Post by HoM on Jun 19, 2019 11:45:27 GMT -5
With the aid of his own inventions, including the astounding Pym Particles, HENRY PYM devotes his life to the cause of science and using it as a weapon to defend the innocent as the ANT-MAN! With his good friends BILL FOSTER and JANET VAN DYNE at his side, these are his…
Astonishing Tales!
Issue #3: "Madness and Sorrow"
Written by: Don Walsh
Cover by: Borize
Edited by: Patrick J. Nestor, Jr.
“And here it is, Maria,” Gregory Pym said with a flourish as he led the willowy brunette Maria Trovaya into his laboratory. “State of the art, and humming with experiments.” He gave her a broad smile as he waved his arm to indicate the brightly lit room filled with advanced equipment.
“This is certainly impressive, Greg,” Maria said in that soft, accented voice of hers, sweet like honey flowing from the full red lips that so attracted him. He was slowly encouraging her into clothing that flattered her rather than hid her, and she felt very much like the center of his world, even if he was showing off his private domain. “How did you accomplish this?”
“Various grants, a few patents here and there, a pair of very useful contracts from firms, where I was able to streamline and upgrade prototypes,” Greg listed off. He was casually dressed, letting his lean but athletic physique show off beneath the thin white shirt. He looped an arm around hers and escorted her alongside various counters and ticked off what he had, each time keeping her between him and the item, working hard to make her feel like she was the attraction, not his equipment.
Maria leaned into Greg as he led her around, listening to all he explained and looking over what he displayed and smiling the whole time. He's so like Henry, she thought as the tour continued. But he's looking at me, not his tools. So sure of himself, so strong.
Her contented smile made Gregory wrap the arm around her waist instead as they turned a corner and cheer inwardly at his success.
“This here is the centerpiece of my current research,” he stated as he pointed to a glass cylinder that stood from floor to ceiling, with various projectors pointed at different points along its length. Various banks of generators and carefully aligned meters couched the whole apparatus. “I believe there is a force of energy that accounts for many of the reports of UFOs, missing time, holy visions, that sort of thing. I am trying to create conditions that would generate an appearance. Because I believe that it is...external to our three-dimensional space. I like to call it 'the Radiance.'”
“How lovely. Poetic even,” Maria cooed as she rested her head against his shoulder and bue eyes glittering with excitement as she started to think about what he was telling her.
Greg chuckled and praised himself inwardly. He knew that such a name would just tickle Maria's fancy. He remembered that about her, that romantic side deep inside, the one Hank had somehow touched, but never utilized. “I think I'm close, but there are certain equations that have escaped me so far.”
“Maybe I can help?” Maria offered hopefully, looking up at his face as she leaned into him. “I have a book I...acquired. In my travels in Europe after leaving Henry, from a physicist working on something similar. I think anyway. I have the book in my bag back at the house.”
“You do? Really?” Greg feigned shock at the news. “There's nothing about you getting this book I should know about, is there?” Not that Greg cared, but he played his part well and watched her blue eyes dart to the side in response.
“No. No. It was...an errand. For my father, who has a stake in Professor Cayce's work. It's...all good.” Maria felt her heart shrivel up a bit, and hated the work she did for her father, the work that drove her from Henry in the first place.
“Well then, Maria, I'd love to look over these notes. They'd be a big, big help, if you're right.” He gave her a big hug and started to walk her to the exit. “You're more than just an inspiration for my work now, Maria. Now you'll be the reason for my success.”
Maria continued to look away guiltily as she clung to Greg Pym, and missed the way his smile slipped into a self-serving, some might even say cruel, smirk of success. Soon, Hank. Soon I'll have your reputation for brilliance. I'll outstrip your successes. And hell, I'll have your woman. It took a lot to keep from laughing out loud at the thought as his hand rested on the small of Maria's slim back
It was that nebulous period of time when the evening’s purples had nearly faded away, but actual night-time activity had yet to truly begin. David Cannon crept up to the rear of the rented building, figuring this to be the most opportune moment to strike. This neighborhood was well-patrolled, so he needed to strike before the police began their passes in force. The scientists were gone home for the night, Pym and Foster he’d been told were their names. Cannon didn’t care about that. All he cared about was remembering what he’d been told to look for, what to slip away into the dark night with, what would make him better than the insect man that fouled up his romance with Jan, dear Jan.
