Joining the reserve team

The morning sun had fully climbed onto the outer walls of the base, casting a cold, white light on the metal corridor. Ye Mo walked ahead, his silver half-rimmed glasses tucked into his work pants pocket. He would occasionally touch the temples of the glasses with his fingertips, as if to confirm that they were still there. He wasn't wearing them, because there was no need—the light here was too bright, blinding and making it impossible to hide any expression.

Scott followed half a step behind him, his helmet tucked under his arm, and a new black wristband on his wrist, with a faint blue glow slowly flowing around the edge, like a bracelet that had just been charged. He looked down several times, and each time he saw the "A-7" logo pop up, his breath hitched.

The two walked in silence, their journey from the lab to the outer base taking longer than usual. As the elevator descended, Scott suddenly spoke up, "Do you think... Hank really believes I can do it?"

Ye Mo didn't turn around, staring at the floor numbers as he jumped down. "He wasn't there when you crawled into the Yellowjacket's armor yesterday."

"I'm not talking about the technology," Scott rubbed his hands together. "I mean... this kind of thing. Formal registration, numbering, evaluation cycle. I used to be so nervous even getting a monthly parking pass, afraid the property management would call and say I'd falsified my documents."

Ye Mo finally turned her head and glanced at him. "So you're here to go through the formalities, not to collect welfare."

The elevator doors opened, revealing the entrance to the Avengers Reserve Team registration hall. An automatic turnstile stood in front of them, with a message projected above. "[Identity registration in progress. Please complete the registration process independently, prospective members]."

"Independence?" Scott frowned. "Aren't you going in?"

"I'm an advisor, not an instructor." Ye Mo stepped aside. "I can't see what you're doing in there, and the system won't give me any pop-up notifications. Trying to shift the blame to the 'system notification sound'? Nobody's taking the blame this time."

Scott swallowed hard, stuffed his helmet into his bag, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

The turnstile opened after recognizing his iris, and he stepped inside. A standing terminal greeted him; the screen lit up, prompting him to enter basic information: name, code name, ability type, suit model... He had memorized these long ago, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Until the final step—[Service Motivation].

The cursor blinked in the input box for a full minute before Scott finally typed five words: "To protect my family."

The system remained silent for two seconds, then displayed a red message: [Motivation is unclear; you need to provide more information about your sense of responsibility. Please fill in the form again.]

He froze, turning to look at Ye Mo. Through the glass wall, Ye Mo was leaning against a metal bench in the rest area, one hand in his pocket, the other gently stroking his glasses frame as if wiping away non-existent dust.

"This isn't for your daughter." His voice came through the intercom, quiet but clear, "It's for your future self."

Scott nodded, looked away, and deleted the line.

Re-enter: I am willing to shoulder responsibilities commensurate with my strength.

A green light flashed on the screen, and a notification sounded, "[Information confirmed, identity chip activation in progress]".

A slight tingling sensation came from the back of my neck as a microchip slid into the spinal nerve junction along the injection path. The wristband lit up simultaneously, the blue light stabilizing, displaying [Preparation Sequence: A-7 | Evaluation Cycle Initiated | First Test to be Pushed Within 24 Hours].

After the automated voice finished broadcasting, there was no applause, no handshakes, and not even a single person came out from the next room to take a look. It was as if another device had simply completed its network connection.

Scott stood there, looking down at the light on his wrist, his fingers unconsciously reaching for his waist—it was empty, his helmet was gone. He suddenly felt a little light, as if a layer of shell was missing.

He walked out of the registration hall, and Ye Mo was still leaning against the bench, his posture unchanged.

"Did it work?" Ye Mo asked.

Scott nodded, raising his wrist. "A-7. Sounds like a coffee machine model."

"It's a bit better than the A-6, at least it's not a spare part." Ye Mo straightened up and adjusted his glasses. "How does it feel?"

"It would be a lie to say I wasn't excited," Scott smiled, his eyes shining. "But standing in front of that machine just now, I suddenly thought, if I messed it up, would I have to return this thing? Like renting a power bank and not returning it—your credit score goes straight to zero."

"Then you should be glad this isn't the sharing economy." Ye Mo walked forward, Scott following. "This is a one-way consumable. It's easy to get in, but hard to stay."

