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Issue #3 by R. John Burke (Volume 1)
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The bar was supposed to be called Ed's, although in fact the only sign out front said “Budweiser” in flashing neon. Its patrons didn't seem to mind. In a dusty plains town on the border between Montana and Wyoming, the part about its having beer to take their minds off the monotony of day-to-day life seemed like the important part of the equation.
Besides, all the regulars knew Ed personally. He was a big, bald, barrel-chested guy who had spent his prime years drilling recruits for the United States Army. He'd never had to hire a bouncer. Although his formerly rock-solid abs had turned to flab, he prided himself on being able to thrash any of the restless young bucks who frequented his place. Except perhaps that new fellow in the corner...
On the TV above Ed, his pride and joy-- a brand-new-hardly-used satellite dish-- brought his customers news from near and far, beloved cinematic masterpieces, and documentaries to expand their minds. In theory, anyway. In practice, they mostly left it tuned to ESPN.
Today, though, it was tuned to the news, where a pleasant-faced announcer droned: “A disturbing situation is developing in Billings at this hour, as reports from the Montana capital indicate a hostage situation at the First Federated Bank. An unusually large man apparently entered the bank early this morning, announced his presence, and immediately began assaulting the bank's customers with his bare hands. Unconfirmed reports now state that this is, in fact, the creature known as the Abomination, previously sighted battling the incredible Hulk on numerous occasions, as well as other super-heroes. Authorities stress, again, these reports are unconfirmed, and have been unwilling to offer theories as to why such a well-known menace might have strayed so far from his usual territory. Of course, we will keep you updated on the situation in Billings as it...”
“Hey!” called a customer from the end of the bar, a ripped young man with multiple piercings and a goatee. “What's this crap doing on? We're missing the game!”
Ed shrugged, jerked a thumb toward a darkened corner of the bar, and said, “Fella requested it, Billy.”
“Yeah?” said Billy, who had a few beers in him. He drained his latest round and slapped it down on the table. In a loud voice, he said: “Seems like I remember tellin' everybody I had a bet down on this game, and didn't want to miss it. Which one of these assholes wasn't paying attention, huh?”
“Settle down,” Ed told him, clearing away the mug he'd been drinking from. “I think you've had enough.”
“Stay out of this, old man. I don't need a daddy.” Billy looked around the bar. “So who was it, huh? See, I think whoever it was might want to buy me a drink. Apologize, you know? Otherwise we might have a problem.”
Ed tried again to draw him away. “Billy... it was the new guy.”
“What new guy?” Billy scoffed. “Where is the son of a...”
“I'm tellin' you, the guy who's been in here all week.” Ed lowered his voice. “He's... different.”
“Yeah, he sounds different. He sounds like a friggin' moron.” Billy turned toward the corner. “Maybe I oughta have a talk with him...”
“Billy...” said Ed, reaching out one more time only to get pushed away. He hissed to himself, but admitted defeat. “Okay. Fine. Do what you want. Only one word of advice, huh? Don't make this guy angry.
“I don't think you'd like him when he's angry.”
Besides, all the regulars knew Ed personally. He was a big, bald, barrel-chested guy who had spent his prime years drilling recruits for the United States Army. He'd never had to hire a bouncer. Although his formerly rock-solid abs had turned to flab, he prided himself on being able to thrash any of the restless young bucks who frequented his place. Except perhaps that new fellow in the corner...
On the TV above Ed, his pride and joy-- a brand-new-hardly-used satellite dish-- brought his customers news from near and far, beloved cinematic masterpieces, and documentaries to expand their minds. In theory, anyway. In practice, they mostly left it tuned to ESPN.
Today, though, it was tuned to the news, where a pleasant-faced announcer droned: “A disturbing situation is developing in Billings at this hour, as reports from the Montana capital indicate a hostage situation at the First Federated Bank. An unusually large man apparently entered the bank early this morning, announced his presence, and immediately began assaulting the bank's customers with his bare hands. Unconfirmed reports now state that this is, in fact, the creature known as the Abomination, previously sighted battling the incredible Hulk on numerous occasions, as well as other super-heroes. Authorities stress, again, these reports are unconfirmed, and have been unwilling to offer theories as to why such a well-known menace might have strayed so far from his usual territory. Of course, we will keep you updated on the situation in Billings as it...”
“Hey!” called a customer from the end of the bar, a ripped young man with multiple piercings and a goatee. “What's this crap doing on? We're missing the game!”
Ed shrugged, jerked a thumb toward a darkened corner of the bar, and said, “Fella requested it, Billy.”
“Yeah?” said Billy, who had a few beers in him. He drained his latest round and slapped it down on the table. In a loud voice, he said: “Seems like I remember tellin' everybody I had a bet down on this game, and didn't want to miss it. Which one of these assholes wasn't paying attention, huh?”
“Settle down,” Ed told him, clearing away the mug he'd been drinking from. “I think you've had enough.”
“Stay out of this, old man. I don't need a daddy.” Billy looked around the bar. “So who was it, huh? See, I think whoever it was might want to buy me a drink. Apologize, you know? Otherwise we might have a problem.”
Ed tried again to draw him away. “Billy... it was the new guy.”
“What new guy?” Billy scoffed. “Where is the son of a...”
“I'm tellin' you, the guy who's been in here all week.” Ed lowered his voice. “He's... different.”
“Yeah, he sounds different. He sounds like a friggin' moron.” Billy turned toward the corner. “Maybe I oughta have a talk with him...”
“Billy...” said Ed, reaching out one more time only to get pushed away. He hissed to himself, but admitted defeat. “Okay. Fine. Do what you want. Only one word of advice, huh? Don't make this guy angry.
“I don't think you'd like him when he's angry.”
“ANGER: Part Three – Everybody Hurts”
I know what you're thinking.