And so now, David Cannon had picked and jimmied and crept his way into the building itself, shining the small light around to get a sense of his location, where he needed to go next. He moved down the hall, steadily, stealthily. Despite the adrenalin roaring in his ears and pounding through his heart, Cannon forced himself to keep calm and go slow and steady. He had time, he had the skill, he didn’t have to rush this. He made his way to the storage area, and combed over the shelves, peering through rows of vials, slides, boxes, containers of all sorts and sizes, until they fell on the cylinder he’d been looking for. He examined the half-dozen metallic cylinders, each a foot long, each labeled “PP-1a”. He grinned and slipped one of the cylinders out of the case containing them, and was surprised to notice the considerable heft. He wasn’t sure what these “Pym Particles” were, but he’d been imagining a gas, and how heavy could gas be? This though, he figured, must have weight five or six pounds at least.
“Hey! Who’s there?” Bill Foster demanded to know as the lights in the building flared to life and caught David Cannon just rising from his crouch. The criminal spun around and pointed the penlight at the scientist, an insignificant illumination under the circumstances. “Wait, you’re that driver of Jan’s,” Foster realized as he marched over towards the criminal. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Without saying a word, Cannon lashed out at Bill, taking several long strides and bringing the cylinder down in a powerful arc to crack against the side of Bill’s head. With a crack of metal on bone and a deep groan and shudder from the broad-shouldered target, Bill crashed to the floor.
“I’ve been made!” Cannon snapped out into the air, it seemed. A slight crackle from a button on his light jacket, however, indicated that he was not as alone as it seemed.
“It doesn’t matter,” Elihas Starr replied. “If you have the cylinder, bring it back, quickly! It won’t matter, their knowing you stole it. Not really. Not in the long run.” He cackled a bit, and then cut off communication with his lackey, leaving Cannon to backtrack out of the lab, leaving Bill Foster laying face down, blood seeping from his wound.
It was over an hour before Henry Pym returned to the lab after his interviews. He and Bill were going to head out for dinner after Hank had talked to the personal trainers, and talk out the best option. Henry was almost disappointed that his friend seemed as gung-ho over this Ant-Man business as Janet, but he also made several good points. So Hank stepped back into the lab and flipped on the lights to find his friend laying face down on the floor.
Hank dashed over to Bill and gently checked on him, finding a pulse, and seeing him breathing. With a sigh of relief, Hank then pulled out his cell phone and called for an ambulance, and then the police. The rest of the night was a blur as the paramedics rushed Bill off to the hospital and police barraged the harried scientist with questions, and all involved searched out the lab to see what might be stolen. It didn’t take Hank long to uncover the missing cylinders of Pym particles, duly reported to the detectives at the scene, and it didn’t take the police long to find the rear entrance had been jimmied open. The police dug for clues, and then were off, with Hank heading to the hospital, unsure about whether to worry Jan with the news or not. Finally, he entered her phone number and took a deep breath, steeling himself for the report.
Abraham Brown was relaxing in his apartment, feet kicked up on the coffee table and a beer in one hand as he flipped through the channels on his television. It was a dull night, and he stifled a yawn before he sipped from the bottle. He shook his head and turned off the television. Just as he was about to stand, his phone rang, and Brown looked at the device in surprise. He stomped over and plucked the handset up off the cradle. “Yeah, Brown here. Speak your piece.”
He listened to the voice on the other end of the line and grew more agitated. He took a long pull from the bottle of beer before slapping it down on the table. He nodded and his face grew more sour-looking.
“Thanks, Pat. I got it from here.” He dropped the phone back into place and quickly looked around to find his coat. Snatching the leather jacket up and sliding it over his shoulders, Abraham Brown then quickly left the dingy, disheveled apartment with a slam of the door. Outside, he glanced in all directions before hunching into his jacket and heading off towards the hospital. The anger in his chest reflected off of the jade amulet under his shirt, causing it to grow warm and anxious, in return feeding the energy welling up in the young man.
It had been a couple of days since the robbery, and David Cannon was getting antsy. Upon his arrival, the dome-headed maniac who was keeping him safely out of sight snatched the cylinders, chuckled gleefully and then locked himself into his lab. Since then, only occasional intercom-passed comments to calm down, relax and play his games came from Elihas Starr. David played the video games for a while, but it wasn’t his thing. He read, but that was less his thing than playing video games. He wanted to get a move on, but he knew that the heat was on, and that this crackpot had a plan. So he paced and he waited and he kept himself fit…and waited some more.
It seemed like so much more than forty-eight hours when the lab door open and Starr beckoned Cannon to go in and join him. But that’s all it was, and Cannon approached the weary but elated looking mad scientist. He wore his rumpled clothes that Cannon quickly realized hadn’t been changed since they’d last seen each other. But he sat before two syringes filled with what looked like a clear gel.
“Ahh, my dear David,” Elihas said with a self-satisfied tone. “I am forced to admit that this Pym is a genius. These particles and their inherent versatility are astounding! He’s…nearly as brilliant as me, I must admit.”
“If you’re smarter, why did you have to steal this junk from him, then?” Cannon asked, without really thinking about how the words came out.
