Hank's warning, limits on risk

Sunlight slanted through the broken windows of the abandoned factory, falling on the old laptop. The screen was still lit, and the last row of data in the spreadsheet was clearly visible: [Subject: Scott Lang | Training Program: Microscopic Movement Stability Test | Status: Continuously Improving]. Ye Mo tapped the keyboard lightly, the pace a half beat faster than usual, as if something in his mind was urging him on.

Scott had just finished his third bottle-running drill. He landed with his knees slightly bent, quickly adjusted his center of gravity, and stood firmly. He looked up in Ye Mo's direction, a smug smile playing on his lips.

Ye Mo didn't look at him, but simply raised one hand and waved it gently, signaling him to continue.

Scott smiled, turned, and walked towards the starting point with the water bottles, preparing to begin the fourth round. He placed his finger on the controller, took a deep breath, and was about to press the button—

Footsteps could be heard in the distance.

It wasn't the kind of footsteps that make a clattering sound when someone's feet are crunching on pebbles, nor was it the lazy stroll of a patrol car. These footsteps were heavy, steady, and precise, each step as if measured with a ruler, causing the metal floor to vibrate at a low frequency, and even the air seemed to tremble.

Ye Mo's eyelids twitched, and he looked up at the entrance.

A man walked in.

He was around fifty years old, with his gray hair neatly combed, wearing an old-fashioned lab coat with a faded Pym Technologies badge pinned to his collar. He clutched a sheet of printed paper in his hand, the edges of which were curled, clearly from gripping it too tightly while rushing.

It's Hank Pym.

Without looking at Ye Mo or pausing, he walked straight to Scott and slammed the report on his chest, "Your particle fluctuation peak yesterday exceeded the limit by three times, entering the metastable state range three times in a row."

Scott's hand trembled, and he nearly dropped the controller. He glanced down at the report, which was full of waveforms and technical terms, but he recognized one word—"quantum decoupling."

"I... I just did a few extra sets," he said in a low voice, "I feel pretty good."

"Feelings?" Hank sneered. "The last lab mouse also thought it could shrink another layer, but it's still stuck in the subatomic level, unable to even piece its soul back together."

Ye Mo closed his laptop, stood up, and leaned against the container without saying a word. He knew it was inappropriate to interrupt at this moment. This was a confrontation between the developer and the user, not between the coach and the student.

Hank stared at Scott, his eyes like a scalpel. "I didn't give you toys to play with in cosplay. Pym Particles aren't Play-Doh, you can't just mold them however you want. Every time you shrink, you're risking your life for the technology's maturity."

Scott gritted his teeth. "I can control the landing point now, my movements are more stable, and I even completed a needle-threading simulation yesterday—"

"That's a simulation!" Hank's voice suddenly rose. "The quantum field in reality doesn't draw a safe zone for you! You think you're the first person to get the suit? Let me tell you, there were seven candidates before, three died from nerve damage, two went missing, and the last one went insane, constantly claiming to be a quark."

He paused, his tone softening slightly. "Your daughter is waiting for you to come home for dinner. Don't let ' Ant-Man ' become a story she's afraid to hear before bed."

Scott's face turned pale, his fingers unconsciously tracing the oil stains on the edge of the controller. He opened his mouth, wanting to retort, but found his throat tightly blocked.

"But I've just gotten into the swing of things..." he said softly.

"I don't think it'll save him." Hank interrupted him, pulling a small black device from his pocket and snapping it onto the side of the controller. "This is a flow limiter. Use it a maximum of three times a week, each time for no more than eight minutes. It will automatically upload physiological data after use, and I will monitor it remotely."

Scott stared at the black box as if it were an electronic shackle.

"Are you going to lock me up?" he asked.

"I'm going to protect you," Hank corrected. "This isn't a matter of trust, it's a matter of scientific boundaries. You're not a guinea pig, and I'm not a mad scientist. But until the technology reaches that point, no one can cross the line."

After saying that, he glanced at Ye Mo and finally spoke, "You're the one who's been guiding me from behind the scenes?"

Ye Mo adjusted his glasses. "A support role assigned by the system, it's not important."

"A system?" Hank frowned. "What system?"

"It's the kind of excuse... I don't have to make up if you don't ask." Ye Mo shrugged. "Anyway, he can train and survive, so you're less worried, aren't you?"

Hank squinted at him for a few seconds, then didn't press the matter. He knew that asking too many questions would only reveal his unease. He simply said, "Don't let him push himself to the limit, or I can't guarantee I can handle things in time next time."

Then he turned and left.

The footsteps faded into the distance, and the vibrations on the metal floor gradually disappeared.

Scott didn't move until the figure was completely out of sight.

He slowly retreated into the shadows of the container, sat down against the wall, clutching the controller to his chest, his knuckles white. The drive he had just felt seemed to have been drained away, and he fell into silence.

Ye Mo turned off the computer, picked up her bag, walked over, sat down next to him, and without saying a word, first opened a bottle of water and handed it to him.

Scott didn't answer.

After a long pause, he asked in a muffled voice, "You tell me... am I really not suited to be Ant-Man?"

"Suitable," Ye Mo answered readily. "You're quick-witted, bold, and have a good technical foundation. If it weren't for these qualities, Pym wouldn't have chosen you."