Technically speaking, Dr. Robert Bruce Banner probably knew his own mind worse than any man in the world. He'd never quite been able to comprehend the duality of it: Parts so brilliant that he could barely write down all his ideas, much less test and explore them all in one lifetime, living in uneasy alliance with parts so base and primitive that he didn't dare acknowledge them, even to himself. Parts damaged by his psychotic excuse for a father, by the death of his wife, by the strain of a thousand battles and a lifetime's worth of rage. No, ordinarily Banner didn't pretend to understand his mind very well at all. But in this case, he did know what it was thinking. All four corners of it.
The childlike part, the savage Hulk who had been his primary nemesis, wanted no part of what it was seeing on the news screen. It rather liked it out here, on the quiet plains, with few people to bother it by asking silly questions. Life would have been perfect for that Hulk, if only it could have gotten Banner's own influence out of the way. Why spoil it?
The gray Hulk, the 'Joe Fixit' persona who was always on the lookout for an angle, didn't see much percentage in getting involved either. It was far more interested in staying alive, staying on the run. Its only real interest in a bank robbery was whether it could arrange for itself a piece of the action. Further, that personality had been angling for control of Banner's mind lately (* as seen in issue #2), and it saw all this as an unnecessary distraction from the things it wanted. The things that mattered.
Banner himself was mostly terrified to learn that Emil Blonsky was once again loose and using his inhuman strength to hurt innocents. That monster had already taken the love of Banner's life from him... what else could he lose? He was afraid to find out.
The Professor personality, the intelligent amalgam Hulk who popped up from time to time... the Professor was pissed. It saw the Abomination as their responsibility. Protestations of forgiveness aside, all parts of Bruce Banner hated what Blonsky had done. All were tempted by revenge. Only the Professor wanted justice, and that made him the only part eager to expose himself to an obvious trap.
Hence, Bruce Banner was trying like hell not to be the Professor right now. It was harder than it looked.
“I know what you're thinking,” he said the Professor again, in the dark space at the back of his mind. “You know we can't get involved.”
“We can't?” said the intelligent Hulk, turning sullen eyes on him. “Or you won't?”
“We're done with Blonsky. We put that behind us. And... we have our own problems. We're barely hanging onto our sanity as it is! If he makes us angry...”
“Oh, I'm quite sufficiently angry, I assure you.”
“Listen,” Banner said. “Not now. They're not even sure it's him. Even if so, we're no match for him in this condition.”
“He's right,” said the gravely voice from the shadows... the voice of Joe Fixit, who appeared as ever in a cloud of cigar smoke. “You don't think this is all a big coincidence, do ya? We're being hunted. Those creepy aliens (* from issue #1) want us bad, and they've seen inside our head. I'll lay you odds they figured the Abomination was one thing guaranteed to force us into the open.”
Banner paused; he actually hadn't made that connection himself. Sometimes Joe's devious way of looking at things did come in handy.
“It doesn't matter,” the Professor said. “We have no choice now. People are dying.”
“People die every day, Prof. There's a Sicilian proverb you oughta think about: Revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“That's a Klingon proverb, isn't it?” said Banner, one of those random Star Trek thoughts that crossed a man's mind out of the blue.
Joe gave him a dirty look. “Please stop bein' such a dork. You make the rest of us look bad.”
“This is all quite irrelevant,” said the Professor.
“No, it's not,” said Joe. “Whoever said it, it's true. You want to hit this guy, more power to ya. I never got the whole forgiveness deal to start with. But you don't waltz onto his turf, lookin' for a fight on his terms. That's just suicide.”
The final part of the equation, the green Hulk, lurked off to the side, sulking. “Hulk does not like Blonsky. Always makes Hulk angry.”
“Will you all try to look beyond yourselves for one, small moment?” cried the professor, frustrated. “He's gone too far this time! There is no practical reason for what he's done! He's causing pain for the sake of it! It must be stopped-- before anyone else suffers the way Betty--”
“If Hulk kills him,” the savage Hulk rumbled, “will she come back?”
The four aspects of Banner glared at each other, their eyes meeting somewhere in the middle. Joe Fixit grunted reluctant approval.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Banner said. “I'm sorry, Professor. I'd like to help, too. We just can't risk it now. There are other heroes who can--”
Joe's eyes suddenly snapped up, his expression angry and alert. The other Hulks caught on a moment later, and their conference was interrupted...
# # # # #
...as, in the outside world, two beefy hands seized Bruce Banner by the collar and hefted him to his feet.
Billy glared down at the small, shabby man with contempt. “I said, you owe me a drink, man.”
“Sorry, I-- I have no money.”
“What're you drinkin', then?” Billy reached out, grabbed Banner's mug of beer, and swigged the rest of it in a single gulp. “I think maybe you lied to me. Don't ever lie to me again.”
“I have no money to spare, I mean. I've only been in town for--”
Billy shook him, causing Banner's weary skull to rattle. “You're gonna leave town in a box if you don't get a clue fast.”
Banner groaned. Why was there always one like this in every town? A man who wouldn't be reasoned with, who enjoyed the chance to fight? And why, although logic told him this man must be emotionally disturbed, desperate, hurting inside to act so cruel... why did it still make Banner angry? Already he heard the voices getting loud...
Ya see, Doc? You can't cut it on your own. Let me take over. I'll deal with this guy in about two seconds, an' then...
Yes, certainly, said another. We must deal with him quickly, and then proceed to Billings, where...
Little man hurts Banner! the green Hulk gloated. Now Banner is sorry he cages Hulk!
“...talkin' to you, asshole!” Billy snarled again, slamming him against the wall.
Banner hissed. He braced himself against the floor, glaring at the taller man. “Please... please walk away. I can't be responsible...”
“Let 'im go, Billy!” the bartender called from the other side of the room. “C'mon, he's not worth--”
Wham! Banner hit the wall again, hard, and Billy laughed.
