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[COLOR=AF7AC5][indent][sub][B]Location:[/B] [COLOR=white][I]New Mexico[/I][/COLOR][/sub][sup][right][b]A Fresh Set of Eyes – 2.03[/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][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5033307]2.02[/url][/I][/COLOR][/right][/SUP][/color][/INDENT]
[indent]Bruce had quickly come to hate the sound of the desert, and in the time since he’d been stuck here, needless to say that hadn’t changed. It was mostly the wind, the breeze picking at dirt and boulder. Sometimes there was a sound of a creature, the fearful hiss of a snake or flapping of a wing. Mostly it was his feet taking step by step. It was through those feet that he had become so aware of whatever was within him. Every day he tore his feet to shreds walking, and every morning they would be patched up stronger. He was healing, regenerating. He had been for a while but only now was he starting to see. On one hand things were easier: he likely wouldn’t die at least, and as he skin was tanning and feet getting firm the actual trail was easier to blaze. But on the other he only had his thoughts and the sound of emptiness. He hadn’t found a road so he must have been going in circles, or been unlucky in the direction he picked, or perhaps set back by those times his body couldn’t handle itself and something else took control. It was all a terrible mess, and he wanted to be free of it.

Then there was another sound.

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Splintered and shattered, dust bellowed into the air, lungs of fire glowing from within the cloud.

“Direct hit sir.” A bespectacled operative reported. Overseeing from the back, eyes narrowed on the footage being displayed among the various monitors, General Ross picked at his firm mustache with one of his hands. The other rested trapped in a cast, hung on a sling. The general only wore a regular army shirt, his dress coat not suitable with his current injury. The man need not have served in his present state, but his was a fury that could not be so easily contained. Between the current climate around metahumans, public response to the El Diablo attack, and his own fervor, getting permission for the counterattack was simple. They’d been watching, it was only a matter of time before they could strike.

As the cloud ruptured, a green monster tearing out of it, Ross knew other matters were not going to be so simple.

As the Hulk gave chase to its attackers, bounding after them, an analyst noted, “The target’s vertical jump distance leaves the drones just out of reach at their current altitude.”

Head perking up, Ross ordered, [color=BE1C1C]“Get closer. Attract its attention and pull back.”[/color]

Several miles away, the drones were but a speck to the Hulk, but each jump brought them closer. Plan of attack ready, in a short minute the Hulk was on them, jumping up only for the drones to pull upward and turn about, Hulk slipping past and crashing to the ground. As it began to turn back it met another payload, swallowed by fire and dust yet again. Drones starting to circle like vultures, Hulk came out of the smoke blind, but jumping dangerously close. Then there was a its arm, pulled back before letting loose. It began to fall back as one of the drones command consoles shout warnings, its integrity compromised, a rock the size of a cake having sent the drone closer to its last, a wing plummeting to the ground as the Hulk did. The drone stayed aloft but it wasn’t going to last. It’s travel was halted as the Hulk returned to the sky once again, grabbing the drone and twisting its whole body, redirecting its descent right into the flight path of a second drone. The third fired a missile that went awry, slipping past the Hulk as he fell back to the ground once again. The tossed drone narrowly missed its target, emergency maneuvers getting it out of the way, by the drone pulled to its side had trouble stabilizing, skirting the ground and bouncing off the crags below, grounded.

The third drone had pulled back, firing just as the Hulk went after it. The monster could not reach, but the cameras finally got a good visual, noting that the missiles had found their mark, Hulk speckled in char and matted dust. Yet it did not slow his charge. Another missile came in hoping to do just that, and the Hulk swatted it aside like it was a bug.

Ross felt his eyelid throb. Sneering at that monster on screen, he finally spat, [color=BE1C1C]“Abort the operation.”[/color] He could feel stinging in his throat from trying to shout orders these last few minutes of combat, but it had been a disappointing endeavor. All that ordinance and the Hulk didn’t even seemed phased. Then he heard the last of it. “Sir, the last drone was taken out.”

Brow crumpling, Ross stood from his seat. Lifting it up, his arm bent awkwardly in his sling, barely gripping it with that hand, before swinging it into the wall behind him. One chair leg made a dent in the plaster. If both his arms were working then it’d have done more, he knew. That fact only pissed him off even more, dent deepening with another smack of the chair. The back of the seat came off on the third hit, chair clattering to the ground and bouncing against his shin.

Holding back another roar, Ross’ voice cracked as he commanded, [color=BE1C1C]“You are all dismissed. Prep a team to salvage the drones once the Hulk is clear of the area, and [b]GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I RIP OFF SOMEONE’S ARM AND SHOVE IT DOWN THEIR THROAT.”[/B][/COLOR] The scramble was immediate and brief.

Placing one hand on his desk in the now empty command room, every breath further stoked the fire within him.[/indent]