Marvel's Ant-Man, page 1
Begin Reading
Table of Contents
Photos
Copyright Page
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
San Quentin State Prison was the oldest correctional facility in California. Some of the toughest, meanest, and ugliest criminals to ever enter the system had spent time behind San Quentin’s bars.
Many of those prisoners were gathered together right now, screaming and cheering as the biggest of them all threw a punch at Scott Lang. As the fist flew at Scott’s face, time seemed to slow down. He watched the knuckles coming, and all he could think about was how much it was going to hurt.
Scott was a very handsome yet boyish-looking man with an easy charm and a casual, friendly way with people. He could usually talk himself out of most situations that threatened to turn violent… but not this one.
Bam! The force of the hit slammed into Scott’s jaw, causing him to stumble back. It was only by sheer luck that Scott was able to keep his balance and stay on his feet as he looked up at his attacker.
“Awww, man…” said the scary-looking dude. “I’m going to miss you, Scott.”
Scott rubbed his sore jaw and stuck his hand out to shake hands with the brute. “Yeah, I’m going to miss you, too, Peachy. But you guys have the weirdest-going ‘good-bye’ rituals. I’m going to feel that for weeks!”
Peachy grabbed Scott’s outstretched hand and pulled Scott closer, wrapping the much smaller man into a big bear hug!
Each of the other prisoners took turns patting Scott on the back or shaking his hand. He was a nice guy and pretty popular with the other inmates. Everyone was sorry to see him go.
But Scott wasn’t sorry. After years of living in a cold gray cell, he had finally done his time, and was going to be free.…
Scott’s face was still smarting from Peachy’s “farewell” as he thanked the guards who ushered him past the banged-up perimeter fence. Walking out through the gates of San Quentin after years on the inside was one of the greatest feelings of his life. He stopped for a moment to breathe in his first breath of non-prison air.
Everything seemed possible.…
Scott looked across the road at a man standing in front of a dented-up old van.
“Look at that familiar face,” Scott called out to Luis. “And look at that disgusting van. No way that’s street legal.”
“Look at that beat-up face,” Luis replied warmly. “Let me guess—Peachy?”
“You got it,” said Scott, chuckling.
“I’ve still got a mark from my ‘going-away present,’ and that was a year ago,” said Luis as he raised his chin, showing Scott. Then he kissed his own fist. “But I’m still the only guy who ever knocked him out.”
Reaching Luis, Scott gave him a bro hug.
“I miss that guy,” said Luis. “How is he?”
“Enormous,” Scott replied as two climbed into Luis’s van.
Soon they were on the road, headed back to town.
Luis was Scott’s old cellmate, and the two had quickly bonded over sports, favorite TV shows, and a mutual hatred of San Quentin’s commissary food.
Both Luis and Scott had been in for the same kind of crime, burglary. But Luis’s crimes hadn’t caused the same nationwide media sensation that Scott’s crime had. Plus, Scott’s “crimes” always started with the “best intentions”… but that was a whole separate issue.
They’d split a small cell for many months. Luis had been the first to get out, and he was quick to offer his friend a place to stay after prison. Once their time inside was over, everybody needed a little while to get back on their feet.
Excited to see his old friend after so long, Luis was chatting a mile a minute as he drove along. “It’s good to see you, holmes,” he said. “I got the couch all set up. You can stay as long as you like. It’ll be like old times.”
Scott gave Luis a worried glance. “Old times” had been spent locked in a high-security prison. Scott wasn’t too interested in things being like “old times.”
“And you’ll be back on your feet in no time,” Luis continued. “I want to introduce you to some good people I met since I got out… skilled people.”
Scott knew that “skilled” was Luis’s way of saying “great at breaking and entering.”
“Whoa,” said Scott. “Listen, I did my time, and now I’m going straight. I’ve got a daughter to think about.”
Luis gave Scott a sad look. It was the kind of look you might give a kid who thinks his ice cream’s not going to melt.
“Real jobs don’t come around too easily for anyone these days, let alone for ex-cons,” said Luis. “Even for geniuses like you.”
The look in Luis’s eyes worried Scott—but he knew that he had to go straight. He couldn’t risk being thrown back in prison.
“I’ve got a master’s in electrical engineering,” said Scott. “I’m sure I can find a decent job.” But the way he said it made Luis think he wasn’t really sure and was just trying to convince himself that what he said was true.
“Whatever you say, bro,” said Luis noncommittally.
Despite Luis’s concerns, as well as his own, within two weeks, Scott had a job.
But it wasn’t a great job.
And it didn’t require a master’s degree in electrical engineering.
It just required little plastic gloves and an ice cream scoop.
The bell rang as another customer walked in.
Scott smiled, and said: “Welcome to our ice cream shop. Can I interest you in our new Smoothie Fruit Blaster?”
“You guys have burgers?” said the rather odd-looking customer.
“What? No. We have ice cream.”
“Oh,” said the customer, scratching his temple. He paused for a long moment, considering the menu up on the wall before asking, “What about nuggets?”
Scott blinked. “Dude…” was all he managed to say.