From behind the think, round glasses, Elihas’s beady eyes darkened, and his face burned red with anger. He drummed stubby fingers over the table’s surface, hard and repeatedly as he stared up at Cannon.
“Needless to say, in merely forty-eight hours of work, I have isolated the particles you acquired into two samples,” Starr continued, his voice less elated, and demonstrably irritated as he explained. “One for you, to enhance physical traits, the other for myself.”
“What’s yours do?” Cannon asked as he stared at the two syringes.
“It will elevate my already substantial cerebral capacity.” Starr saw the vacant look in Cannon’s eyes and added, “It will make me smarter.”
Cannon was just about to ask why, if he was already a genius, but the already upset voice from Starr managed to convince him otherwise. Why should it matter to me? If this stuff did what the egghead was saying, that’s all that mattered, Cannon mused silently. He grinned a bit at the thought of crushing Ant-Man under his boot and rescuing his Jan from the bug’s terrifying clutches.
“Sounds great to me, boss,” Cannon said instead. “So, when do we shoot up?”
“No better time than the present, Mr. Cannon,” Egghead chuckled as he passed one syringe to the thug before reaching for his own syringe. He held it up like a wine glass and tittered and said,” Cheers!” before plunging it into his arm.
Ant-Man was hard at work now, riding one of his ants miles and miles above the surface of the world, clambering up the side of the building. Well, it seemed like miles and miles, and Hank had to keep his eyes focused upwards and not think of the height. Instead, his mind rolled back over the last couple of days. Bill had been unconscious for the first part of that time, but awoke to find his room full of friends. He looked over at Janet, who was seated next to him and holding his hand, and then to the other side, where Hank stood next to Abe Brown, Bill's friend from back in the old neighborhood.
The ant finally crawled up onto the ledge as dictated by Hank’s directions. Hank clung to the astounding creature as it resisted the powerful winds and slowly worked its way into the vent of an air conditioner, finally giving Hank a chance to stand on his own two feet. He looked up at the alien-looking steed and tentatively stroked its head. “Thanks a lot, pal,” Hank said, still unnerved at looking up into the creature, but slowly becoming more accustomed to the bizarre sight.
Quickly, Hank moved through the ductwork and dropped down the twelve feet of distance from ceiling to plush floor. The leap was huge to Hank’s perspective of course, but his unique physiology handled the landing with little effort. He bent low at the knees and sprang upwards, propelling himself onto the mahogany desk belonging to the lawyer Lassiter, and his mind went back in time again.
Bill had identified David Cannon as the perpetrator, but Jan, Hank and Bill were all positive David couldn’t know that Hank was Ant-Man. Coincidence was at work, and Bill had gone finding Cannon’s lawyer. With that name, it was up to Hank to find out who had hired Lassiter in the first place. Not Hank…Ant-Man.
Ant-Man turned on the computer, and approached they keyboard. He stepped onto a key, then leaped over to the next. Then he started to have fun, springing from key to key, typing in a surreal manner until he finished and stepped back to read the screen.
“Cannpb. Eavuf,” Ant-Man read the name he ‘typed’ into the screen and sighed. “Okay, fine. I need to work on my aim.” He jumped a few times on the backspace key, and then pressed the name ‘Cannon, David’ more carefully this time.
Ant-Man worked his way through the file, and found the retainer for his services came from ‘Egghead Enterprises’, which made the diminutive hero pause and muse over the information. A computer software firm, noted for their troubleshooters. He had read something else about them, but what? He shook his head and went back to work on the keyboard, going online and looking up the company. What would have taken perhaps an hour of searching out news reports and legal documents and electronic “paper trails” turned into two hours, but Ant-Man couldn’t be sure that there wasn’t a camera or more in the room, and didn’t want to become larger and more visible. At last, he’d acquired the name of the principal owner, one Elihas Starr, and things became much clearer to the vigilante. He turned off the computer and headed out to his faithful steed, the enthusiasm and joy of his powers now taking a back seat to the clenched jaw and grave concern.
“Okay, so we have a name, and perhaps a real clue as to what’s going on,” Bill said as he closed up his cell phone and looked over to his friend.
Abraham Brown was a tall man, over six feet in height, with broad shoulders but lanky, almost gangly looking. Despite that, he moved very gracefully, much more gracefully than would be expected of the look of his demeanor and the look of his body. He sipped at the beer in his hand and looked back at Bill Foster. They ran together years ago, growing up in the same tenement and they got into all sorts of scrapes and screw ups. Never had either man let the other down. Despite Bill’s climb out of the ghetto and Abe’s refusal to leave it, that would never change.
“What’s the name?” Brown asked and drank long from the bottle in his hand. Bill could only chuckle at the sight of it, here in this sterile, guarded environment.
