Pacifista

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

Lovebirds

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

D O V E A N D H A W K

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^{_{D O N H A L L A N D H O L L Y G R A N G E R ♦ R E T I R E D P O L I C E O F F I C E R / P H A R M A C E U T I C A L T E C H N I C I A N ♦ W A S H I N G T O N D . C . ♦ A F F I L A T E D W I T H L O R D S O F C H A O S A N D O R D E R I N T H E N A M E O F B A L A N C E}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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<sup>“If someone calls me a ‘boomer’ one more time I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Okay boomer.”

“Holly...why?”</sup>

The forces of Balance are those entwined with the nature of the universe itself. It started with an impossible eruption of energy, gravity forming countless spots of order that gave gave birth to life in the endless expanse, an expanse that one day will descend into the chaos of entropy before the cycle starts anew. Such is simply the echoes of eternity, neither order nor chaos having equal right over the other. But in recent years Earth has become a special anomaly, extra-dimensional watchers taking notice and time and space alike were made a mockery of. With great forces moving into action, it would only become more chaotic as time went on. A Balance needed to be achieved or else life could be at risk.

Among the lords of that primordial Balance, Terataya, one of the Lords of Order, and T’Charr, among the Lords of Chaos, chose to intervene. Among Earth’s inhabitants they found those who they felt best exemplified not just Order and Chaos, but all of its forms, conflict and harmony alike. Don Hall and Holly Granger, once divorced, twice seperated, have been chosen to don the mantles of Hawk and Dove as they sit in their twilight years, tasked with balancing order and chaos as they see fit, until needed for their greater duty at the behest of those who granted them power.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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Where with the Hulk, I’m going for my take on a familiar hero, this iteration on Hawk and Dove will be much more of a re-imagining, taking full hold on the idea of Hawk and Dove as agents of chaos and order itself. Those ideas weave into both their characters (people who represent both best and worst of each side), and their relationship itself was a long one filled with periods of both stability and order, where they fostered a family, and ones of chaos, as they split and had to struggle on their own. Their new duty will push them together once again, where they’ll have to reconcile old hurts and rekindle old flames to overcome the trials ahead of them.

While the existential ‘chosen heroes of primordial power’ aspect will certainly rear its head, at the core will be a story of two old folks getting the chance to be heroes in a world they aren’t quite familiar with, so much having changed in recent decades. Between themselves, their son, and the world as a whole, I’ll have plenty to work with as far as ideas go as they strive to find a balance to it all. Hawk and Dove also allow for a more familiar superhero story structure, more easily allowing me to crossover, since Hulk is stuck in his sandbox (with limited opportunities to escape).

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Characters
Holly Granger, the Hawk – Having shed the surname of Hall twice now, Holly is a woman in her mid 60s who currently works as a pharmaceutical technician. She met Don while he was arresting her during a political protest. Currently living in an apartment by her lonesome with no friends to contact, just a husband and son with a relationship she keeps strained.
Don Hall, the Dove – Now retired, Don lives in his home with little to do with himself but maintain it, even though it’s too big for just one person. Recognizing Holly after arresting her, he met her by chance on the day the Vietnam War ended and they went out to celebrate, hitting it off.
Hank Hall – Son of Holly and Don, their first divorce happened during his childhood. A victim of their split parenting, as an adult he wants nothing more than to be the parent to his children that he’d needed back then.
Terataya, Lord of Order – One of the Lords, she has an affinity towards Balance where many of her allies simply fight chaos, as is in their nature.
T’Charr, Lord of Chaos – One of the Lords, his temperament more subdued then many of his peers in Chaos, allowing Terataya to reason with him, forming their alliance.
Kestrel – A creation of Chaos Lords M’Shulla and Gorrum, made with the purpose of preventing unity between order and chaos.
Tannarak – An Alchemist from Ancient Egypt who has achieved immortality, and researches into finding ways to kill other immortal beings to further refine his eternal life by preventing those methods.
Joshua Sommer, Fire Flame – A preteen mutant with a set of recently awakened powers and no good outlet for them.
Garn and Arion Daanuth – Sibling master sorcerers born to a surface faring Atlantis from tens of thousands of years ago, their rivalry sealing them away until present day.
The Grey Man – A watcher of those about to enter their last sleep, manager of souls in the last moments between life and death.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Planting the butt of the broom on the driveway, a knobbled hand brushing away at the sweat under his gray bangs, Don Hall admired his work, the driveway now perfectly clear. Snow wasn’t a big problem the once or twice a season it met the city, but Don wasn’t about to let it be any sort of problem. Ducking into the garage, he shivered at the cold, moving past his light blue pickup, closing the garage door as he slipped his white winter coat off his sturdy shoulders. Hanging it up once he was inside, he walked through the small laundry room and into the lower hallway of the two story house. Reaching the living area, he let out a groan as he plopped into his couch seat, the off-white cushion well worn.

Around him was nothing but quiet. The powered off TV in the living area, the adjoining kitchen, the rooms upstairs, even the heater: all was quiet. Don rubbed one hand on his leg, creating extra warmth from the friction while the other scratched his throat, the skin looser than he remembered. As his body relaxed the aches started up again: his knees, the arm he’d broken a few years ago in a fall, his sides as he’d continued to shiver. Mind concerned with busying himself, nothing he could do came to mind. The grass was dead and had no need to be mowed, nothing was broken that he could remember, he was all stocked up on groceries. He’d just seen his son Hank’s family over Christmas. He’d called Holly and, well, she didn’t seem happy to hear from him.

Ears ringing in the silence, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, letting the news reporter fill the room with sound, any sound. Anything to keep him from picking up things in the distance, sounds he always misheard as calls for assistance that weren’t really there. He hadn’t lived with anyone in years but he’d never stopped hearing Hank or Holly call out his name, even though they were nowhere near. He hated it. He hated how no matter how much he rubbed his legs trying to get warm, it felt colder in here then it did out there.

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“I’m taking my break.”

