Bruce Banner's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Bruce Banner wanted one thing the world would not let him keep: a quiet place to hide. He worked in a borrowed lab because a general had offered him a deal. Rebuild the serum, and the soldiers might stop hunting him. Banner did not trust the offer. He took it anyway. Every day in the lab was a day he was not running. The general's name was Ross. He came each morning and stood too close to the glass. He wanted the serum for his own army. He did not care what it cost Banner to make it. "The gamma readings are stable," Banner said. He kept his voice flat. Stress was the enemy. Stress woke the other guy. "Give me another week." "You have tonight," Ross said. So Banner ran the test on himself. He believed the new serum might fix him. It might quiet the green thing forever. He set the dose. He watched the gauge climb. Then the power surged, and the chamber overloaded like a small bomb. The serum failed. Worse, it fed the very thing it was meant to kill. Banner's skin split green. His shoulders tore his shirt. He grew until the ceiling cracked above him. Ross shouted for his men. The Hulk went through the wall. Bullets bounced off his back. A truck flipped. Soldiers scattered. He did not want to hurt them, but the man inside was gone for now. He smashed the lab that held Ross's dream of an army. He smashed the serum too. When he leaped, the ground fell away, and he was miles gone before the dust settled. Banner woke in a field at dawn, human again, torn purple shorts on his hips. The deal was dead. The serum was dead. Ross would never stop now. Banner had traded a cage for a hunt. He stood, and he started walking. Somewhere far off, he would build a place no one could find. That was the only plan left. Ross did not chase him with soldiers this time. He knew soldiers had failed. Instead he pulled a thick file and stamped it and shipped it north, to an outfit that made hunters out of men. The file said one word on the cover. HULK. The man they gave it to read it once, in a cold room, under a bare bulb. He wore a torn uniform and old boots. Three claws slid out of one fist with a wet sound, then slid back. He had hunted things that would not die before. He did not ask why. He closed the file. "Where's he headed," Logan said. It was not a question. Nobody answered, because nobody knew. Logan stood and reached for his coat. He would find the trail himself. He always did.