“Elihas Starr. He used to be the top researcher for Count Trovaya,” Bill explained, leaning back into the hospital bed. His head was still bandaged and moving too quickly still made things move out of step with his vision, but he refused to be slowed down at this point. “Trovaya fired him about three months before helping to Vernon fund us.”
“Fired? Why?”
“Count wouldn’t say. Just said that Starr was cheating on his research or funding or something. He was close-mouthed about it. Like a lot of things the count doesn’t like talking about,” Bill added, his face growing agitated.
“So any idea where Starr is?” Abe asked as he finished up the beer.
“No. None. There was nothing Hank could dig up.”
“I’ll get my guys on it,” Abe said and stood up. “We should be able to dig up something for you. How bad is this stuff they’ve boosted?” He looked at his old friend with just a trace of worry, far too good at holding in emotion to let more show, or to tip off to Bill just how much he hated this sci-fi garbage.
“On its own…not bad at all,” Bill answered, but then admitted, “but if Starr is any sort of scientist, he could figure out uses for it given time. Mind you, we’ve got time. I can’t imagine anyone being able to make something of it in less than a week, and that’s…that’s being obsessed over it. Should take longer, really.”
“Right,” Was all Abe replied as he again felt the burning from the amulet against his skin. His territory was in danger. He held back the growl that rose instinctively at the back of his throat. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something, Bill.”
“Be careful out there,” Bill said as he watched Abraham Brown stalk out of the door and close it behind him. With what he’d learned from Hank, he was very glad that Jan was with her father, and with more security. He closed his eyes and let her image cross his mind. She’d be at her desk, right now. Pecking away at her keyboard, and he chuckled as he saw it. Hunt and peck. She never had learned proper typing.
Instead, she pecked at the keyboard, and glanced at the financial statement and sighed. Numbers looked good, but she wasn’t getting the growth she’d been hoping for. She leaned back into her chair and sipped at a glass of water. She looked up at the door, her blue eyes relaxing when she saw her father enter. He carried a bag with him, and held it up to her.
“Dinner time!” Vernon van Dyne called out with a smile and settled down at the other side of the desk from her. “Hope you don’t mind Italian, dear.” He pulled out trays of stuffed shells and garlic bread and plastic utensils, setting it all up for them both.
“Sounds yummy, Dad,” Janet said as she realized how hungry she was. “Hank called earlier, and they have some leads, so I’m sure we’ll have everything taken care of soon.” She grabbed the plastic fork and jabbed it greedily into the pasta. “Of course, this means I’ll have an extra thirty minutes of cardio-bar tomorrow.” She laughed and chewed at the food.
“I think you can spare it, Jan,” Vernon replied as he too started to eat. “I’m glad to hear that we’ll have that maniac put back where he belongs. I swear, I’ve never been so frightened than the other day.”
The winds were buffeting the windows hard, Jan noticed as she continued to eat. The panes were rattling hard, and she spoke up to be heard clearly, “Well, you worry too much. I can take care of myself, after all.”
Vernon looked up to meet his daughter’s gaze, but instead looked past to the window, that shook harder and harder. He could see the wind outside, spinning debris in a cone, and then, unbelievably, a man rose slowly up inside that cyclone. He was a spinning blur of deep dark green and blond.
“Janet! Get out of the way!” Vernon cried out as he dashed around the desk toward his daughter. Just as he moved her from her seat, the window exploded inward, razor-sharp shards and splinters of glass slicing through the area as the strange man spun into the room and landed on the desk, scattering food and computer components and papers everywhere.
Vernon was huddled over Janet, several wicked looking shards jabbed into his back, and he looked up at the newcomer. “You? How?”
David Cannon looked down, hate-filled eyes staring at yet another man between him and his beloved. He jumped down from the desk to the floor and grabbed the back of Vernon’s collar. “Yeah, me. Only more than just me. Don’t worry, lover,” He called down to Janet as his arm hefted Vernon off of her. “David Cannon was too weak to protect you, but Whirlwind…Whirlwind will keep you safe from everyone!” He casually flung the old man to the side and his other arm swept down to scoop Janet up off the floor.
Janet stared in shock at David’s face, the wild blond hair fluttering about him, his whole body now harder than ever before. A scream of horror grabbed her focus and she twisted her head to look over in time to see Vernon fall past the broken window and out of sight.
“NOOOO!” She screamed, not believing what was happening.
“Oh yes, love,” Whirlwind said as he dragged her over to the shattered window. “This could be tough on you if you stay up, so here. Keep quiet while I save you.” He jammed a cloth into her face, and she struggled briefly, but her eyes fluttered close and she went limp. “Trust me. You don’t want to be awake for this.” And he stepped out of the window as well. But unlike Vernon, he began to spin at tremendous speeds, and using the winds to lower him gently from the security that was even now bursting into Janet van Dyne’s devastated office.