Getting up from the desk, Holly’s pudgy form, clad in navy blue, moved off without as much as nod from her coworkers in response to her gravelly voice. Wrinkles straining from her tense expression, she moved from the back area to the neighboring hall, outside of the reach of general store’s customers. Normally, the office served as a break area for pharmacy staff, but Holly Granger went a bit further, out through a glass door into the smoking section. Wiping away moisture from the bench situated in the walled off section, the sky open for smoke to pass, her hands flexed for cigarettes that weren’t there. “Oh fuck,” the woman hissed under her breath. Thin nails scraped at the line of her thin, white hair, swept back behind her ears. Bowing her head, she felt a headache come on in her frustration. She’d been trying to quit: she needed to quit, but dammit if she didn’t want to kick herself right now.

Rather than retreat back inside, she took a seat, grimacing at the cold and the wet. Letting out a grunt, a hand hovered over the metal bench, shaking in hesitation before she slammed it down. Letting it out was better. Her curses, pisses, and moans barely reverberated through the glass into the hall, largely slipping up to the sky where they would fall onto no ears. A part of her definitely wanted to take her rancor inside. Give someone else a piece of this hell. But her legs didn’t move from their spot, the only thing rising being the fire in her belly as she continued to grumble at the only one who could hear her.

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A moment after a blue light filled his vision, Don was left star struck at the next sight to come to him. Before him stretched countless lights, most of them white, pulled flat and long, edge to edge in his vision. At once, he felt like he remained still, yet clearly he was moving at a pace he could barely comprehend. His body did not seem to be his in the same way. Looking at his hands, white and blue swirled together in an extraterrestrial glow. He didn’t seem to have form, but he was here. He breathed without breath and could hear the rush of the empty void. Then there was another sound, one ringing in his mind, not making words, just echoes of distress. Reaching out to that nostalgic voice, he called mentally, Holly!?

Don!? Is that you!? Her voice had a roughness to it, a friction that gave him warmth from the pleasant memories he’d shared hearing it, but he left that aside. I’m right here.

As soon as those words came out, he could see something else, another shape. Its silhouette was tall and feminine, strands of fiery red trailing from the head as she hurtled through this space right alongside him, the body and mixture of of white and red like nothing known to his imagination. Before he knew it, he drew closer, reaching out his hand. In her reflex, her own opened up, but she didn’t reach out. Please, he asked.

Taking the leap, she grasped his wrist, Don clasping his hand around hers in return. Even if only in this moment of fear at the unknown, they would meet it together.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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TBD

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

_{Location: New York City, New York}

Hounded – 3.02

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_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: 3.01

Even in a city known throughout the world for its long, historied past with the hotdog, Nate and Frank’s Franks had a certain affinity for gathering customers. The kitchen, tactfully planted by the street, allowed for any walking by to catch the scent, and if they didn’t feel like coming to the nice and warm interior in this mid-winter cold, then hey, there was a counter and register accessible right from the street, and if there wasn’t a few dogs ready to go at any given time then something was very wrong in the world. As for the taste, well, any decent place could get serviceable quality dogs and toppings, but the real secret was in the buns. A little sweetener gave them a near imperceptible smoothness to the taste, but the real trick was in steaming the buns. Grilling was more effective in a service environment, but Nate and Frank agreed that the crunch was meant to be in the onions or peppers, not the bun. Steaming however could lead to sogginess if made to sit in heat for too long, so the accessible access leapt over this hurdle with flying colors, like the vibrant paper tray it was served in.

So, compared to the pickings Bruce was usually able to scrounge up, to find one of these dogs, about a quarter of it bitten off, the rest sitting in an open trash can only barely touching the side of the garbage bag, well, it was nothing short of a miracle. All the little nuances in its construction were lost as Bruce rubbed his hands together, trying to get them to a state where he could pretend they were clean before carefully snatching it up. The cold frank was the only protein he’d gotten in what felt like ages, and the sugars in the ketchup and mustard, the variety of flavors in the relish, onions, even the pungent sauerkraut, all mixed together in a slurry of things his body was craving. Why someone would get ketchup and kraut on a dog was beyond him, and of course meat in general wasn’t something he’d normally partake in. But for all its repugnance, Bruce accepted it without much thought to any other option. These past few months he had been stuck with trying to gather cans and bottles for recycling to try and get some kind of snack, otherwise subsisting on garbage much like this. He’d practically been subsisting on popcorn: no one who got any at Target ever finished the whole bag.

Down to the end, all that remained was the area near where the previous owners bite had been, his fingers carefully gripping that end so as to not touch what he’d been eating, leaving Bruce at an impasse. His mind revolted against him, decades of conditioning regarding basic hygiene creating and odd contradiction in his fresh revulsion (one he didn’t really find rational given that he’d had no problem eating the rest despite literally pulling it from the trash). The other thing holding him back was that he’d noticed a young girl staring at him. She’d just been holding hands with her mother, the woman trying to flag down a taxi, while she just watched silently, eyes wide in abject distaste. Bruce paused, forced to imagine himself from the outside. Not as a man at his lowest doing what he could to survive, but as a filthy parasite living off of scraps and looking like nothing anyone would want to associate with. His ragged puke green coat that was missing half its buttons, and the overly baggy jeans that would be falling off if not for the extra layers underneath. The real capstone on his ‘clearly stolen from a clothing donation box’ wardrobe was definitely the red and green Christmas themed pajama top wrapped around his neck like a scarf to guard against the winter chill. Filled with a sudden desperation to get out of sight, he felt nauseous with himself, holding his breath and shoving the last bite in his mouth. Resisting an urge to gag, he turned away, forcing himself to choke down what he’d gotten. He’d let himself feel like garbage later, eat it now while he could.

Aiming to get out of sight through a nearby alleyway, he was immediately stopped by a mangy doberman that had been minding its own business. At Bruce’s approach it turned about, gnarled fangs bared as it barked, the booming yelps keeping Bruce at bay, the man quickly turning to keep going along the sidewalk. Feeling eyes on his back, he kept his head down and kept moving. The swirl of crowds and lights and towering buildings all felt the same to him. He might not even be in the New York metropolitan area any more for as far as he knew.

