-Broadcast: Leaving the Party-
Scott sat in his van, key in the ignition, staring at the house he'd just been asked to leave. Through the front window, he could see Cassie and Paxton standing in the doorway.
Cassie waved goodbye, her small hand moving slowly, sadly.
Despite everything, Scott felt himself smile. He started the engine and began pulling away.
As he turned the corner, he made an exaggerated funny face through the window and honked the horn—a specific rhythm that had always made Cassie laugh. The silly expression and unique sound effect worked their magic. Even from a distance, he could see her burst into giggles instead of tears.
Small victories.
-Broadcast: Corporate Restroom-
Inside a pristine corporate bathroom, a middle-aged man emerged from a stall, adjusting his tie. He froze when a voice spoke from behind him.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting on the Yellowjacket project, Frank."
The man—a police detective based on the badge clipped to his belt—turned to find Darren Cross leaning casually against the sink, arms crossed.
Frank composed himself quickly. "Yeah, well... unfortunately, people can't just do whatever they want. There are procedures. Laws we have to follow—"
He moved to the sink to wash his hands, trying to project calm authority.
Darren chuckled, a sound without humor. He picked up a paper towel and held it out. Next to the towel dispenser sat a strange-looking weapon—sleek, compact, clearly not standard issue.
"Laws?" Darren's voice was contemplative. "Human laws are arbitrary. The laws of nature transcend them. And I..." He smiled. "I transcend the laws of nature."
Frank placed his wet hands on the offered towel. "Darren, I think you're misunderstanding the situation—"
Darren grabbed the weapon and fired in one smooth motion.
The discharge wasn't loud—more of a high-pitched whine followed by a wet, organic sound. Frank's body didn't explode or burn. Instead, it seemed to collapse inward, molecular bonds dissolving, flesh and bone liquefying into an amorphous mass of organic sludge that splattered onto the tile floor.
The puddle twitched, still containing enough residual electrical activity to create small movements.
Darren looked down at it with clinical interest. "Hmm. Still some technical glitches to work out."
He used the paper towel he'd been holding to scoop up the gelatinous remains of Detective Frank and dumped them into the toilet. One flush, and Frank was gone—no body, no evidence, no trace.
"Goodbye, Frank." Darren washed his hands thoroughly, checked his reflection, and walked out as if nothing had happened.
-Present Day-
"That's how Frank disappeared!" One of Frank's former colleagues—now watching the broadcast—slammed his fist on the table. "We searched for months! We thought maybe he'd been paid off, gone into hiding, gotten cold feet about testifying. But no—he was just... dissolved and flushed down a toilet."
Captain America's expression was grim. "People like Cross exist in every era. No morality, no limits. Just ambition and a complete willingness to remove anyone who stands in their way."
Dr. Pym sighed heavily. "This is exactly why I refused to continue developing Pym Particles. The perfect murder weapon. Shrink someone down or destroy their molecular cohesion—either way, they simply vanish. No evidence. If this technology spreads..."
Bruce Banner turned to Scott with concern. "That weapon used the same principles as your suit. If something malfunctions while you're shrinking, could you end up like... that?"
Scott's face had gone pale. "Honestly? I have no idea. I never really thought about it before. But now..." He swallowed hard. "That's absolutely terrifying."
Rhodes clapped him on the shoulder. "Then be grateful nothing's gone wrong yet. And maybe be extra careful about suit maintenance from now on."
"Yeah," Scott said weakly. "Definitely."
-Broadcast: Dinner with Hope-
Darren sat across from Hope van Dyne in an upscale restaurant, both dressed for business, looking like any other corporate power couple celebrating a deal.
"Thank you," Hope said to the waiter delivering their appetizers.
Darren watched her with an unsettling smile. "I've been thinking a lot about gratitude lately. During meditation this morning, I had an interesting realization. I think it applies to you quite perfectly."
Hope's expression was carefully neutral. "What's that?"
"Gratitude can be a form of forgiveness," Darren explained, warming to his subject. "For years, I was angry at Hank Pym. I gave him everything—my best work, my loyalty, years of my life. I could have worked anywhere, commanded any salary, but I chose the wrong mentor." He paused meaningfully. "And you didn't even have a choice. He was your father."
Hope's jaw tightened. She looked down at her plate.
"He never trusted you," Darren continued. "Not really. What we're doing isn't entirely ethical, sure—but he's the one who forced this situation. Isn't he? He pushed us both away."
Hope looked up, her eyes unreadable.
"But we shouldn't be angry anymore," Darren said, his voice taking on an almost therapeutic tone. "We should be grateful. Because he was such a terrible mentor and such a failed father, he forced us to become successful on our own terms. To exceed him."
Hope offered a practiced smile. "You're very successful, Darren. You deserve everything you've achieved."
Darren raised his champagne glass, clearly pleased. "To us. To success without limitations."
They drank.
-Present Day-
"What did they do exactly?" Pietro asked, confused by the tension in the scene.
Scott hesitated. "How do I explain this... Hope and Darren worked together to force Dr. Pym out of his own company. Staged a boardroom coup. Pym Technologies became Cross Technologies basically overnight."
"Wait, what?" Pietro was shocked. "She kicked out her own father?"
"It's... complicated," Scott said uncomfortably, not wanting to air all of the Van Dyne family's dirty laundry.
-Broadcast: Scott's Decision-
Scott parked his van in front of a convenience store, engine idling. He pulled out a piece of paper and began doing math—calculating days, weeks, months.
The conclusion stared back at him: 377 days until next visitation.
More than a year before he could see Cassie again. More than a year of missing bedtime stories, school plays, homework struggles, everything that made a child's life.
He crumpled the paper in frustration, let out a long breath, and made a decision that went against every promise he'd made to himself and Maggie.
-Broadcast: The Apartment-
Luis was playing video games with Kurt and Dave when the door opened. Scott walked in without greeting anyone and went straight to the refrigerator.
"Hey! You're back!" Luis called cheerfully.
No response. Scott grabbed a beer.
"Maybe he didn't hear you," Dave whispered.
Luis tried again. "How was the party?"
Scott opened the beer, took a long drink, then turned to face them. "Tell me about this job. How do we pull it off?"
All three heads whipped around simultaneously. "What?!"
"You heard me," Scott said. "I want to know every detail. How do we pull this job?"
Luis jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over the coffee table. "Oh man! Yes! This is happening! Finally!" He was practically bouncing with excitement.
Dave pointed at Scott admiringly. "Now that's having balls."
"Everyone calm down," Scott said, though he couldn't quite hide his own nervous energy. "First, tell me everything about this target. Background, security, the works. If we're doing this, it has to be perfect. No mistakes. I can't go back to prison."
Dave immediately nudged Luis. "Tell him! Tell him everything!"
"Okay, so!" Luis launched into his story with characteristic enthusiasm. "I went to this wine tasting with my cousin Ernesto—you remember Ernesto, right? Anyway, it was mostly reds, and you know I don't really like red wine, but they had this rosé that was absolutely stunning—"
"And then," Luis continued, completely missing Scott's growing impatience, "he started talking about this girl we used to hang around with, Emily. Man, Emily... you know, the first time I ever touched a woman's breast, it was hers—"
"Luis!" Scott cut him off. "These are completely useless details! You've gone completely off track! What does any of this have to do with the job?"
The broadcast froze on Scott's exasperated expression, perfectly capturing his regret at asking Luis to explain anything.