Astonishing Tales!
Issue #3: "Madness and Sorrow"
Written by: Don Walsh
Cover by: Borize
Edited by: Patrick J. Nestor, Jr.
Act I: Hidden Hatreds Hurt!
“And here it is, Maria,” Gregory Pym said with a flourish as he led the willowy brunette Maria Trovaya into his laboratory. “State of the art, and humming with experiments.” He gave her a broad smile as he waved his arm to indicate the brightly lit room filled with advanced equipment.
“This is certainly impressive, Greg,” Maria said in that soft, accented voice of hers, sweet like honey flowing from the full red lips that so attracted him. He was slowly encouraging her into clothing that flattered her rather than hid her, and she felt very much like the center of his world, even if he was showing off his private domain. “How did you accomplish this?”
“Various grants, a few patents here and there, a pair of very useful contracts from firms, where I was able to streamline and upgrade prototypes,” Greg listed off. He was casually dressed, letting his lean but athletic physique show off beneath the thin white shirt. He looped an arm around hers and escorted her alongside various counters and ticked off what he had, each time keeping her between him and the item, working hard to make her feel like she was the attraction, not his equipment.
Maria leaned into Greg as he led her around, listening to all he explained and looking over what he displayed and smiling the whole time. He's so like Henry, she thought as the tour continued. But he's looking at me, not his tools. So sure of himself, so strong.
Her contented smile made Gregory wrap the arm around her waist instead as they turned a corner and cheer inwardly at his success.
“This here is the centerpiece of my current research,” he stated as he pointed to a glass cylinder that stood from floor to ceiling, with various projectors pointed at different points along its length. Various banks of generators and carefully aligned meters couched the whole apparatus. “I believe there is a force of energy that accounts for many of the reports of UFOs, missing time, holy visions, that sort of thing. I am trying to create conditions that would generate an appearance. Because I believe that it is...external to our three-dimensional space. I like to call it 'the Radiance.'”
“How lovely. Poetic even,” Maria cooed as she rested her head against his shoulder and bue eyes glittering with excitement as she started to think about what he was telling her.
Greg chuckled and praised himself inwardly. He knew that such a name would just tickle Maria's fancy. He remembered that about her, that romantic side deep inside, the one Hank had somehow touched, but never utilized. “I think I'm close, but there are certain equations that have escaped me so far.”
“Maybe I can help?” Maria offered hopefully, looking up at his face as she leaned into him. “I have a book I...acquired. In my travels in Europe after leaving Henry, from a physicist working on something similar. I think anyway. I have the book in my bag back at the house.”
“You do? Really?” Greg feigned shock at the news. “There's nothing about you getting this book I should know about, is there?” Not that Greg cared, but he played his part well and watched her blue eyes dart to the side in response.
“No. No. It was...an errand. For my father, who has a stake in Professor Cayce's work. It's...all good.” Maria felt her heart shrivel up a bit, and hated the work she did for her father, the work that drove her from Henry in the first place.
“Well then, Maria, I'd love to look over these notes. They'd be a big, big help, if you're right.” He gave her a big hug and started to walk her to the exit. “You're more than just an inspiration for my work now, Maria. Now you'll be the reason for my success.”
Maria continued to look away guiltily as she clung to Greg Pym, and missed the way his smile slipped into a self-serving, some might even say cruel, smirk of success. Soon, Hank. Soon I'll have your reputation for brilliance. I'll outstrip your successes. And hell, I'll have your woman. It took a lot to keep from laughing out loud at the thought as his hand rested on the small of Maria's slim back
AT3
It was that nebulous period of time when the evening’s purples had nearly faded away, but actual night-time activity had yet to truly begin. David Cannon crept up to the rear of the rented building, figuring this to be the most opportune moment to strike. This neighborhood was well-patrolled, so he needed to strike before the police began their passes in force. The scientists were gone home for the night, Pym and Foster he’d been told were their names. Cannon didn’t care about that. All he cared about was remembering what he’d been told to look for, what to slip away into the dark night with, what would make him better than the insect man that fouled up his romance with Jan, dear Jan.
And so now, David Cannon had picked and jimmied and crept his way into the building itself, shining the small light around to get a sense of his location, where he needed to go next. He moved down the hall, steadily, stealthily. Despite the adrenalin roaring in his ears and pounding through his heart, Cannon forced himself to keep calm and go slow and steady. He had time, he had the skill, he didn’t have to rush this. He made his way to the storage area, and combed over the shelves, peering through rows of vials, slides, boxes, containers of all sorts and sizes, until they fell on the cylinder he’d been looking for. He examined the half-dozen metallic cylinders, each a foot long, each labeled “PP-1a”. He grinned and slipped one of the cylinders out of the case containing them, and was surprised to notice the considerable heft. He wasn’t sure what these “Pym Particles” were, but he’d been imagining a gas, and how heavy could gas be? This though, he figured, must have weight five or six pounds at least.