Bruce had been mulling about New York for the better part of December, now into January. His autumn had been spent traveling cross country: walking, hitchhiking, sneaking onto a train once, all to get here. But now that he was here, he didn’t know where to go. He didn’t remember his father’s new surname. It used to be Ti- something, it hadn’t been Banner in around 20 years now. He knew he was a neurogeneticist, but the name of the lab had escaped him. The information was too specific to just inquire about, yet Bruce couldn’t think of a way to get to a computer where he could search properly. There were options of course, but the prospect of approaching anyone left Bruce, well…

He was afraid. Even just walking down the sidewalk left him with people averting their eyes after that initial moment. They saw him, the thin beard, the scraggly bangs just barely reaching over his eyes, the ragged clothes. And then once they understood, they looked away. He had become invisible. For a fugitive apparently wanted by the military it was the perfect disguise, especially now that he was across the country. But what establishment would give him access? What person would let him borrow their phone even for just a few minutes? Perhaps it was a smaller hurdle then he was making it out to be, but even the thought of daring to ask again or trying to explain himself paralyzed his vocal chords. His first few attempts had been eye opening. People took out their phones and pretended to busy themselves. One outright responded to his request, a simple “Can you help me?” with “Not you.” And now, just the thought of asking put a lump in his throat. Retching, he didn’t know how much longer he could live like this. Some of his teeth were loose, suggesting malnutrition. His body being in bad condition was fine to a point: all he knew was that he couldn’t reach any near death state, or else that would come out again, and hurt who knew how many. Face tensing as he swallowed the vomit that had started to bubble in his throat, he needed to ask someone again, no matter how much it hurt, because he knew if nothing was done it could be even worse.

Turning down another alleyway, Bruce looked up to see another person just ahead of him, a woman in business attire, clearly in a hurry. Going after her, he tried to call out, but his words stuck in his throat, thanks to how little conversation he’d been making. As she picked up her pace, fearfully looking back over her shoulder, he himself sped up a bit. His heart rang with fear, the part of his mind wanting so dearly to get out of this predicament threatened him, as though it was a last chance. A flash in his mind, a brief visualization, involved more force, he just needed to chase her down and make her comply. The potential opportunity he’d stumbled across in the alleyway, granted by his desire to be away from prying eyes, twisted into an intrusive desire, one that just as quickly filled him with a deep shame. As she made for the other side of the alley, his legs stopped, wobbling as he lost his strength, his will. Stumbling backwards, he landed against the side of a dumpster, the bang of metal sounding out before the immediate area was cast in quiet, only the crowd and cars beyond the alleyway audible.

Curling up, Bruce shuddered, terrified at the prospect of something inside himself, something that had nothing to do with the monster he’d been trying to keep buried. For the first time in a while, Bruce considered this world of heroes. If one had swooped down to stop him just now, then in retrospect it shouldn’t have been surprising; that had been exactly the kind of situation they were known to intervene in, helping those slipping through the cracks against anything that remotely threatened him. Bruce could be said to have a ‘superpower’ of his own, and the thought of being pushed to use on someone in a state of duress, against someone who was actually capable of doing good in the world, was crushing. On one hand, perhaps being stopped was best for everyone. On the other hand, what if he couldn’t be stopped?

Some while ago, the idealist in Bruce had considered the possibility of using his strength to do some good in the world, but that idea was quickly dismissed, as he couldn’t control it. But now he’d realized something much more demoralizing, that who he was just didn’t seem like hero material in the first place. As moisture seeped into his clothing from whatever melted snow or garbage mixture he’d fallen into, he became rather resigned to the idea that this was the best place for him after all.

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

_{Location: Navapo, New Mexico}

Hounded - 3.01

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_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: 2.05

Betty still hadn’t gotten used to the quiet yet.

Just around the New Year, it was now close to four months since the Hulk’s attack on El Diablo, and things had really only quieted down for Betty in the last few week or so. The bulk of it was done in just a few weeks, but some persistent types just kept trying to reach her. Some people just needed to know everything the could about Bruce, as if his case was something that could happen to anyone. Betty on some level understood: she’d be concerned about mutants and meta outbreaks for so much of her lifetime. It was an idea that had scared her, even still (given that she’d experienced it herself). But in going through the experience, she had her preconceptions shown in a whole new light. Imagination, formerly trying to put herself in the shoes of someone in her present position had only made her retroactively realize how little she’d really grasped. To have the obvious been in front of you the whole time without suspicion. To have someone you cared about being hunted like an animal by the forces keeping the country safe, forces she’d once lobbied for so they can do exactly what they were doing. Thinking about Bruce’s circumstances made her sick. Thinking about how for once the systems in place were working as intended gave her a bittersweet flash of hope, one that was buried as she thought about the kind of expressions she knew her father could make.

It was hard not to think about. Betty sat on the floor, curled over a mess of loose papers on Bruce’s side of their bedroom. He was sloppy when it came to his own space: there was old schoolwork here, lab paperwork, junk mail, confidential materials from the base, all shuffled together, the only real organization being chronology, newer stuff settled on top. He’d always shied away from Betty cleaning up after his messes. Despite everything, Betty couldn’t help herself, lips twitching in amusement as she realized how much he’d always been like this: trying to do everything himself while in actuality not really being able to manage it whatsoever. Helpless as he might have been, Betty couldn’t help but to find some solace in his persistence. She wasn’t going to give up on him, and she could hope that that trust wouldn’t be misplaced as long as she could trust him to stay that way.

Organizing some of his mess, fearing pests had moved in while she’d been out, Betty was at it for a good couple hours, back growing sore from her time spent craning over. Cheap, disposable gloves on, she’d gotten to his trash can, small container having been recently emptied, but bits of refuse still remained, fallen around it, ignored in the last dumping. And in that cleanup, there was a discovery, a postcard from the Big Apple. Betty knew Bruce had never been there, nor was he in contact with very many people, but a closer investigation drew a curious name from the sender. “Brian Bush.” The last name was an anomaly, the first name got her blood rushing. Other sounds faded out under her heartbeat, its sound pounding at her ears as she poured over the first lead she’d gotten in weeks. Attempts to find Brian Banner had only run into dead ends grown cold in her childhood, the same time he vanished from Bruce’s life. This postcard however was less than a year old, dated March last year, and if he’d changed his name…

Hopping onto the bed, she whipped out her phone, opening Facebook and typing in the name and location. He hadn’t been trying to hide, Betty had just been going about it all wrong. And there it was. Four men named Brian Bush in the state of New York, only one in the city of New York. Flopping down, her back as relieved as she was. It was something really: never before was she so glad to have a mess to clean up…

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October, Previous Year
S.T.A.R. Labs, San Diego, California

“Dr. Desmond, you have a meeting.”

