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Issue #2 by R. John Burke (Volume 1)
March 2007 |
All his dreams are of darkness.
Once, he was a proud man, proud to serve the Soviet people as an agent of the KGB. His was a dangerous life, and unforgiving, but it was a life he believed in, and it was not untouched by joy. His wife, his beloved Nadia, was to him the sun and stars. She gave him a home, a reason to keep fighting.
Now she is lost to him forever, his country is part of the past, and the fight goes on without meaning. Now he wanders someplace very black and very empty, and knows that he will never find his way home...
“Emil Blonsky.”
A voice, out of the darkness. Blonsky struggles toward the light, wondering who dares disturb his solitude. Bitterness overwhelms him, and he hopes that they will give him a focus, a way to lash out...
“Wake up, Blonsky, and stop pitying yourself. There is nothing very special in your mind... nothing we cannot overcome.”
“RrrrrrARGH!”
The monster within him lashes out, the Abomination that destroys everything it touches because it knows it has destroyed itself. He curses and snarls, thrashing about with huge, useless limbs, but there is nothing here to fight. There is nothing... anywhere. He knows that he is still alone... and yet, somehow, he is not.
Eventually, he tires. He loathes himself for that. The one he hates, Banner, who took from him the comfort of his denial and forced him to know the darkness within... he would never tire. You could outfight the Hulk, but you could never defeat him, for inside him is a bottomless well that only makes him stronger while you waste your blows against him.
Not so with Emil Blonsky. For all his strength, he is only mortal. And once the fit of rage has passed, it is replaced by a kind of curiosity. Addressing himself to nothing in particular, he says:
“Who are you? What have you done to me? Tell me now and I may spare your life!”
He hears a new sound-- the sound of laughter. Smug amusement. “Most generous of you. My name is Xa'ios. I represent the Chorus of the Zraii. As to what we have done, we have simply... liberated you from your previous condition. How much do you remember?”
“I... nothing, I... my memories are... confused, and your words are meaningless to me!”
“Well... you will come to understand. I am now speaking directly into your mind. Once we have spent a bit of time together, you will see that it is in your interests to cooperate with us. And then, Emil Blonsky-- Comrade Blonsky, whose own people think him an Abomination-- then we will both get what we want. You will have a future, a normal life, free of your curse... and I will have the Hulk.”
Once, he was a proud man, proud to serve the Soviet people as an agent of the KGB. His was a dangerous life, and unforgiving, but it was a life he believed in, and it was not untouched by joy. His wife, his beloved Nadia, was to him the sun and stars. She gave him a home, a reason to keep fighting.
Now she is lost to him forever, his country is part of the past, and the fight goes on without meaning. Now he wanders someplace very black and very empty, and knows that he will never find his way home...
“Emil Blonsky.”
A voice, out of the darkness. Blonsky struggles toward the light, wondering who dares disturb his solitude. Bitterness overwhelms him, and he hopes that they will give him a focus, a way to lash out...
“Wake up, Blonsky, and stop pitying yourself. There is nothing very special in your mind... nothing we cannot overcome.”
“RrrrrrARGH!”
The monster within him lashes out, the Abomination that destroys everything it touches because it knows it has destroyed itself. He curses and snarls, thrashing about with huge, useless limbs, but there is nothing here to fight. There is nothing... anywhere. He knows that he is still alone... and yet, somehow, he is not.
Eventually, he tires. He loathes himself for that. The one he hates, Banner, who took from him the comfort of his denial and forced him to know the darkness within... he would never tire. You could outfight the Hulk, but you could never defeat him, for inside him is a bottomless well that only makes him stronger while you waste your blows against him.
Not so with Emil Blonsky. For all his strength, he is only mortal. And once the fit of rage has passed, it is replaced by a kind of curiosity. Addressing himself to nothing in particular, he says:
“Who are you? What have you done to me? Tell me now and I may spare your life!”
He hears a new sound-- the sound of laughter. Smug amusement. “Most generous of you. My name is Xa'ios. I represent the Chorus of the Zraii. As to what we have done, we have simply... liberated you from your previous condition. How much do you remember?”
“I... nothing, I... my memories are... confused, and your words are meaningless to me!”
“Well... you will come to understand. I am now speaking directly into your mind. Once we have spent a bit of time together, you will see that it is in your interests to cooperate with us. And then, Emil Blonsky-- Comrade Blonsky, whose own people think him an Abomination-- then we will both get what we want. You will have a future, a normal life, free of your curse... and I will have the Hulk.”
“ANGER: Part Two – The Devil You Know”
Dr. Robert Bruce Banner awoke under a tree, on the edge of a barren field, soaked by the pouring rain. Lightning flashed across a dark sky-- a big sky, as they called it, probably somewhere out West. He was shivering because, well, he didn't really have any clothes on, per se, and the air was chill.
A memory from some half-forgotten history class flashed through his mind: General Grant at the Battle of Shiloh supposedly spent a rainy night under a tree. Presumably he had underwear, though.
They used to say Grant was a lush. Banner remembered that factoid, too. Personally, he rarely drank, but nobody in the history of the world had ever experienced morning-afters like Bruce Banner's.
Slowly, his muscles aching as though he'd done them some grievous wrong, Banner climbed to his feet and scanned the horizon in all directions. There was a farmhouse to his left, pretty much the only break in the scenery for miles. Banner started walking. Maybe they would have... a blanket, some clothes they'd neglected to take off the line, something he could use to cover himself. Maybe they'd call the police, too, and tell them that a naked scrawny man was skulking around the premises. Oh, the locals would have fun with that.
If they tried to arrest him, though, they would have to come loaded for bear. Banner would try to talk his way out of this peacefully-- oh, he always did-- but somebody would do something that made him afraid or, Heaven forbid, angry, and then... He would come out.
Hell. I shouldn't have to live like this, afraid to approach people. Afraid to lose control, even for a second. Afraid of what I might have done the last time he...