“Hey! Who’s there?” Bill Foster demanded to know as the lights in the building flared to life and caught David Cannon just rising from his crouch. The criminal spun around and pointed the penlight at the scientist, an insignificant illumination under the circumstances. “Wait, you’re that driver of Jan’s,” Foster realized as he marched over towards the criminal. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Without saying a word, Cannon lashed out at Bill, taking several long strides and bringing the cylinder down in a powerful arc to crack against the side of Bill’s head. With a crack of metal on bone and a deep groan and shudder from the broad-shouldered target, Bill crashed to the floor.
“I’ve been made!” Cannon snapped out into the air, it seemed. A slight crackle from a button on his light jacket, however, indicated that he was not as alone as it seemed.
“It doesn’t matter,” Elihas Starr replied. “If you have the cylinder, bring it back, quickly! It won’t matter, their knowing you stole it. Not really. Not in the long run.” He cackled a bit, and then cut off communication with his lackey, leaving Cannon to backtrack out of the lab, leaving Bill Foster laying face down, blood seeping from his wound.
It was over an hour before Henry Pym returned to the lab after his interviews. He and Bill were going to head out for dinner after Hank had talked to the personal trainers, and talk out the best option. Henry was almost disappointed that his friend seemed as gung-ho over this Ant-Man business as Janet, but he also made several good points. So Hank stepped back into the lab and flipped on the lights to find his friend laying face down on the floor.
Hank dashed over to Bill and gently checked on him, finding a pulse, and seeing him breathing. With a sigh of relief, Hank then pulled out his cell phone and called for an ambulance, and then the police. The rest of the night was a blur as the paramedics rushed Bill off to the hospital and police barraged the harried scientist with questions, and all involved searched out the lab to see what might be stolen. It didn’t take Hank long to uncover the missing cylinders of Pym particles, duly reported to the detectives at the scene, and it didn’t take the police long to find the rear entrance had been jimmied open. The police dug for clues, and then were off, with Hank heading to the hospital, unsure about whether to worry Jan with the news or not. Finally, he entered her phone number and took a deep breath, steeling himself for the report.
AT3
Abraham Brown was relaxing in his apartment, feet kicked up on the coffee table and a beer in one hand as he flipped through the channels on his television. It was a dull night, and he stifled a yawn before he sipped from the bottle. He shook his head and turned off the television. Just as he was about to stand, his phone rang, and Brown looked at the device in surprise. He stomped over and plucked the handset up off the cradle. “Yeah, Brown here. Speak your piece.”
He listened to the voice on the other end of the line and grew more agitated. He took a long pull from the bottle of beer before slapping it down on the table. He nodded and his face grew more sour-looking.
“Thanks, Pat. I got it from here.” He dropped the phone back into place and quickly looked around to find his coat. Snatching the leather jacket up and sliding it over his shoulders, Abraham Brown then quickly left the dingy, disheveled apartment with a slam of the door. Outside, he glanced in all directions before hunching into his jacket and heading off towards the hospital. The anger in his chest reflected off of the jade amulet under his shirt, causing it to grow warm and anxious, in return feeding the energy welling up in the young man.
AT3
It had been a couple of days since the robbery, and David Cannon was getting antsy. Upon his arrival, the dome-headed maniac who was keeping him safely out of sight snatched the cylinders, chuckled gleefully and then locked himself into his lab. Since then, only occasional intercom-passed comments to calm down, relax and play his games came from Elihas Starr. David played the video games for a while, but it wasn’t his thing. He read, but that was less his thing than playing video games. He wanted to get a move on, but he knew that the heat was on, and that this crackpot had a plan. So he paced and he waited and he kept himself fit…and waited some more.
It seemed like so much more than forty-eight hours when the lab door open and Starr beckoned Cannon to go in and join him. But that’s all it was, and Cannon approached the weary but elated looking mad scientist. He wore his rumpled clothes that Cannon quickly realized hadn’t been changed since they’d last seen each other. But he sat before two syringes filled with what looked like a clear gel.
“Ahh, my dear David,” Elihas said with a self-satisfied tone. “I am forced to admit that this Pym is a genius. These particles and their inherent versatility are astounding! He’s…nearly as brilliant as me, I must admit.”
“If you’re smarter, why did you have to steal this junk from him, then?” Cannon asked, without really thinking about how the words came out.
From behind the think, round glasses, Elihas’s beady eyes darkened, and his face burned red with anger. He drummed stubby fingers over the table’s surface, hard and repeatedly as he stared up at Cannon.
