[COLOR=AF7AC5][indent][sub][B]Location:[/B] [COLOR=white][I]Present Day Navapo, New Mexico[/I][/COLOR][/sub][sup][right][b]Seeing [color=228B22]Green[/color] – 1.01[/b][/right][/sup][/indent][/color][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][color=AF7AC5][sub][B]Interaction(s):[/B] [COLOR=white][I]None[/I][/COLOR][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][b]Previously:[/b] [COLOR=white][I]N/A[/I][/COLOR][/right][/SUP][/color]
[INDENT]The sound of tires against pavement screeched, the scent of burnt rubber permeating in moments. [color=AF7AC5]“Oh fuck oh god auuugh... What the [b][i]fuck[/i][/b].”[/color]

Hands gripping the wheel of is pickup, Bruce Banner gawked at the streets before him. Watching the green coupe crossing the highway he’d just been about to turn on, he pulled his car over, leaning out, intent on a shaken child with a backpack, who’d simply been heading home when that car went up on the sidewalk, barreling towards him before turning off at the last second, all right in plain sight, rubber based smoke still floating about.

“Are you okay!?” Bruce found himself shouting. The boy nodded his eyes wide, Bruce’s intensity likely not helping, but Bruce was focused now. Snapping his head back to the road, he stepped on the gas, the other vehicle still visible in the distance. Blaring past his turn, he pursued, streaming forward well past the low speed limit, keeping trail as they turned. The day was hot and dusty yet again in Navapo, meaning there weren’t a whole lot of people about off the main roads in this afternoon, giving Bruce ample room to follow, keeping pace until they pulled into an old shopping center, a few cars parked outside but no one about in the heat. As they pulled in front of a smoke shop, Bruce slammed into the space just past them, taking his keys and storming out of his car as the driver came out of his. They couldn’t have looked much more different, Bruce in his glasses, white dress shirt, and dark gray slacks, with the driver in a tank top and black bandanna, his face thin and stubble blonde. He watched Bruce incredulously as he approached, anger more than evident on his face.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he demanded, on guard but not aware anything was even wrong. Bruce’s eyes might have shot out of his head. [color=AF7AC5]“D-di-did you not see the [b]kid[/b] you almost hit?”[/color] Bruce felt his arm trembling, his glare harsh, but even though he was no doubt going to be late for work, even though he no doubt looked ridiculous, none of that was anywhere in his mind. [color=AF7AC5]“You went up on the curb because you weren’t paying any goddamn attention!”[/color]

Pointing a finger, the man spat, “Hey I didn’t see shit, and I didn’t do nothing, now you step [i]off[/i], bitch.” Gait thundering, he moved on, ripping open the door and going inside. Bruce stared daggers at the neon signs filling the entryway before his attention was pulled away by a passenger, the driver’s Hispanic friend having pulled himself out of the window, looking at Bruce over the hood, claiming, “He wasn’t close to hitting him, relax man. Shit.” Flabbergasted, Bruce had no more words, the man going back into the car and pulling out a phone, busying himself in its screen.

Standing there, completely dismissed, none of Bruce’s anger was going to just fade away. He could call the cops, but more than likely the kid had moved on by now, spooked and just wanting to get home, and Bruce couldn’t know how much the family would actually press the issue with no evidence and barely an incident to even speak of. And yet, he couldn’t shake his feelings, he mind dwelling on the worst case, the kid no longer having anything ever to say, how the parents might have felt, that sheer devastation. Friends at school needing to be explained what it meant when he was never going to come back. Bruce’s fist continued to tremble, his breath coming on tensely. Moving to the backs of the vehicles, he glanced at the license plate of their car, then to his own, which just last night had nearly hit something innocent, and not without guilt at the near miss.

And then, Bruce was gone.

[center]---[/center]

Those within the smoke shop, a tired cashier behind a thick plastic barrier and the blonde driver, had only just been making a typical transaction. Neither had any expectation or explanation when the green coupe had come barreling through the entrance, showering the room in glass, hitting the cashier booth and shifting its trajectory, knocking the driver in the leg and merely shaking the cashier physically and mentally. By the time the dust had settled, the authorities swooping in for cleanup, no one was more or less aware of what the hell had actually happened. Security cameras only took footage from the entryway itself, the only part visible from outside was the grill of the coupe before it suddenly rushed forward into the building. Both the passenger and driver walked away with some injuries, but no one had seen what had happened at all, and the evidence was left...wanting, to say the least. The passenger remembered hearing or seeing nothing until the car was launched forward, and the only unusual evidence on the car was a dent on the rear. Both driver and passenger insisted it hadn’t been there before, and it was too small to be from an impact, or at least not one that could have thrust the car into the building. More likely someone driving had simply backed in to another vehicle unknowingly. With no conclusive evidence, the only remaining line of thought turn to ‘metahumans’. The unexplainable could easily be pushed away, fears still lingering from recent events making it so much easier to accept, at least personally. Legally, paying heed to the public spooks of ‘metas’ or ‘muties’ wasn’t looked highly upon, even if the thought was always there in the back of the mind. But while it may have been brought up as a possibility, it was just as quickly dismissed: no evidence or witnesses, and no potential suspects, superpowers or no. The case went ice cold just as quickly as it came in, in spite of its heated onset.[/INDENT][/INDENT]
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