Scott was unaware that Hope van Dyne had already called the police the moment she realized what he was doing.
He packed the suit into his backpack, took the transit van back to the Pym residence, smoothly vaulted the courtyard wall, and placed the stolen suit back in the Carbondale safe. He turned and left, feeling the heavy knot of guilt finally loosen in his chest.
However, the moment his boots hit the pavement outside the wall, the area erupted in blinding light.
Police headlights pinned him against the brick. Four officers had their weapons drawn, aiming directly at his chest.
"Don't move! You're under arrest!"
Scott immediately threw his hands in the air. "No, wait! I didn't steal anything! I'm just returning what I stole before!"
The moment the words left his mouth, he winced. What did it mean to return what was stolen? It meant he was admitting to the theft.
Frustrated by his own stupidity, Scott squeezed his eyes shut and slowly sank to his knees. Two armed officers approached, forcing his hands behind his back and snapping the cuffs shut.
"You almost made me believe you were actually going to turn over a new leaf, Lang," one of the arresting officers muttered. It was someone who clearly knew his file.
From the leather seat of her sports car parked down the block, Hope watched the flashing red and blue lights paint the street. She watched Scott being shoved into the back of a cruiser.
"Hank," she murmured to herself, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Is this really the person you chose?"
The precinct was loud and unforgiving.
Jim Paxton, Scott's ex-wife's new husband and an officer at the station, stood on the other side of the holding cell bars. He looked at Scott with a mixture of pity and intense disappointment.
"You almost had me fooled, Scott," Paxton said, his voice low. "Maggie supported you. Cassie believes in you. This is going to break their hearts."
Upon hearing his daughter's name, Scott opened his eyes. He opened his mouth to explain, but a beat cop walked up, interrupting them.
"Lang. You have a visitor."
Scott frowned. "Who?"
"Your lawyer."
Scott was even more bewildered. "My lawyer?" He didn't have a dime to his name, and even if Luis and the crew knew he was busted, they couldn't afford a public defender, let alone private counsel.
Full of doubt, Scott followed the guard to the visiting room. As soon as he walked in, he froze.
Sitting at the scarred table, looking perfectly at ease, was the gray-haired man from the house.
"I told you, Scott," Hank Pym said smoothly. "I would contact you again."
Seeing Scott's bewildered expression, Hank gestured to the empty chair. "I'm starting to think you actually prefer being in prison. Sit down."
Unnoticed by the guards, a small line of ants silently crawled up the wall, completely covering the lens of the room's security camera.
Scott sat. "Look, man, I'm so sorry for taking that suit. I don't know what it is, and I have absolutely no interest in why you own it."
"Maggie's opinion of you is correct," Hank said, ignoring the apology entirely.
Scott stared at him in shock. Maggie?
"No wonder she tries to stop you from seeing Cassie," Hank continued, his voice devoid of pity. "The moment the pressure builds, the moment things get tough, you default to crime. You sabotage yourself."
Scott lowered his head, the shame burning in his throat.
"You now have a choice," Hank said. "You can choose to spend the next several years in prison, or you can return to your cell and await further instructions."
Scott looked up. "I don't know."
Hank smiled faintly. "I didn't expect you to understand it yet. But those are the only two choices you have left. Why do you think I let you steal that suit in the first place?"
Scott's eyes widened. "You... you let me?"
Hank briefly explained the setup—the tip passed to Luis, the deactivated security protocols, the deliberate challenge of the Carbondale safe. He had engineered the entire burglary just to test Scott's ingenuity.
"Opportunities like this don't just come around," Hank said, standing up. "So the next time you see one, I suggest you think it over carefully."
He turned and walked out. A second later, the ants dispersed from the security camera.
Back in his cell, Scott sat on his bunk, turning the old man's words over in his head.
A slight scuffling sound caught his attention. He looked down. Several ants were crawling under the cell door, dragging a perfectly folded, miniature Ant-Man suit across the concrete floor.
Once they reached his boots, one of the ants climbed onto the belt and pressed the red button. The suit instantly expanded to its normal size with a soft whir.
Scott stared at it in disbelief.
The ants arranged themselves in a circle in front of him, pacing in a synchronized ten-second countdown. Scott immediately understood. He grabbed the suit and scrambled into it, pulling the helmet over his head.
Just as the guard's footsteps approached down the corridor, Scott slammed the shrinking button.
The cell exploded in scale. He sprinted through the massive iron bars, dodging the guard's boots, and ran out into the precinct lobby.
The guard arrived at the cell, saw the empty bunk, and immediately hammered the emergency alarm. Sirens began to blare throughout the station.
Sitting in a van parked blocks away, observing through the helmet's telemetry, Hank Pym smiled. "A wise choice. You've finally figured it out. Go through the doorway."
Scott ran out of the police station's front doors. Everything was terrifyingly large. "Okay, where to now?"
"Don't rush yet," Hank advised.
A massive swarm of ants suddenly crested the curb, rushing toward Scott like a tidal wave. Startled, Scott tripped backwards and fell to the ground. "Back off! Back off!"
"Scott, relax. They are my assistants."
Scott noticed one of the ants had a complex mechanical harness bolted to its back. "Wait a minute. Did you put a camera on an ant?"
"Yes. Why not?" Hank said evenly.
"Fine. Where is the getaway car?"
"If we don't have cars, we have planes."
A massive, winged carpenter ant descended from the sky, hovering just above the pavement. A custom riding saddle was embedded directly into its thorax.
"Step on the central joint and climb up to the chest," Hank instructed.
