What Dr. Pym said wasn't paranoia—it was a very real concern.
In the original events of Ant-Man and the Wasp, Ava had once driven her phased hand into Pym's neck, threatening to tear it open unless she got what she wanted. The image lingered in Lock's mind—a reminder of how unpredictable and dangerous a quantum ghost could be.
Lock smiled faintly. "You're right, Doctor. That's why she'll need a suit."
Pym's eyes flickered uneasily. "W–what kind of suit? I… only have one left."
Lock's grin deepened. "Really? Then whose is the female Wasp prototype sitting in your basement?"
Pym's face froze.
"Doctor," Lock continued, voice soft but cutting, "you know Hope can't stay your little girl forever. You built that suit because, deep down, you've always known she'd take the next step. And what safer way for her to face the storm than under my protection?"
The old man fell silent.
He knew Lock was right. From the moment he discovered Pym particles, the Pym family's fate had been sealed—they could never again live ordinary lives. The same curse that bound Tony Stark's bloodline now shadowed his own.
But after losing Janet to the quantum realm, Pym's fear of losing Hope had hardened into obsession. His overprotection had built walls around them both.
Now, Lock's words cracked them open.
If Hope was destined to join the ranks of heroes, wasn't it safer for her to take her first step with someone who could stand against gods and monsters alike?
Seeing Pym's silence, Lock turned to Hope with a smirk. "Looks like your father agrees. Let's go, little gummy."
Hope glared at him. "That's what my mother called me. You're not allowed to."
"Alright, little gummy."
"I said don't call me that!"
"If it makes you feel better, you can call me mom."
"Get lost!"
The irritation on her face made Lock chuckle. In an instant, her awe toward the so-called "King Apocalypse" vanished without a trace.
They returned to Pym's home laboratory and retrieved two suits.
Hope's Wasp armor gleamed in silver and gold, its sleek contours radiating cutting-edge tech. It made Scott's patched-up Ant-Man suit look like a thrift store relic.
Worse still, Hope's version had four translucent wings that shimmered under the light—delicate as glass, fast as thought.
Scott whistled low. "So unfair… She gets wings, and I get ants."
Hope rolled her eyes. "Stop staring, Scott. You're drooling."
"I'm not! I just—hey, why aren't you yelling at Don? He's looking too!"
Lock chuckled. "My gaze isn't as vulgar as yours."
"Hmph. All men are the same…"
Their bickering faded as an hour passed in preparation.
Just then, SHIELD sent word: Professor Bill Foster had moved.
He'd left campus early under a flimsy excuse, and that was enough. Tracking Ava might be hard—but tracking a university professor wasn't.
Lock went invisible, following Foster from above as he drove toward the outskirts of the city.
On his shoulders—microscopic and ready—stood Hope and Scott, both shrunk to ant-size.
Hope's voice echoed through the comms. "Bill Foster is a leading quantum scientist. If Ava wants to pull energy from the quantum realm to stabilize her body, she'll need him."
Lock nodded. "She doesn't have the background for this kind of physics. She'll depend on him completely. But the timing… is wrong."
Scott frowned. "Wrong how?"
Lock didn't answer.
In the original timeline, the events of Ant-Man and Ant-Man and the Wasp were separated by years. Yet now, before Cross was even dealt with, Ava had appeared—too early, too coordinated.
Someone was accelerating the story. Whether it was the butterfly effect of his own interference or manipulation from the Time Variance Authority, Lock couldn't yet tell.
Professor Bill's car turned into an abandoned warehouse complex on the outskirts of San Francisco. The building looked deserted—broken windows, rusted steel—but beneath the surface, something buzzed.
Bill keyed in a sequence on a hidden panel. A section of flooring split open, revealing a spiral staircase that spiraled deep underground.
Lock followed him silently. The air grew colder.
At the bottom, the space opened into a vast, state-of-the-art laboratory.
Rows of silver-white machinery hummed softly. Holographic screens scrolled with quantum data and energy readouts. In the center stood a transparent cylindrical chamber—two meters tall and filled with crimson fluid that pulsed faintly like a living heart.
Lock's eyes narrowed.
Pym Particles.
Three narrow pipes above the tank dripped scarlet liquid into the chamber—so slowly it was like watching blood seep from a wound. Production was glacial, but the volume…
Even that trickle, over time, had filled a vessel large enough to bathe in.
Scott gawked. "That's… that's all Pym particles? It looks like strawberry juice!"
Hope's jaw tightened. "Cross is more ambitious than I thought. With that much Pym fluid, he could arm an entire army of Wasps."
Lock said nothing, but his expression darkened.
If this alliance between Cross and Ava continued unchecked, the consequences would be catastrophic. Even a small leak of those particles could destabilize global security.
Scott spoke up grimly. "It doesn't have to be used for suits, either. Imagine terrorists shrinking high-yield explosives to the size of beans, sneaking them anywhere—on drones, in rats, even in people."
"Then boom," Hope finished.
Lock's gaze swept over the chamber. "That's why Hank never shared the equation."
It was technology a thousand times more dangerous than Stark's arc reactor.
A single grain of dust carrying compressed explosives could annihilate a building before anyone noticed. There was no defense—no security system in the world that could account for shrunk matter.
Even top-level facilities like the Pentagon could install dust-free rooms—but the rest of the world? Utterly defenseless.
Lock's jaw clenched. "This ends tonight."
At that moment, movement stirred near the chamber.
Cross, still in his yellow Wasp armor, stood beside the machine, tension in his stance.
Across from him stood Ava Starr—the Ghost—her white phase suit flickering faintly as quantum energy rippled across her form.
When she removed her hood, her face appeared delicate yet haunted, eyes dark with exhaustion and pain. Every few seconds, her expression twitched—muscles spasming from the constant tearing and reformation of her unstable cells.
Lock could almost feel the agony radiating off her.
Ever since she'd survived her father's quantum explosion, this torment had been her companion.
"Professor," she said softly, her voice trembling, "you came. We're running out of time."
Bill Foster exhaled, looking between her and Cross. "You called me here in such a hurry. What's going on this time?"
The chamber's red glow reflected in his glasses, the surface of the Pym fluid rippling with quiet menace.
And from the shadows above, Lock watched in silence—preparing to strike.
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A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
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