“This is the guy you thought I should be afraid of?” he said. “Come on, pal! Give me somethin' to work with. You want me to let you go? Maybe you should make me...”
Bruce Banner wanted to tear the hair right out of his head. He tried so hard to be careful, to keep everything under control, and then a moron like this came along and...
“Ow!” Billy yelped, surprised by the sudden strength in Banner's grip as the smaller man pushed back. He tried to move back, to get away, but it was too late. A growl emanated from deep inside Banner's chest...
...and he stared up at Billy with eyes of incandescent green.
“You look like a man who's carrying a lot of anger,” Banner told him, as the last control slipped away. “Me, too.”
Then he was falling, drowning in his own mind, very distant from his surroundings, and all he could hear were the voices:
...now, Doc! Let me out!
It must be me, Bruce! It's the only way!
...curse puny Banner! Let Hulk OUT!
The aspects of Bruce Banner's tortured mind grappled for control, and even he didn't know which would emerge when everything in his own world turned greenish black...
# # # # #
Thaddeus Ross looked around the room of computer terminals, noting their polish and precision, but if the tall man in the black suit expected him to be impressed, he had another thing coming. Ross had seen better. He'd commanded better, in fact, over the course of years spent chasing a big, green problem with an assortment of expensive gear.
“Bet you think you're hot stuff, don't you, boy?” Ross grunted. “Think you're some kind of Hulkbuster?”
The man, Agent Pratt, met Ross' eyes-- his dark, chilly gaze was as steady as the old general's, if not as wizened. “I think I'm a man doing a job. I've got to have the tools, don't I?”
Ross ran a finger over the computer console in front of him. It probably featured a great many “gigabytes” and “hertzes” and other things eggheads liked to brag about. But Ross was a soldier, and...
“This won't cut it,” he said. “Did Kelly cut the budget again?”
“And again,” Pratt confirmed. “And again. The Hulk's not seen as a very big problem these days. Most of the time, he's a cult hero under Banner's control, and that's no fun. I much prefer my enemies dumb and pliable. Don't you?”
Ross shrugged and looked away. He'd given up trying to sort out his former son-in-law from his demons. What difference did it make? Even Banner, for all his brilliance, couldn't bring back the only decent thing in Ross' life. Nobody could do that.
“So that's why you're in this?” he said, at length. “For the glory? You don't just want to catch the Hulk-- you want people to cheer you for it. I know that path, son, too well...”
Pratt leaned back and studied him and said, “General Ross, sir, if I do my job, nobody even knows I'm here.”
The older man grunted. “I know you're here, and I'd just as soon not.”
“Guess I've failed, then.”
Ross didn't have time to decide what to make of that. The room's double doors burst open, and in rushed the cool, authoritative female agent who followed Pratt around-- Eve, he thought her name was. Like most of the people he'd seen around this place, she was anonymous of appearance and so damn stone-faced it was hard to tell her from a mannequin. Now, though, her eyes glittered as she addressed her boss:
“We've got 'em, sir!”
She gestured toward the nearest computer monitor. With face unaffected but muscles knotted like coiled snakes, Pratt took two steps toward it and flicked a switch. The screen displayed a cable news station, some pompous anchor polluting the airwaves with off-the-cuff opinions about...
Billings, Montana.
“Got 'em,” he whispered, teeth gleaming in a sudden grin.
Thaddeus Ross found himself grinning a little too, and he didn't even know what was going on. But you couldn't completely quash a hunter's instincts, not with years or with despair, and he had a feeling that despite the modest setup, he was witnessing the start to one hell of a hunt...
# # # # #
A little man with a high-domed forehead stared up at Emil Blonsky with bulging eyes that hadn't blinked in a solid minute. He was trembling when Blonsky picked him up by the head. He was even too stunned to struggle against the enormous fingers cutting off his air supply.
He spasmed a few times when Blonsky closed his fist, and what was left of him crashed through the front window of the First Federal Bank. A dozen police officers outside opened fire on the brief flash of green skin they saw behind him-- but their bullets produced no effect, and when they saw what landed on the hood of one of their patrol cars, even the hardened officers drew back in horror.
For Blonsky, the whole thing felt like a bad dream. Some part of him wondered at this behavior-- he'd done evil things before. Oh, many times, from necessity or bitterness or just out of rage. But he didn't generally set out to cause carnage, not like this. He knew he was a monster now, Bruce Banner had taken delight in rubbing that in his face, but he hadn't thought himself such a cruel one. It crossed Blonsky's mind to be surprised.
Dimly, at the edge of his awareness, he knew who to blame-- the strange creature, the little orange bogeyman who'd reached into his brain and set loose the worst of the demons (* in issue #2), turned his thoughts ugly even by the standards of an Abomination. If he were a better man, Blonsky thought he'd hate that little creature very much.
But after all, as Banner had so vividly demonstrated, he was not the better man. If he was going to be irredeemable, he thought he might as well enjoy it.
He reached out for the next victim in line, a woman. She resembled his Nadia a little, around the eyes. If he'd been himself, that would have given Blonsky pause. Presently, though, it added an extra little thrill of enjoyment...
A cannister of gas landed at his feet. Blonsky glanced at it, distracted for a moment, and then laughed. Common tear gas, which had no effect on him and only served to make his two dozen captives inside the bank even more miserable. These small-city bumpkins were hopelessly out of the Abomination's league. They had only one hope of stopping him, and that was the very same hope Blonsky was counting on.
He reached for the woman. Hesitated again. Should he wait a bit longer? He did have to drag things out, until their help arrived. Banner wouldn't rally to the defense of an empty building-- and he did want to kill one or two of them in front of the fool's eyes.
But just one more wouldn't hurt. His fingers grazed her skin... she threw herself flat, trying to get away...
CRASH!!!