Wait a minute. What had he done? He remembered snippets of things: a cage, strange creatures, that little psycho Wolverine. The last thing he really remembered clearly was trying to help Alpha Flight, and that was... how long ago? (* M2K's Alpha Flight #57-58, actually.) The Hulk had been in control for some time. What kind of trouble had he caused, and why had he reverted to Banner here, in the middle of nowhere?
The creatures. They did something to him, got inside his head. In trying to bring Banner's personality to the fore, they had fractured his mind into its core personalities. If Banner closed his eyes and listened, he could almost hear them in his head:
Why does Hulk have to go where Banner wants? Hulk hates Banner! Hulk wants to be left alone!
Geez, I'm starving. While you're at the farmhouse, Banner, why don't you bust in and get us something to eat? C'mon, it'll be easy. You know you want to...
This is ridiculous. Where do you think you're going, Dr. Banner? Running away? You know we have to find out who they were. What they wanted. It's our responsibility...
“Shut up!” Banner said aloud. The rain nearly drowned out his own voice. This was absurd. It was bad enough living with the Hulk when he hid himself until Banner got angry. At times, he'd even been able to come to a tacit understanding with the monster inside him, but now he felt further from that than ever. If he had to listen to the various Hulks shouting in his head all the time, he'd go insane. Insaner.
Banner doubled his pace toward the farmhouse, as much to give himself something else to think about as because he thought it would do any good. The voices faded, but didn't quite disappear...
I don't have to do this alone anymore. I'll call someone-- Leonard Sampson, Stephen Strange. Someone who can help me restore equilibrium.
How, though? People had tried to aid him with the Hulk before. It never really worked. In the long run, the only one who could put the Hulk to rest... was the Hulk. Once the creature got angry, or restless, as it was now...
Lightning flashed again. Banner shuddered violently. If this downpour got any worse, he might need the Hulk's vitality to keep from freezing to death. One thing at a time. Don't freeze to death. Don't get caught by whoever did this. Don't let any of the Hulk's enemies find you in this condition. You'll get this sorted out. You always do.
When he reached the farmhouse, he proved to be in luck-- or luck by his own standards, anyway. All the lights were out in the main house, and there was a storage shed with the door unlocked and an old sheet covering up a lawnmower. He wrapped himself in the sheet, huddled in the corner of the shed, and fell asleep-- passed out might have been a better term-- listening to the rain pound on the roof.
Even in dreams, he wasn't free. He found himself floating... somewhere. The featureless place inside his own mind, where he'd grappled with the Savage Hulk and Joe Fixit for control (* in the last issue). At first, Banner thought he was alone there. Perhaps one night's decent sleep would be granted him; it didn't seem like a lot to ask. Then...
“You disappoint me, Doc.”
Banner turned; Joe Fixit was there, a gray figure wreathed in smoke with shoulders like an ox. By comparison to the other Hulks, he was almost petite, but he towered over Banner. He couldn't very well hurt the scientist within the confines of their own mind, but he could intimidate. The impulse to fear had always been strong in Bruce Banner. That was one of the things that gave the Hulk his power.
“Where are the others?” he demanded of Joe.
“Around.” Joe shrugged. “I figured this was just between us.”
“Leave me alone,” Banner said, backing away. “I need peace. I need-- I need to think. I can get us out of this.”
“Sure,” said Joe, blowing a wreath of sure. “Sure you can. Meanwhile we sleep in the barn with the livestock. That about right?”
“Joe, it's not...”
“I can get you what you need. What you want. Can't be more'n two or three people in that house. I can take 'em easy.”
“And then... what?”
Joe shrugged. “We eat, drink, an' be merry. Warm up in front of the fire. Sleep in a real bed. Maybe we don't sleep alone, if you get my drift.”
Once, Banner might have been horrified by such suggestions. Now he was past being surprised at what the Hulk could do, so he shrugged. “So... your idea is that I should give you control, so that you can... enjoy yourself? Come on, Joe, you know I'm not going to do that.”
Another shrug of broad shoulders. Gray eyes seemed to bore into him out of the dark. “It'll keep us alive. Besides, who says you got a choice?”
“Logic. If the Banner personality wasn't dominant right now, I wouldn't have reverted. You know I'm holding the cards.”
Joe Fixit snorted. “Maybe, in a penny-ante game. How long you think you're gonna last like this? What're you gonna do if the orange freaks come back? Talk 'em to death?”
“I'll take my chances.”
“Sure, you will.” Joe flicked ash off his cigar. “'Till you get scared. Then Big Green takes over, an' you're stuck inside that brainless shell for another couple years. Or maybe the Professor wins out... he'll probably get us killed playin' hero. Even if he don't, he thinks he is you. There's no reason for him to share with the real Bruce Banner. I'm the only one who'll do that. Like it or not, Doc, we need each other.”
Banner's mind was racing; it was hard to think straight in Joe Fixit's shadow. He forced a couple of deep breaths. “You--you want to make a deal?”
“That's right. I'll keep you alive now. You keep me alive later.”
“Later.” Something clicked for Banner. Despite himself, he smiled, because he understood what Joe was after. “You're afraid they will come back. The creatures.”
Joe nodded. “I'm a pretty good sneak, Doc. I heard some of what they were sayin' while we were kayoed before. They got this big damn plan, and we're a part of it somehow. Whatever they're after from us, they want it bad. They're not gonna give up. I wouldn't.”
Banner started pacing back and forth-- nervous, frustrated. Afraid. The only way he knew to combat fear was with his intellect: “They want me. At least, that's your assumption. When they do... well, anyone who can separate our personalities might know how to eliminate them. You're afraid I'll cut you out.”
Joe didn't bother to deny it. “Remember, Doc, I know everything you want. Most of all, you want me dead. Me an' the others. Can't say I blame you-- if I gotta hear that lunkhead threaten to smash one more thing, I might just off myself, you know?”