The corridor was straight, with doors on both sides leading to different training areas, all of which were closed at the moment. Only the indicator lights overhead occasionally changed color. There was a low-frequency vibration in the air, as if some equipment was running underground.

"Do you think I'm... a regular soldier now?" Scott asked in a low voice, a hint of undisguised smugness in his tone.

Ye Mo suddenly stopped, took off his glasses, and slowly wiped the lenses with the corner of his clothes, his movements very slow, as if he was waiting for something.

"You were able to squeeze into the gap in the armor yesterday, thanks to your combat suit?" He looked up, his glasses reflecting the light from the overhead lamp. "Or did you calculate the three-second cool-down period yourself?"

"Of course, it's myself," Scott answered readily.

"Then don't rush to wear the medal." Ye Mo put his glasses back on. "The real difficulty isn't getting in, it's staying. You think they're testing whether you can shrink? Wrong. They want to see if you dare to act after you shrink in, whether you can make judgments, and whether you're trustworthy."

Scott didn't speak, but glanced down at his wristband. His smugness deflated like a punctured balloon.

"I know you want to prove yourself," Ye Mo said, his voice lower. "But don't treat 'being recognized' as the end. This is just the starting line. From now on, no one will look at your past performance. They will only look at what you can do next."

The air pressure door at the end of the corridor slowly opened, and a cool breeze rushed in. It led to the assessment preparation area, where an electronic screen on the wall was continuously updating the schedule of the reserve team members.

Scott stood in the doorway, motionless. He raised his hand and pressed a button on the side of his wristband; the blue light turned off, and he entered hidden mode.

"I don't plan to leave it on all the time," he said.

Ye Mo nodded, said nothing more, walked past him, and entered the passage.

The two walked side by side, their footsteps echoing on the metal floor. In the distance came the hum of equipment starting up, like some kind of large simulator warming up. The content of the next phase of evaluation had not yet been announced, but the atmosphere had changed—it was no longer trial and error in a laboratory, but a real selection process.

"Actually, I couldn't sleep last night," Scott suddenly spoke up again. "I kept thinking, if I really became Avengers, should I change my hairstyle? Or at least buy a decent jacket? I can't go on missions in sweatpants every time."

Ye Mo glanced at him sideways. "If you really care about your image, I suggest you change your shoes first. The soles of your running shoes are almost worn down; last time you almost got stuck in the concrete Wall Phasing."

"That was an accident!" Scott immediately retorted. "Besides, I was shrunk down and weighed less than ten pounds. Who would have thought the concrete would be so dense?"

"Didn't the system remind you?" Ye Mo raised an eyebrow.

"The system was broadcasting 'High-density obstacle detected, detour recommended,' but I had already driven in," Scott scratched his head. "At that moment, I felt... I had to trust myself and not just listen to the prompts."

Ye Mo smiled but didn't reply.

He knew what those words meant.

It's not a technological breakthrough, nor an upgrade in authority, but a shift in mindset—from relying on external feedback to trusting one's own judgment. This is the true meaning of "preparation."

At the end of the corridor was a heavy security door with the words: [Tactical Debriefing Meeting Room | Access Control Level B and Above Required].

The scanner by the door scanned the two people's identification chips, beeped twice, and then the green light came on.

Ye Mo reached out and pushed the door open; the metal hinges made a slight scraping sound.

The lights inside weren't fully on, but several screens on the table were already running, displaying battle replay interfaces waiting to load. The chairs were arranged in a semi-circle, with the center empty, as if waiting for someone to take the lead.

"They're already waiting," Ye Mo said.

Scott stood in the doorway, taking one last look at his wrist. The wristband was still black, but he knew it was working, recording, waiting for the next test.

He straightened his back and stepped inside.

Ye Mo followed behind, casually taking off his glasses and stuffing them into his hoodie pocket.

Beside the conference table, a projector began its self-test, a red dot scanning the tabletop, ready to project the first frame of the image.

The air was so quiet that you could hear the faint hum of the data stream loading.

Scott walked to his seat, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Ye Mo stood diagonally behind him, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the title that was about to pop up on the table.

[Battle Recap: Ant-Man's First Battle - Playback Ready]