Direct Action

Everyone turned toward the voice and saw an Eastern man smiling at the miniature Wasp Suit.

Apocalypse said to Cross, "I want the one you're wearing."

"Who are you? I don't recall inviting you."

Cross was baffled and angry. Where had this Eastern man come from?

Everyone he had invited was a major player. If an Eastern man had been on the guest list, Cross would have remembered him.

Apocalypse said nothing. He reached toward Cross and pulled.

Snap! The metal stand beneath Cross broke.

It floated toward Apocalypse, magnifying glass and all.

From Cross's perspective, a huge, distorted face filled his vision and drew closer.

Cross panicked!

His earlier confidence vanished.

He had no idea what was happening.

But his first instinct was to take flight and escape.

With a buzz, Cross shot beyond the magnifying glass like a bullet in his Wasp Suit.

Then he appeared on its other side.

He was moving so fast that he made several loops before realizing he was trapped in that tiny space.

This was Apocalypse's technique—the Spatial Cage!

Apocalypse had meant to let Scott Lang get some practice, but Cross had progressed faster than expected. He already had a finished suit.

If Apocalypse waited any longer, Wasp Suits might reach the black market, with untold casualties.

Cleaning them up afterward would be far more troublesome.

So Apocalypse had to act himself and restrain Cross first.

The crowd erupted in confusion. Was this part of the presentation, or what?

Suddenly, someone pointed at Apocalypse in terror.

He was a burly, middle-aged man with sharp eyes, a high nose, and the bearing of a powerful figure.

Now his face had gone pale, and he cried out helplessly like a startled deer.

"Y-you... You're the Apocalypse King?!"

Apocalypse looked at him. "Hydra? I can't