Before the customer could ask another dumb question, Dale, Scott’s manager—a man overly proud of his modest achievements—poked his head out of the back office. Dale looked at Scott, and asked, “Can I see you in the back, chief?”
Dale was always—always—calling people “chief” or “bud” or something. It was probably because he didn’t care enough to learn anyone’s name.
“Sure thing, Dale,” said Scott, pleased to be escaping the weird customer, if nothing else.
Once in Dale’s office, Scott removed the gloves he had to wear when handling the ice cream. They made smacking noises as they came off.
“Pull up a chair,” said Dale, pointing at the flimsy plastic one across from the cluttered desk. Scott sat in it and looked at his manager expectantly.
Dale returned a vacuous smile.
“Three years in San Quentin, huh?” asked Dale.
Scott was shocked and disappointed. “You found out?”
Dale nodded seriously. “This is an ice cream shop—we take this stuff pretty seriously.”
“Look, I’m sorry I lied on my application, but no one would hire me,” said Scott quickly and desperately. “It wasn’t a violent crime, and I’m a good worker.”
Dale looked over a thick stack of papers on his desk. “Says on the report it was breaking and entering… and grand larceny?”
Scott blinked. “Wow, that’s a thorough report.”
Dale looked up as if he was trying to remember something. “Wait… Scott Lang? Were you the guy that robbed that billionaire?”
“Yeah, that would be me,” said Scott sheepishly.
A smile sprang to Dale’s lips. “You were on the news! Man, you’ve got guts! Respect!”
Scott was relieved. Maybe this was going to go better than he’d thought.… “So, does that mean you can give me another chance? I promise I won’t let you down.”
Dale instantly turned serious. “Sorry, no can do. Gotta fire you, champ. But you know what? I’ll let you grab a Smoothie Fruit Blaster on your way out.…”
Scott shrugged. A free smoothie… At least that was something. It was more than he had gotten at all the other places where he had applied for a job.
He headed back to the front of the shop. As he did, he heard Dale call after him, “… only half price!”
A half-free smoothie. OK… It was half of something.
Scott sipped on his Smoothie Fruit Blaster as he walked through the roughest neighborhood he’d ever seen. He’d used sandpaper that he thought was less rough. Seriously, he’d felt safer back when he was in prison.
Scott climbed several flights of stairs to get to Luis’s apartment. The elevator was out, of course, because it was always out. So Scott tromped past the apartment with the Latina lady and her pretty daughter, and past the weird ravers who were always blasting electronica, and past the old man with the yappy little dog. When the dog barked at him, he just said to it, “Down, killer.”
Reaching Luis’s door, he unlocked it. Then unlocked the second lock. Then the third. As he unlocked the final lock, Scott wondered if there were enough locks, and considered talking to Luis about getting a few more.
As soon as he pushed open the door, he was hit with the delicious aroma of cook
“Scotty, what’re you doing here?” shouted Luis from across the room. “I thought you had work.” Luis was fiddling with something on the counter that Scott couldn’t see.
“I did. I got fired,” Scott said, taking a bitter sip of his sweet smoothie. “They found out who I really am.”
Luis nodded knowingly. “See, I told you, man. Don’t mess with ice cream shops, dude. They always find out.”
“It’s true,” added another voice. “Cold ice cream, cold hearts.”
Scott turned to see two other guys in Luis’s apartment, both strangers to him. Luis introduced Dave, Luis’s longtime friend who used to steal from houses during the day, when the owners were at work. Dave was a pretty good guy, Luis claimed, when he wasn’t stealing from you—and he was legendary in the local criminal community for his skills as a getaway driver.
The other guy was about Scott’s age, and he too had the air of the ex-con about him, but Luis didn’t introduce him immediately.
“Here’s the good news,” said Luis. “It’s waffle Thursday. You want a waffle?” Luis held up a measuring cup filled with batter, and Scott could now see what Luis had been fiddling with when Scott came in—a waffle iron.
Scott smiled. So that was what he smelled. “Sure, I’ll take a waffle!” he said enthusiastically. Scott knew from long experience that everything, even getting fired, seemed better after eating a waffle.
“It’s hard to find work with a record,” said the guy Scott hadn’t met. “I used my computer skill to generate three hundred false IDs, and now I can’t even get a job selling electronics at a big-box store.” The man spoke with a heavy foreign accent that Scott had trouble identifying. It was a kind of Russian accent.
“That’s brutal,” said Scott, shaking his head. “Who are you, by the way?”
Luis answered while pulling a fresh waffle off the iron, putting it on a paper plate, and covering it with powdered sugar. “This is Kurt,” he said, nodding in the direction of his friend. “Kurt was in Folsom for five years. Identity theft. He’s a wizard with a laptop. Kurt, meet Scott, my ex–cell mate.”
Dave spoke up, addressing Kurt. “Scott’s the guy who robbed Vista Corp’s CEO. He’s a heavy player.”
Scott scoffed at this, responding while forking a bite of waffle into his mouth. “I’m hardly a ‘heavy player,’” Scott said, as he chewed on waffle—crispy outside, doughy inside… great.
