A mistake exposed, a police pursuit
A night breeze swept across the tin rooftops of a Brooklyn back alley, whipping up half a pizza wrapper, swirling it twice around the corner before skimming away. Ye Mo crouched behind a water tank on the opposite rooftop, his silver-rimmed glasses pulled low to his nose, the lenses gleaming coldly. He didn't activate any system notifications or activate any ability modules; he simply stared at the flickering streetlamp at the alley entrance.
Ten minutes ago, Scott Lang appeared on the surveillance footage again.
This guy was pretty bold. He'd just finished a high-intensity training session and actually came back in the dark to do extra training. Ye Mo sat up straight in front of the terminal, his finger hovering over the "Start Monitoring" button. He hesitated for two seconds, then pressed it. He knew this wasn't in compliance—the data had only been archived at the end of the last chapter, and according to procedure, they should have rested for 24 hours before intervening. But Scott's condition wasn't right tonight; the three high-frequency errors in the motion deviation log were all concentrated on "scaling and connection delay." If this kind of problem wasn't addressed, it would cause trouble sooner or later.
And he actually guessed right.
A muffled thud came from the alley, like a metal pipe hitting the ground. Ye Mo immediately pressed his ear to the listening device and slowed his breathing. When the camera switched to the third camera, he saw Scott stuck in the middle of the wall—not that he couldn't get over, but his body was half his size and stuck in the gap between the bricks, unable to move.
"Damn it... the controller is stuck?!" Scott cursed under his breath, frantically trying to press the buttons on his waist. After pressing them three times, he realized he needed to power it off and restart it.
But it was too late.
The old convenience store security camera on the street corner was pointing in this direction, its red light flashing, recording clearly: a figure suddenly shrinks, gets stuck, then suddenly expands, and finally falls awkwardly into the garbage heap.
Ye Mo closed his eyes briefly, silently thinking, "I've been exposed."
Sure enough, fifty-two seconds later, an automatic alarm sounded on the police channel, "Suspected abnormal biological activity in Block 7, Area B. Infrared scanning has detected unnatural body shape changes. Nearby units are requested to investigate."
By the time the first patrol car arrived, Scott had already run two blocks. But he made a fatal mistake—in his panic, he turned into an underpass. It had many signal dead spots, making it suitable for hiding, but it also meant locking himself in a dead end. Ye Mo received the police communication through the rooftop antenna and heard it clearly: two police officers got out of their car to check the surveillance footage. After seeing that strange video, they immediately upgraded him to a "high-risk suspect" and called for backup.
"The target was wearing a gray jacket with noticeable wear on the left shoulder and was last seen at the east drain."
"Block streets C3 to D5; drones will be deployed in conjunction with thermal imaging."
"Caution: This person may possess shapeshifting abilities; avoid close contact."
Ye Mo took off his headphones and rubbed his earlobe. He knew what was going to happen next: Scott would run for his life, try to escape again using the suit, and make more irrational choices under extreme conditions. And these choices would only make things worse.
But he didn't move.
It's not that we don't want to help, but we can't act now.
He was waiting for a turning point—a critical moment when Scott would truly learn his lesson. Intervening too early would only make the other side feel like "someone's backing them up"; acting too late could result in the man being shot or even arrested. The best time was when he was on the verge of collapse, but still retained a sliver of clarity.
Scott is currently in that range.
Rapid footsteps and panting came through the listening device. Ye Mo pulled up the map and saw the red dot sprinting through the underground passage, its speed decreasing rapidly. Clearly, its stamina was running low. Then came a metallic clanging sound, followed by a low growl, "Damn it! Who tightened the screws so much!"
It turned out that he had knocked over a fastener while climbing the ventilation duct, causing a screw to fall out and make a loud noise. The sound carried far in the confined space, immediately attracting the attention of his pursuers.
"There it is! The ventilation shaft exit!"
"Surround them! Don't let him escape!"
Ye Mo's lips twitched. If it were Tony or Natasha, they would have already infiltrated the police car and hacked the system. But Scott was different. He was just a dad who had just been released from prison. He could fix circuits and steal things, but he hadn't received any special agent training. His instinct was to run, not to fight back.
Three minutes later, the red dot burst out of the underground system and appeared in an abandoned factory area. This was the site of an old substation, with rusty barbed wire and a half-open gate. Scott rushed inside, leaning against the iron gate, panting heavily, his hands still trembling.
Ye Mo put the listening device back on and heard him say very softly, "I'm not a monster... I just want to do something right."
Ye Mo paused for a moment after hearing this.
He recalled the days when he first traveled through time, hiding in a corner of New York subway station, eating a cold hamburger. Nobody believed in you, and you didn't believe in yourself. But once you took that first step, you had to grit your teeth and keep going. Growth is never something taught by others; it's something you forge yourself when you're backed into a corner and have nowhere to retreat.
So he still didn't move.
Instead, the "deviation replay" on the terminal was activated. Three videos popped up on the screen: the first was Scott's shrinking 0.2 seconds too early during the jump, causing him to lose balance upon landing; the second was the controller's delayed response during the turn, almost causing him to twist his ankle; the third, which was the one just now, was the forced reactivation of the suit before his nerve load had fully recovered.
It's all the same old problem.
But this time, the consequences are concrete—no longer just red warning boxes in the data, but a real threat of sirens, searchlights, and armed police closing in.
"You have five minutes," Ye Mo said in a low voice, unsure whether he was speaking to Scott or to himself. "Either you break this deadlock yourself, or I'll clean it up."
He stood up, stretched his wrists and shoulders, and confirmed that his physical condition was normal. The miniature beacon under the discarded steel bar at his feet was already preheated. With just a press of the remote control, it could interfere with wireless communications within a radius of fifty meters for ten seconds, creating a thirty-second window of chaos.
This is the bottom-line solution.
He'd act immediately if the police dared to draw their guns, or if Scott was injured. But before that, he had to make this man understand: superpowers aren't a get-out-of-jail-free card; recklessness and wishful thinking are what truly kill people.
In the distance, three police cars arrived one after another, surrounding the substation compound. Bright lights shone on the iron gate, illuminating Scott's hunched figure. A loudspeaker blared. "Listen up, you inside! You are surrounded! Drop your weapons, put your hands behind your heads, and come out!"
Scott didn't move or shout. He looked down at the controller in his hand, his knuckles white. He knew that if he shrank any further now, it would confirm his status as a "non-human threat"; but if he didn't escape, he might be pinned to the ground in the next second.
dilemma.
Ye Mo stood on the edge of the roof, the wind making the hood of his hoodie swing back and forth. He stared at every move below, his gaze so calm that he didn't look like someone preparing to rescue someone, but rather like an exam proctor waiting for the examinees to hand in their papers.
He knew Scott had another trump card—the partially recovered suit in his backpack could still be used once more. With precise execution, he could slip through the small door and escape into the blind spot of the police car. But this required calm judgment, and right now, Scott's mind was racing.
"Just one more minute," Ye Mo thought. "If he still can't find a way out, then it'll be my turn."
Inside the police car, an officer picked up his walkie-talkie. "Prepare to break down the door. Riot team, get in position."
Ye Mo's fingers touched the remote control.
At the same time, Scott, who was in the yard, suddenly looked up, his gaze sweeping across the angle of the shadow on the ground, and then at the gap in the barbed wire above his head. He took a deep breath, slowly took two steps back, and reached into his backpack.
Ye Mo's eyes narrowed slightly.
They've arrived.
The next step is either to successfully break through the encirclement or to completely lose control.
He didn't look away, but his body leaned forward slightly, like a fully drawn bow, waiting for the string to be plucked.