“Needless to say, in merely forty-eight hours of work, I have isolated the particles you acquired into two samples,” Starr continued, his voice less elated, and demonstrably irritated as he explained. “One for you, to enhance physical traits, the other for myself.”
“What’s yours do?” Cannon asked as he stared at the two syringes.
“It will elevate my already substantial cerebral capacity.” Starr saw the vacant look in Cannon’s eyes and added, “It will make me smarter.”
Cannon was just about to ask why, if he was already a genius, but the already upset voice from Starr managed to convince him otherwise. Why should it matter to me? If this stuff did what the egghead was saying, that’s all that mattered, Cannon mused silently. He grinned a bit at the thought of crushing Ant-Man under his boot and rescuing his Jan from the bug’s terrifying clutches.
“Sounds great to me, boss,” Cannon said instead. “So, when do we shoot up?”
“No better time than the present, Mr. Cannon,” Egghead chuckled as he passed one syringe to the thug before reaching for his own syringe. He held it up like a wine glass and tittered and said,” Cheers!” before plunging it into his arm.
Act II: The Piper Gets Paid!
Ant-Man was hard at work now, riding one of his ants miles and miles above the surface of the world, clambering up the side of the building. Well, it seemed like miles and miles, and Hank had to keep his eyes focused upwards and not think of the height. Instead, his mind rolled back over the last couple of days. Bill had been unconscious for the first part of that time, but awoke to find his room full of friends. He looked over at Janet, who was seated next to him and holding his hand, and then to the other side, where Hank stood next to Abe Brown, Bill's friend from back in the old neighborhood.
The ant finally crawled up onto the ledge as dictated by Hank’s directions. Hank clung to the astounding creature as it resisted the powerful winds and slowly worked its way into the vent of an air conditioner, finally giving Hank a chance to stand on his own two feet. He looked up at the alien-looking steed and tentatively stroked its head. “Thanks a lot, pal,” Hank said, still unnerved at looking up into the creature, but slowly becoming more accustomed to the bizarre sight.
Quickly, Hank moved through the ductwork and dropped down the twelve feet of distance from ceiling to plush floor. The leap was huge to Hank’s perspective of course, but his unique physiology handled the landing with little effort. He bent low at the knees and sprang upwards, propelling himself onto the mahogany desk belonging to the lawyer Lassiter, and his mind went back in time again.
Bill had identified David Cannon as the perpetrator, but Jan, Hank and Bill were all positive David couldn’t know that Hank was Ant-Man. Coincidence was at work, and Bill had gone finding Cannon’s lawyer. With that name, it was up to Hank to find out who had hired Lassiter in the first place. Not Hank…Ant-Man.
Ant-Man turned on the computer, and approached they keyboard. He stepped onto a key, then leaped over to the next. Then he started to have fun, springing from key to key, typing in a surreal manner until he finished and stepped back to read the screen.
“Cannpb. Eavuf,” Ant-Man read the name he ‘typed’ into the screen and sighed. “Okay, fine. I need to work on my aim.” He jumped a few times on the backspace key, and then pressed the name ‘Cannon, David’ more carefully this time.
Ant-Man worked his way through the file, and found the retainer for his services came from ‘Egghead Enterprises’, which made the diminutive hero pause and muse over the information. A computer software firm, noted for their troubleshooters. He had read something else about them, but what? He shook his head and went back to work on the keyboard, going online and looking up the company. What would have taken perhaps an hour of searching out news reports and legal documents and electronic “paper trails” turned into two hours, but Ant-Man couldn’t be sure that there wasn’t a camera or more in the room, and didn’t want to become larger and more visible. At last, he’d acquired the name of the principal owner, one Elihas Starr, and things became much clearer to the vigilante. He turned off the computer and headed out to his faithful steed, the enthusiasm and joy of his powers now taking a back seat to the clenched jaw and grave concern.
AT3
“Okay, so we have a name, and perhaps a real clue as to what’s going on,” Bill said as he closed up his cell phone and looked over to his friend.
Abraham Brown was a tall man, over six feet in height, with broad shoulders but lanky, almost gangly looking. Despite that, he moved very gracefully, much more gracefully than would be expected of the look of his demeanor and the look of his body. He sipped at the beer in his hand and looked back at Bill Foster. They ran together years ago, growing up in the same tenement and they got into all sorts of scrapes and screw ups. Never had either man let the other down. Despite Bill’s climb out of the ghetto and Abe’s refusal to leave it, that would never change.
“What’s the name?” Brown asked and drank long from the bottle in his hand. Bill could only chuckle at the sight of it, here in this sterile, guarded environment.
