Lock lifted his hand ever so slightly, and the room fell silent.
None of the gathered executives dared to speak. Their faces were pale—each one trying not to draw his attention. First, Hydra infiltrators, and now a mysterious white ghost woman had appeared to snatch someone right in front of the King of Apocalypse himself.
They were all powerful people in their own right, men and women accustomed to commanding respect, but in that moment, they were terrified. To offend someone like Lock was to invite annihilation.
Lock, however, wasn't angry. His mind was elsewhere, tracing back through memories of another world's storylines.
That white ghost… if I'm not mistaken, that should be Ava from "Ant-Man and the Wasp."
But that didn't make sense. The plot of Ant-Man 1 hadn't even reached its conclusion. Why would Ava appear now—and why target Cross?
In the original timeline, Ava's emergence revolved around her quantum affliction—a body perpetually shifting between molecular phases, allowing her to pass through matter. That gift, however, came at a terrible price. Every moment of her existence tore her cells apart and rebuilt them anew, an endless agony she could never escape.
The only thing keeping her alive was sheer willpower. But even that wouldn't last forever; her body was dying.
In Ant-Man 2, she'd sought to steal Janet van Dyne's quantum energy to heal herself. If she had appeared early, that could only mean one thing—Cross must possess technology connected to her cure.
Lock frowned slightly. He wouldn't have minded helping her himself—perhaps even healing her body with his divine restoration potions—but the quantum realm was a mystery beyond even his absolute power.
He had just used the Space Stone and the Reality Stone, and neither had affected her in the slightest. Her existence transcended material space.
Even his healing elixirs, potent enough to regenerate gods, might not touch a quantum form.
"Who was that just now?" Scott asked, edging closer, his voice trembling. "Please tell me she's not another supervillain."
Lock gave him a faint, knowing smile. "She is. You were supposed to face her yourself one day, but it seems fate decided to move things up."
He paused, then added with mock seriousness, "If you meet her again, be careful. Try not to let her stick her hand through your chest and pull out your organs."
Scott blanched. "Wait, what?! …Can I quit?"
Lock's eyes twinkled. "No."
Scott groaned in despair. First day as a hero, and he was already being lined up to fight someone even Apocalypse couldn't capture.
Dr. Pym approached, his face grim. "Cross has been taken. That means the equation may be lost."
Lock shook his head. "Not yet. But we don't have much time."
He knew Ava's goal wasn't destruction—it was survival. If Cross's research offered even a fragment of hope to stabilize her condition, she'd stop at nothing to seize it.
Hope crossed her arms. "So what now? Cross is gone, but his research data is still on the servers."
Lock turned to her and Pym. "You're the founder, and you're his heir apparent. You should be the ones to reclaim the company."
Hope exhaled. "That won't work. Even without Cross, his personal clearance locks out half the system."
"Then wipe it all," Lock said simply. "Destroy the data."
Hope blinked. "All of it?"
"Yes. The only thing of true value here is the Pym particle equation—and Dr. Pym already has that. Everything else is a liability."
Before they could move, Lock raised a hand to his ear. "Give me a moment. There's someone I need to talk to."
He dialed.
"Fury," he said when the call connected, "I've run into a small problem. I need information on someone."
"Who?" came the gravelly reply.
"White Ghost. Ava Starr."
There was a pause. Then Fury's tone hardened. "…How do you know that name?"
"I just fought her," Lock said calmly. "She slipped through my grasp—and took someone I needed alive."
"Wait—what?" Fury's composure cracked for once. He sat forward at his desk, every nerve firing.
Lock's casual tone always meant one thing: disaster.
To anyone else, Ava was a ghost story. But to Fury, she was a classified nightmare—one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dirtiest secrets.
For years, Ava Starr had been S.H.I.E.L.D.'s personal wraith—a silent infiltrator whose body could phase through walls, safes, or people. Wrapped in her white combat suit, she was called The White Ghost.
She hadn't started as an agent. She'd been a desperate girl dying from quantum instability. S.H.I.E.L.D. had promised her a cure in exchange for service.
And Fury—though he might not have been the one to make that promise—had allowed it.
They'd built her a phase-suit—a sleek exosuit capable of modulating her state between physical and quantum, stabilizing her pain just enough to function. It made her the perfect operative.
But over time, as her body decayed further and the agony worsened, Ava learned the truth: S.H.I.E.L.D. had no cure. They'd never even begun research into one.
They'd simply used her until she broke.
So she walked away.
No pursuit orders, no assassins sent after her. Fury had let her go—partly out of guilt, partly because he knew she wouldn't live long anyway.
And then, as the world plunged into chaos—with aliens, gods, and supervillains rising—Ava vanished from memory.
Until now.
Fury rubbed his forehead. "You're telling me she took someone from you?"
Lock smirked faintly. "Yes. Impressive, isn't it?"
The silence on the line stretched.
Finally, Fury exhaled. "You're right. That was mishandled. We turned a dying girl into a weapon. And now, that weapon's off the leash."
Lock's eyes glimmered with quiet amusement. "Then it's time someone found her first—before she tears another hole through reality."
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