The New Ant-Man

Scott felt as if an invisible hand had twisted his stomach into a knot. He lay on the floor, everything in his vision swaying.

He could make out every bristle on the six legs of an ant passing by. They looked like rows of sharp spears. Its compound eyes were like countless funhouse mirrors, each reflecting a distorted, tiny version of him screaming.

He wanted to run, but his legs had gone limp as noodles.

"Press the red button again!" Hank Pym's voice boomed inside the helmet like thunder from God.

Scott's mind went blank. Acting on instinct, he raised a hand and slapped blindly at his glove.

Bzz—

The world spun in reverse. His field of vision snapped back like a stretched rubber band.

He hit the floor hard. The first thing he did was tear off the helmet and hurl it into a corner with all his strength. It landed with a clang.

Then he lay there, his throat burning, retching helplessly.

"Get out!" He lifted his head and only then noticed two people standing in the living room: a gray-haired old man and a sharp-eyed woman. When had they come in? He hadn't noticed a thing.

Scott snatched up the Ant-Man Suit from the floor and threw it at the old man like a piece of trash. "Take your junk and get out!"

The old man simply stepped aside and dodged it. He was Hank Pym.

The woman beside him, Hope van Dyne, stepped forward. Her gaze scraped across Scott's face like a blade of ice. "You're not going anywhere, Mr. Thief."

Scott scrambled to his feet and lunged for the door, but Hope took him down with one simple hold. His arm felt close to breaking. She was astonishingly strong.

A few streets away, in