“Elihas Starr. He used to be the top researcher for Count Trovaya,” Bill explained, leaning back into the hospital bed. His head was still bandaged and moving too quickly still made things move out of step with his vision, but he refused to be slowed down at this point. “Trovaya fired him about three months before helping to Vernon fund us.”
“Fired? Why?”
“Count wouldn’t say. Just said that Starr was cheating on his research or funding or something. He was close-mouthed about it. Like a lot of things the count doesn’t like talking about,” Bill added, his face growing agitated.
“So any idea where Starr is?” Abe asked as he finished up the beer.
“No. None. There was nothing Hank could dig up.”
“I’ll get my guys on it,” Abe said and stood up. “We should be able to dig up something for you. How bad is this stuff they’ve boosted?” He looked at his old friend with just a trace of worry, far too good at holding in emotion to let more show, or to tip off to Bill just how much he hated this sci-fi garbage.
“On its own…not bad at all,” Bill answered, but then admitted, “but if Starr is any sort of scientist, he could figure out uses for it given time. Mind you, we’ve got time. I can’t imagine anyone being able to make something of it in less than a week, and that’s…that’s being obsessed over it. Should take longer, really.”
“Right,” Was all Abe replied as he again felt the burning from the amulet against his skin. His territory was in danger. He held back the growl that rose instinctively at the back of his throat. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something, Bill.”
“Be careful out there,” Bill said as he watched Abraham Brown stalk out of the door and close it behind him. With what he’d learned from Hank, he was very glad that Jan was with her father, and with more security. He closed his eyes and let her image cross his mind. She’d be at her desk, right now. Pecking away at her keyboard, and he chuckled as he saw it. Hunt and peck. She never had learned proper typing.
AT3
Instead, she pecked at the keyboard, and glanced at the financial statement and sighed. Numbers looked good, but she wasn’t getting the growth she’d been hoping for. She leaned back into her chair and sipped at a glass of water. She looked up at the door, her blue eyes relaxing when she saw her father enter. He carried a bag with him, and held it up to her.
“Dinner time!” Vernon van Dyne called out with a smile and settled down at the other side of the desk from her. “Hope you don’t mind Italian, dear.” He pulled out trays of stuffed shells and garlic bread and plastic utensils, setting it all up for them both.
“Sounds yummy, Dad,” Janet said as she realized how hungry she was. “Hank called earlier, and they have some leads, so I’m sure we’ll have everything taken care of soon.” She grabbed the plastic fork and jabbed it greedily into the pasta. “Of course, this means I’ll have an extra thirty minutes of cardio-bar tomorrow.” She laughed and chewed at the food.
“I think you can spare it, Jan,” Vernon replied as he too started to eat. “I’m glad to hear that we’ll have that maniac put back where he belongs. I swear, I’ve never been so frightened than the other day.”
The winds were buffeting the windows hard, Jan noticed as she continued to eat. The panes were rattling hard, and she spoke up to be heard clearly, “Well, you worry too much. I can take care of myself, after all.”
Vernon looked up to meet his daughter’s gaze, but instead looked past to the window, that shook harder and harder. He could see the wind outside, spinning debris in a cone, and then, unbelievably, a man rose slowly up inside that cyclone. He was a spinning blur of deep dark green and blond.
“Janet! Get out of the way!” Vernon cried out as he dashed around the desk toward his daughter. Just as he moved her from her seat, the window exploded inward, razor-sharp shards and splinters of glass slicing through the area as the strange man spun into the room and landed on the desk, scattering food and computer components and papers everywhere.
Vernon was huddled over Janet, several wicked looking shards jabbed into his back, and he looked up at the newcomer. “You? How?”
David Cannon looked down, hate-filled eyes staring at yet another man between him and his beloved. He jumped down from the desk to the floor and grabbed the back of Vernon’s collar. “Yeah, me. Only more than just me. Don’t worry, lover,” He called down to Janet as his arm hefted Vernon off of her. “David Cannon was too weak to protect you, but Whirlwind…Whirlwind will keep you safe from everyone!” He casually flung the old man to the side and his other arm swept down to scoop Janet up off the floor.
Janet stared in shock at David’s face, the wild blond hair fluttering about him, his whole body now harder than ever before. A scream of horror grabbed her focus and she twisted her head to look over in time to see Vernon fall past the broken window and out of sight.
“NOOOO!” She screamed, not believing what was happening.
“Oh yes, love,” Whirlwind said as he dragged her over to the shattered window. “This could be tough on you if you stay up, so here. Keep quiet while I save you.” He jammed a cloth into her face, and she struggled briefly, but her eyes fluttered close and she went limp. “Trust me. You don’t want to be awake for this.” And he stepped out of the window as well. But unlike Vernon, he began to spin at tremendous speeds, and using the winds to lower him gently from the security that was even now bursting into Janet van Dyne’s devastated office.
TO BE CONTINUED...