“No, you'll never do that, Joe.” Banner smiled at him. “You're the survivor in us.”
“Damn straight. Given a choice between gettin' my brain drained by those freaks an' sharing power with you... well, Doc, you ain't so much to look at, but I figure we can live with each other. What d'you say to that deal we used to have where you're in charge during the day an' I come out at night?”
“I say no deal.” Banner turned his back on the gray giant. “I'm doing all right so far. If they come back... well... let them come.”
He heard a small sound as he took his first step in the other direction-- a quiet growl. He wondered if Joe would try to threaten him. It wouldn't be the first time. One of the things Banner hated most about Joe was how much he reminded of their father. But he didn't hear the growl again; instead, Joe exhaled loudly, filling their subconscious with another puff of smoke.
“I can wait, Doc. I think you'll change your mind.”
“I don't need you, Joe,” he said, and took another step.
“Maybe not,” Joe Fixit agreed. “Not yet...”
He started to laugh, and was still laughing when Banner awoke in a cold sweat, tangled in the blanket, with sunlight stabbing him in the eyes through the badly-fitted boards of the shed.
No, General Grant never had a night like mine, he decided, and groaned.
# # # # #
The woman walking through the park looked just like her pictures: brunette and attractive, still fit in the manner of someone who'd spent her life in the service and had acquired the habit of keeping in condition, but with a casual air that said she'd lost the sharp edge of her training. That was convenient, for it allowed her visitors to approach within three feet before she noticed their presence. Sloppy.
On the other hand, when she stopped short and the man behind her took a single extra step, she whirled and caught him in a hold that would have snapped his arm if he'd tried to move again. A small “Urk” of surprise escaped his lips--
“Sorry, is this not comfortable for you? Since you've been following me for half an hour, I naturally assumed you wanted a hug. Unless you were looking for something more along the lines of a target, in which case I have a suggestion: Look someplace else.”
“Damn,” said the woman standing a few feet away, shaking her hand. “She's good.”
“She'd better be,” said the final visitor, a tall man in a dark suit. He lowered the rims of his sunglasses and frowned at the brunette. “Kate Waynesboro? I'm Special Agent Pratt, FBI. I would consider it a personal favor, ma'am, if you would not break my agent.”
Waynesboro's brown eyes narrowed at them. “I don't recall owing you any favors.”
“Well, this is your chance for me to owe you one.”
She released Pratt's assistant and shrugged. Reggie quickly put some distance between them, rubbing his wrists and clearly hoping the others wouldn't see him blush. They did.
Kate Waynesboro arched an eyebrow at his boss. “So... you're FBI, you're wearing a black suit, and you have the influence to do favors for people. Am I to assume this is about little green men?”
“Big green ones, actually.”
That took half a second to sink in. Then Kate Waynesboro turned on her heel and was several long strides away before the agents could catch up to her...
“You are a former associate of Bruce Banner's, aren't you? Or is 'associate' putting it too mildly?”
“Oh, go to hell,” she said. “I'll tell you what I told SHIELD: I'm out. All the way out. I want no part of them, no part of you, and especially no part of whatever hare-brained, Hulk-hunting scheme you've cooked up!”
“Agent Waynesboro, I'm hurt. I happen to think it's a very clear and cogent Hulk-hunting scheme. And more to the point--” Pratt took a long step around Waynesboro, placing himself in the path in front of her, while his deputies fanned out to either side behind her. He smiled pleasantly. “More to the point, you really don't have any choice but to help me with it.”
Waynesboro regarded the three of them with a sneer. “Past experience suggests I can take you.”
“You can take Reggie,” Pratt said, with a nod for his still-blushing subordinate. “I very much doubt you can take Eve. I assure you, you cannot take me.”
He stared Waynesboro down. She didn't blink-- and then, finally, she did. She studied the ground and shuffled her feet. “I haven't seen Bruce in years. Why me?”
“Because old memories die hard, Agent Waynesboro. And SHIELD agents never die at all.”
“SHIELD agents.” She grunted. “I'm not exactly up to hunting HYDRA or Black Air or whoever the bad guys are these days. I'm a suburbanite now. I'm going to be a soccer mom. I mean, as soon as I get the, you know, the husband and the kids and learn to tolerate soccer...”
“I tried that,” said Eve. “It's pointless.”
“Marriage, or soccer?”
“Both.”
Pratt cleared his throat. “I don't think you're as out of touch as you'd like me to believe, Agent Waynesboro. But even so, a week of back-to-Basic will cure that. Think of it as an expenses-paid vacation on President Kelly's dime.”
“Wow, presidential namedropping. You people really are impressed with me. I haven't the slightest idea why.”
“Well, you impressed Banner once.” Pratt grinned. “That's something.”
“I won't help you kill him.”
This time she did a little better in the staring contest. Pratt found himself nodding.
“No, I didn't expect you would. But you know what, Agent Waynesboro? When the time comes, I bet you will do what I need you to do.”
“When the time comes, I'll take that bet,” said Kate Waynesboro, but she went with them.
# # # # #
Thaia watched the line of soldiers tromp past her through the gates of the Installation, their multiple hands clenched into fists and scowls on every face. Last of all came Xa'ios, her colleague, who did not scowl. Thaia fell into step with him, because she didn't trust Xa'ios when he didn't scowl.
“I take it you didn't find him?”
“No, we didn't find him. The way he leaps, he could be anywhere by now.”
Xa'ios kept walking through the corridors, past the area the Hulk had smashed through (* in the last issue) to escape from them. That disturbance had caused them to lose cloak momentarily; it was pure luck that the humans hadn't discovered their presence out here. Lowering the cloak again just to go traipsing through the countryside was beyond reckless.
Thaia ran to catch up with him. “We were visible for nearly two minutes while you went on holiday. If you knew you wouldn't find--”
“There is a difference between knowing and suspecting. Besides--” Xa'ios stopped short and jabbed two fingers at her. “Risks must be taken, to compensate for your mistakes.”
