Chapter 158: A Father with No Way Out
Bruce paused.
The glow of the Batcomputer reflected off his face.
"Then we'll need something that doesn't belong to the domains of physics or engineering."
Tony immediately understood.
"Magic?"
"Or telepathy."
Bruce nodded.
Tony crossed his arms and leaned against the console.
"Wayne."
"Be honest."
"If we somehow build this thing perfectly..."
He gestured toward the Alpha-Zero files.
"What do you honestly think the success rate is?"
Bruce answered without hesitation.
"Less than twenty percent."
Silence.
Five long seconds.
Neither man liked the answer.
Neither disagreed with it.
"But twenty percent is still better than zero."
Bruce's voice remained calm.
"Humanity needs contingencies."
"Today Lynn killed Wilson Fisk."
"Most people won't mourn Kingpin."
"He was a criminal."
"A murderer."
"A racketeer."
"A man who spent decades poisoning New York from the shadows."
Bruce looked directly at Tony.
"But what happens tomorrow?"
"What happens if he decides somebody else deserves to die?"
Tony's expression changed slightly.
He didn't answer.
Because he understood the question.
Bruce viewed the situation through the lens of responsibility.
Checks.
Balances.
Safeguards.
Tony's concerns were different.
Fear.
Pure fear.
Fear of a force that completely exceeded his ability to understand.
The image flashed through his mind again.
The World Engine.
The collapsing gravity field.
The masked man punching through Kryptonian technology capable of terraforming planets.
Then Jarvis's report.
Data overflow.
The phrase remained lodged in his brain like shrapnel.
Finally Tony exhaled.
"Fine."
"I'm in."
Bruce nodded.
"Project designation?"
Tony thought for several seconds.
Then smirked.
"Veronica."
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
"The girlfriend?"
"Ex-girlfriend."
"You have a lot of ex-girlfriends."
Tony shrugged.
"About as many as this plan has problems."
For the first time that night, the corner of Bruce's mouth moved slightly.
Not quite a smile.
Close enough.
No handshake followed.
None was necessary.
The agreement had already been made.
...
Two weeks after Wilson Fisk's death.
New York slowly settled into a new equilibrium.
The largest gang war had subsided.
The NYPD increased patrols.
The vigilantes operating across the city worked almost continuously.
Hell's Kitchen.
Harlem.
Brooklyn.
Queens.
Every neighborhood experienced temporary instability before new power structures emerged.
No new Kingpin appeared.
At least not yet.
Miracle Clinic returned to normal operations.
Or as close to normal as anything involving Lynn could be.
Heavy rain covered Manhattan that evening.
At 9:30 PM, Lynn switched off the clinic lights.
He planned to continue his Pym Particle research downstairs.
Recently he had been reviewing every piece of relevant information obtainable through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s databases.
Hank Pym's publicly published papers.
Archived academic journals.
Cold War-era intelligence reports.
Fragments of technical notes.
Most of the material was incomplete.
Useful.
But incomplete.
The truly important information existed only inside one man's head.
Hank Pym.
Founding Avenger.
Creator of Ultron.
Discoverer of Pym Particles.
One of the greatest scientific minds Earth had ever produced.
Also one of the most suspicious.
Most difficult.
Most paranoid.
Pym trusted almost nobody.
Particularly not governments.
And especially not organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D.
Obtaining Pym Particle technology directly would not be easy.
Lynn was still considering his options.
Then fate solved part of the problem for him.
10:03 PM.
The All-Seeing Eye detected movement outside the clinic.
Footsteps.
Fast.
Uneven.
A heartbeat elevated by anxiety.
Rain striking soaked clothing.
Then—
Metal scraping.
Someone was picking the lock.
Lynn raised an eyebrow.
Breaking into Miracle Clinic at night.
That was certainly a choice.
He remained silent.
Standing near the staircase.
Watching.
The lock-picking skills weren't amateur-level.
Fifteen seconds later—
Click.
