"This…" Hope faltered, momentarily speechless.
"We can pay you," she said finally. "I could even sell Pym Tech shares — that's at least ten billion dollars' worth."
Lock laughed. "Ten billion? I own an entire planet. What am I supposed to do with a few paper bills?"
Hope folded her arms. "Sure you do. You've been playing 'God of Apocalypse' for too long. If you're so rich, why are you showing up at people's doors to perform for little girls? What do you really want?"
Lock grinned. "If you successfully rescue your mother, I want you to change that expression. The way you glare at me all day—it's depressing."
"Hmph. None of your business."
Hope turned away, neither agreeing nor refusing.
Lock didn't bother arguing. Cross was hardly a concern; if he decided to intervene, Cross wouldn't last a heartbeat. What mattered now was helping Scott complete his evolution—from an ordinary thief to Ant-Man.
Once Janet was rescued, Pym Particles would naturally fall into their hands. The only real challenge would be understanding the equation behind them.
--
Under Hope's relentless supervision, Scott's progress began to show.
He could now shift sizes smoothly, even attack mid-transformation. That was the first step.
Next came the second: controlling ants.
At a miniature scale, mastering ants meant commanding an entire army—an unseen legion that could slip through any gap, sabotage any system, and carry out delicate missions with precision.
Still, Lock knew ants weren't indispensable. The first Ant-Man had relied on them, yes—but by the time of Ant-Man and the Wasp, the insects had long since faded from the battlefield. Against super-powered foes, they were little more than a relic of simpler times.
And controlling them? That required enormous mental focus.
In the original timeline, Hope had triggered Scott's success by appealing to his longing for his daughter.
But in this altered one—thanks to Lock—Scott had full visitation rights and a generous scholarship fund for Cassie.
He could see her whenever he wanted. No emotional torment, no driving motivation.
Which meant… zero progress.
Even Lock was starting to get impatient.
---
Finally, with a sigh, Lock stepped forward and placed a hand on Scott's head.
Scott froze, eyes wide. "Whoa—uh, dude, what are you doing?"
For Western men, this was a little too intimate. His mind raced.
Wait… he's good to my daughter, he's been hanging around me all this time—oh no. No, no, no—
Lock smacked the back of his head lightly. "Stop daydreaming. I'm helping you expand your spiritual field."
"Seriously? You can just… do that?"
Hope and Dr. Pym both looked skeptical. Mental evolution wasn't something you triggered with a casual head pat.
Lock shrugged. "I recently defeated a digital deity. My mental strength skyrocketed. I can spare some of it."
He added with a smirk, "When I touched Cassie's head, I did the same thing. She'll probably be a genius now."
Three synchronized eye-rolls followed.
But Scott couldn't wriggle free, so he reluctantly allowed it.
Then—it began.
A warm current spread from Lock's palm, flowing into Scott's skull.
Moments later, the warmth turned to fire—then to a thousand needles stabbing from the inside.
"Aaaaagh!"
Scott screamed, clutching his head as he dropped to the floor, rolling in pain. It was as if every nerve in his brain was being pulled apart and rewired.
Lock stood calmly above him. "Adult brains," he said mildly, "are like grown trees. To reshape them, you have to break the wood first."
For children, it was different—soft, pliable, easily molded. For adults, evolution hurts.
The agony didn't last long.
When it faded, Scott blinked in confusion. His mind felt crystal clear, the world sharper than ever.
He turned to the ants on the table. Without realizing it, he reached out—mentally.
The ants responded instantly, moving as if extensions of his own hands.
One pushed a sugar cube into his coffee.
Another lifted a coin.
A third lined up with others to form letters across the tabletop.
Dr. Pym's jaw dropped. Hope was speechless.
That kind of precision had taken them weeks.
"Just… like that?" Hope muttered. "That's insane."
Lock smiled faintly. "You're welcome."
Hope bit her lip, half-convinced he really was the so-called King of Apocalypse.
But then she remembered his refusal to wear the Ant-Man suit—and her doubt quickly returned.
---
With his mental field awakened, Scott took to the rest of his training like lightning.
Shrink and strike. Expand and evade.
Red makes small, blue makes big.
He even hid a spare blue Pym ring inside the Ant-Man suit—a secret trump card for emergencies.
He still didn't entirely trust Lock, but he'd seen enough to keep believing in him.
After several days, Dr. Pym finally nodded. "Alright, Scott. You've passed the tests. But before we infiltrate Cross's lab, there's one last mission."
Scott frowned. "Another test?"
"We need a signal-camouflage prototype from Anna S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Without it, we can't bypass Cross's transmission blockers."
In the original timeline, that mission had led to a clash with Falcon. But Lock wasn't interested in replaying old stories.
"We don't need that toy," Lock said. "Let me handle Cross. I'll level his entire lab."
Hope glared at him. "You can't just storm in there! The place is crawling with guards—and some of them have powers. You'll get everyone killed!"
Lock stretched lazily. "When I was being cautious, you called me a coward. Now that I'm willing to fight, you tell me to stop. Women are impossible."
Hope's eye twitched. "You—!"
"Enough," Dr. Pym interjected. "Cross has a client demonstration tomorrow afternoon. He's even invited me to attend."
He adjusted his glasses, thinking aloud. "If he's that confident, his prototype must be close to complete. We'll scout the event first—then decide how to strike."
---
A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
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