“I'm sorry,” she told Xa'ios slowly, as though speaking to a child. “Next time I'll allow you to stand in front of the eight-foot giant. No doubt you will bodily prevent his escape, for the good of the Chorus.”
Her colleague leaned in close. “Do not joke, Thaia. Such failures as yours are not taken lightly. You were expected to subdue him. Your reputation may never recover from this.”
“I'll survive.”
“No doubt.” Xa'ios started walking again. “Thanks to me.”
“Thanks to--” The string of alien words that ran through Thaia's mind would have been unprintable in any language. This time, she grabbed two of Xa'ios' arms when she caught him. “What have you done?”
“We couldn't find the Hulk,” said Xa'ios with a smile. “We did find the other.”
“The... no!”
He shrugged. “I thought you'd be pleased. If he can recover Banner for us swiftly, the First-Among-Equals may never have to know of your... indiscretion.”
“You sent Blonsky after him? The one they call the Abomination?”
“Don't worry, I cracked his mind first. He's under control.”
Thaia's own mind boggled. It was a long time before she could say: “Tell me, Xa'ios, does it hurt to be so mind-numbingly stupid? They call this man the Abomination-- the damned Abomination! By what logic do you assume he will be helpful and easily controlled?”
Now the other Zraii got stubborn, glaring at her with undisguised contempt. “This must be done, and only Blonsky can do it.”
“And what if he kills Banner? Have you thought about that?”
Xa'ios looks thoughtful. “I suppose that will mean the Hulk wasn't the one we were looking for.”
He walked away, and this time Thaia didn't follow. She was too busy wondering how to contain the damage. In a way, Xa'ios had the point. If Banner died, the Chorus would ultimately recover. The one they were looking for-- the force of pure rage-- would, by definition, be unstoppable. If it wasn't him, it would be someone else. But Thaia's own design was somewhat different, and if she lost Banner, he could not be replaced.
She turned and hurried in the other direction. Now her hand had been forced, and she would have to take stronger measures.
# # # # #
The three suited figures stood on a little hill, overlooking a well-groomed course of green, and watching a stooped, stocky man shuffle away from his golf cart.
“Is that him?” Reggie asked.
Eve nodded. “If he gets to be too much for you, now, you just shout and I'll come to your aid.”
“Aw, c'mon. The guy's about seventy years old... how's he gonna help us?”
“You might be surprised, Reggie,” said Pratt, who adjusted his shades and started down the hill. “The man's still a three-star general. Why don't you two hang back? I'll take this one myself...”
A moment later, his polished shoes stopped in front of a neon-orange tee, where the stocky man was swinging a club back and forth. He cleared his throat.
“You're blocking my shot.”
“My apologies, sir. I wonder if I could have a moment of your time?”
The man scratched at his white mustache and said in a gravelly voice, “Not now, son. I'm just about to break a hundred.”
Pratt stepped aside. The white-haired man lined up and took his shot... not a very good one. He shanked it into the rough.
“Dammit! You distracted me!”
He slung his driver over his shoulder and shuffled back toward the cart without another look at Pratt. The younger man waited until he was almost out of earshot, then called: “Thunderbolt Ross?”
Ross turned to look at him. “People don't call me 'Thunderbolt' much anymore, son. Those who do are usually brown-nosing.”
“I just wanted to be sure I had the right man. I thought I was here to consult with Lieutenant General Thaddeus Ross, the world's foremost military expert on the Hulk. You look a little bit like him, but the man I've heard stories about didn't have much time for golf.”
“The man you've heard about was a hell of a lot younger.” Ross climbed into the golf cart. “And his daughter was still alive.”
Pratt approached the cart, hoping it wouldn't run him over. “I was sorry to hear about that, sir. My father told me she was beautiful.”
Ross quirked an eyebrow. “Your father told you about Betty, and... me? He was in the service?”
“Yes, sir. He just retired. You probably don't remember, he was only a captain. Armored cavalry, tank man. Told me about a time, maybe ten years ago... he was stationed out at White Sands, and he there was a manhunt on... maybe I should say a Hulk-hunt. Anyway, they're out there all day, and just when they get the order to turn around... wouldn't you know it? There's the Hulk, right in front of my dad's machine. Picks it up and throws it like a child's toy. Smashes it, pure luck any of the men got out.
“So my dad crawls out of the tank, and he's coughing and swearing and choking on fumes, and he looks up... and the Hulk's standing over him. Eight feet of pure muscle, slavering jaws, roaring like a lion... he reaches for my father, and dad thinks, okay, this is it. And then-- BAM!-- a shell hits the Hulk dead-center and knocks him away. Saves my dad's life. He looks up and shades his eyes... and there's Thunderbolt Ross, coming over the rise just like the cavalry.”
Pratt shrugged. “I don't mean to bother you, sir. I just wanted some free advice. You give the word, I'll pack it in and go home. But if you're not old just yet... if you've got some cavalry left in you... now is when we need it.”
Ross stared up at him, momentarily affected. Then he growled. “You want the word on the Hulk, son? It's 'waste.' I wasted my life chasing the Hulk. I wasted my daughter's love. Now she's gone, and Bruce Banner turns out to be a decent man, and I've got nothing. Oh, except breaking a damn hundred, so maybe you'd like to get the hell out of my way and let me get back to it?”
Slowly, Pratt nodded. He stepped away. Ross started up the golf cart.
“General!” Pratt called, and it stopped. “So that's it? You want no part of this... you don't want to catch the Hulk? That's really how you feel?”
“Bet your ass, son.”
“How do you feel about the Abomination?”
Ross froze. It would be easy enough for him to blame the Hulk in a general way for the death of Betty Ross Banner, but it had been Emil Blonsky who actually did the deed. Theoretically, Ross was revenged on him, but a man like that... Pratt didn't think Thaddeus Ross would ever get revenge enough. Sure enough, very slowly, a predatory smile spread across the general's face.
