Author's Note: Just saw Ant-Man this weekend and I loved it! The following story is a sequel to Ant-Man, taking place six months after the events of the post-credits scene. This story was written to have a dark and gritty tone, similar to films such as The Winter Soldier and Netflix's Daredevil. Reviews and comments are welcomed and encouraged!
"I've heard the stories. Seen the news reports. Maybe hitting this place so soon after our last job is a mistake."
"I've heard the stories too. But don't worry about it. With six guys, we have nothing to be afraid of. I tell you, this is a solid job," said one of the men, his shadow casting across the floor as he emptied a safety deposit box, spilling out diamond jewels and gold necklaces into a burly leather knapsack.
"You're probably right, Tony. It's a wonder we never hit this place sooner!" the masked man named Robert replied, packing several stacks of cash bills into his own pack. Tony just cackled in a stereotypical Brooklyn accent.
A charcoal-colored van was parked outside the City National Bank, and the masked driver quietly looked at his wristwatch. It was about two in the morning. He yawned as he surveyed his acquantiance dragging out the corpse of a security guard, hiding it in the brush that outlined the perimeter of the building.
"Any problems, Don?" asked the driver through the window as his partner walked towards the van after hiding the body. The driver articulated his words slowly, and in a deep voice that reinforced his leadership over the rest of the crew.
"No alarms tripped at all," Don replied in a confident tone, pulling out his 9mm pistol to verify that the suppressor was still fastened to it.
"My woman's been on me about retirement," continued Don, leaning in through the driver seat's window to speak. "After this job I think we can finally hang it up for good, boss."
The driver snickered. "In our line of work, enough is never enough. You'll never hang it up – same as me. Same as it ever was." The two burglars who were in the vaults exited the bank holding duffel bags and tossed them into the back of the van.
"We got two more of us still in there," Tony stressed as he flung his sack into the back of the van.
"Let's go see if they need any help," Robert replied.
The driver looked at his watch again as the two men reentered the bank. A silent gunshot signaled to Don that they'd taken out a second security guard. "Guess I better go hide him as well," said Don giving the driver a nod and making his way up the stairs.
As Don entered the building, he gazed around the lobby of the bank. The walls were ornate with modern frescoes and cultural mosaics. A peaceful calm came over the large hall as the sound of his footsteps echoed off the marble walls. He noticed the vault was still open, yet Tony wasn't there to retrieve the backpacks containing their score.
"Tony," whispered Don. "Where are you man?" Don's heart sank as he heard what sounded like a pin drop coming from the bank manager's cage. "The hell was that?" he asked again, taking out his pistol, and cautiously walking in a bull-legged fashion towards the cage.
"Robert?" He called out again.
"What is it?" Robert asked from behind Don who was still pointing the gun at the cage. Don spun around to find himself pointing his gun at Robert, who suddenly raised his hands.
"What the hell are you doing? Put that fucking thing down before you hurt yourself," exclaimed Robert.
As Don breathed a sigh of relief, he noticed what appeared to be a small insect on the barrel of his pistol. As he arched his brow, a pair of long slender legs seemed to pounce on top of him. Robert's eyes widened as he saw a glint of yellow in the darkness of the bank. The only light seeping in through the vast windows came from the sliver of moonlight. Don cried out in pain as he buckled to the ground, scraping his chin on the hard linoleum. Blood began to pour from his nose.
Robert raised his weapon, but the shadowy shape was gone. "Are you all right?" Robert called out to Don, who appeared to be unconscious with a busted nose. With that, a powerful black glove, almost mechanical in design, gripped Robert's forearm, forcing him to double over. He presented himself for the mysterious figure to deliver two sharp kicks – one to the stomach and another to the face to lay him out onto the ground.
Meanwhile, Tony had stealthily approached this shadow from behind. As the silhouette spun around, Tony attempted to send a fist into the figure's torso. As his fist connected, the sound of flesh hitting metal was heard, and Tony let out a shrill scream of pain.
"Tsk, tsk," the mysterious being cooed before smashing a shin into the goon's groin. Tony's mouth opened wide, but no sound escaped him as was grabbed by the scurf of his shirt, and lifted. "That's not how you punch."
