Ant-Man

In San Francisco they tell it like a fairy tale for burglars: the safecracker who beat a vault older than he was and found only an old motorcycle suit and a patient trap. Scott Lang wore the suit, shrank to the size of an ant, and learned that Hank Pym does not believe in coincidence. The break-in was an audition. The prize was a legacy: the Pym Particle, the secret that slips a man's mass out of the world, the mantle of Ant-Man, and a garden's worth of six-legged soldiers who answer when he calls. The trick is that shrinking is not hiding. Compress a man to half an inch and his punch keeps all of him; it lands like a bullet from nowhere. Lang rides winged carpenter ants like cavalry, slips through keyholes, and grows sixty feet tall when subtlety stops working. He has fallen between atoms, lost five years in a realm where time forgets its manners, and walked out with the idea that brought half the universe home. Thieves take things. This one gives them back.