Or possibly she'd been trying to avoid the police cruiser that broke through what was left of the bank's front window and knocked Emil Blonsky straight through the far wall. He'd put a good-sized dent in the safe in the room beyond and caused a little red alarm light to go off. For a moment Blonsky found that light absurdly funny. Then he staggered to his feet, shook himself, and turned...
The Hulk stood in the door-- a large, green Hulk with intelligent features and an unusually composed expression. Blonsky couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. He'd hoped for something a bit more... feral.
“Greetings, Emil,” the Professor said, tone and green eyes equally cold. “I know what you're going to say-- in all the commotion last year, I neglected to send you a Christmas card. I hope my belated gift makes up for it somewhat.”
“GrrrrAAARGH!!” the Abomination snarled; he ripped the safe's door off and flung the ponderous metal disc at his opponent like a Frisbee. The Professor Hulk tried to duck, but he was caught across the shoulders and knocked back into the front of the bank.
He spent a moment trying to rise, his eyes scanning the room: Nobody home but a battered police cruiser leftover from his first attack and a rapidly-swelling cloud of dust. Blonsky's unwilling guests had wasted no time vacating the premises. So much the better.
“You've ruined my evening, Banner,” the Abomination growled as he approached. “You have always delighted in ruining things for me.”
BAM! Two fists crashed into the Hulk's skull just as he found his feet, sending him rolling over the body of the police cruiser, to a rough landing on the other side. Blonsky proceeded to rend the vehicle in twain, smashing first one half of it, then the other squarely on the Hulk's head.
“You pay now! You pay for every moment of torment I suffered, every humiliation at your hand, every last time you--”
A big, green fist shot out and grabbed his ankle, yanking him off his feet. Before Blonsky could even attempt to regain traction, the Hulk found his feet and spun him around-- around--
Wham! Emil Blonsky flew through the roof of the First Federal Bank and kept flying, leaving comical Abomination-shaped holes in his wake.
The Professor Hulk squinted up into the gathering twilight, then groaned and spent several long moments sucking in oxygen.
“People say I talk too much,” he grumbled, and bounded out the window.
# # # # #
At the bar almost called Ed's on the Wyoming border, a knot of patrons had gathered around the TV to watch. They cheered as one when the horribly disfigured creature known as the Abomination flew out of the bank, with the Hulk right behind him.
“Hey, Billy!” Ed the bartender called across the room. “You gotta come see this! There's gonna be a rumble now...”
“Already seen one,” Billy replied. “Thanks.”
Ed glanced up, saw Billy still hanging from the ceiling, where the green fellow had deposited him with a barstool tied around his neck, and shrugged.
“Suit yerself...” he said, and returned his attention to the TV just as the Abomination came thundering back...
# # # # #
Outside the First Federal Bank, the Professor had only moments in which to convince the Chief of Police to call off his men and get the bystanders to safety. Fortunately, that official was no fool, and had realized their role in this confrontation would be limited to crowd control about the same time he'd seen the halves of his patrol car come flying back through the window.
But there were a lot of people and a few policemen, and they hadn't even established a decent perimeter when the Abomination pounded back into the town square like the titular character in a Japanese monster movie.
For a moment, the Professor was afraid. By default, the Abomination was quite a bit stronger than the Hulk, and though that gap narrowed as the Hulk got angrier, he, the Professor personality, was a bit too analytical to really tap into his rage. The most he could summon was a sort of world-weary annoyance that no other, better-equipped Hulk had stepped up to fight this battle. Then the fight was upon him, and there was no time...
Blonsky surprised him. Instead of the bull rush he'd been expected, the Abomination stopped at the edge of the fleeing crowd and grabbed a young boy by the scruff of the neck. He flung him through the air, not as hard as might have but hard enough to break every bone in the child's body if he struck pavement--
The Professor leaped, somersaulted in midair, and caught the child as he flew past.
“There we are, boy. Don't you know you should look both ways before crossing the-- ooooffff!!!”
Too late, he realized what his instincts had cost him. In catching the boy, he'd left himself wide open to Blonsky, who smashed him across the abdomen with a slab of cement. The Hulk hit the ground hard, barely shielding his young charge from the impact, and needed a good deal of luck to trip up Blonsky before the Abomination could threaten the child again.
They rolled together, hands reaching for the other's throat. Then the Hulk got his powerful legs curled up between them and kicked-- Blonsky went flying and crashed into an office building. The structure visibly trembled and he got up, shook his head...
Think, the Professor commanded himself. This battle of brute force will avail us nothing...
Translation, the Banner voice said inside his head: We're dead.
Should've listened to those Klingons, Prof, Joe Fixit's voice said. Run for it, right now. We'll deal with this guy later, on our terms.
Hulk HURTS! the savage Hulk thought, disturbed by the physical damage they were suffering even though he wasn't the one in control...
The Professor frowned. That wasn't quite right, was it? Normally, in the past, the other personalities would have been buried. Banner might at times possess a dim awareness of the battle raging within his soul, but the Hulk-- the 'Other' personality set free-- almost certainly shouldn't. The Hulks also, as a rule, shouldn't be able to transform into each other, having to change back to Banner first. But if the rules had changed... if those aliens had altered the balance in his brain (* in issue #1)...
Thinking time's over, the Banner personality warned, and so it was. The Abomination didn't bother with subtlety this time, hitting him like a freight train. The Hulk hit the ground and skidded, digging up pavement as he went. Cars, lamp posts, sections of brick buildings: anything and everything came flying at him. Pain seemed to be everywhere at once, enough pain to overwhelm even his formidable healing factor. The Hulk slid to a halt and lay still.
“W-why?” he croaked. “Why... like this, Blonsky? How...?”
He craned his neck up, the movement sending another jolt of pain through his body, to behold his adversary-- who appeared a little confused. Did Blonsky even know what he was doing? If the same creatures had gotten to him, what mischief had they wrought inside his brain?