Tony gurgled as he hung in the air by his collar, his feet barely touching the ground. He looked down at the haunting wraith that was disarming his friends so easily. The figure wore a silver helmet which concealed its entire head. A yellow visor gave the helmet an aesthetic that could only be comparable to some form of insect. Before Tony could speak, the figure seemed to disappear, and a powerful blow impacted his mouth. Tony realized that he had never been hit harder in his life. He flew across the room, and slid across a nearby desk before landing on the hard floor, knocking over several trinkets and files along the way.
"That's how you punch," the insect said mockingly as it reappeared in full form in the lobby.
Unbeknownst of what was transpiring on the first floor of the bank, two more masked goons made their way off the elevator, but stopped short in their tracks as they discovered the yellow and black insect-like creature standing in the middle of the lobby. It gracefully turned towards them.
"Come on boys," it taunted. "I don't have all night."
With that, the two goons looked at each other before staring back at the looming figure. Both men raised their pistols and began firing, when the being appeared to evaporate in thin air. In a stupor, the men kept firing in panic until their weapon magazines were dry. Suddenly, the mysterious assailant reappeared in front of them. As one of the men rushed to strike, the figure expertly blocked the attack by raising both hands in front of its head for protection. The "insect" then performed several boxing jabs towards the second burglar. His blocking skills were not so adept, and the connected blows to his solar plexus caused him to fall to his knees, gripping his stomach and writhing in pain. The insect creature then executed a gorgeous roundhouse kick towards the other perpetrator's face. The kick sent him flying through the air, incapacitating him completely before he hit the marble floor with an ungrateful thud.
The driver was now reading a newspaper in the van. "What the hell is taking so long?" he thought to himself. He caught a glimpse of yellow in his peripheral vision, and yet when he turned to view the old, steep stone steps leading up to the entrance, there was nothing in sight. As he went to return his focus to the newspaper, he caught a glance at something crawling on the top of dashboard.
"What the?" The driver said to himself in confusion as he leaned in closer to study what looked like a small-scale version of a human being.
The windshield suddenly exploded in front of him, shards of glass covering his face as he brought his arms up to shield himself. Two heeled boots dug into the driver's sternum. As he groaned from the pain of feeling the immense pressure on his chest, he found himself propelled out of the driver's door and onto the cold pavement. As he heard the sound of clicking heels, he looked up to see his attacker swagger casually around the side of the van.
"You've been very bad," it said condescendingly as it approached the man.
The driver noticed that the figure moved in a very feminine way. Standing around 5'6", she was quite statuesque, and poised. Her arms and legs were incredibly lithe, but defined, and strong. The armored suit she wore was much more sophisticated, probably funded by those military R&D divisions that he had read about on the Internet. The suit appeared to accentuate her curves, especially with the moonlight gleaming off of her chest plate, which consisted of a dark blue and golden-yellow design. A red trim also outlined her clavicle, pauldrons which protected her shoulders, and the cuisses which armored her thighs. It was evident that this high-tech exoskeleton was formed of synthetic fibers, and yet it clung to her body like a motorcycle jumpsuit. Greaves and bracers completed the ensemble which matched the suit's color scheme.
"You're going to jail," she spoke as she picked up the driver to his feet before smashing his head against the side of the van. Sirens could be heard in the distance.
The driver grunted as he fell to his knees, using the side of the van to hold himself up for support. Tears began to roll down his face from the sudden jolt of pain. The woman grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to the side of the van. The driver was in shock as he saw the bug-eyed helmet piercing his eyes.
"Who…who are you?"
She leaned in closely. "I'm the Wasp," she whispered before delivering an uppercut to the driver. As her fist connected with his chin, she could feel his jaw bone rattle inside his head. She witnessed the driver pass out from the knockout blow. She finally released the driver from her grasp, and in a sprawling heap, he fell to the curb, immobilized.
The woman breathed in the night air, her breasts softly heaving behind the armored chest plate as she scanned the premises of the bank. Using her right thumb, she clicked a button on her glove, and with that her form contracted into a miniature version of herself; invisible to any naked eye from afar.
As the police arrived, they searched the entire area, and discovered the six masked criminals, all with broken bones and even more broken pride. The police also found the two dead security guards, and immediately contacted their families, as well as the bank manager. All stolen money, jewelry and property were returned accordingly. Around the time that Channel 4 arrived on the crime scene, the driver had finally come to, in a state of terror and humiliation. As he was being wheeled into the ambulance, spectators could only make out one word from his bumbling.
"Wasp."