A few minutes later, Pratt was walking back up the hill with another part of his plan in place. Reggie and Eve fell into step with him.
“Have we got him, sir?” Reggie asked.
“We've got him.”
“So what now?”
“Just one more stop to make,” Pratt told him. “Then we go to war.”
After a moment's thoughtful silence, Eve said, “Sir, if you don't mind me asking...?”
“You were listening in?”
“Well, yes, sir. That was a hell of a story about the Hulk.”
Pratt shrugged. “I think so.”
“Just for my information, you're full of crap, right?”
“Yeah, I made that up. My old man owned a laundromat.”
“Thought I'd check, sir,” said Eve, and they walked away.
# # # # #
The First Federated Bank outside of Billings, Montana was a financial institutional only by technicality. It was a building. People entered and exited it. Money changed hands. But not very much money, and not very many people, and it wasn't even much of a building. It was gray and dingy and generally gave the impression of a place barely hanging onto its existence.
Soon enough, it wouldn't have that problem.
The looming figure in the trench coat didn't get far into the bank before he attracted the attention of the security guard. He probably would have gotten the man's attention anyway when he threw him through the glass window and into the street.
Somebody screamed. The figure threw off his coat, revealing scaly green skin, a mutated, red-eyed visage, and a horribly fang-toothed smile. He smashed his way through furniture and people alike, throwing things left and right, until he crashed through the teller's counter at the front.
“Privyet, my friends! I am sorry to have to tell you that you will shortly die. If it is any consolation to you, your deaths will help me accomplish something I have awaited for... oh, for many years. If it is no consolation... well, you will be dead, so what does it matter?”
He picked up the nearest teller, who was cowering in a corner, and lifted the man high over his head.
“Wait! Wait!” the man screamed. “I-- I've seen you on the news! You're the Abomination!”
“You are too kind,” said Blonsky with an evil grin.
“But-- but what are you doing out here? We're nobody! We're nothing important! There's no need to do this!”
“Ah, but I think there is.” He began to squeeze...
“For pity's sake, why?!” the man cried.
The Abomination shrugged its massive shoulders. “Why does any of us lash out, my friend? Mainly to get attention.”
The teller opened his mouth to scream, but never had the chance.
Crunch.
TO BE CONTINUED... Next Issue: The Hulk versus the Abomination. Knock-downs and drag-outs will occur. You won't want to miss it, true believers!
A memory from some half-forgotten history class flashed through his mind: General Grant at the Battle of Shiloh supposedly spent a rainy night under a tree. Presumably he had underwear, though.
They used to say Grant was a lush. Banner remembered that factoid, too. Personally, he rarely drank, but nobody in the history of the world had ever experienced morning-afters like Bruce Banner's.
Slowly, his muscles aching as though he'd done them some grievous wrong, Banner climbed to his feet and scanned the horizon in all directions. There was a farmhouse to his left, pretty much the only break in the scenery for miles. Banner started walking. Maybe they would have... a blanket, some clothes they'd neglected to take off the line, something he could use to cover himself. Maybe they'd call the police, too, and tell them that a naked scrawny man was skulking around the premises. Oh, the locals would have fun with that.
If they tried to arrest him, though, they would have to come loaded for bear. Banner would try to talk his way out of this peacefully-- oh, he always did-- but somebody would do something that made him afraid or, Heaven forbid, angry, and then... He would come out.
Hell. I shouldn't have to live like this, afraid to approach people. Afraid to lose control, even for a second. Afraid of what I might have done the last time he...
Wait a minute. What had he done? He remembered snippets of things: a cage, strange creatures, that little psycho Wolverine. The last thing he really remembered clearly was trying to help Alpha Flight, and that was... how long ago? (* M2K's Alpha Flight #57-58, actually.) The Hulk had been in control for some time. What kind of trouble had he caused, and why had he reverted to Banner here, in the middle of nowhere?
The creatures. They did something to him, got inside his head. In trying to bring Banner's personality to the fore, they had fractured his mind into its core personalities. If Banner closed his eyes and listened, he could almost hear them in his head:
Why does Hulk have to go where Banner wants? Hulk hates Banner! Hulk wants to be left alone!
Geez, I'm starving. While you're at the farmhouse, Banner, why don't you bust in and get us something to eat? C'mon, it'll be easy. You know you want to...
This is ridiculous. Where do you think you're going, Dr. Banner? Running away? You know we have to find out who they were. What they wanted. It's our responsibility...
“Shut up!” Banner said aloud. The rain nearly drowned out his own voice. This was absurd. It was bad enough living with the Hulk when he hid himself until Banner got angry. At times, he'd even been able to come to a tacit understanding with the monster inside him, but now he felt further from that than ever. If he had to listen to the various Hulks shouting in his head all the time, he'd go insane. Insaner.
Banner doubled his pace toward the farmhouse, as much to give himself something else to think about as because he thought it would do any good. The voices faded, but didn't quite disappear...
I don't have to do this alone anymore. I'll call someone-- Leonard Sampson, Stephen Strange. Someone who can help me restore equilibrium.
How, though? People had tried to aid him with the Hulk before. It never really worked. In the long run, the only one who could put the Hulk to rest... was the Hulk. Once the creature got angry, or restless, as it was now...
Lightning flashed again. Banner shuddered violently. If this downpour got any worse, he might need the Hulk's vitality to keep from freezing to death. One thing at a time. Don't freeze to death. Don't get caught by whoever did this. Don't let any of the Hulk's enemies find you in this condition. You'll get this sorted out. You always do.
When he reached the farmhouse, he proved to be in luck-- or luck by his own standards, anyway. All the lights were out in the main house, and there was a storage shed with the door unlocked and an old sheet covering up a lawnmower. He wrapped himself in the sheet, huddled in the corner of the shed, and fell asleep-- passed out might have been a better term-- listening to the rain pound on the roof.
