The CEO of Pym Technologies was now Darren Cross, and his word was absolute.
From weapon development to experimental ethics, no one could oppose him—not even the man who had founded the company in the first place. Cross had begun secretly selling militarized prototypes, including the lethal Yellowjacket armor, to private defense contractors and shadow organizations.
Dr. Hank Pym, long since ousted from his own company, hadn't set foot inside its walls for years.
Lock didn't really understand how corporate structures or equity battles worked, but one thing was clear—if both Hank Pym and Hope Van Dyne were willing to break into the building themselves, then every other option had already failed.
Training Days
The next several days were devoted entirely to Scott Lang's training.
Under Hank's relentless instruction, Scott was learning to use the Ant-Man suit. But wearing it was far from simple—it wasn't just about shrinking or growing at will.
The first lesson was mastering the transition—the ability to shift smoothly between normal and miniature size.
The training method was brutal in its simplicity: Pym would make Scott sprint toward a closed door, then shout, "Shrink!"
Scott had to reduce instantaneously, locate the keyhole mid-sprint, and pass through it at full speed.
It rarely worked.
The first few days were a parade of crashes, bruises, and splintered wood. Hank had repaired the doors of his house so many times that he eventually stopped counting.
The next lesson was far more dangerous—judging space before reverting to normal size.
"Never expand unless you're sure there's room," Hank warned grimly. "Inside walls, pipes, or concrete—you'll die before you can scream."
Lock watched from the sidelines, recalling how close Scott had come to disaster in the original timeline. A single misjudgment—like growing back under a steel beam or inside a confined shaft—could turn a person into something that barely resembled human remains.
Luckily, Scott was an engineer. He could calculate volume and spatial limits instinctively, which made this part easier once he got over the initial panic.
The real challenge came next—controlling strength in the shrunken state.
Even when reduced to the size of an insect, Ant-Man retained the strength of a full-grown human. What used to be a hundred kilograms of punching force concentrated into a fist the size of a grain of rice turned every blow into something akin to a bullet.
Without control, one misstep could kill an ally.
It was terrifying and fascinating.
As Lock observed Scott fumble through each trial, a thought began to form in his mind—one that reached far beyond combat technique.
The Pym Particles.
They couldn't possibly be as simple as "altering the distance between atoms."
In theory, atoms were almost empty space. If an atom were expanded to the size of the Earth, its nucleus would barely be the size of a basketball. Compressing that void could shrink mass dramatically, sure—but it didn't explain everything.
The paradox was obvious.
Ant-Man's weight did change when he shrank—he could ride on flying ants, light enough to be carried effortlessly. But his strength remained the same.
If the Pym Particles only reduced atomic spacing, his mass would remain constant. He'd be as heavy as before—hundreds of kilograms compressed into a few millimeters—denser than tungsten, heavier than any metal known to man.
That kind of weight couldn't possibly fly.
Which meant the equation behind Pym Particles had to involve far more than atomic compression.
They didn't just manipulate matter—they manipulated physical constants themselves: inertia, density, mass-energy relations.
Whoever designed them had created a bridge between classical mechanics and quantum field theory. A formula that edited reality— selectively keeping advantageous traits while discarding inconvenient ones.
No wonder Cross had obsessed over replicating it. Even with his brilliance and vast corporate resources, it had taken him decades to come close.
And still, he had never perfected it.
Lock realized that the earliest versions of the Ant-Man suit—the ones Hank used himself—must have been unstable. The Pym Particles back then likely warped his biology, permanently damaging the molecular cohesion of his cells. It explained why Hank could no longer shrink or grow without catastrophic side effects.
The cost of discovery had been his own body.
Lock was still lost in thought when Hope appeared, holding a steaming mug.
Without looking, he accepted it and took a sip. "Thanks."
Hope's eyes narrowed. "That's my coffee."
Lock didn't blink. "It's mine now."
She crossed her arms. "Would it kill you to ask first?"
He smirked. "Sorry. I'm used to people serving me coffee."
Hope gave an incredulous laugh. "You've really gotten too comfortable playing 'King Lock,' haven't you? Starting to believe your own hype?"
"Maybe," he said, raising the cup again. "But since you offered…"
"I didn't offer!"
He lowered his gaze, noticing the faint red lipstick print on the rim of the mug. His smile deepened. Without hesitation, he took another sip.
"You're right," he said with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Tastes better now."
Hope's face turned scarlet. "You—! Give that back!"
She lunged forward, but Lock merely leaned aside, effortlessly evading her attempts while finishing the last of the coffee.
"Here," he said finally, handing her the empty cup. "All yours."
She snatched it from him and hurled it at his head. Lock tilted slightly, and the cup sailed past—
"OW!"
Scott's voice yelped from behind them as he suddenly expanded to full size, clutching his shoulder.
He'd been practicing shrinking through a pipe and had popped up just in time to take the flying mug.
"Could you two not flirt while I'm training?!" he groaned.
Hope's face went crimson. "Who's flirting with him?"
Lock blinked innocently. "Then why are you yelling at me?"
Hope exhaled sharply, glaring daggers. "I came here to talk business, but you're so infuriating I nearly forgot why!"
Lock set the mug down with a faint grin. "Let me guess—you think Scott's too slow?"
Hope hesitated. "…You read my mind."
"Not hard," Lock said lightly. "You've been frowning at him since day one."
Hope glared. "I didn't even say it, and you still—"
"Then why ask if I thought the same thing as you?"
"You—!"
Her hands balled into fists. Somehow, he was right again, and that only made her angrier.
When Hank entered the room moments later, she seized the chance to redirect her frustration.
"Dad, Scott's progress is too slow," she said firmly. "He's not ready. We need someone better."
Hank's eyes flicked to Lock. "You mean him?"
Lock raised both hands. "I told you already—I can't use the suit. Not unless you can multiply its power output by about a hundred."
Hope frowned. "You're really going to stand by and let a novice risk his life?"
Scott sputtered, "Hey! I'm standing right here!"
Lock shrugged. "It's not about courage. My body's… incompatible."
Hope folded her arms. "Why?"
Lock met her eyes, his tone even. "Back in Asgard, I refined my body with Odin's Eternal Flame. My cells aren't human anymore. The divine energy density is too high—the Pym Particles can't compress it. It would take a hundred times more energy just to make me shrink an inch."
For a long moment, Hope just stared at him. Then she scoffed. "Nice story, King Lock. But I'm not a little girl who believes in fairy tales anymore."
Without another word, she turned and headed upstairs.
Hank sighed quietly. "That's enough for tonight, Scott. Get some rest."
As he left, Scott gave Lock a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Don't let it get to you, man. Women like that—impossible to win an argument with."
Lock smiled faintly. "Oh, I'm not discouraged."
"Good. We'll pick this up tomorrow, right?"
Lock's gaze drifted toward the staircase where Hope had disappeared. "No," he said softly. "I think we'll act tonight."
Scott's eyes widened. "Wait, you mean—break into her room tonight? Damn, Lock, that's bold. You're my hero."
Lock didn't answer. He only smiled.
Later that night, when the house fell silent, and both Hank and Scott were fast asleep, a tall figure moved soundlessly through the darkness—barefoot, precise, and silent as a shadow.
Lock was already gone.
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A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
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