Scott Lang stood waiting for the punch to come. He was ready. It wouldn’t be that bad.

But then the punch landed like a hammer hitting him in the right eye, and Scott reeled back into the line of other prisoners assembled to watch his fight with Peachy. “You like that?” Peachy taunted him. “You like that? Come get you some!”

Scott went after him. He charged into Peachy, who was a lot bigger than he was, and then stood up to throw a punch into Peachy’s gut. Peachy looked fat, but when Scott punched him it was like hitting a stone wall. “You didn’t even move,” Scott complained.

Peachy shrugged. “Nah.”

“I mean, what if I come in on the left side, right...?” Scott stepped up to Peachy again and outlined what he was talking about, miming a half-speed punch. “Just out here, and see this one, and—”

As Peachy looked down, Scott hit him hard with a straight right. Peachy’s head snapped around, but he didn’t go down. Scott didn’t know what he’d have to do to him to actually knock him down. The convicts roared, and Peachy, with a little smear of blood on his lip, looked up at Scott.

Uh‑oh , Scott thought. Might have gone too far there.

Then a broad smile broke across Peachy’s bearded face. “I’m gonna miss you, Scott.”

Scott grinned back. “I’m gonna miss you, too, Peachy.” They exchanged handshakes and hugs. “Man, you guys got the weirdest good-bye rituals.”

“All right, break it up,” the guards called, and an hour later Scott Lang was a free man.

He walked out past the prison gate, took his first breath of free air in a few years, and heard the unmistakable sound of his former cell mate Luis’s voice. “Scotty! What’s up, man?”

Luis was calling from across the visitor parking lot, his arms spread wide and a big grin on his face. “Hey, man,” Scott called back, heading over to slap backs and get reacquainted.

“Hey, what’s up with your eye?” Luis said, seeing the butterfly bandages on Scott’s right eyebrow.

“Oh, well, what do you think? Peachy. His going-away present.”

“Oh, yeah, I still got my scar from a year ago,” Luis said, pointing to his own right eyebrow.

Scott could see the little ridge of scar tissue even though his eyebrow mostly covered it up. “Oh yeah.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Luis said. “You know what? I’m still the only one to knock him out.”

“Well, I definitely didn’t,” Scott said as they got into the ancient brown van Luis had driven all the way to the prison so he could meet Scott. It was a long drive from San Francisco, and Scott was looking forward to every minute of it. He’d served his time and now he was going to savor his freedom. Start a new life. Reconnect with his daughter.

“Thanks for picking me up, brother,” he said a little while later as they drove down a mountain road toward the interstate.

“Oh, now, you think I’m gonna miss my cell mate getting out?”

You meet a lot of bad people in prison , Scott thought, but you meet some good ones, too . Luis was one of the good ones. “Hey, how’s your girl, man?” he asked.

“Oh, she left me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, my mom died, too.” Scott got quiet. A minute later, Luis added, “And my dad got deported.” Now Scott really didn’t know what to say, but a second later Luis brightened up. “But I got the van!”

Scott tried to get in the spirit. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, right?”

“Thanks for the hookup, too,” Scott added. “I needed a place to stay.”

“You wait till you see this couch,” Luis said, like he was describing a room at the Ritz. “You’re gonna be really happy. You’re gonna be on your feet in no time—watch.”

“I hope so.”

“Yeah. And I gotta introduce you to some people, some really skilled people.”

“Not interested,” Scott said immediately. He knew what Luis was talking about. Luis wanted Scott to get back into the life—the same life that had landed Scott in prison to begin with.

“Yeah, right!” Luis scoffed.

Every convict says he’s going straight when he gets out of jail. Scott knew that, and he also knew that most cons didn’t stick to the promise. But he was going to. “No, I’m serious, man. I’m not going back. I got a daughter to take care of.”

Luis got serious, too, which was pretty unusual for him. “You know that jobs don’t come easy for ex‑cons, right?”

“Look, man, I got a master’s in electrical engineering, all right?” Scott was looking forward to putting that degree to use. It had been a while since he’d gotten sidetracked into his life of crime. They were coming up to the Golden Gate Bridge. San Franciso glittered in the distance. Scott felt good. “I’m gonna be fine,” he said. nASp9DrbcdXv/lAJtmXWdLNEqRISbM8zqDkqAJJirgBnjf3v5gutE8iev/aBjLBC