“There is no why,” Blonsky finally decided. “There is you. There is me. There is, finally, an end. You will recall our fateful meeting, at which we determined I was the monster... very well, then. Monsters need no reasons. I am what I am. And this... is... OVER!”
WHAM! The Abomination stood over the Hulk and lit into him with both fists, landing blow after blow, enough force to kill almost any being on the planet, literally pounding him into the pavement, so that it cracked and formed an indentation beneath him.
Blonsky laughed. “There, you see, Banner? We will not even have to dig a grave for you. I think it very fitting... an unmarked grave for the man who doesn't know his name. They will forget you as they've forgotten me.”
“N-no...” the Professor croaked through battered lips. “One thing, first...”
“What more is there to say?” The Abomination drew back his fist. “We both know you can't match my strength--”
His fist whistled through the air. He intended it to be a final blow, a killing blow, but the Hulk caught it at the last second. Caught it... and, inch by inch, turned it back...
The Abomination's eyes widened. “How...?”
The Hulk's own eyes snapped open. They were... different, somehow. His featured were different. Savage. Even his voice changed, becoming a guttural rumble:
“How? You ask how? Because you make Hulk angry! And the madder Hulk gets... the stronger Hulk gets!!!”
...and not a moment too soon, the Professor personality thought inside the savage Hulk's head. Next time, my testosterone-pumping friend, could you take control a little sooner? I nearly killed myself playing possum...
If the Savage Hulk understood or cared, he didn't show it. Levering himself out of the pavement, he grappled with Blonsky and overpowered him, lifting him high over his head and pounding him into the ground, again and again. Blonsky probably screamed. Over the terrible, crashing, rumble, nobody heard him. He was unconscious when the Hulk finally lifted his head.
...and that's when he realized the rumbling hadn't been entirely of his own creation. Four familiar shapes, big, bulky, and painted in camouflage colors, stood arrayed in a rough semicircle, with the Hulk at its center.
“Well... that was painless. So to speak. You're the Hulk, eh? This is an honor, I have to say. I don't guess you give autographs?”
Three forms stood between the nearest machines, a tall man in a dark suit, a woman dressed the same, and an older, slightly stooped form the Hulk knew entirely too well.
“ROSS!!!” he bellowed, and lunged for the older man...
The tall man nodded to someone inside the tanks. “Hit him.”
Something like an electric shock rached through the Hulk's body, and he hit the ground in front of Ross, huge fingers fruitlessly grasping for him, the world already plunging into darkness...
“Well,” said the tall man's voice, somewhere overhead, “I guess there's no need for us both to call him and see who he comes to. He clearly favors you.”
“It's no great honor,” Ross assured him.
“You really hate being ignored,” said the woman, “don't you, sir?”
“Mm-hmm.” Glowering down at the Hulk with something new in his eyes, Agent Pratt dug a toe into the beast's flank as if to confirm this would be the last and only time for it.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Technically speaking, Dr. Robert Bruce Banner probably knew his own mind worse than any man in the world. He'd never quite been able to comprehend the duality of it: Parts so brilliant that he could barely write down all his ideas, much less test and explore them all in one lifetime, living in uneasy alliance with parts so base and primitive that he didn't dare acknowledge them, even to himself. Parts damaged by his psychotic excuse for a father, by the death of his wife, by the strain of a thousand battles and a lifetime's worth of rage. No, ordinarily Banner didn't pretend to understand his mind very well at all. But in this case, he did know what it was thinking. All four corners of it.
The childlike part, the savage Hulk who had been his primary nemesis, wanted no part of what it was seeing on the news screen. It rather liked it out here, on the quiet plains, with few people to bother it by asking silly questions. Life would have been perfect for that Hulk, if only it could have gotten Banner's own influence out of the way. Why spoil it?
The gray Hulk, the 'Joe Fixit' persona who was always on the lookout for an angle, didn't see much percentage in getting involved either. It was far more interested in staying alive, staying on the run. Its only real interest in a bank robbery was whether it could arrange for itself a piece of the action. Further, that personality had been angling for control of Banner's mind lately (* as seen in issue #2), and it saw all this as an unnecessary distraction from the things it wanted. The things that mattered.
Banner himself was mostly terrified to learn that Emil Blonsky was once again loose and using his inhuman strength to hurt innocents. That monster had already taken the love of Banner's life from him... what else could he lose? He was afraid to find out.
The Professor personality, the intelligent amalgam Hulk who popped up from time to time... the Professor was pissed. It saw the Abomination as their responsibility. Protestations of forgiveness aside, all parts of Bruce Banner hated what Blonsky had done. All were tempted by revenge. Only the Professor wanted justice, and that made him the only part eager to expose himself to an obvious trap.
Hence, Bruce Banner was trying like hell not to be the Professor right now. It was harder than it looked.
“I know what you're thinking,” he said the Professor again, in the dark space at the back of his mind. “You know we can't get involved.”
“We can't?” said the intelligent Hulk, turning sullen eyes on him. “Or you won't?”
“We're done with Blonsky. We put that behind us. And... we have our own problems. We're barely hanging onto our sanity as it is! If he makes us angry...”
“Oh, I'm quite sufficiently angry, I assure you.”
“Listen,” Banner said. “Not now. They're not even sure it's him. Even if so, we're no match for him in this condition.”
“He's right,” said the gravely voice from the shadows... the voice of Joe Fixit, who appeared as ever in a cloud of cigar smoke. “You don't think this is all a big coincidence, do ya? We're being hunted. Those creepy aliens (* from issue #1) want us bad, and they've seen inside our head. I'll lay you odds they figured the Abomination was one thing guaranteed to force us into the open.”
Banner paused; he actually hadn't made that connection himself. Sometimes Joe's devious way of looking at things did come in handy.
“It doesn't matter,” the Professor said. “We have no choice now. People are dying.”