Glasses askew, head coming up from the desk, Mark Desmond snorted before pressing a finger on the intercom, saying without missing a beat. “Thank you, send them to my office.” Patting down his wavy hair, fixing his glasses, and letting his blurry office come into focus, he ignored the dozens of pages added to his word document from holding down the ‘a’ key in his nap, looking to a calendar on the wall and blinking as he tried to read the note he’d left for himself. Then he saw who he was meant to be expecting. “Oh shit.”

Leaping from his desk, throwing on a white lab coat, Desmond burst through the door and into the hall. Coat trailing behind him in his speedy walk, he headed towards the front desk, turning a couple corners until he saw a blue air force dress coat coming his way. A smile of relief crept to his face as he reached the man, hand extended, reaching for his lucky break. “General Ross, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

A bit of trepidation showed on his face as he slowly returned the handshake. “Desmond? I was just heading to your office.”

“Oh no, that was my mistake, we’re heading to the lab. I’m glad I caught you. I was wondering, what drew you to my work in particular?”

Ross shook his head. “Not out in the open you...” The man bit his tongue, hedging his frustrations, admitting in exasperation, “This is classified. If word gets out its your head on the block, not mine.” Desmond went pale, step staggering before he resumed his course, the rest of their journey. Reaching lab 012, Ross was shuffled in before the door was closed and locked. Desmond let out a sigh of relief, turning to see Ross mulling about the rather plain lab, whiteboards blank, papers strewn about, several marked cages of white rats lined up on the counter by the wall had drawn Ross’ attention in particular. Look incredulous he scoffed, “That’s a thing, isn’t it...”

Desmond opened his mouth to explain, but Ross shrugged him off just as he got the first syllable out. “So, show me what you got.” Desmond nodded, confident as he brought Ross over to the cages, made entirely of metal. Gesturing for him to lean in closer, Ross did, focusing on the rat that was passed out in the corner. Desmond indicated the bars themselves, scratched and chewed like they were plastic. “We have to replace the cages every day.” Following his words, there was a bang, as one of the cages lurched upward and banged back down, as if of its own volition. Ross’ eyes widened, looking to see nothing of note, just a rat inside like normal. Desmond couldn’t help but find amusement in his reaction, not caring to hide his smile as he explained, “It slammed against the roof of the cage with its full body weight. Rats that could squeeze under a normal door easily could also chew through it in moments, or just break it down if it slammed into the doorknob enough. Well, they don’t have the tenacity or smarts for it, they’re rats. But they could.”

Ross shook his head, clearly impressed. “That’s what I was looking for: simple, raw, power. Not fancy tech that needs months of operating experience for it to go out of date in weeks: strength can’t go wrong.” Walking down the line of rats in cages, he explained, “War doesn’t stop changing. Years ago they said drones would replace men, and they did. They’re pricey but a bunch of insurgents in the desert aren’t going to be knocking them down. Drones are less likely to develop PTSD too. But we’ve got a new war. We can’t walk down streets with guns and tanks, we can’t send drones. We need people again, just different ones then the ones we had last time.”

Desmond nodded along. “A super soldier? Like-”

“I was thinking a full squad. It’s a waste to put just a captain...never mind, doesn’t matter. Now, what do we have to worry about? Constipation? Dizziness? Drowsiness? If commercials have laundry lists for whatever they’re advertising then what am I in for here?” Desmond clearly felt himself wince. Understanding, he turned off, reaching for one leaflet in particular. “There were some, yes. We obviously have a lot of human testing to go through but even in the current stage the subjects suffer from overheating through exhaustion and cognitive lapses. Even though the cognitive capabilities of rats only go so far, there are pretty clear deficiencies post injection of the formula. We’re not quite sure exactly what is lost, if it’s memory, processes, problem solving ability, but performance in tests previously taken by the same subject has gone down.”

Ross studied one of the rats, watching is mull about the cage, sniffing at the air. As if sensing the coffee on Ross’ breath, it got closer, reaching the bars, its teeth scrapping them and leaving a few metal shavings in its trail. Ross took a breath before raising his hand, thrusting his palm out where the rat was. The was a bang as the cage was knocked back, the rat leaping in panic, the others in the room similarly reacting to the noise. Desmond’s jaw went slack, the man unable to formulate a response while Ross stood up. His eyes were cold as he looked over, noting, “They still feel fear, so they can’t be that stupid. And if they can recognize authority, they can listen to orders.” Ross shrugged, casually stretching at his collar. “To be honest, that’s all I really need.”

Desmond froze. His mind was blank as he tried to work out what the General was getting at. “We’ll need dosages for a whole squad and its field commander, 13 men.” Desmond felt his heart fall out of place, energy fading like he was losing blood. “N-no, no. I thought...it’s still in the testing phase! It isn’t ready for human experimentation.”

Ross’ gaze fell, the man letting out a deep sigh. Shaking his head, he ran a hand across his mouth and chin, patting down his mustache. “You fucking scientists. Smartest men on the planet, but you don’t think. Ross leaned in, his few inch difference in height being all the more pronounced when that same difference was all that separated them. “This is the human experimentation. You won’t catch me saying soldiers are expendable, let alone anyone. But there’s a difference between a man and a soldier. A soldier signs up to put their life on the line for their loved ones, their country, and the brothers fighting by their side. Every man getting this formula is ready to die to protect you and everyone in this country. I’m not saying this lightly. They’re not my men, but a friend of mine who I see eye to eye with is working with me. This is a joint operation.” Ross had begun to pace, and now he took a moment to lean up against one of the desks, one leg still on the ground while the other hung a foot in the air. The rats behind him had started to calm, one running in its wheel, the squealing plain in the background. “Eiling and I get the big picture. Idiot chest thumpers and dump humpers get all up in arms about which branch is the best, like kids. That’s not the point: they’re specialized. The Marines are like a scalpel: they’re smaller but they’re there to get the job done as quickly and accurately as possible. You don’t make it as a Marine without a propensity for following orders. And the Air Force has the brains. This time they’re the ones holding the scalpel. The tech, the operational knowledge, the critical thinking, the eyes above. That’s why I’m here and not Eiling, he doesn’t know how to get what he wants without shouting, where I don’t need to. I just like too.” Desmond realized his mouth had been hanging open. He tried to close it, but only ended up gaping like a fish. “That was a joke.”