Scott stared up at the insect. "You're joking. Do you know how dangerous this is?"
"Stop wasting time, Scott."
Having no other choice with the police swarming the building behind him, Scott climbed into the saddle. The flying ant launched into the air, banking sharply before touching down on the roof of a police cruiser that was speeding away from the station.
"Why am I on a police car?!" Scott yelled over the wind. "Shouldn't I be getting away from them?"
"Because they can take you five blocks outside the search area without being stopped," Hank explained.
Scott gripped the harness. "Okay, fine. Good plan. What's the next step? Oh, wait, I've got this. Pulling hard on the reins will push it upwards, just like a horse!"
"Don't do that, you're going to make Number 247 lose his balance."
"Wait, is its name really 247?" Scott asked, bewildered.
"He has no name. Only a number, Scott. There are millions of them."
"Well, maybe this one is 248."
"No, he is Number 247."
A speeding motorcycle roared past the police cruiser. The violent backdraft of wind caught the ant, throwing it into a chaotic tailspin.
"I'm about to faint!" Scott screamed. "I think I know how to control him now!"
"No, you don't," Hank said quickly. "I'm the one controlling 247. He doesn't listen to you."
The ant caught an updraft, soaring over the street and flying directly into the open doors of a moving tram. It careened through the carriage, briefly landing on a woman's towering hairdo.
"May I make a small request?" Scott pleaded.
"No."
The woman swatted her hair. 247 was launched across the tram, crashing onto an open newspaper held by a businessman. The headline blurred past Scott's vision: THE SOKOVIA AFFAIR.
Before he could process it, the man flicked the paper, sending them flying out the tram window and straight over a subway ventilation grate. The gushing hot air sent the ant into a violent, spinning corkscrew.
"Wait, what if I throw up in my helmet?" Scott groaned.
"This is my helmet, Scott. I won't let you vomit in it."
"Can we land first? I feel a little dizzy..."
"Hang in there."
"Okay, I'm just feeling a little... ugh. Wake me up in five minutes."
Scott completely lost consciousness, his grip failing. He slipped from Number 247's saddle, plummeting toward the pavement. Reacting instantly, Hank commanded the swarm. Hundreds of flying ants intercepted the fall, catching Scott in mid-air and smoothly carrying his unconscious body the rest of the way to the villa.
Hope stood in the guest bedroom of the Pym residence, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
She had already received the alert from her contacts: the thief, Scott Lang, had vanished from a locked holding cell. Seeing the empty Carbondale safe downstairs, she knew exactly what her father had done.
Sure enough, Hank returned shortly after, leading a swarm of ants that deposited an unconscious Scott onto the guest bed. The suit expanded, returning him to his normal size.
Hope glared at her father. "Hank. We need to talk."
Hank sighed, rubbing his temples. "Even now, you still won't call me 'Dad'."
"Is this your choice?" Hope demanded, gesturing sharply at Scott. "A burglar with a criminal record? Do you honestly think we need him to do this?"
"He is the talent I specifically selected," Hank said smoothly. "I think he is very suitable."
Hank had already made his decision. No matter what his daughter said, he would not put her in that suit. He had lost his wife to the quantum realm; he absolutely refused to risk losing his daughter to the same fate.
Hope read the stubborn set of his jaw. She shook her head.
"Our problem right now isn't just Darren or his unfinished Yellowjacket suit," Hope said, her tone shifting into something far more dangerous. "I met with Smith Doyle today. I learned how to revive my mother."
Hank froze. He turned to look at her, his brow furrowing deeply. "A solution? What does S.H.I.E.L.D. require?"
"It's not a request. It's a prize," Hope explained. "Smith Doyle has placed the reward on the championship of the upcoming World Martial Arts Tournament. Tony Stark won a previous, private iteration of this tournament. He used the prize—a wish—to bring his parents back to life. If we want to revive Mom, we have to win it."
Hank's frown deepened. "I remember Howard showing me the footage. The fighters in that tournament... they are extraordinary individuals. Gods, aliens, enhanced humans."
"Exactly," Hope said. "The top sixteen alone are incredibly strong. Which means the Ant-Man suit isn't enough on its own. We need the Super Soldier Serum. Only by combining the two can we have a chance at winning."
She looked at Scott, then back to Hank. "I proposed a trade to Director Smith. Pym Particles and the suit's schematics, in exchange for the Super Soldier Serum. He agreed."
"No." Hank's voice was like a whip crack. "Absolutely not. I will absolutely not trade Pym Particles."
"You don't even use them!"
"The Super Soldier Serum is nothing compared to the Particles, Hope! You have no idea what their true value is!"
He had resigned in a fit of absolute rage when S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to secretly replicate his life's work decades ago. The idea of voluntarily handing them a finished product now—especially to a Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.—was something he would never, ever accept.
Hope watched his dramatic, defensive reaction. It was exactly what she expected.
Her voice dropped, losing its heat and replacing it with something cold and fragile. "Then tell me about my mother."
Hank's agitated pacing stopped instantly. The anger drained out of him, replaced by a heavy, suffocating guilt. He looked away. "Your mother died in an accidental plane crash."
Hope's eyes filled with a profound, bitter disappointment. "Are you really going to keep lying to me?"
"I'm not lying to you, Hope."
"It was bad enough that you shut me out and refused to tell me the specifics of what happened," Hope said, her voice trembling slightly. "But I cannot believe, after everything we've just discussed... after I just gave you a way to bring her back... that you are still lying to me now."
She stared at him, waiting for the truth. "Can you please stop lying to me?"