. His hand slipped inside and unlatched the lock.
Smooth. Efficient.
The basement smelled musty, cluttered with old junk.
He didn't bother looking.
Straight to the first-floor study.
Luis had said the safe was there.
The study door wasn't locked.
He pushed it open and saw the old-fashioned wall safe embedded in the wall.
Large. Heavy. A relic from the last century.
Scott smiled.
These old things were actually easier to deal with.
He pulled out a stethoscope, pressed it to the cold metal door, and placed his fingers on the dial.
Slowly turning.
Click.
First number.
Click.
Second.
His ears functioned like precision instruments, catching the faint metallic friction deep inside the lock.
---
At the same time—
On the rooftop of an apartment building several blocks away.
Levi sat there, holding a can of beer, watching.
He didn't need binoculars.
Every movement Scott made, every heartbeat, even the turning of every component inside the safe—were as clear to Levi as if they were happening right beside him.
Through Ultron, he had already locked onto Hank Pym.
And he had predicted tonight's "interview."
He wasn't here to watch Scott.
He was here to watch Pym's bait.
---
Click.
The final soft sound echoed.
The safe door popped open.
Scott let out a long breath. His back was soaked with sweat.
He pulled open the heavy door and shined his flashlight inside.
Then he froze.
No cash.
No jewelry.
Nothing valuable at all.
Only a strange leather helmet and a red-and-black suit, crisscrossed with unfamiliar tubes and metallic connectors.
He'd been played.
Where had that idiot Luis gotten this fake tip?
Scott almost threw the suit on the ground in frustration.
But after spending half the night breaking in, leaving empty-handed felt worse.
After hesitating a moment, he stuffed the strange suit and helmet into his backpack.
Whatever it was, it was better than nothing.
He slung the bag over his shoulder and retraced his path, disappearing into the night.
---
On the rooftop.
Levi finished the last sip of beer and crushed the can in his hand.
He could feel the strange energy fluctuations within the suit.
A force capable of twisting spatial dimensions.
Weak—but fundamentally advanced.
"Pym Particles," he murmured softly.
A hint of greed flashed in his eyes.
"Finally took the bait."
---
Inside the battered van.
Scott tossed the backpack onto the back seat.
Luis immediately leaned over, eyes shining.
"So? Did you get it? How much? Enough for Hawaii?"
Scott shot him an irritated glare.
"Hawaii? We're lucky if this gets us two beers at a convenience store."
He started the engine.
The old van groaned in protest before wobbling away.
---
Back at their shared apartment.
Scott dumped the contents of the bag onto the bed.
Luis and their roommate Dave gathered around.
Their expressions went from excitement… to confusion… to undisguised disappointment.
"What the hell is this?" Dave poked the suit. "A motorcycle racing outfit?"
Luis picked up the helmet, turning it over.
"How much could this even sell for? A scrapyard wouldn't want it."
Scott didn't bother responding.
He lay on the bed, unable to sleep, Cassie's face filling his thoughts.
He checked his phone.
The message from his ex-wife made his chest ache.
Maybe… he shouldn't have gotten out.
Maybe he should've just stayed in prison.
While his thoughts spiraled, his eyes drifted to the suit lying in the corner.
Under the dim light, the red parts seemed to faintly glow.
He sat up.
Curiosity pulled him over.
He picked up the suit.
The material felt strange—unlike anything he'd seen. Light, yet incredibly tough.
After a moment's hesitation, he decided to try it on.
Why not?
The suit fit perfectly—like it had been tailored specifically for him.
He moved his arms and legs.
Nothing special.
Finally, he picked up the helmet.
The moment he put it on, the world changed.
Streams of data and analytical diagrams flashed before his eyes. Everything in the room dissolved into geometric shapes and physical parameters.
A mechanical voice sounded:
"Biometric identification confirmed. Scott Lang. Welcome to the Ant-Man Suit. Calibration in progress. Please remain still."
Scott jumped.
Before he could react, another voice spoke through the helmet.
Old. Calm. Steady.
"Don't move, Scott. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."
Scott stiffened.
"Who are you? Where are you?"
He looked around nervously.
"I'm in your ear, son," the voice replied. "My name is Hank Pym. The suit you're wearing is mine. And you… are the man I chose."
Scott blinked.
Hank Pym? He had never even heard that name before.
"Listen, Scott," Pym continued, his tone growing serious. "There's no time to explain. Right now, press the red button on your right glove. Trust me—you're about to see a whole new world."
Scott looked down.
Sure enough, there was a tiny red button on the knuckle of his index finger.
He swallowed.
His heart pounded wildly.
He had no idea what would happen if he pressed it.
But his instincts told him something important:
From this moment on, his life was about to change forever.
He took a deep breath.
And pressed the button.
Bzzzz—
A faint hum sounded.
The next second, the world spun violently.
Everything around him began expanding at an impossible speed.
The bed leg turned into a skyscraper.
Dust on the floor became hills.
He could even see microscopic particles floating in the air.
And he—
was shrinking.
Rapidly.
He screamed, but his voice was so tiny he could barely hear it himself.
He tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond.
Seconds later, the shrinking stopped.
Scott found himself standing on a vast plain.
In reality, it was just a small patch of the apartment's wooden floor.
An ant walked past him.
The tiny creature that once could be ignored now looked as massive as a heavy truck.
Its antennae towered above him, taller than his entire body.
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