Become a Homelander and a Marvel superstar

All of this was transmitted in real time to Hank Pym, who was hiding in a dark room.

He was sitting in front of a row of monitors. The images on the screens were divided into several small squares, with extremely peculiar perspectives, all taken from low angles, either from the ground or a corner of a wall.

Those were live feeds from the ant cameras he had set up throughout the house.

Old Pym watched as Scott expertly cracked the alarm, created fingerprints, used low temperatures to blast open the warehouse door, and finally stuffed the Ant-Man suit into his bag.

A satisfied smile appeared on his lips.

"This kid is really skilled; his infiltration techniques are practically perfect. Hopefully, he'll perform just as well in the combat suit."

Suddenly, a dark shadow appeared in the second surveillance camera view located in the upper right corner of the screen.

Those were feet wearing tactical military boots.

Old Pym sat bolt upright, his brow furrowed. His fingers flew across the keyboard, switching between the different viewpoints of the ant camera.

The image was transmitted back.

Three fully armed men silently infiltrated the villa's first-floor corridor.

They were dressed in uniform black tactical combat suits, wore night vision goggles, and carried compact submachine guns equipped with silencers. Their tactical movements were clean and efficient, and they advanced towards the basement entrance while providing mutual cover.

"Who are these people?!"

Old Pym's face turned ashen.

Scott's infiltration was orchestrated by him, but these heavily armed mercenaries were definitely not part of his plan!

Judging from their equipment and tactical skills, these people were definitely not ordinary thieves. They had a clear objective and acted swiftly, clearly aiming for the basement vault.

"Darren?" Old Pym's mind raced, and he immediately guessed. "But how did he know the suit was hidden here?!"

As the group of mercenaries approached, Old Pym broke out in a cold sweat.

Although Scott was a clever thief, he was absolutely no match for a group of professional killers.

He quickly grabbed the phone and dialed the police number.

"This is 804 Millville Street. Armed thugs have broken into my house! They are armed with automatic weapons! Send police immediately!"

After hanging up the phone, Old Pym stared intently at the monitor screen, but there was nothing he could do now; Scott wasn't wearing his helmet and there was no way to contact him.

"Scott, run..."

……

In the basement.

Scott zipped up his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, dusted off his hands, and turned to leave the vault.

He had just stepped onto the stairs and reached the corner of the first-floor staircase when he suddenly caught a faint sound of leather rubbing against each other.

The alertness honed in prison and the underworld made Scott immediately stop and crouch down to find cover.

He cautiously peeked out and saw red laser sights scanning the room.

"Damn it! Someone's here." Scott cursed inwardly. "Louis, is there any movement outside?" he whispered into the communicator.

"Everything's fine, man. Not even a stray cat," Louis replied.

"Damn it, they came in through the back door."

Scott's heart sank. He only had a power drill, while the other party clearly had a gun.

Three mercenaries descended the stairs in a triangular formation. The leader, wearing night vision goggles, immediately spotted Scott hiding behind a bookshelf and the bulging backpack on his back.

"Target spotted. He got the item," the mercenary whispered into his throat microphone.

No warnings, no nonsense.

He picked up the submachine gun equipped with a silencer and pulled the trigger directly.

"Puff puff puff puff puff!"

A volley of bullets grazed Scott's nose, shattering the siding behind him. Splinters of wood flew and hit Scott in the face.

"Damn it!"

Scott reacted quickly; he immediately rolled forward, grabbed a vase stand at the corner of the stairs, and slammed it down on the mercenary at the front.

The heavy wooden frame slammed into the mercenary's chest, causing him to stagger back two steps.

Scott seized the opportunity to rush up the stairs to the second floor and escape.

But he underestimated the reaction speed of these professional killers.

The other two mercenaries quickly dispersed, one of them stepping up the stairs and delivering a powerful front kick to Scott's abdomen.

The immense force sent Scott flying backward, crashing heavily back onto the ground floor.

"Cough!"

Scott coughed up a mouthful of acid, feeling as if his internal organs had shifted.

Before he could even get up, the mercenary he had hit with the flower stand rushed over, grabbed the backpack strap on his back, and yanked hard.

The backpack's shoulder strap broke, and the backpack containing the Ant-Man suit was stolen by mercenaries.

"Got the stuff." The mercenary opened his backpack zipper, glanced inside, and nodded to his companion.

Two other mercenaries stepped forward, one on each side, raising their submachine guns and pointing the dark muzzles directly at Scott's head.

"Get rid of him, retreat." The mercenary who had snatched the backpack coldly issued the execution order.

Scott lay on the ground, staring blankly at the two gun barrels about to spit fire.

"Is that all?"

He hasn't won custody of Cathy yet, and he doesn't want to die in this dark, moldy basement.

Driven by the instinct of humans facing death, Scott desperately closed his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his head and face.

Just as the mercenary's finger was about to pull the trigger...

Scott felt a sudden burning sensation on the skin close to his chest.

Then, something incredible happened.

The metal pendant that the man named Daniel had given him in the bar transformed into a mass of liquid metal that flowed like mercury, spreading like lightning along Scott's skin to his crossed arms.

"Buzz—!"

With a slight, high-frequency vibrating sound.

The liquid metal covering Scott's arms expanded outwards instantly.

In one-tenth of a second,

A metal disc, about half a meter in diameter and with a smooth, mirror-like surface, appeared in front of Scott's arm.

"Puff puff puff puff puff!"

The mercenary emptied his magazine, and deadly bullets followed in quick succession.

"Clang clang clang clang clang clang!"

A series of densely packed bullets struck the mirror surface, sparking sparks, before being deflected.

The gunfire stopped.

The mercenary stared in disbelief at the empty magazine.

What the hell is this thing?!

Scott opened his eyes and stared in astonishment at the metallic disc on his arm.

Before he could figure it out, the mirrored disc melted back into liquid mercury, quickly contracted, flowed back down his arm to his chest, and transformed back into the quiet pendant.

"Fire! Change magazines and fire!" The lead mercenary roared as he reacted.