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Cross Technologies.
Future Lab.
"Gentlemen, I'm not trying to tease you," Darren Cross began, his voice dripping with confidence. "But I must issue a sincere warning. If anyone here has heart issues or high blood pressure, you might want to excuse yourself now because what you're about to witness will truly blow your mind."
"Are you ready?" he continued, his tone grandiose as he addressed the sharply dressed men standing nearby. His every word carried the weight of someone convinced they were unveiling a game-changing masterpiece.
"Cross, let's hope your product is as impressive as you claim," one of the men quipped. He was an older gentleman with graying hair and glasses, his scholarly demeanor radiating skepticism. Adjusting his frames, he spoke in a measured, deliberate tone.
"Murphy, let me correct you—it's not a claim; it's a fact," Darren replied sharply, raising a finger to punctuate his retort. Without waiting for a response, he strode to a small safe where the Yellowjacket Suit was securely stored.
"Prepare to witness a miracle," he declared, flashing a grin as he entered the access code. The safe clicked open, and the Yellowjacket Suit emerged, its sleek design gleaming under the pristine white light of the lab.
With a flourish, Darren retrieved the suit from its compartment. But as soon as it was in his hands, something felt… wrong.
The suit was lighter than expected. Its texture was subtly different, almost uncomfortably so. Darren frowned slightly but quickly dismissed his unease. This was no time for doubts. Brushing off his initial hesitation, he adjusted his posture and pressed a prominent button on the suit's chest to activate it.
Nothing happened.
His confident smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. He pressed the button again, harder this time. Still, nothing.
A cold wave of dread crept over him. Darren brought the suit closer, inspecting it with growing alarm. The sheen, the craftsmanship—it looked perfect. But something was undeniably wrong. Before he could dig deeper into the mystery—
'Wait!' Darren's mind raced, his thoughts spiraling into chaos as his trembling hands tightened around the hollow shell of the suit. The horrifying realization struck him like a thunderclap. 'It's a fake.'
The Yellowjacket Suit—his company's crown jewel, the core of Cross Technologies' future—had been stolen.
"How?" Darren whispered, his voice barely audible as he staggered back, his breath shallow. His mind reeled, searching for answers that weren't there. Someone had infiltrated his secure facility, outsmarted his systems, and made off with the real suit.
"Cross?" Murphy's voice cut through Darren's spiraling thoughts like a knife.
He looked up to find Murphy's sharp, questioning gaze locked on him. The other buyers were staring, too, their expressions shifting from curiosity to suspicion as they sensed something was amiss.
"Gentlemen, I… I'm afraid our demonstration ends here," Darren stammered, forcing a strained smile onto his face. Panic clawed at the edges of his composure, but he did his best to mask it. "I realize now that I'm not yet ready to part with this product."
"Are you messing with us, Cross?" Murphy demanded his tone cold and edged with irritation.
The other buyers murmured in agreement, their earlier excitement now replaced with frustration and doubt. Darren had built up their expectations and promised them a revolutionary product, only to pull the rug out from under them.
"Please, gentlemen, I understand your frustration," Darren said, raising his hands in an attempt to calm them. His voice, though shaken, carried a note of urgency. "As compensation, I'll offer a five percent discount on all ongoing orders. That's a significant sum, as you're well aware."
The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
The buyers exchanged skeptical glances, weighing Darren's offer. Money talks and a discount of that magnitude was no trivial gesture. Slowly, begrudgingly, they nodded in agreement, their displeasure softening into reluctant acceptance.
"Fine, Cross," Murphy relented, though his tone was laced with frustration. "But don't pull a stunt like this again. If the money's right, we'll be back."
With that, the buyers began filing out, their earlier excitement replaced by wariness and restrained annoyance. Darren forced a strained smile and nodded. "Sean, see our guests out," he ordered curtly, not even glancing at his assistant.
As soon as the lab doors closed and the last guest was gone, Darren's carefully maintained façade shattered.
*Crash!*
Darren hurled the fake Yellowjacket Suit to the ground with a guttural roar. The counterfeit shattered upon impact, fragments skidding across the pristine lab floor.
"Damn it!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating off the sterile walls. Frustration surged through him like a wildfire as he began kicking the scattered pieces, each blow more furious than the last, until a sharp pain shot through his leg, forcing him to stop. Breathing heavily, he stumbled backward and slumped against the cold metal wall. His chest heaved, and the throbbing ache in his leg barely registered in the storm of his thoughts.
As his anger ebbed, it was replaced by a cold, steely focus. His mind raced, dissecting the impossible.
"How?" he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice low but trembling with suppressed rage. "How did someone bypass my security system?"
Cross had designed that system himself, pouring his brilliance into its construction. It was supposed to be impenetrable, a flawless masterpiece of technology and foresight. No ordinary thief could have breached it—not without setting off alarms or leaving a trace.
However, how the theft happened was a secondary concern. What truly mattered was who had done it. Darren Cross's expression darkened as a single name forced its way into his thoughts, unbidden yet undeniable.
'Hank Pym'
The very man who had pioneered the Pym Particle and the revolutionary technology behind the suit. Hank Pym wasn't just a brilliant scientist—he was also one of the few people who even knew about the Yellowjacket Suit's existence. He had every reason to want it back, along with the expertise to orchestrate a heist of this magnitude.
Darren's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as a fiery rage surged within him. "It has to be him," he muttered, the words dripping with venom.
This wasn't just about a stolen prototype. This was personal. The theft was a direct affront to Darren's pride, his genius, and his vision for Cross Technologies.
In his mind, there was no question about it now. Hank Pym had stolen what was rightfully his.
Darren clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as his anger solidified into a singular, unyielding resolve. "This is your doing, Hank," he growled, his voice low and menacing, each word sharper than the last.
"You think you've won? Think again. No one steals from me and gets away with it."
Darren vowed then and there that whoever was responsible—whether it was Hank Pym or someone working under his orders—would face the full weight of his wrath.
"This isn't over," he hissed, his gaze burning with hatred. "Not by a long shot."
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Next Chapter: Spectacular Powers and Astonishing Escapes
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