"But now he sees me as a ticking time bomb."

"Because he's seen bombs before." Ye Mo took a sip of water. "Do you know why old scientists always like to set limits? It's not that they don't trust you, it's that they don't trust themselves. They're not afraid of you getting out of control, they're afraid they can't control the consequences. So setting limits is a responsibility."

Scott looked down at the current limiter on the controller; the small black box was flashing a red light, as if counting down.

"But I don't want to wait," he said. "I want to save people now, I want to be able to step in on the next mission, and I don't want to be treated like a temporary worker who still has a 'probationary period' anymore."

"Nobody starts out as a full-time employee." Ye Mo crushed the empty bottle and casually tossed it into the metal bucket in the corner. "Tony's first suit of armor couldn't even fly steadily, and Thor couldn't even open a door when he first came to Earth. You can at least shrink to the size of an ant without losing any legs; you've already won at the starting line."

Scott tugged at the corners of his mouth, his smile a little forced.

"But I can't even practice anymore. Three times a week, eight minutes... that's not even enough for me to warm up."

"Then let's practice eight minutes to achieve the effect of sixteen." Ye Mo leaned against the wall, his glasses reflecting the light. "The system didn't teach me how to comfort people, but I believe in one thing—no one can shut down the path you truly want to take with rules."

Scott looked up at him. "And what about you? Were your abilities also restricted?"

"Me?" Ye Mo laughed. "I don't even know what the system looks like. I survive entirely on the notifications in my head. The first time I used the Wall Phasing Technique, I got stuck in the wall for two hours. I finally got out by farting to loosen the gaps between the bricks. Isn't that pathetic?"

Scott paused for a moment, then couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"You really dare to say that."

"That's just how it is," Ye Mo said, shrugging. "Your problem isn't a lack of ability, it's that you're too impatient. You're afraid of missing opportunities, afraid of being kicked out, afraid of going back to being that ex-convict who can only steal electric bikes. But you've forgotten—you're not that person anymore."

Scott remained silent.

The wind blew through the broken window, swirling up scraps of paper on the ground. In the distance, the sound of a bus announcement drifted in; the city continued to function as usual. No one knew that in this abandoned factory area, someone was stumbling over their heroic dream.

He looked down at the controller, his fingers slowly tracing the edge of the current limiter.

"You said... could I secretly use it one more time without triggering a warning?"

"Yes," Ye Mo nodded, "But you'll be discovered. Pym isn't stupid; his monitoring system is even more sophisticated than S.H.I.E.L.D..'s. And if something goes wrong, not only will you be finished, but he'll also face a murder charge. At that point, not only will the suit be confiscated, but the entire project will be frozen."

Scott leaned back against the wall, dejected.

"Then we can only wait?"

"Wait, or get smarter." Ye Mo stood up, brushing the dust off his pants. "Limitations aren't the end; they're there to teach you to dance within the rules. What you need to do now isn't break the rules, but develop killer moves within them."

He paused, took the old laptop out of his bag, and placed it on the concrete floor between the two of them.

"I can help you analyze the data and find the most efficient training rhythm. Although we can't practice more, we can practice more intensely. For example, we can break an eight-minute session into four segments, focusing on one detail in each segment: Wall Phasing, landing, turning, and recovering, like clearing levels in a game, one level at a time."

Scott's eyes lit up. "You mean... make the most of every second?"

"Otherwise?" Ye Mo raised an eyebrow. "How do you think heroes are made? By innate talent? By having a system cheat? Wake up. Most people survive by 'taking the time others spend daydreaming and repeating it ten thousand times'."

Scott looked down at the controller, then at the old computer.

He knew the real challenge was just beginning.

It's not about fighting an enemy, it's about fighting the rules.

He took a deep breath and gripped the controller tightly, as if he were holding a knife that had not yet been sharpened.

What's the training time tomorrow?

"Seven o'clock in the morning." Ye Mo put on his headphones. "Don't be late. If you are, you'll have to do extra weighted Wall Phasing practice."

"You're a real devilish drill instructor."

"The system's difficulty curve." Ye Mo turned and walked towards the exit, his steps light. "I'm just an executor."

Scott remained seated, not moving.

The morning light slowly crept up the metal walls of the container, illuminating the controller in his hand. The red light was still flashing, as if reminding him where the boundary lay.

But he knew that some things had begun to change.

He lowered his head and gently scraped away a bit of dust from the edge of the current limiter with his fingernail.

Then, place the controller against your chest and close your eyes.

A sentence seemed to echo in my ears--

"No one can shut down the path you truly want to take with rules."

He opened his eyes, a slight smile playing on his lips.

In the distance, Ye Mo's figure was about to disappear at the factory gate.

He stopped and looked back.

Scott was still sitting there, motionless, but his posture had changed—no longer curled up in frustration, but with his back straight, like a taut string.

Ye Mo didn't look any longer and turned to leave.

The wind blew in through the broken window, causing the training watch on the floor to tremble.

The page was turned, revealing a line of handwritten words on the back, which Ye Mo had written while Scott wasn't looking:

[Plan changed: ' Shadow Track Training ' contingency plan activated, pending confirmation of access control vulnerability].