Desmond swallowed, admitting, “You raise a good point sir, but I think I’ll have to talk about it with my superiors…”

Ross forced a smile, “Of course you do.” Standing properly, he clapped a hand on his shoulder, saying, “You have my number. Stay in touch.” Desmond still starstruck, Ross moved towards the door, stopping just before he reached them, turning his head over his shoulder. “Oh yeah...does this juice have a name yet?”

Desmond’s head still spun. All he wanted was a grant to further his study and research, and now he was being given too much, too much advancement, too much funding, too much risk. Hand pulling at his collar, his neck felt exposed, like any choice he could make would end with his head rolling over the remains of his career. Something Ross said earlier sparked in his brain next to a jab his coworker had said last week about his project, Desmond spitting words as they came to mind, just as he was beginning to see success as his ideal path to salvation. “Block...buster?”

Ross stewed over the words, eyebrows going up in acceptance. “Yeah, that’ll do. Blockbuster. Hulkbuster. Fits like a glove.” Throwing the doors open he took his leave. Tension in the air going with him, Desmond let his knees give out, the man keeping upright only because his arms clung to the desk behind him. A few feet away, the rat that had been chewing at the bars no longer had any interest, sitting quietly in its wheel as it rocked back and forth, breathing heavily, the reflection in its small black eyes nothing but its cage.

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

The Immortal...

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T H E H U L K

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^{_{B R U C E B A N N E R ♦ N U C L E A R P H Y S I C I S T / F U G I T I V E ♦ U N I T E D S T A T E S ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C O N T I N U I N G C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{“There’s a ticking atom bomb running around this country ready to blow and take lord knows how many with it, and he god damn well knows it.” – Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross}

Continuing on from the previous season, Bruce has been stripped of his home, security, employment, peace of mind, and the few people he could keep as close confidants. Unable to trust himself even to be put into captivity for his own safety, unable to put himself down and cease being a threat to anyone, the only path Bruce sees is to understand his nature, seeking out his father, the only one remaining who knows of his formative years, the deepest mental connection he can fathom in regards to the beast inside of him.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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I’ve been more or less in my sandbox this last season, and moving to the reboot I’m planning on directly involving Hulk with other characters, while also bringing in the major shadow over Bruce’s childhood in the form of Brian Banner. With his next arcs planned out, I know where is low points are going to land, and his journey to and through them is going to be a rough one. And only when that shadow has passed will Bruce have the opportunity to see the possibility of a hero being within the Hulk.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Notable Characters in Bruce’s Story:
Betty Ross – Science advocate, journalist, and childhood friend and girlfriend of Bruce’s.
General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross (to become The Red Hulk) – Protective father of Betty and General of the US Air Force, on the war path in his pursuit of the Hulk.
Brian Banner (to become Leader) – Bruce’s estranged father, currently in New York.

Other DC/Marvel Notables:
Rick Jones - Friend of Bruce Banner's and coworker at Fendi Labs and El Diablo Air Force base. Current head of the now defunct everywhere but officially Gamma projects once hosted at El Diablo.
Glenn Talbot - Awkward former Air Force Staff Sergeant. Received dishonorable discharge for his actions involving Elizabeth Ross, which had also triggered the Hulk attack on El Diablo.
Ivor Starsky - Senior nuclear physicist at Fendi Labs in New Mexico.
Emil Blonsky (to become The Abomination) – An Air Force security guard. Crippled in the Hulk’s attack of El Diablo Air Force Base.
Benjamin Tibbets (to become Flux) – A young Marine solider.
Wade Eiling - US Marine general and known patriot.
Mark Desmond - Chemist at S.T.A.R. Labs. Developer of the Blockbuster physical enhancement formula (still in testing).

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

Seeing Green

1.00
1.01
1.02
1.03
1.04
1.05
1.06
1.07

A Fresh Set of Eyes

2.01
2.02
2.03
2.04
2.05

Hounded

3.01
3.02
3.03
3.04

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T H E H U L K

---

^{_{B R U C E B A N N E R ♦ N U C L E A R P H Y S I C I S T / F U G I T I V E ♦ U N I T E D S T A T E S ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C O N T I N U I N G C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{“There’s a ticking atom bomb running around this country ready to blow and take god knows how many with it, and he god damn well knows it.” – Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross}

Continuing on from the previous season, Bruce has been stripped of his home, security, employment, peace of mind, and the few people he could keep as close confidants. Unable to trust himself even to be put into captivity for his own safety, unable to put himself down and cease being a threat to anyone, the only path Bruce sees is to understand his nature, seeking out his father, the only one remaining who knows of his formative years, the deepest mental connection he can fathom in regards to the beast inside of him.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

I’ve been more or less in my sandbox this last season, and moving to the reboot I’m planning on directly involving Hulk with other characters, while also bringing in the major shadow over Bruce’s childhood in the form of Brian Banner. With his next arcs planned out, I know where is low points are going to land, and his journey to and through them is going to be a rough one. And only when that shadow has passed will Bruce have the opportunity to see the possibility of a hero being within the Hulk.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Notable Characters in Bruce’s Story:
Betty Ross – Science advocate, journalist, and childhood friend and girlfriend of Bruce’s.
General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross (to become The Red Hulk) – Protective father of Betty and General of the US Air Force, on the war path in his pursuit of the Hulk.
Brian Banner (to become The Purple Man) – Bruce’s estranged father, currently in New York.

