Dr. Hank Pym and his daughter Hope froze in shock.
For a moment, neither of them could breathe.
Scott, trying to diffuse the awkwardness, rushed to steady Pym. "Sorry! My friend's just joking," he blurted. "He once played King Lock for my daughter's birthday party. She loved it, and ever since, he's been calling himself that."
Pym glared at him. "I only need you, Lang. Let's not involve outsiders."
But before the tension could thicken, Lock smiled easily and extended a hand toward Hope.
"Nice to meet you," he said warmly. "And don't worry about the whole 'King Lock' thing. I'm not really used to people calling me that. Just Lock is fine."
Hope smiled back, amused. It wasn't often someone talked to her father this casually. "Hello, Lock. Must be a busy job—cosplaying and entertaining kids all day?"
Lock chuckled. "It's not bad. Between fighting off a dozen aliens, killing a few supervillains, and keeping kids entertained, I manage to stay busy enough."
Hope laughed outright. "Really? With so many criminals running around, why doesn't S.H.I.E.L.D. call you in?"
He gave a casual shrug. "They're too weak. S.H.I.E.L.D. would be embarrassed to ask me."
That earned another laugh from her. "All right, 'King Lock.' Come in. Have a cup of coffee before you start saving the world again."
The two walked into the house still chatting, leaving Scott and Pym standing outside, dumbfounded.
They exchanged a look.
That was fast.
Scott felt a stab of envy. So this is how Lock does it? Just throw around some outrageous claims, and women smile at you like that?
Maybe he should try it sometime. If Lock could call himself "King," Scott figured he could always say he was the Hulk—just, you know, before transformation.
Inside, the four gathered in the living room.
While they talked, Pym noticed how naturally Scott deferred to Lock—how often he sought his opinion. It was clear Lock knew more than he let on.
Realizing he couldn't keep the man in the dark, Pym finally decided to explain everything. He told them about Darren Cross, his dangerous experiments, and the threat of his shrinking technology falling into the wrong hands.
Scott frowned. "Why not tell S.H.I.E.L.D.? Wouldn't they help?"
Pym's expression hardened. "I don't trust them," he said flatly. "They've had infiltration problems before. After the Hydra purge, no one can guarantee the agency's clean."
Lock smiled faintly but said nothing. He knew that wasn't the real reason.
Decades ago, when Howard Stark still ran S.H.I.E.L.D., the agency had tried to replicate Pym Particles without Hank's consent. It nearly ruined him.
He'd fought bitterly with Stark, Peggy Carter, and even senior agents like Mitchell Carson before resigning in fury. Since then, he'd never trusted anyone wearing that emblem.
Back then, Pym had the freedom to walk away. But now, the world was different.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s influence had grown immense—especially after Lock's arrival. With the so-called "King of Power" working alongside them, the organization had become the de facto top defense force on Earth. Its authority rivaled that of world governments, answering to no one.
Still, Lock had little interest in their politics. He only acted when the planet itself was at stake.
So when he shook his head at Pym's comment, Hope caught it immediately.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. "You think my dad's wrong?"
Lock smiled mildly. "Not wrong," he said. "But your father doesn't trust easily. It's not about what he says—it's about who he believes."
Hope crossed her arms. "And do you trust him, Dad?"
Pym didn't answer right away. "Scott is the best candidate we have," he said finally. "We don't have time to find another."
Hope nodded slowly, then gestured toward Lock. "And him?"
Lock raised his hands. "I'd love to help, but I can't exactly wear the suit."
"Why not?" Hope challenged.
He grinned. "Because if I stepped in, there wouldn't be a heist. I'd just slap Cross through a wall."
Hope rolled her eyes. "Sure. Big talk from someone who won't suit up. Sounds like an excuse to me."
"Cross has hired enhanced guards," she added. "Unless King Lock or the Avengers themselves get involved, we don't stand a chance in a fight. Stealth is our only option."
"Enough," Pym cut in sharply. "We need to focus on training Scott. The suit's been repaired. It's rough, but functional."
He opened a case and pulled out the patched Ant-Man suit. It looked battered and uneven, held together by welds and sealant.
Scott grimaced. "Uh, Dr. Pym… don't you have a spare?"
"No," Pym said curtly.
But Lock knew he was lying. There was a second prototype—a sleeker, lighter version designed for Hope. Pym had built it himself, only to lock it away. He couldn't bear the thought of his daughter risking her life.
That was why he'd gone to such lengths to recruit Scott instead.
In the adjoining room, Scott suited up again under Pym's supervision. As he fumbled through the controls, learning to manage the suit's unstable functions, Lock and Hope found themselves alone in the living room.
The silence stretched awkwardly.
Then Lock tilted his head and said, "Have you ever thought about changing your look?"
Hope frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…" He gestured vaguely. "You don't actually think this style works, do you?"
Hope's glare could've frozen lava. She wore her usual black business suit, hair cropped short, red lipstick accentuating her sharp features—a look more commanding than graceful.
Lock remembered watching the same woman years ago, in another life, on a movie screen. When she'd first appeared in Ant-Man, fans could hardly believe this severe woman was the same luminous Evangeline Lilly they knew.
It wasn't until Ant-Man and the Wasp that her natural beauty reemerged—her hair longer, her expression softer.
So now, standing before the steely corporate version of Hope, Lock couldn't help himself.
Hope's cheeks flushed. "That's none of your business!" she snapped.
Then, quieter, she added, "In the workplace, being pretty only gets you attention, not respect. I don't want to be a decoration."
Lock nodded slowly.
He understood immediately. Beautiful women in the corporate world often drew admiration, but never authority. They were courted but rarely trusted with power.
Hope Van Dyne was different—driven, intelligent, determined to be taken seriously. She'd chosen armor over charm, steel over silk.
And even though she owned shares in her father's company, she still had no real authority there.
That, Lock realized, was what truly bothered her.
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