“People die every day, Prof. There's a Sicilian proverb you oughta think about: Revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“That's a Klingon proverb, isn't it?” said Banner, one of those random Star Trek thoughts that crossed a man's mind out of the blue.
Joe gave him a dirty look. “Please stop bein' such a dork. You make the rest of us look bad.”
“This is all quite irrelevant,” said the Professor.
“No, it's not,” said Joe. “Whoever said it, it's true. You want to hit this guy, more power to ya. I never got the whole forgiveness deal to start with. But you don't waltz onto his turf, lookin' for a fight on his terms. That's just suicide.”
The final part of the equation, the green Hulk, lurked off to the side, sulking. “Hulk does not like Blonsky. Always makes Hulk angry.”
“Will you all try to look beyond yourselves for one, small moment?” cried the professor, frustrated. “He's gone too far this time! There is no practical reason for what he's done! He's causing pain for the sake of it! It must be stopped-- before anyone else suffers the way Betty--”
“If Hulk kills him,” the savage Hulk rumbled, “will she come back?”
The four aspects of Banner glared at each other, their eyes meeting somewhere in the middle. Joe Fixit grunted reluctant approval.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Banner said. “I'm sorry, Professor. I'd like to help, too. We just can't risk it now. There are other heroes who can--”
Joe's eyes suddenly snapped up, his expression angry and alert. The other Hulks caught on a moment later, and their conference was interrupted...
# # # # #
...as, in the outside world, two beefy hands seized Bruce Banner by the collar and hefted him to his feet.
Billy glared down at the small, shabby man with contempt. “I said, you owe me a drink, man.”
“Sorry, I-- I have no money.”
“What're you drinkin', then?” Billy reached out, grabbed Banner's mug of beer, and swigged the rest of it in a single gulp. “I think maybe you lied to me. Don't ever lie to me again.”
“I have no money to spare, I mean. I've only been in town for--”
Billy shook him, causing Banner's weary skull to rattle. “You're gonna leave town in a box if you don't get a clue fast.”
Banner groaned. Why was there always one like this in every town? A man who wouldn't be reasoned with, who enjoyed the chance to fight? And why, although logic told him this man must be emotionally disturbed, desperate, hurting inside to act so cruel... why did it still make Banner angry? Already he heard the voices getting loud...
Ya see, Doc? You can't cut it on your own. Let me take over. I'll deal with this guy in about two seconds, an' then...
Yes, certainly, said another. We must deal with him quickly, and then proceed to Billings, where...
Little man hurts Banner! the green Hulk gloated. Now Banner is sorry he cages Hulk!
“...talkin' to you, asshole!” Billy snarled again, slamming him against the wall.
Banner hissed. He braced himself against the floor, glaring at the taller man. “Please... please walk away. I can't be responsible...”
“Let 'im go, Billy!” the bartender called from the other side of the room. “C'mon, he's not worth--”
Wham! Banner hit the wall again, hard, and Billy laughed.
“This is the guy you thought I should be afraid of?” he said. “Come on, pal! Give me somethin' to work with. You want me to let you go? Maybe you should make me...”
Bruce Banner wanted to tear the hair right out of his head. He tried so hard to be careful, to keep everything under control, and then a moron like this came along and...
“Ow!” Billy yelped, surprised by the sudden strength in Banner's grip as the smaller man pushed back. He tried to move back, to get away, but it was too late. A growl emanated from deep inside Banner's chest...
...and he stared up at Billy with eyes of incandescent green.
“You look like a man who's carrying a lot of anger,” Banner told him, as the last control slipped away. “Me, too.”
Then he was falling, drowning in his own mind, very distant from his surroundings, and all he could hear were the voices:
...now, Doc! Let me out!
It must be me, Bruce! It's the only way!
...curse puny Banner! Let Hulk OUT!
The aspects of Bruce Banner's tortured mind grappled for control, and even he didn't know which would emerge when everything in his own world turned greenish black...
# # # # #
Thaddeus Ross looked around the room of computer terminals, noting their polish and precision, but if the tall man in the black suit expected him to be impressed, he had another thing coming. Ross had seen better. He'd commanded better, in fact, over the course of years spent chasing a big, green problem with an assortment of expensive gear.
“Bet you think you're hot stuff, don't you, boy?” Ross grunted. “Think you're some kind of Hulkbuster?”
The man, Agent Pratt, met Ross' eyes-- his dark, chilly gaze was as steady as the old general's, if not as wizened. “I think I'm a man doing a job. I've got to have the tools, don't I?”
Ross ran a finger over the computer console in front of him. It probably featured a great many “gigabytes” and “hertzes” and other things eggheads liked to brag about. But Ross was a soldier, and...
“This won't cut it,” he said. “Did Kelly cut the budget again?”
“And again,” Pratt confirmed. “And again. The Hulk's not seen as a very big problem these days. Most of the time, he's a cult hero under Banner's control, and that's no fun. I much prefer my enemies dumb and pliable. Don't you?”
Ross shrugged and looked away. He'd given up trying to sort out his former son-in-law from his demons. What difference did it make? Even Banner, for all his brilliance, couldn't bring back the only decent thing in Ross' life. Nobody could do that.
“So that's why you're in this?” he said, at length. “For the glory? You don't just want to catch the Hulk-- you want people to cheer you for it. I know that path, son, too well...”
Pratt leaned back and studied him and said, “General Ross, sir, if I do my job, nobody even knows I'm here.”
The older man grunted. “I know you're here, and I'd just as soon not.”
“Guess I've failed, then.”
Ross didn't have time to decide what to make of that. The room's double doors burst open, and in rushed the cool, authoritative female agent who followed Pratt around-- Eve, he thought her name was. Like most of the people he'd seen around this place, she was anonymous of appearance and so damn stone-faced it was hard to tell her from a mannequin. Now, though, her eyes glittered as she addressed her boss:
“We've got 'em, sir!”