Future Antagonists:
Emil Blonsky (to become The Abomination) – An Air Force security guard crippled in the Hulk’s attack of El Diablo Air Force Base.
Benjamin Tibbets (to become Flux) – A young Marine solider.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

Seeing Green

1.01
1.02
1.03
1.04
1.05
1.06
1.07

A Fresh Set of Eyes

2.01
2.02
2.03
2.04
2.05

Shieldhaven: Dragon King Festival [A Fairy Tail RP]

Maybe interested, still thinking about it

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

_{Location: Navapo, New Mexico}

A Fresh Set of Eyes – 2.05

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: 2.04

The shadow thin around the park bench, grass drying, pond shallow and akin to muck, Betty sat up as a dark purple pickup rolled into the nearby parking lot. Aside from that, she was completely still and relaxed, even as the vehicle stopped, General Ross stepping out in a casual polo shirt and jeans, arm still cast in a sling. Keeping tabs on Betty, he went up the slight incline, already in sour states. “So now you feel like talking? I can guess why but I don’t like it.”

“This isn’t about the drones. I know they didn’t come back,” Betty insisted. Ross was given pause, resting a few steps away and only just above her eye level, leaning on his leg against the incline, hand on his knee as he looked her in the eyes. “I’m not going to ask how you know about that. But I will say that if you think this misstep is going to convince me to stop then you don’t know me half as well as you should.”

Ross got back up, taking a seat on the bench, keeping his fair distance as Betty crossed her leg, gaze not deliberately going to him. “Just answer my questions so we can get back to what I’m sure we’d both rather be doing.” Ross’ mustache rustled with a tired breath. “We haven’t talked since the Hulk smashed through my base. This is what I would rather be doing. I want to see that you’re alright.” Betty’s stern look didn’t abate, nor did she turn to Ross, the man huffing as he looked off himself, letting his vision become distracted with a plume of cloud thinning and drifting apart somewhere far off.

“His name is Bruce.” Betty finally stated. “But I’m not here for that. I want to know more about Brian Banner.” Ross was taken aback, leaning forward, eyes betraying how much he had expected the subject. “Both of Bruce’s transformations happened after the Diffuser accident, but the trigger seems to be the anger he’s always had issues with. He’s not good at controlling himself when he’s angry, and he doesn’t get angry a lot, so I didn’t notice at first.”

“And why Brian?” Ross only had a second to take in Betty’s glare before she lashed out, striking him across the face. His eyes burned into hers, the warm day only getting hotter, much like his stinging cheek. Betty’s hand was trembling, her breath like a storm. “Don’t you fucking dare. You knew exactly what was going on in that house. I knew.”

Turning away, a hand came to Betty’s mouth, clutched. Every surfacing memory gave her a pang of guilt, a twinge of shame, a punch in the gut for every bruise she saw and said nothing. She had been eight. It was just a fact of life, something that just happened and no one could do anything about it. But she wasn’t eight any more. She understood well what could have been, what needed to be done. But that didn’t explain or excuse the lack of action from those around her. Hands steady, Betty’s breath seethed as she turned back to Ross expectantly.

“You don’t look like you’ll hear me out, but fine. Their family was not my business. The only reason any of it is my business now is because someone in that family turned my base into a playground. Don’t blame me for not getting involved in something they should have been able to sort out themselves.” Betty’s glare remained unbending, the woman’s anger blazing. Truth be told she couldn’t even speak. As she rose, her thoughts stumbled into one another. His complete dismissal of the Banner family dynamic and the power Brian must have had over it, the inequity and difficulty of those victimized by him to do anything about their circumstances, ones that left a person dead. And this man didn’t care one bit.

She wanted to storm away, but she hadn’t yet gotten what she wanted. Arms crossed, fingernails pinching her skin, she turned back, demanding, “I need to find out where Brian is.”

Ross scoffed. Leaning forward in his seat, he said, “So you can do what? Get him to un-fuck Bruce’s head? He’s not that kind of doctor.” Ross’ casual demeanor was only getting on Betty’s nerves even more. He didn’t care enough to even be angry. “Saving Bruce is the idea.”

Ross shook his head, leaning back, throwing his free arm over the back of the bench. “That’s not happening. Even if by some miracle you get to him before I do, he’s the poster child of what this nation is afraid of right now. A life in Blackgate would be lucky for him. An example needs to be made. Though maybe execution would be a wiser move. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about how he’d be better off dead.”

Betty’s mind flashed to images of herself getting him in the head, crushing his nose with her heel. Her arms twitched, as if to throw the first thing that came to them. Holding herself back, her palpable frustration almost became tears, but once she felt them welling up, she blinked them back. Keeping her eyes closed tight, inky blackness took over, the faintest of light getting through showing blobs of green. With a deep breath, she asked, “Is that want you want? To piss me off?.” She couldn't keep her voice from quavering, revealing her true self, but she could step back, Betty kept away from the playing field where she would have fallen in her lack of experience, unable to match the fervor of a man who’s shouting had resulted in the oldest memory she could recall.

Ross sighed, pulling his arm off the back of the bench. “I’m trying to protect you while you’re trying to kiss up to a monster!” Ross spat “He sneezed off the Diffuser, broke my arm without even trying, and a drone strike only slowed him down. And to shoot down your stupid theory, he’s transformed randomly in the desert, we’ve been watching him. What do you think he’s getting mad about out there? Huh?”

Betty was given pause, but she refused to give ground, “I’ll ask him myself, before or after I see Brian, whichever comes first, with our without your help.” Betty turned off, making her way. Ross was taken aback, standing from his spot. “Don’t you run away from me! We’re not done here!”

Betty didn’t stop. Ross bared his teeth, swearing before shouting back, “Just because you made it away from the monster once doesn’t mean it’ll happen again!” Betty didn’t stop, her words just barely audible to her father, eyes straight forward. “I don’t plan on seeing the monster again in the first place.” As she drove off, Ross had very well seen that she hadn't looked back at him even once, and very much feared he wouldn't see her again.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

_{Location: New Mexico}

A Fresh Set of Eyes – 2.04

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: 2.03

Waking up was a new beginning that Bruce was no longer looking forward too. These rests had only been fatigue after fatigue. Aimless, it didn’t seem to matter which direction he moved in, so maybe it was better not to move at all.

Then he caught the smell of oils of some kind, a manufactured stench. Opening his eyes, he got up, looking about to see smoke, black and noxious. Unnatural and artificial. Scampering across dust in between shrubs, he cried out as he felt pain across his foot. Looking down there was a hunk of metal jutting out of the ground. Watching his step, foot angled to avoid putting pressure on his wound, each step still testing it and making him hold back a small yelp of pain, he made it to his goal, looking at the wreckage. He felt his insides wash away, averting his gaze, not wanting to see any further.

