President Ellis was on the radio crowing. "Those who continue to believe," he said, "That the most aggressive path forward is the correct path forward, that our greatest enemies are little green men and flying saucers, must reckon with the fact that every attempt this way has led to disaster."

Things weren't looking great on my other end either. "Pierce is concerned," Drama said as if stating the obvious. "But luckily, you've got Zola in your corner now."

"That's encouraging." That wasn't encouraging at all.

According to my projections, Zola would probably live another month but he'd inevitably have a nasty and grim demise as his materials were corrupted. Then, in the eyes of the heads of Hydra, I would have two massive fuckups on my hands. I would have lost a crucial factory, embarrassed myself in the public press, and lost one of the greatest minds of science and sociology and the only successfully uploaded human being.

We drove up to the site of the production facility, or what was left of it. Millions and millions spent on security, but there are limits to how much you can secure while getting workers in and out of a factory. Storage was easier. The asymmetry of shrinking tech was showing. I walked into the short stack of walls and loose debris that hadn't gotten picked up by the singularity. Shrinking singularities are remarkable bombs - They leave no traces, they disappear with their materials, they scrap months and months of productive work, and nobody can question it.

As a military application, a singularity was a lot more expensive than a normal bomb. Not particularly worthwhile - Especially when you can shrink and unshrink a normal bomb. I had a few launchers discretely placed around Stark Tower in the event of an attack for those big space whales. But there wasn't much use to it in terrestrial combat. On the bright side of this attack, I could probably pass the launchers off as research now. Say some local researcher had clustered them urgently? Yeah, that seemed likely to work.

Instead of using your own Pym Particles, setting off someone else's supply? Like igniting an oil refinery.

"I'm sorry babe," Drama said, wrapping her arms around the trunk of my chest and resting her head on my shoulder. I breathed, letting the moment pass through me. I reminded myself that this was only a moment. That I would survive it, one way or another. Nothing had been lost that couldn't be rebuilt. In ten years, I would look back on this moment and see it as a bump, a difficulty that led to many blessing. Or I would be dead and not have anything to worry about. Unless God was angry with me of course.

The claims had all been much more plausible before Hydra.

So I focused on the feeling of Drama at my side, the warmth of her body against mine even in the mid summer heat. The pleasant knowledge of her loyalty, as steady and absolute as any I would need.

"We'll survive this. It's one obstacle, that's all."

"Do you think they'll find any evidence for sabotage?"

"A bomb like this is, by nature, pretty clean," I said, my eyes giving one last glance over everything before kissing Drama's forehead. "What it does spit off - Loose Micron Particles - are exactly what you would expect at a Micron Particles production facility."

"So no?"

"We're still doing post-event interviews with employees," I said. We'd signed an NDA on all admitted information, guaranteed severance, and to hold all employees non-liable. I didn't want to be wrong about this because someone had lied to cover their own ass. "But I'm not optimistic."

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"Could the particles have self-accelerated?"

I knew it was bad when Andromeda was questioning my science. "I haven't ever seen them do anything like that - The electrical stimulation process is fairly specific."

"Gonna need to be more persuasive sounding for the congressional hearings."

I let out a long groan, "I know."

"Hey," she said, pivoting on my chest to be looking me right in the eye. "You're a sexy Benjamin Franklin. You'll get through this. What's the worst case scenario? A few years of delay on this, some setbacks in Hydra. In the long run, you'll be fine. We'll handle this obstacle."

—

Never underestimate the benefits of catching people off their guard.

"Mr. Pym," I said politely as I sidled up next to Hank Pym in the grocery store.

Hank Pym looked at me and, for just a moment, his eyes dilated. But he tamped it down very quickly, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

I wasn't quite famous enough that the question wasn't credible, but it was a near thing under the best of circumstances. For the designer of Pym Particles, it was a joke. "Oh, I imagine you do," I said, leaning down and opening a package of eggs to check it for cracks. "After all, I was the first to crack shrinking particles since the seventies."

"Shrinking particles? I think I read about those in Wired," he said, beginning to move away.

"Mr. Pym, I'm here because I'm worried about your safety."

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned around and stared straight into my eyes, "Is that a threat?"

I held up my hands in surrender, egg crate now held aloft like an ancient sacrifice in one hand. "Not at all," I said. "My factory… imploded."

"Did it?" Pym said, as if surprised. But it didn't reach his eyes properly.

"I was then assaulted by a shrunken person. I didn't think that was possible, but somebody else must have cracked it. And as a courtesy I thought I should warn you. If they came for me, they might come for you."

That caught him off guard. It was a lie, of course, but we hadn't found any suspicious financial activity in anyone from the factory, so an Ant-Man was the best option on the table. As I watched his eyes, I could see the concern set in. "You're lying," he said after several moments.

He was right, of course, but I was quite sure I wasn't displaying any tells. "Mr. Pym, I'm a patriot, and I appreciate your service to our country. There's not much more to it than that."

"You're a thief," he said. "You stole my work. That's how you knew to warn me. Now someone's stolen from you and you've endangered the world."

I thought to myself that stuff isn't yours because you had a good idea forty years ago, but what I said was, "So help me protect myself and the world."

"It's easy. Somebody's trying to send you a message about that. Stop making Pym Particles."

"No."

"Then I don't have anything else to say to you."

He turned and left me standing there, holding these eggs I didn't want to buy. I put them up gently. We'd watch Hank, see if he got into contact with his new Ant-Man, whoever that was. Give him a week or two to rethink my offer. I hadn't wanted to kill Hank Pym. He was a cranky old codger, who'd held humanity back by his paranoia, but that didn't mean he deserved to die. But if he wouldn't reconsider this vendetta, it looked like I might have to vanish him.