She gestured toward the nearest computer monitor. With face unaffected but muscles knotted like coiled snakes, Pratt took two steps toward it and flicked a switch. The screen displayed a cable news station, some pompous anchor polluting the airwaves with off-the-cuff opinions about...
Billings, Montana.
“Got 'em,” he whispered, teeth gleaming in a sudden grin.
Thaddeus Ross found himself grinning a little too, and he didn't even know what was going on. But you couldn't completely quash a hunter's instincts, not with years or with despair, and he had a feeling that despite the modest setup, he was witnessing the start to one hell of a hunt...
# # # # #
A little man with a high-domed forehead stared up at Emil Blonsky with bulging eyes that hadn't blinked in a solid minute. He was trembling when Blonsky picked him up by the head. He was even too stunned to struggle against the enormous fingers cutting off his air supply.
He spasmed a few times when Blonsky closed his fist, and what was left of him crashed through the front window of the First Federal Bank. A dozen police officers outside opened fire on the brief flash of green skin they saw behind him-- but their bullets produced no effect, and when they saw what landed on the hood of one of their patrol cars, even the hardened officers drew back in horror.
For Blonsky, the whole thing felt like a bad dream. Some part of him wondered at this behavior-- he'd done evil things before. Oh, many times, from necessity or bitterness or just out of rage. But he didn't generally set out to cause carnage, not like this. He knew he was a monster now, Bruce Banner had taken delight in rubbing that in his face, but he hadn't thought himself such a cruel one. It crossed Blonsky's mind to be surprised.
Dimly, at the edge of his awareness, he knew who to blame-- the strange creature, the little orange bogeyman who'd reached into his brain and set loose the worst of the demons (* in issue #2), turned his thoughts ugly even by the standards of an Abomination. If he were a better man, Blonsky thought he'd hate that little creature very much.
But after all, as Banner had so vividly demonstrated, he was not the better man. If he was going to be irredeemable, he thought he might as well enjoy it.
He reached out for the next victim in line, a woman. She resembled his Nadia a little, around the eyes. If he'd been himself, that would have given Blonsky pause. Presently, though, it added an extra little thrill of enjoyment...
A cannister of gas landed at his feet. Blonsky glanced at it, distracted for a moment, and then laughed. Common tear gas, which had no effect on him and only served to make his two dozen captives inside the bank even more miserable. These small-city bumpkins were hopelessly out of the Abomination's league. They had only one hope of stopping him, and that was the very same hope Blonsky was counting on.
He reached for the woman. Hesitated again. Should he wait a bit longer? He did have to drag things out, until their help arrived. Banner wouldn't rally to the defense of an empty building-- and he did want to kill one or two of them in front of the fool's eyes.
But just one more wouldn't hurt. His fingers grazed her skin... she threw herself flat, trying to get away...
CRASH!!!
Or possibly she'd been trying to avoid the police cruiser that broke through what was left of the bank's front window and knocked Emil Blonsky straight through the far wall. He'd put a good-sized dent in the safe in the room beyond and caused a little red alarm light to go off. For a moment Blonsky found that light absurdly funny. Then he staggered to his feet, shook himself, and turned...
The Hulk stood in the door-- a large, green Hulk with intelligent features and an unusually composed expression. Blonsky couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. He'd hoped for something a bit more... feral.
“Greetings, Emil,” the Professor said, tone and green eyes equally cold. “I know what you're going to say-- in all the commotion last year, I neglected to send you a Christmas card. I hope my belated gift makes up for it somewhat.”
“GrrrrAAARGH!!” the Abomination snarled; he ripped the safe's door off and flung the ponderous metal disc at his opponent like a Frisbee. The Professor Hulk tried to duck, but he was caught across the shoulders and knocked back into the front of the bank.
He spent a moment trying to rise, his eyes scanning the room: Nobody home but a battered police cruiser leftover from his first attack and a rapidly-swelling cloud of dust. Blonsky's unwilling guests had wasted no time vacating the premises. So much the better.
“You've ruined my evening, Banner,” the Abomination growled as he approached. “You have always delighted in ruining things for me.”
BAM! Two fists crashed into the Hulk's skull just as he found his feet, sending him rolling over the body of the police cruiser, to a rough landing on the other side. Blonsky proceeded to rend the vehicle in twain, smashing first one half of it, then the other squarely on the Hulk's head.
“You pay now! You pay for every moment of torment I suffered, every humiliation at your hand, every last time you--”
A big, green fist shot out and grabbed his ankle, yanking him off his feet. Before Blonsky could even attempt to regain traction, the Hulk found his feet and spun him around-- around--
Wham! Emil Blonsky flew through the roof of the First Federal Bank and kept flying, leaving comical Abomination-shaped holes in his wake.
The Professor Hulk squinted up into the gathering twilight, then groaned and spent several long moments sucking in oxygen.
“People say I talk too much,” he grumbled, and bounded out the window.
# # # # #
At the bar almost called Ed's on the Wyoming border, a knot of patrons had gathered around the TV to watch. They cheered as one when the horribly disfigured creature known as the Abomination flew out of the bank, with the Hulk right behind him.
“Hey, Billy!” Ed the bartender called across the room. “You gotta come see this! There's gonna be a rumble now...”
“Already seen one,” Billy replied. “Thanks.”
Ed glanced up, saw Billy still hanging from the ceiling, where the green fellow had deposited him with a barstool tied around his neck, and shrugged.
“Suit yerself...” he said, and returned his attention to the TV just as the Abomination came thundering back...
# # # # #
Outside the First Federal Bank, the Professor had only moments in which to convince the Chief of Police to call off his men and get the bystanders to safety. Fortunately, that official was no fool, and had realized their role in this confrontation would be limited to crowd control about the same time he'd seen the halves of his patrol car come flying back through the window.