Even in dreams, he wasn't free. He found himself floating... somewhere. The featureless place inside his own mind, where he'd grappled with the Savage Hulk and Joe Fixit for control (* in the last issue). At first, Banner thought he was alone there. Perhaps one night's decent sleep would be granted him; it didn't seem like a lot to ask. Then...
“You disappoint me, Doc.”
Banner turned; Joe Fixit was there, a gray figure wreathed in smoke with shoulders like an ox. By comparison to the other Hulks, he was almost petite, but he towered over Banner. He couldn't very well hurt the scientist within the confines of their own mind, but he could intimidate. The impulse to fear had always been strong in Bruce Banner. That was one of the things that gave the Hulk his power.
“Where are the others?” he demanded of Joe.
“Around.” Joe shrugged. “I figured this was just between us.”
“Leave me alone,” Banner said, backing away. “I need peace. I need-- I need to think. I can get us out of this.”
“Sure,” said Joe, blowing a wreath of sure. “Sure you can. Meanwhile we sleep in the barn with the livestock. That about right?”
“Joe, it's not...”
“I can get you what you need. What you want. Can't be more'n two or three people in that house. I can take 'em easy.”
“And then... what?”
Joe shrugged. “We eat, drink, an' be merry. Warm up in front of the fire. Sleep in a real bed. Maybe we don't sleep alone, if you get my drift.”
Once, Banner might have been horrified by such suggestions. Now he was past being surprised at what the Hulk could do, so he shrugged. “So... your idea is that I should give you control, so that you can... enjoy yourself? Come on, Joe, you know I'm not going to do that.”
Another shrug of broad shoulders. Gray eyes seemed to bore into him out of the dark. “It'll keep us alive. Besides, who says you got a choice?”
“Logic. If the Banner personality wasn't dominant right now, I wouldn't have reverted. You know I'm holding the cards.”
Joe Fixit snorted. “Maybe, in a penny-ante game. How long you think you're gonna last like this? What're you gonna do if the orange freaks come back? Talk 'em to death?”
“I'll take my chances.”
“Sure, you will.” Joe flicked ash off his cigar. “'Till you get scared. Then Big Green takes over, an' you're stuck inside that brainless shell for another couple years. Or maybe the Professor wins out... he'll probably get us killed playin' hero. Even if he don't, he thinks he is you. There's no reason for him to share with the real Bruce Banner. I'm the only one who'll do that. Like it or not, Doc, we need each other.”
Banner's mind was racing; it was hard to think straight in Joe Fixit's shadow. He forced a couple of deep breaths. “You--you want to make a deal?”
“That's right. I'll keep you alive now. You keep me alive later.”
“Later.” Something clicked for Banner. Despite himself, he smiled, because he understood what Joe was after. “You're afraid they will come back. The creatures.”
Joe nodded. “I'm a pretty good sneak, Doc. I heard some of what they were sayin' while we were kayoed before. They got this big damn plan, and we're a part of it somehow. Whatever they're after from us, they want it bad. They're not gonna give up. I wouldn't.”
Banner started pacing back and forth-- nervous, frustrated. Afraid. The only way he knew to combat fear was with his intellect: “They want me. At least, that's your assumption. When they do... well, anyone who can separate our personalities might know how to eliminate them. You're afraid I'll cut you out.”
Joe didn't bother to deny it. “Remember, Doc, I know everything you want. Most of all, you want me dead. Me an' the others. Can't say I blame you-- if I gotta hear that lunkhead threaten to smash one more thing, I might just off myself, you know?”
“No, you'll never do that, Joe.” Banner smiled at him. “You're the survivor in us.”
“Damn straight. Given a choice between gettin' my brain drained by those freaks an' sharing power with you... well, Doc, you ain't so much to look at, but I figure we can live with each other. What d'you say to that deal we used to have where you're in charge during the day an' I come out at night?”
“I say no deal.” Banner turned his back on the gray giant. “I'm doing all right so far. If they come back... well... let them come.”
He heard a small sound as he took his first step in the other direction-- a quiet growl. He wondered if Joe would try to threaten him. It wouldn't be the first time. One of the things Banner hated most about Joe was how much he reminded of their father. But he didn't hear the growl again; instead, Joe exhaled loudly, filling their subconscious with another puff of smoke.
“I can wait, Doc. I think you'll change your mind.”
“I don't need you, Joe,” he said, and took another step.
“Maybe not,” Joe Fixit agreed. “Not yet...”
He started to laugh, and was still laughing when Banner awoke in a cold sweat, tangled in the blanket, with sunlight stabbing him in the eyes through the badly-fitted boards of the shed.
No, General Grant never had a night like mine, he decided, and groaned.
# # # # #
The woman walking through the park looked just like her pictures: brunette and attractive, still fit in the manner of someone who'd spent her life in the service and had acquired the habit of keeping in condition, but with a casual air that said she'd lost the sharp edge of her training. That was convenient, for it allowed her visitors to approach within three feet before she noticed their presence. Sloppy.
On the other hand, when she stopped short and the man behind her took a single extra step, she whirled and caught him in a hold that would have snapped his arm if he'd tried to move again. A small “Urk” of surprise escaped his lips--
“Sorry, is this not comfortable for you? Since you've been following me for half an hour, I naturally assumed you wanted a hug. Unless you were looking for something more along the lines of a target, in which case I have a suggestion: Look someplace else.”
“Damn,” said the woman standing a few feet away, shaking her hand. “She's good.”
“She'd better be,” said the final visitor, a tall man in a dark suit. He lowered the rims of his sunglasses and frowned at the brunette. “Kate Waynesboro? I'm Special Agent Pratt, FBI. I would consider it a personal favor, ma'am, if you would not break my agent.”
Waynesboro's brown eyes narrowed at them. “I don't recall owing you any favors.”
“Well, this is your chance for me to owe you one.”
