Regeneration activated, remote stabilization

Scott's right arm was like a wisp of smoke blown away by the wind, his fingertips beginning to turn from solid into fleeting specks of light. Ye Mo's hand was still suspended in mid-air, less than half a centimeter from the controller button. He didn't move, not because he was afraid, but because he knew that even if he moved an inch further, he would be devoured into dust by the collapsing quantum field.

Three seconds.

It might be shorter.

There was no "system notification" in his mind, nor any option menu that suddenly popped up. All he had was the tremor he had felt three days ago on the border of Wakanda —during the Vibranium Resonance, the air seemed to freeze for a moment, the particle flow paused and reorganized briefly, as if it had been nailed down by something unseen.

"Molecular Anchoring..." he murmured to himself, not asking the system, but reminding himself, "That thing isn't an external force, it's resonance."

He closed his eyes, no longer watching Scott's gradually dissipating body, but instead focusing all his attention on the "Gene Spiral Tower" in his consciousness. On the 19th floor, fragments of abilities were scattered like stars. Wade's Healing Factor glowed with a dark red aura, and Shadowcat's Wall Phasing Technique was wrapped around it like a thin mist. The "Molecular Anchoring" fragment that he had just picked up but hadn't tried yet was quietly suspended in the corner, like a forgotten USB drive.

The issue now isn't whether to try it or not; it's about soldering it on.

Ye Mo bit his tongue, the taste of blood exploding in his mouth, the pain making him even more alert. He activated the Healing Factor as the main axis, the most stable repair module capable of rebuilding cellular structure; then he connected the Wall Phasing Technique, not to penetrate walls, but to utilize its "ignoring physical barriers" characteristic, allowing repair signals to directly penetrate Scott's crumbling neural network; finally, he forcibly inserted "Molecular Anchoring" between the two, using it as a scaffold—not to fix the space, but to fix the "existence".

To put it bluntly, it's about using Self-Healing as a rope, Wall Phasing as a hook, and anchoring as an iron stake to pull people into nothingness.

He opened his eyes, felt a heat between his brows, and an invisible ripple spread out, without light or sound, like a needle piercing the air. The next second, Scott's body suddenly froze, the smoke-like trend in his right arm abruptly stopped, the cracks in his skin began to slowly close from the outside in, and the bluish halo visibly weakened.

"Did it work?" Ye Mo gasped for breath, cold sweat trickling into his eyes, stinging them.

But it's not over yet.

Although Scott stopped dissipating, he was still slumped on the ground, breathing weakly, his pupils dilated, the controller was still buzzing, and the program was stuck in an error recovery state, like a frozen mobile phone that kept restarting but could not enter the system.

Ye Mo knelt on one knee, reached out and pressed down on Scott's shoulder. A high-frequency vibration came from his palm, like countless tiny hammers pounding on his bones. He frowned, and with his other hand, he quickly pulled out his tablet, connected to the local network, and tried to force-shut down the suit's program.

A blood-red warning pops up on the screen: [The target system is in offline jailbreak mode and cannot be remotely intervened].

"Damn, you actually cracked Pym's encryption?" Ye Mo cursed under his breath, tossing the tablet aside and turning to stare at Scott's face. "Wake up! Stop playing dead!"

No response.

He took a deep breath, braced himself with his hands on the ground, concentrated his mind, and released his mental energy again. This time it wasn't a pull, but a push—inserting a signal into Scott's core consciousness, like plugging an antenna into a broken radio.

"Your daughter is waiting for you to come home for dinner," he said softly. "If you really die, she'll only be able to eat hamburgers with her stepfather from now on."

Scott's eyelids twitched violently.

Ye Mo seized the opportunity, increased his output, and established a mental link instantly. He saw that Scott's consciousness was like a tangled mess, with intermittent neural signals and fragmented memories scattered everywhere. The clearest image was: a little girl standing at the door, holding a piggy bank, calling "Daddy."

"This is it." Ye Mo gritted his teeth, channeling energy back into that memory, like using a torch to ignite a pile of damp firewood.

Scott suddenly convulsed, letting out a muffled groan, and his eyelids finally slowly opened. His vision was blurry at first, but after a few seconds it focused on Ye Mo's face.

