2013

Seoul, South Korea

Mt. Ansan Jarak-gil Trail

Two Days Later

 

(Omniscient POV)

"Do you really need to bring three bags?" Brock questioned Dr. Cho as she struggled to lug two heavy rolling luggage cases along with a large backpack dragging behind her, causing her considerable difficulty moving fast enough to keep pace with Brock who was walking alongside her.

The pair were treading through the restricted grounds surrounding the Mt. Anseanjarakil hiking trail which lies hidden from the main path by tall trees.

They were currently traversing uphill, passing through thick forest vegetation cutting off any possible visibility significantly and reducing any chance of running into someone else unexpectedly wandering nearby.

"Well...yes. I don't know how long this trip may take and I'd like some of my own clothing choices, besides, one of these is filled with my research supplies," replied Dr. Cho firmly refusing assistance offered by Brock.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Dr. Cho asked as she continued struggling past him, continuing onward until reaching the edge of the hillside before she stopped briefly, catching her breath and trying desperately hard to keep up with Brock who was already halfway up the slope and wasn't even winded.

Brock didn't answer and just watched on impatiently as Dr. Cho stopped again, panting heavily and attempting unsuccessfully to regain her strength.

Dr. Cho finally reaches the top of the hill, grasping tightly onto Brock for support and breathing rapidly as sweat dripped profusely from her forehead.

Removing her glasses and wiping her sweaty brow clean, she stares upwards, noticing something unusual sitting under a large tree, just barely visible aboveground amid the dense foliage covering it.

Glancing sideways at Brock, Dr. Cho gives him a questioning look as she is clearly concerned by what she sees.

"What is that?!" She asked, pointing toward Brock's hovercar that was parked underneath a tree and was covered with large branches that blocked the sight of the vehicle.

"I thought you said we were going to the U.S.? How do we do that in a car?" Dr. Cho questioned, unaware of the vehicle's purpose or function.

Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, Brock grins at her as he answers dismissively. "Just get inside and buckle up tight."

Dr. Cho gives the young man a dubious stare but reluctantly obeys, ignoring the doubts swirling around in her mind.

**********

San Francisco, California

Pym Manor

One Day Later

 

(Hank Pym POV)

"Thanks again for the ride home, Delroy," I say gratefully to the aging hero seated next to me despite feeling uncomfortable riding in such an old clunker of a car.

Delroy throws me a sarcastic smirk, acknowledging my gratitude without saying anything further and returning focus to steering the rickety vehicle toward my neighborhood.

"Don't worry about it, least I can do after that terrible trip," Delroy says with a slight chuckle making me smile guiltily, "Besides, do me good to see my god-daughter once in a while since I haven't seen her in so long." The older gentleman says, chuckling softly as he reminisced fondly upon memories long gone by.

At first glance, Delroy seemed harmless enough, although somewhat eccentric looking given his age sporting thinning hair peppered with gray strands mixed with black ones streaked throughout resembling Einstein's famous white beard coupled with bushy eyebrows partially obscuring vision due to lack of grooming. But appearances are deceptive, especially considering the fact that he has been known to be extremely dangerous, wielding powers that grant him three times the physical attributes of even the finest human athlete.

However, his actions speak louder than words ever could. Having retired many years ago following decades of service as 3-D Man, he didn't seem interested in reprising his role anymore, preferring instead to spend his days relaxing and quietly enjoying life away from public scrutiny and soaking in his golden retirement nest egg acquired thanks to his superheroic exploits.

"So Hank....how are you holding up?" Asks Delroy, changing the subject abruptly.

"What do you mean?" I ask confused wondering why he would inquire about my health. "I'm fine."

Delroy glances over at me with a knowing expression seeming amused by my response. "Oh come on, I saw how sluggish and tired you looked in your suit."

My eyes widen, startled by his sudden accusation. "Excuse me?! What are you trying to say!!" My tone becomes stern, warning him about his next words.

Smirking broadly, Delroy laughs.

"Listen, I know you don't want to admit it, but you're getting old. You're not a spring chicken anymore, physically or mentally. We both knew all along that eventually, our roles will change someday sooner or later, but unfortunately, its happening much earlier than expected..." He adds sadly glancing towards me sympathetically, understanding the magnitude of the sad realization. "...and frankly, neither of us should be still working in the field anymore...its a young man's game anyway."

A stunned silence fills the car as I contemplate everything Delroy told me, silently taking mental notes regarding changes occurring within myself over the years of being Ant-man. Although reluctant at first accepting reality gradually became harder to ignore.

There comes a point in everyone's career where they must accept change. Whether willingly accepted or forced upon oneself there always arrives a day when you have to face the fact that the glory days are truly over and give yourself permission to retire gracefully, allowing younger heroes to assume leadership positions and replace those whose bodies cannot continue performing adequately any longer.

"Maybe...maybe your right..." I mutter weakly, unable to argue with his assessment.