She released Pratt's assistant and shrugged. Reggie quickly put some distance between them, rubbing his wrists and clearly hoping the others wouldn't see him blush. They did.
Kate Waynesboro arched an eyebrow at his boss. “So... you're FBI, you're wearing a black suit, and you have the influence to do favors for people. Am I to assume this is about little green men?”
“Big green ones, actually.”
That took half a second to sink in. Then Kate Waynesboro turned on her heel and was several long strides away before the agents could catch up to her...
“You are a former associate of Bruce Banner's, aren't you? Or is 'associate' putting it too mildly?”
“Oh, go to hell,” she said. “I'll tell you what I told SHIELD: I'm out. All the way out. I want no part of them, no part of you, and especially no part of whatever hare-brained, Hulk-hunting scheme you've cooked up!”
“Agent Waynesboro, I'm hurt. I happen to think it's a very clear and cogent Hulk-hunting scheme. And more to the point--” Pratt took a long step around Waynesboro, placing himself in the path in front of her, while his deputies fanned out to either side behind her. He smiled pleasantly. “More to the point, you really don't have any choice but to help me with it.”
Waynesboro regarded the three of them with a sneer. “Past experience suggests I can take you.”
“You can take Reggie,” Pratt said, with a nod for his still-blushing subordinate. “I very much doubt you can take Eve. I assure you, you cannot take me.”
He stared Waynesboro down. She didn't blink-- and then, finally, she did. She studied the ground and shuffled her feet. “I haven't seen Bruce in years. Why me?”
“Because old memories die hard, Agent Waynesboro. And SHIELD agents never die at all.”
“SHIELD agents.” She grunted. “I'm not exactly up to hunting HYDRA or Black Air or whoever the bad guys are these days. I'm a suburbanite now. I'm going to be a soccer mom. I mean, as soon as I get the, you know, the husband and the kids and learn to tolerate soccer...”
“I tried that,” said Eve. “It's pointless.”
“Marriage, or soccer?”
“Both.”
Pratt cleared his throat. “I don't think you're as out of touch as you'd like me to believe, Agent Waynesboro. But even so, a week of back-to-Basic will cure that. Think of it as an expenses-paid vacation on President Kelly's dime.”
“Wow, presidential namedropping. You people really are impressed with me. I haven't the slightest idea why.”
“Well, you impressed Banner once.” Pratt grinned. “That's something.”
“I won't help you kill him.”
This time she did a little better in the staring contest. Pratt found himself nodding.
“No, I didn't expect you would. But you know what, Agent Waynesboro? When the time comes, I bet you will do what I need you to do.”
“When the time comes, I'll take that bet,” said Kate Waynesboro, but she went with them.
# # # # #
Thaia watched the line of soldiers tromp past her through the gates of the Installation, their multiple hands clenched into fists and scowls on every face. Last of all came Xa'ios, her colleague, who did not scowl. Thaia fell into step with him, because she didn't trust Xa'ios when he didn't scowl.
“I take it you didn't find him?”
“No, we didn't find him. The way he leaps, he could be anywhere by now.”
Xa'ios kept walking through the corridors, past the area the Hulk had smashed through (* in the last issue) to escape from them. That disturbance had caused them to lose cloak momentarily; it was pure luck that the humans hadn't discovered their presence out here. Lowering the cloak again just to go traipsing through the countryside was beyond reckless.
Thaia ran to catch up with him. “We were visible for nearly two minutes while you went on holiday. If you knew you wouldn't find--”
“There is a difference between knowing and suspecting. Besides--” Xa'ios stopped short and jabbed two fingers at her. “Risks must be taken, to compensate for your mistakes.”
“I'm sorry,” she told Xa'ios slowly, as though speaking to a child. “Next time I'll allow you to stand in front of the eight-foot giant. No doubt you will bodily prevent his escape, for the good of the Chorus.”
Her colleague leaned in close. “Do not joke, Thaia. Such failures as yours are not taken lightly. You were expected to subdue him. Your reputation may never recover from this.”
“I'll survive.”
“No doubt.” Xa'ios started walking again. “Thanks to me.”
“Thanks to--” The string of alien words that ran through Thaia's mind would have been unprintable in any language. This time, she grabbed two of Xa'ios' arms when she caught him. “What have you done?”
“We couldn't find the Hulk,” said Xa'ios with a smile. “We did find the other.”
“The... no!”
He shrugged. “I thought you'd be pleased. If he can recover Banner for us swiftly, the First-Among-Equals may never have to know of your... indiscretion.”
“You sent Blonsky after him? The one they call the Abomination?”
“Don't worry, I cracked his mind first. He's under control.”
Thaia's own mind boggled. It was a long time before she could say: “Tell me, Xa'ios, does it hurt to be so mind-numbingly stupid? They call this man the Abomination-- the damned Abomination! By what logic do you assume he will be helpful and easily controlled?”
Now the other Zraii got stubborn, glaring at her with undisguised contempt. “This must be done, and only Blonsky can do it.”
“And what if he kills Banner? Have you thought about that?”
Xa'ios looks thoughtful. “I suppose that will mean the Hulk wasn't the one we were looking for.”
He walked away, and this time Thaia didn't follow. She was too busy wondering how to contain the damage. In a way, Xa'ios had the point. If Banner died, the Chorus would ultimately recover. The one they were looking for-- the force of pure rage-- would, by definition, be unstoppable. If it wasn't him, it would be someone else. But Thaia's own design was somewhat different, and if she lost Banner, he could not be replaced.
She turned and hurried in the other direction. Now her hand had been forced, and she would have to take stronger measures.
# # # # #
The three suited figures stood on a little hill, overlooking a well-groomed course of green, and watching a stooped, stocky man shuffle away from his golf cart.
“Is that him?” Reggie asked.
Eve nodded. “If he gets to be too much for you, now, you just shout and I'll come to your aid.”
“Aw, c'mon. The guy's about seventy years old... how's he gonna help us?”