The lock opened.
The front door slowly swung inward.
A drenched man stumbled inside.
Approximately 1.75 meters tall.
Gray hoodie.
Completely soaked.
Water dripped from every piece of clothing.
His face looked exhausted.
The first thing he did wasn't steal anything.
He immediately turned around and closed the door.
Then he crouched near the entrance.
Breathing heavily.
Like a man who had been running for a very long time.
Lynn already knew who he was.
Scott Lang.
Age thirty-five.
Former electrical engineer.
Former convict.
Former burglar.
Future Ant-Man.
Father.
Most importantly—
Father.
The All-Seeing Eye had already completed its assessment.
No powers.
No enhancements.
No unusual physiology.
Just a tired man carrying more desperation than strength.
Lynn deliberately allowed his footsteps to echo.
Scott jumped.
He spun around.
Then saw a man in a white coat emerging from the darkness.
Gold-rimmed glasses.
Calm expression.
Completely composed.
"The clinic is closed."
Scott froze.
"You're... Dr. Lynn?"
"It's written on the sign."
Lynn glanced toward the damaged lock.
"Why did you break my door?"
Scott opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"I..."
The words refused to come.
"I didn't come to steal."
"I swear."
His voice cracked.
Lynn watched silently.
Then Scott lowered his head.
When he spoke again, his entire body trembled.
"My daughter is dying."
The clinic became silent.
Rain struck the windows.
Water dripped from Scott's clothing onto the floor.
"My daughter is dying."
He repeated it.
As though saying the words aloud made them real.
"I've gone everywhere."
"UCSF."
"Johns Hopkins."
"Mayo Clinic."
"Cleveland Clinic."
"Everywhere."
"They don't know what's wrong."
"No treatment."
"No medication."
"No surgery."
"No answers."
His fists tightened.
"Somebody told me there was a doctor in New York who could cure anything."
"So I came."
"I took buses."
"Hitchhiked."
Borrowed money.
Slept in terminals."
His voice weakened.
"But I don't have enough."
Silence filled the room.
Lynn leaned against the reception counter.
"Where is she?"
"San Francisco."
"My ex-wife is with her."
"Medical records?"
Scott immediately produced a battered smartphone.
The screen was cracked.
The battery indicator was nearly empty.
Inside were hundreds of medical files.
Scans.
Genetic reports.
Lab analyses.
Specialist opinions.
Lynn accepted the phone.
Three seconds later, the All-Seeing Eye had processed everything.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Cassie Lang's condition wasn't conventional cellular degeneration.
The abnormalities appeared deep inside the nucleus.
At the quantum scale.
The collapse patterns followed a statistically measurable probability distribution.
The behavior resembled quantum instability.
Not disease.
Not infection.
Not cancer.
Something much stranger.
Lynn returned the phone.
"You're a thief."
Scott winced.
"Former thief."
"I'm trying to do better."
"What did you do before prison?"
"Electrical engineer."
Scott hesitated.
"Then I hacked my company's system."
"Returned stolen money to customers."
"They arrested me."
"So your actual specialty isn't burglary."
Scott looked confused.
"What?"
"Your specialty is bypassing security systems."
"...I guess."
Lynn adjusted his glasses.
The pieces were beginning to fit together.
"I can cure your daughter."
For several seconds Scott simply stared.
His brain refused to process the sentence.
Then his eyes widened.
"You can?"
"Really?"
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Scott's entire body shook.
"How much?"
"I won't do it for free."
The hope in his eyes dimmed.
Then Lynn continued.
"But I don't want money."
Scott blinked.
"What do you want?"
"I need a favor."
"I'll do anything."
Lynn looked at him.
"A company in San Francisco."
"Pym Technologies."
The moment he heard the name—
Scott froze.
Every muscle in his body locked.
Because only a few days ago, he had heard exactly the same name from another source.
A source that intended to recruit him.
A source named Hank Pym.
Lynn adjusted his glasses.
"You know it?"
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