It was an aircraft. The last sound he’d heard was that of a missile, set to destroy him. And yet now, it was he who was standing. He heard a raspy rattled gurgle from his own throat, reverberating as he tried to get away on his wobbly legs. The drumbeat of his heart matched the throbbing in his head. He couldn’t look, because if he did he’d risk seeing a body. The absolute proof he needed to know that the missile should have done its job.

Peeling away, he whined as he saw the smoke of yet another wreck, then another. The energy had been swept out of him. Buckling he feel to his knees, thrusting his forehead into the dirt. His hand gripped empty air, before clawing down scraping at the earth, but none of his pain could quell the despair at his actions, the anger at himself.

Anger, that was it wasn’t it. The linking thread between the smoke shop and Talbot. Some kind of intense emotion, like the stew of grief one felt before their death.

To invite suspicion was one thing, to invite government action was another. They knew who he was, what he was, and what he’d done, something Bruce could only imagine. Body no longer hurting, Bruce pushed himself over, resting on his rear. His foot still had blood, but it no longer bled. Wiping it away, it had healed like it was new, something he could see through eyes that had better sight then he remembered having even with corrective lenses.

It was all clear now. So very much.

---

Carefully out of sight, Bruce slipped on a red and white plaid shirt, loose and oversized on his thin body. Finally in something resembling an outfit after days, Bruce skulked away from the rural home, taking to the road a little ways up. His feet had hardened, resisting the heated asphalt with only a mild discomfort. And most importantly of all, he had direction: east, away from the setting sun.

The military hadn’t bothered him again, though for all he knew they could find him at any time. He would deal with that as it came, however. If need be he’d turn himself in, though he couldn’t be certain what prison could contain him. As much as he feared being stuck somewhere cold and dark once again, it was that exact fear that drove his step eastward. He couldn’t go back, not to Betty or Rick. He could only pray they weren’t hurting, that they were still alright. But going back would risk hurting them further. He’d felt guilt and shame over his emotions, but only after the fact. That was his mistake, now he had to know himself, to keep himself restrained before he showed what he was like when he was angry.

He’d never liked when he was angry in the first place.

But as chancy as it was, in New York there might have been someone he could burden, the one with the best chances at knowing why or what exactly he was. Because one thing was certain, he was the only one alive who made Bruce, Bruce. He still hadn’t ever felt resentment over his treatment, just fatigue. His step was not determined: the man could so easily make Bruce feel emotions he didn’t know he had, but maybe that was a good enough threat to keep him in line. A wave of guilt welled from within, but Bruce swallowed hit back. Even after all he’d done, Bruce still couldn’t hate him. And now he knew why. Or rather, where.

Where the one Bruce really despised had been all this time.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

_{Location: New Mexico}

A Fresh Set of Eyes – 2.03

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: 2.02

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.

---

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, “Get closer. Attract its attention and pull back.”

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, “Abort the operation.” 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, “You are all dismissed. Prep a team to salvage the drones once the Hulk is clear of the area, and GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I RIP OFF SOMEONE’S ARM AND SHOVE IT DOWN THEIR THROAT.” 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.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

_{Location: New Mexico}

A Fresh Set of Eyes – 2.02

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: 2.01

With every step seemed to come a fall. With every breath seemed to come an unseasonal chill. With every pang of the stomach came a wave of nausea.

Falling to all fours, it took everything Bruce had to not fall even further. Getting back up didn’t seem doable. On his second day of trying to find his way, his body was past its limit. No food, no water. Even if he had his full vision he had no survival skills to speak of. He didn’t know where he could find water, couldn’t catch any animals with his sight, and didn’t know what plants were edible. The only reason he hadn’t died in the night was because he had a mind to bury himself in sand, creating a cover to trap his body heat, but now his legs and arms were giving out with no salt, calories, or nutrients to function. He wasn’t even sweating any more, his body holding on to every drop of water it had. He’d heard that the body could survive three days without water, but it seemed like that was a faint hope.

Recognizing the fruitlessness of his efforts to stay off the ground, Bruce collapsed, rolling on his side. Crags and expanse all about him, his eyes were back to the blue. And there they stayed. Trapped in his own body, the heat unbearable, muscles aching, throat arid, he’d believed he was weak, that it was over, but his body stubbornly held on. As much as he wanted to melt into the scorching earth, his body remained afloat. Losing the strength to even hold his eyes open, his vision became red, sunlight bleeding through his eyelids, refusing his respite. Helpless to his circumstances, Bruce couldn’t even muster the will to try and get up. Instead, his breath reached equilibrium, his sight engulfed by white. He briefly wondered if it was intended to be a canvas, a screen to which his life would flash in his last. No such visions came, but the pain became secondary. Like the void in his sights his body felt distant, and for the first time in ages he felt at peace. A peace that went cold as his body seemed to freeze. With his darkening mood, one delicate under death’s grip, his sight too went dark, and everything was gone.

---

Just a flash of green for every moment. The blood rushing in his ears gave way to a ringing, a beeping. Endless, incessant, obnoxious. Eyes tried to flutter open but they were stopped for just a moment. There was a strangled gasped, like finding air for the first time. The beeping seemed to get louder, but he wanted it to stop, not knowing its truth. Deaf to the answers, he only heard his name being called as he struggled against that which kept him down, hand grasping at the blanket over him. A brief glance brought him to the sight of a nurse, who held one of his shoulders down, trying to keep him still.

“Let me move.” He grunted. Pulling the blankets back he expected them to hold tight but they slid back like it was nothing. “Sir, please. Mr. Blonsky.”

“Let go!” Blonsky spat. The nurse held his hands up. “I’m not touching you sir!” Blonksy finally stopped to listen. The beeping of his heart monitor refused to slow, only intensifying as his hand touched his thigh. Or rather, the empty piece of meat he thought to be his thigh. Leaning forward, he went to reach his toes, but only his shoulders came up, his waist unmoving.

Holding onto the flesh of his leg, trying to hold himself up, he gaped, noise going muddy, sight swimming. With a rush of air his head fell ever so slightly, never being so high in the first place, yet it came crashing down all the same.