“You might be surprised, Reggie,” said Pratt, who adjusted his shades and started down the hill. “The man's still a three-star general. Why don't you two hang back? I'll take this one myself...”
A moment later, his polished shoes stopped in front of a neon-orange tee, where the stocky man was swinging a club back and forth. He cleared his throat.
“You're blocking my shot.”
“My apologies, sir. I wonder if I could have a moment of your time?”
The man scratched at his white mustache and said in a gravelly voice, “Not now, son. I'm just about to break a hundred.”
Pratt stepped aside. The white-haired man lined up and took his shot... not a very good one. He shanked it into the rough.
“Dammit! You distracted me!”
He slung his driver over his shoulder and shuffled back toward the cart without another look at Pratt. The younger man waited until he was almost out of earshot, then called: “Thunderbolt Ross?”
Ross turned to look at him. “People don't call me 'Thunderbolt' much anymore, son. Those who do are usually brown-nosing.”
“I just wanted to be sure I had the right man. I thought I was here to consult with Lieutenant General Thaddeus Ross, the world's foremost military expert on the Hulk. You look a little bit like him, but the man I've heard stories about didn't have much time for golf.”
“The man you've heard about was a hell of a lot younger.” Ross climbed into the golf cart. “And his daughter was still alive.”
Pratt approached the cart, hoping it wouldn't run him over. “I was sorry to hear about that, sir. My father told me she was beautiful.”
Ross quirked an eyebrow. “Your father told you about Betty, and... me? He was in the service?”
“Yes, sir. He just retired. You probably don't remember, he was only a captain. Armored cavalry, tank man. Told me about a time, maybe ten years ago... he was stationed out at White Sands, and he there was a manhunt on... maybe I should say a Hulk-hunt. Anyway, they're out there all day, and just when they get the order to turn around... wouldn't you know it? There's the Hulk, right in front of my dad's machine. Picks it up and throws it like a child's toy. Smashes it, pure luck any of the men got out.
“So my dad crawls out of the tank, and he's coughing and swearing and choking on fumes, and he looks up... and the Hulk's standing over him. Eight feet of pure muscle, slavering jaws, roaring like a lion... he reaches for my father, and dad thinks, okay, this is it. And then-- BAM!-- a shell hits the Hulk dead-center and knocks him away. Saves my dad's life. He looks up and shades his eyes... and there's Thunderbolt Ross, coming over the rise just like the cavalry.”
Pratt shrugged. “I don't mean to bother you, sir. I just wanted some free advice. You give the word, I'll pack it in and go home. But if you're not old just yet... if you've got some cavalry left in you... now is when we need it.”
Ross stared up at him, momentarily affected. Then he growled. “You want the word on the Hulk, son? It's 'waste.' I wasted my life chasing the Hulk. I wasted my daughter's love. Now she's gone, and Bruce Banner turns out to be a decent man, and I've got nothing. Oh, except breaking a damn hundred, so maybe you'd like to get the hell out of my way and let me get back to it?”
Slowly, Pratt nodded. He stepped away. Ross started up the golf cart.
“General!” Pratt called, and it stopped. “So that's it? You want no part of this... you don't want to catch the Hulk? That's really how you feel?”
“Bet your ass, son.”
“How do you feel about the Abomination?”
Ross froze. It would be easy enough for him to blame the Hulk in a general way for the death of Betty Ross Banner, but it had been Emil Blonsky who actually did the deed. Theoretically, Ross was revenged on him, but a man like that... Pratt didn't think Thaddeus Ross would ever get revenge enough. Sure enough, very slowly, a predatory smile spread across the general's face.
A few minutes later, Pratt was walking back up the hill with another part of his plan in place. Reggie and Eve fell into step with him.
“Have we got him, sir?” Reggie asked.
“We've got him.”
“So what now?”
“Just one more stop to make,” Pratt told him. “Then we go to war.”
After a moment's thoughtful silence, Eve said, “Sir, if you don't mind me asking...?”
“You were listening in?”
“Well, yes, sir. That was a hell of a story about the Hulk.”
Pratt shrugged. “I think so.”
“Just for my information, you're full of crap, right?”
“Yeah, I made that up. My old man owned a laundromat.”
“Thought I'd check, sir,” said Eve, and they walked away.
# # # # #
The First Federated Bank outside of Billings, Montana was a financial institutional only by technicality. It was a building. People entered and exited it. Money changed hands. But not very much money, and not very many people, and it wasn't even much of a building. It was gray and dingy and generally gave the impression of a place barely hanging onto its existence.
Soon enough, it wouldn't have that problem.
The looming figure in the trench coat didn't get far into the bank before he attracted the attention of the security guard. He probably would have gotten the man's attention anyway when he threw him through the glass window and into the street.
Somebody screamed. The figure threw off his coat, revealing scaly green skin, a mutated, red-eyed visage, and a horribly fang-toothed smile. He smashed his way through furniture and people alike, throwing things left and right, until he crashed through the teller's counter at the front.
“Privyet, my friends! I am sorry to have to tell you that you will shortly die. If it is any consolation to you, your deaths will help me accomplish something I have awaited for... oh, for many years. If it is no consolation... well, you will be dead, so what does it matter?”
He picked up the nearest teller, who was cowering in a corner, and lifted the man high over his head.
“Wait! Wait!” the man screamed. “I-- I've seen you on the news! You're the Abomination!”
“You are too kind,” said Blonsky with an evil grin.
“But-- but what are you doing out here? We're nobody! We're nothing important! There's no need to do this!”
“Ah, but I think there is.” He began to squeeze...
“For pity's sake, why?!” the man cried.
The Abomination shrugged its massive shoulders. “Why does any of us lash out, my friend? Mainly to get attention.”
The teller opened his mouth to scream, but never had the chance.
Crunch.
TO BE CONTINUED... Next Issue: The Hulk versus the Abomination. Knock-downs and drag-outs will occur. You won't want to miss it, true believers!