In truth, it hurts realizing that I am growing increasingly decrepit with advancing age, suffering from aches and pains associated with aging body parts and joints deteriorating steadily one year after another, losing functionality and slowly degrading until inevitably failing altogether and rendering me useless.

It isn't easy admitting defeat, particularly when facing one's own mortality.

Delroy doesn't respond, leaving me to my thoughts as we arrive safely outside the gates of my manor.

He leans over and presses the button on the intercom system located near the driver's side window. We sit there waiting patiently for a reply, but none came immediately prompting Delroy to press the buzzer again.

Feeling something was wrong, I reach down and pull the keycard for the gates out of my bag.

Pressing the keycard against the panel, I wait anxiously, hoping for the best.

After several seconds pass, a chime rings out, indicating successful entry into the protected property. Then suddenly the gate begins opening automatically, revealing familiar surroundings greeting my gaze and welcoming me home.

As Delroy drives forward, smoothly maneuvering around the circular driveway entrance parking neatly beneath the portico lined with stately columns leading to the grand double doors of the manor, I step out of the car and get a foreboding feeling as I notice the guards that I left to protect the manor were nowhere in sight.

A shiver runs up my spine as I rush into the house.

"Hope!!" I call loudly as soon as I enter the foyer. Calling out the name repeatedly as I searched everywhere, only finding empty halls and rooms that echoed hollowly as if no one had passed through them for a while.

A sense of dread overtook my mind as I frantically rushed upstairs to check in Hope's room.

Running up the large wooden stairs, I sprint down the hallway towards her door and move to open it, but stop short as I spot a bit of dried blood staining the door knob.

Fear grips my heart, tightening my throat and threatening to suffocate me entirely, preventing me from speaking and forcing me to breathe shallowly as a heavy amount of panic sets in.

"Hope...." I call out weakly as I slowly twist the handle, listening intently for any sound coming from beyond the closed bedroom door.

Hearing nothing, I gently open the door, slightly peeking inside and nervously yearning to find her sleeping peacefully on her bed.

The first thing to hit me was the smell...a sickening odor permeating every inch of the room and filling my nostrils with a revolting scent.

A vile mixture of blood and decomposing tissue combined together and creating an overpowering miasma, resulting in a nauseating smell that overwhelmed the senses.

Moving cautiously deeper into the darkened interior of the dimly lit room, my eyes search around frantically before landing on the figure lying motionless sprawled across the queen size canopy bed.

"No..." I gasp, stunned momentarily frozen, and unable to process the shock and horror seeking to overtake my sanity. "NO!! NO!! NO!!!"

It couldn't possibly be true! Not possible!! No way!!! Impossible!!!!!!!!!

But alas, it was true. Propped on top of the bed, like some kind of sick display, Hope's lifeless corpse lay cradled in death. Blood-soaked sheets stained crimson red with gore pooling below her head and forming dark stains that spread outward along the cream-white sheets.

Her pale skin was coated in the sticky residue, her fragile arms dangling limply at her side and exposing the bloody wounds inflicted by razor-sharp blades. Multiple stab wounds punctured deep gashes that dripped arterial fluid freely from various severed arteries, staining copious amounts of blood deep into the padding, turning it brown.

Walking closer numbly and examining her features, tears begin streaming uncontrollably from the burning hot emotions erupting violently from my broken heart.

Closing her beautiful hazel green irises that were staring blankly ahead with vacant orbs devoid of emotion, I look over and notice a note placed neatly on the nightstand beside her unmarred pillow.

'To Hank Pym.' The front of the note reads, written elegantly in flowing letters of cursive.

Feeling detached, my hand moves on its own to pick up the note as tears flow unabashedly forth.

Opening the note, I was greeted by the sight of one line scribed delicately in ink:

 'Blood for Blood.'

Three simple words cut deeply, penetrating the soul more profoundly than any knife slicing through flesh. Three little words that would be etched permanently and indelibly within my psyche forever, reminding me of the harsh reality I was now living.

"HOPE!!!!" I howl aloud, my hoarse voice breaking free of the pent-up anguish wailing endlessly within, as silent agony and rage swell within me, causing pain worse than anything imaginable.

"Hank!!" Delroy called out from downstairs, running toward me urgently.

"Hank! You o-" His sentence trails off midstream as he spots me cradling Hope's limp and bloody body atop her bed.

Turning back toward me with tearful eyes filled with sympathy and remorse, he approaches tentatively, placing his hand firmly on my shoulder and trying to offer me any comfort he could in this shitty situation.

"I will find who did this," I vow solemnly, struggling unsuccessfully to keep control of the raging emotional turmoil roiling inside. "They will pay dearly for taking my daughter's precious life!!"

The statement sounds hollow to my ears as I stare helplessly at my baby's stiff and bloody face. Unable to cope, I collapse onto the floor beside the bed, sobbing hysterically while sinking farther and lower into despair and fury.

"My baby girl..."

***************

A/n: Hey guys, I hope you are enjoying the story so far, and as always, thanks for reading!

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