---

Betty felt her nose crinkle as she opened the door, wincing and the smell of incense. She never liked the smell of smoke, and whatever else was supposed to be called to mind by the scent she didn’t enjoy either. Unable to keep herself from coughing, she hacked, “Rick what the hell is this?

Leaning over a computer screen, Rick answered, “I just focus better with it, sorry.” Stopping so that he could wheel his chair over, he snuffed it out, nabbing a remote to turn on a fan.

Flopping down on the couch, she wished she really had the chance to get some fresh air. Rick’s apartment was sparse, made up of a couch, computer setup, with a table that extended into the nearby kitchen. She was only here for a bit, as trying to get to her apartment was...well, no longer easy. General Ross grasped why she’d had the reaction she did to that monster, coming to the same realization, and in her fervor he may have let it’s identity ‘slip’ to news outlets. Needless to say Betty didn’t want to be seeing him anytime soon.

The Hulk. That’s what the monster Bruce had become was being called, thanks to one of the earliest reports on the attack countrywide. Such a senseless attack on an unprepared, government run target by a previously unknown meta was just the story the current political climate needed, very neatly fitting the anti-meta narrative. Betty might have even been running with it: she’d said her pieces before, such as after the first student to attack their school with mutant powers, complicating school shooting and gun law discussions even further. But this time, even the thought of trying to put something to the page about the Hulk exhausted her. She’d known the signs, warned others to watch for them, ask them to look past their biases and certainties. To somehow find that which was being kept hidden before it exploded out. And in no capacity had she succeeded in following her own words.

Bruce ended up in the desert over road rage? And another car had randomly found its way into a smoke shop? The way he tended to shut down when certain topics came up wasn’t unusual for him, but in the moment she even had that thought of ‘he hasn’t reacted like this before’. And then she dismissed it. She’d known Bruce for so long it felt like she knew everything about him, but that thought was a dangerous one, and reflection kept bringing her more pain, more of their childhood.

How deeply did this go? And if recollection brought her so much pain, what was Bruce going through right now?

The air a bit clearer, Betty sat up again. Rick took note, turning about in his chair. “Thinking about...you know?” Betty unconsciously bit her lip, admitting, “It’s hard not to right now. Did you come up with anything?”

Rick had been lucky to avoid particular notice. Ross’ leak had been the only significant one. Rumor and speculation was abound, but the exact nature of the Gamma Stream project, and more importantly, those who worked on it, was still very much government secrets. Betty was expected to be involved in the eventual press release when it was ready for public display and investment, but now the whole thing was up in the air. At the very least, Fendi Labs was also being quiet, so Rick’s place was currently a blind spot to snoops, once Betty shook off anyone tailing her at least.

“There was one thing: Ross fired the Discharger and Bruce just sneezed it off.” Betty winced: to her it had been the Hulk, but she kept her mouth shut. “The residual radiation should have been a threat to everyone in that room, but there was barely anything.”

Betty frowned, “That was like when Bruce was hit by it too, right? The Discharger...” Betty trailed off, having moved towards an explanation in her mind, but Rick’s winced, moving in. “Those are the exceptions, not the rules. Every time Bruce was involved, the results have been relatively tiny, but every other time the measurable output has been expected. Levels that would pretty easily kill a person. It’s not the machine, it’s Bruce. Somehow he’s capable of absorbing radiation, like a sponge. I don’t know if it’s detectable, or if it’s even safe to be near him.” Betty felt her heart run cold. Rick sensed her anxiety and explained, “Look, everyone there was tested and you had no more or less radiation then anyone there. We can’t discount the possibility that this is a still evolving mutation, if it’s even a mutation at all.”

Betty swallowed. That confirmed it, and the explosive symptoms at the very least only seemed to have started after the accident. That said, they didn’t seem purposeful. A continuation of accidents, triggered by...

“It wasn’t before the accident. It wasn’t!” Betty realized, almost jumping out of her seat. Rick seemed taken aback, but didn’t interrupt. “He was mad at Talbot, and a little while before that he got into road rage. The car didn’t match the description he gave, but that might have been the first time: the Hulk sent it into a building.” Rick seemed a bit lost in her rambling, but she persisted, “I remember him doing the same thing as he did last time before the accident, he fought off a dog that attacked us. No Hulk.” Knuckle over her mouth, she admitted, “It’s anger. The Hulk is Bruce when he’s angry.”

Rick scratched his chin. “Well, I’ve almost never seen him angry so...”

It had clicked together, but it didn’t seem to solve anything. Losing that motivation, Betty flopped back into her seat. Trying to envision a future only muddled her thoughts. She could only see clearly when looking back. “Hey Rick, there’s a scientist I want you to look into, when you get time.” Rick turned back to his screen, head over his shoulder watching her carefully. Betty closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the scent of that autumn in particular, the light smoke from neighborhood fireplaces, the leaves molding into the dirt, and the cigarette stench of the one who found the two runaway children.

“I need to know more about Brian Banner.”

---

Taste of slime and muck filling his mouth, Bruce opened his eyes, something he hadn’t expected to ever do again. He felt moisture on his back, soft dirt all about. The air was cool yet above he could see the sun, in between the crags creating shade, and flashes of green tinged his sights. Rolling over, he was shocked to have the energy. The movement shifted his bowels, and a belch came to the surface, its taste like a vegetable. Looking up to see a pool of stagnant water, he swatted away at the itching, flies finding him. Moving away, he stepped out of the hideaway and back into the heat, getting his bearings.

He was still very much in the desert, but somehow he’d ended up at what was more or less a hidden oasis. A bit more plant life was about, including some destroyed cacti. That broken fresh scent reminded him of the unfamiliar taste, and it came together, hope and fear alike. He’d been saved by the very thing that put him here, that shoved that car into the building and threw him into the desert. And yet that thing may have done something even worse, and he could not remember even a bit. He wanted to see Betty, so badly, or even just to find out if she was alright. Talbot? Ross? Rick? Anyone?

Falling to his knees, taking in the heat, the landscape before him seemed just a little bit clearer. He had no direction, and he hated that his ineptness meant he would have to continue to rely on that, but it was keeping him alive.

For better or worse.