"You don't change your face, and yet you still can't tell who I am," the man who'd been posing as the driver rumbled. His voice was low, like a freight train with a grudge. "But you can shrink—so even if I transform, I can't squash you flat. Ant-Man, here's my advice: don't pry. Or I'll wipe the entire Avengers off the map. I know Banner's strong, but I beat him."
Scott's brain clicked faster than his heartbeat. The name and the voice snapped into place. Emil Blonsky. Ant-Man's breath tightened. He didn't stand a chance in a straight slugging match.
Blonsky—once a Soviet agent, then a living science experiment gone wrong—had willingly taken gamma doses and stolen modified serum. The result was a hulking, green colossus with strength rivaling the Hulk's. He could think, plan, and still move like an unstoppable wrecking ball. People called him the Abomination. People who survived calling him that tended to talk softer afterward.
Blonsky stuffed the scepter into a holster as if it were a trophy. "Black Widow and Iron Man betrayed the Avengers," he snarled. "This Ant-Man is a traitor. The rest? Probably not any better—mutant sympathizers and traitors. Minister, call Director Fury. We form a new Avengers under my command. Then we crush the X-Men and anyone who stands with them. I'll be captain."
"The military can't win on its own," the Secretary of Defense admitted. His voice had the brittle confidence of a man who thinks the right phone call buys loyalty. "You and Banner hate each other, but if he won't betray the nation, I hope you two can cooperate. Together—"
"Cooperate?" Blonsky barked a laugh. He toyed with the scepter like a child with a grenade. "If Banner becomes my slave, fine. Otherwise, I kill him. You freed me from my cell, Minister. I owe you nothing—except revenge on Banner."
He slammed the scepter against the Secretary's chest with a brutal grin. The man's expression slackened; his eyes glazed. When Blonsky withdrew the scepter, the Secretary's voice was hollow. "Do what you wish."
Blonsky's grin widened. "Perfect. Contact Director Fury. I'll take control of S.H.I.E.L.D. and found the real Avengers. First Banner—then X-Men. A new Avengers versus X-Men. Deliciously tidy."
He drove straight for the Secretary's suburban home, the scepter tucked like the crown of a mad king.
Scott's stomach turned. He'd seen the plan unfold on the way over: the scepter in enemy hands, the Abomination on the loose, a Secretary who traded safety for power. If Blonsky cemented this control—if he used the scepter to bend S.H.I.E.L.D. and the military—then the world would spiral into chaos. A manufactured "New Avengers" led by a monster was not protection. It was an extinction clock.
Of course they released him. Scott's mind filled with angry, useless questions. Who thought freeing a gamma-fueled monster was a smart play? The Secretary, apparently. The man had traded reason for raw muscle—and now the muscle wanted war.
Time for damage control.
Ant-Man tailgated the Secretary's convoy to the house and slipped into the building undetected. Blonsky had marched the scepter upstairs and left it on the second floor. Scott—still the size of a human for now—stole into the room, heart racing, and leapt for the artifact.
His fingers brushed metal.
A bottle of glass slammed down from above and sealed over him like a miniature prison. The surface gleamed oddly; this wasn't ordinary glass.
"You better not grow," Blonsky said as he stepped into the room. His voice had a deliberate, surgical patience. "This isn't regular glass. Special alloy. Hardness beyond what you think. If you expand without thinking, you'll be minced."
Scott flicked his laser at the glass. It ate the beam like a hungry shadow. Blonsky smiled. "You can try all you want. You can't break it."
He tipped the bottle, locked it into a heavy crate, and snapped the lid tight. "Thoughtful, isn't it? You'll be my little pet for now. I don't want to kill you yet. I want you to watch—watch how I make Banner suffer. Watch how I hunt the Avengers down, one by one. Wait until the old team is dead. Then I'll burn anything that moves."
He dropped the crate into a trunk like a farmer boxing a snake. Scott found himself muffled in darkness and confined air, the scepter—now sealed—sitting barbarically safe in Blonsky's room. The door banged shut. Footsteps retreated. The Abomination left his trophy under guard and walked away, humming to himself.
Scott's HUD pinged dryly: no comms, no backup. The Avengers were scattered—on missions across the world. Headquarters was empty, quiet as a grave.
He had to get the scepter back alone.
Down in Axville, Ryuuto sat rigid in Professor Xavier's office. Tony Stark's live-broadcast rig hummed in front of him—cameras, satellites, encoding hardware—the whole nightmare on a stick. He'd chosen tonight: a live global broadcast to speak directly to the world. He wanted to expose the truth—mutant persecution masked as "security," the state's violent overreach—and to tell ordinary people the real enemy wasn't the X-Men.
[Ding! System Activated!]
[Newbie Package Unlocked!]
Shion's lazy, cheeky voice filled the tiny office speaker like a cat refusing to be ignored. "Host, you sure you want to do this? Public broadcast is spicy. Also, did you pick that suit, or did it pick you?"
"Shut it, Shion. Load the feed," Ryuuto replied, calm like a man with a live grenade and a plan.
Outside, the world teetered. Inside, a crate rattled with something monstrous. Two stories apart, Scott Lang had become a caged ant in a human war.
Tonight, a global speech would begin. Tonight, a new front would open.
But across state lines—where power, madness, and ambition intertwined—another storm had already been set loose.