"... I'm still... alive?" His voice was hoarse, as if he had just climbed out of a well.

"For now." Ye Mo nodded, panting, and reached out to press the emergency reset button on the side of the controller. The suit's program restarted, blue light flowed, and Scott's body began to slowly return to its original size.

One minute.

Neither of them spoke.

Ye Mo sat down against the wall, took off his silver-rimmed glasses, wiped the lenses with his sleeve, and his fingers trembled slightly. The previous operation had left his head throbbing and his temples pulsating, as if someone were drilling holes in his skull.

Scott almost fell over when he sat up. Ye Mo reached out to steady him, but Scott grabbed his wrist.

"Thank you." Scott looked up at him, his eyes slightly unfocused but earnest. "I really... was so stupid."

Ye Mo didn't speak, put his glasses back on, and said calmly, "Next time you're courting death, remember to leave me a last message, at least let me know which piggy bank to smash."

Scott paused for a moment, then gave a bitter laugh, lowered his head, and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"I thought I could do it," he said in a low voice. "I thought that if I just went a little smaller, I could break through my limits and get better control... but I almost destroyed myself."

"You're not the first one to think that way." Ye Mo leaned against the wall, closing his eyes to calm himself. "I've tried it too. When I first came here, I thought that if I bumped into a few Mutants, I would become invincible. But the first time I activated my healing Self-Healing, I was in so much pain that I threw up in the bathroom for half an hour."

Scott looked up at him.

"Do you know what's most frightening?" Ye Mo opened his eyes and looked at him. "It's not death, it's dying inexplicably. Like you right now, you don't even understand why you're disintegrating, yet you dare to rush beyond the red line? You're not Ant-Man, you're a reckless fool."

Scott opened his mouth, but didn't refute.

He knew Ye Mo was right.

He was indeed reckless.

The report stated it clearly: the safety limit was 3.2 centimeters, and the duration should not exceed 47 seconds. He tore it up, chewed it, and still felt like he was challenging fate. But reality doesn't care about such things; if he had been half a centimeter off, he would have been formatted from the universe.

"I thought... I could do it," he repeated, his voice even softer.

"You can," Ye Mo interrupted him, "but not by brute force. Rules aren't meant to be broken, they're meant to teach you where the boundaries are. You broke your limits today, not because you became stronger, but because you were lucky I was back. What if I wasn't here? When your daughter asks about her father later, all people can say is, 'Oh, he was asking for trouble.'"

Scott closed his eyes, and a tear slid down his cheek.

Ye Mo neither comforted him nor provoked him further; she simply looked at him.

After about ten seconds, Scott looked up, his face expressionless, but his eyes had changed. They were no longer filled with the stubbornness of "I want to prove myself," but with a heavier weight in them.

"You're right," he said. "I was wrong."

Ye Mo nodded and said nothing more.

Sometimes, admitting your mistakes is much harder than putting on a brave face.

Especially for someone who has just crawled back from the brink of death.

As dusk settled outside, the setting sun streamed through the factory's dilapidated corrugated iron roof, casting an orange-red glow on the ground. The controller lay quietly beside Scott's legs, its screen black, as if it too were exhausted.

"What's the next step in training?" Scott suddenly asked.

Ye Mo glanced at him. "You still want to practice?"

"I'd like to," Scott nodded, "But I won't recklessly charge in anymore. You teach me how to become stronger within the rules."

Ye Mo remained silent for a few seconds, then stood up, walked to the edge of the experimental area, picked up a mineral water bottle, and placed it back in the center of the marked line.

"Tomorrow," he said, "Start with 3.2 centimeters, run ten laps, no time allowed."

Scott looked at the bottle, his lips twitched, and he actually smiled.

"OK."

Ye Mo turned and walked towards the exit, his steps a little unsteady, but he didn't look back.

He knew he had passed this hurdle.

It's not about ability, it's about people waking up.

Scott remained seated, looking down at his hands, his palms still burning from the high-frequency vibrations. He slowly clenched his fists, then unclenched them, over and over again.

Only after the sun had completely set and the factory area was plunged into darkness did he slowly stand up, pick up the controller, and gently pat off the dust.

Then, he walked in the direction Ye Mo had left, his steps slow but firm.