“What do you mean ‘hardly’?” Luis asked Scott before turning back to Kurt. “Check it out. My homeboy Scott actually worked for Vista Corp. But then he finds out they were up to some shady stuff.…”
Kurt looked intrigued. “What was the nature of their shade?”
“You don’t know Vista Corp?” asked Dave. “What planet are you from?”
Kurt shrugged. “I don’t have TV in my country,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“What? The whole country?” asked Dave.
Kurt nodded. “We sell it for meat,” he said.
Everyone looked at Kurt for a second, wondering if he was joking or not. What country was he supposed to be from? But it wasn’t worth asking, so Luis just moved on.
“Vista Corp was overcharging customers,” Luis said. “It added up to millions. He”—Luis said, pointing at Scott—“blows the whistle, and they fire him.”
Kurt looked at Scott, asking, “Why you not go to the press?”
“I did,” Scott said, then shrugged. “But Vista was too powerful. There was an investigation and they covered it up. I became ‘a disgruntled former employee trying to extort a hard-working corporation.’”
“So then what does he do?” asks Luis rhetorically, while pouring the batter for another waffle. He loved telling this story. “He decrypts their security system and transfers millions back to the people they stole it from!”
Suddenly, a light turned on for Kurt. “Oh, wait.… The Vista job. I heard about this robbery!”
Scott was quick to correct him. “Technically, I didn’t rob them. Robbing involves threat. I burgled them… I hate violence. I’m more of a cat burglar.”
“He ripped off every member of the board,” said Luis proudly. “It was a major score!”
Thinking about the little guy striking back against the corporate giants, Luis, Kurt, and Dave were all smiles. Only Scott wasn’t smiling.
Scott could remember it all like it was yesterday. The shock at finding out the company was so crooked, the disappointment at learning the company was powerful enough to make the newspapers and the police look the other way. The outrage he’d felt at finding himself—who had done nothing wrong—the subject of a campaign designed to muscle him into silence. The triumph of getting even, and finally the tragedy of what it had all meant to his young family.
“They ruined me,” he said. “I had a family to support.”
“But then he snuck into the CEO’s house!” continued Dave.
“He burgled five million in cash and jewelry for himself,” added Luis.
“He posted all the CEO’s bank records online!” said Dave.
“Then drove the dude’s fancy car into his swimming pool!” finished Luis.
Scott shrugged again. “I got carried away.”
The others looked at Scott, feeling like they were in the presence of a legend. Scott felt their eyes on him, and said, “I’m not really that way, though.” He looked away awkwardly.
Luis laughed. “What about those jobs you pulled before Vista?”
“That was a long time ago,” said Scott. “And I’m not proud of it.”
Scott had pulled off a few petty thefts in the distant past, starting when he was a teenager. He had always been good with machines, which is what led him to a career in electrical engineering; so many other people were so bad with machines. So, in his youth, it was hard to resist the temptation to use his knowledge to his own advantage. It was never a big deal, just little stuff. Still, he regretted it. If he hadn’t made those mistakes, maybe he wouldn’t have made the big mistake he had with the Vista CEO.
By now, Luis had handed waffles all around, and the four ex-cons each took bites of their sweet, golden-brown goodness. While chewing, each thought about past jobs, and how sweet those had been, too.
“These are the best waffles ever made,” Luis didn’t mind saying. No one disagreed with him.
Suddenly, Scott eyed Luis suspiciously. “Wait… Why are you in such a good mood?”
Luis, Kurt, and Dave all shared a significant look, like they were all in on some inside information. They smiled among themselves, a pleasantly guilty look on their faces.
Luis paused for a second, trying to think how best to start his story. “So,” he finally began, “last week, my cousin was talking to this guy, and—”
“No way!” Scott practically shouted. He didn’t need to hear the rest of the story. He could tell where this was going. Luis clearly had some idea for a criminal enterprise, based on some weird, dodgy, secondhand info.
“Come on!” implored Luis, trying to appeal to Scott’s sense of social justice. “This fits your MO. Some retired gazillionaire living off his golden parachute!”
“I told you—I’m done,” said Scott, shaking his head. “I’m not doing anything else illegal ever again.”
This time the others all shared a disappointed look.
“But I will have another waffle,” Scott said, holding out his plate.
As Luis forked one up, he proudly proclaimed, “There are three things I do well… I love, I rob, and I make waffles.”
None of them noticed the ant sitting on the kitchen counter watching them. After all, why should they notice a tiny ant…?
Except this one was special.
This one was equipped with an almost microscopic video camera. The high-tech audio-visual recording equipment was pointed right at Scott, Luis, and their friends.
And since the ant-cam’s little red Record light was on, everything the ant was seeing and hearing, everything Scott was doing and saying, must have been transmitting to some receiver somewhere.…
Hope Van Dyne was smart, young, and beautiful, but she didn’t flaunt her looks. She was no-nonsense, and tough as nails when she needed to be. She had a talent for realizing when she was being lied to, and another talent for hiding her thoughts and emotions. She knew how to play her cards close to her vest. In fact, that was her default setting.