But there were a lot of people and a few policemen, and they hadn't even established a decent perimeter when the Abomination pounded back into the town square like the titular character in a Japanese monster movie.
For a moment, the Professor was afraid. By default, the Abomination was quite a bit stronger than the Hulk, and though that gap narrowed as the Hulk got angrier, he, the Professor personality, was a bit too analytical to really tap into his rage. The most he could summon was a sort of world-weary annoyance that no other, better-equipped Hulk had stepped up to fight this battle. Then the fight was upon him, and there was no time...
Blonsky surprised him. Instead of the bull rush he'd been expected, the Abomination stopped at the edge of the fleeing crowd and grabbed a young boy by the scruff of the neck. He flung him through the air, not as hard as might have but hard enough to break every bone in the child's body if he struck pavement--
The Professor leaped, somersaulted in midair, and caught the child as he flew past.
“There we are, boy. Don't you know you should look both ways before crossing the-- ooooffff!!!”
Too late, he realized what his instincts had cost him. In catching the boy, he'd left himself wide open to Blonsky, who smashed him across the abdomen with a slab of cement. The Hulk hit the ground hard, barely shielding his young charge from the impact, and needed a good deal of luck to trip up Blonsky before the Abomination could threaten the child again.
They rolled together, hands reaching for the other's throat. Then the Hulk got his powerful legs curled up between them and kicked-- Blonsky went flying and crashed into an office building. The structure visibly trembled and he got up, shook his head...
Think, the Professor commanded himself. This battle of brute force will avail us nothing...
Translation, the Banner voice said inside his head: We're dead.
Should've listened to those Klingons, Prof, Joe Fixit's voice said. Run for it, right now. We'll deal with this guy later, on our terms.
Hulk HURTS! the savage Hulk thought, disturbed by the physical damage they were suffering even though he wasn't the one in control...
The Professor frowned. That wasn't quite right, was it? Normally, in the past, the other personalities would have been buried. Banner might at times possess a dim awareness of the battle raging within his soul, but the Hulk-- the 'Other' personality set free-- almost certainly shouldn't. The Hulks also, as a rule, shouldn't be able to transform into each other, having to change back to Banner first. But if the rules had changed... if those aliens had altered the balance in his brain (* in issue #1)...
Thinking time's over, the Banner personality warned, and so it was. The Abomination didn't bother with subtlety this time, hitting him like a freight train. The Hulk hit the ground and skidded, digging up pavement as he went. Cars, lamp posts, sections of brick buildings: anything and everything came flying at him. Pain seemed to be everywhere at once, enough pain to overwhelm even his formidable healing factor. The Hulk slid to a halt and lay still.
“W-why?” he croaked. “Why... like this, Blonsky? How...?”
He craned his neck up, the movement sending another jolt of pain through his body, to behold his adversary-- who appeared a little confused. Did Blonsky even know what he was doing? If the same creatures had gotten to him, what mischief had they wrought inside his brain?
“There is no why,” Blonsky finally decided. “There is you. There is me. There is, finally, an end. You will recall our fateful meeting, at which we determined I was the monster... very well, then. Monsters need no reasons. I am what I am. And this... is... OVER!”
WHAM! The Abomination stood over the Hulk and lit into him with both fists, landing blow after blow, enough force to kill almost any being on the planet, literally pounding him into the pavement, so that it cracked and formed an indentation beneath him.
Blonsky laughed. “There, you see, Banner? We will not even have to dig a grave for you. I think it very fitting... an unmarked grave for the man who doesn't know his name. They will forget you as they've forgotten me.”
“N-no...” the Professor croaked through battered lips. “One thing, first...”
“What more is there to say?” The Abomination drew back his fist. “We both know you can't match my strength--”
His fist whistled through the air. He intended it to be a final blow, a killing blow, but the Hulk caught it at the last second. Caught it... and, inch by inch, turned it back...
The Abomination's eyes widened. “How...?”
The Hulk's own eyes snapped open. They were... different, somehow. His featured were different. Savage. Even his voice changed, becoming a guttural rumble:
“How? You ask how? Because you make Hulk angry! And the madder Hulk gets... the stronger Hulk gets!!!”
...and not a moment too soon, the Professor personality thought inside the savage Hulk's head. Next time, my testosterone-pumping friend, could you take control a little sooner? I nearly killed myself playing possum...
If the Savage Hulk understood or cared, he didn't show it. Levering himself out of the pavement, he grappled with Blonsky and overpowered him, lifting him high over his head and pounding him into the ground, again and again. Blonsky probably screamed. Over the terrible, crashing, rumble, nobody heard him. He was unconscious when the Hulk finally lifted his head.
...and that's when he realized the rumbling hadn't been entirely of his own creation. Four familiar shapes, big, bulky, and painted in camouflage colors, stood arrayed in a rough semicircle, with the Hulk at its center.
“Well... that was painless. So to speak. You're the Hulk, eh? This is an honor, I have to say. I don't guess you give autographs?”
Three forms stood between the nearest machines, a tall man in a dark suit, a woman dressed the same, and an older, slightly stooped form the Hulk knew entirely too well.
“ROSS!!!” he bellowed, and lunged for the older man...
The tall man nodded to someone inside the tanks. “Hit him.”
Something like an electric shock rached through the Hulk's body, and he hit the ground in front of Ross, huge fingers fruitlessly grasping for him, the world already plunging into darkness...
“Well,” said the tall man's voice, somewhere overhead, “I guess there's no need for us both to call him and see who he comes to. He clearly favors you.”
“It's no great honor,” Ross assured him.
“You really hate being ignored,” said the woman, “don't you, sir?”
“Mm-hmm.” Glowering down at the Hulk with something new in his eyes, Agent Pratt dug a toe into the beast's flank as if to confirm this would be the last and only time for it.
TO BE CONTINUED...