The sun rose, scorching the earth.
Inside a humble apartment in a Brazilian favela, Bruce Banner was sound asleep on a cot.
The room was dim, the air foul, and most importantly, there was no air conditioning. Banner's white shirt was already soaked with sweat.
He was one of America's top physicists, once living in a luxury apartment and enjoying a generous salary. But an experiment gone wrong had plunged him into an abyss, his future dark.
It had been half a year since the accident.
To evade the military's pursuit and avoid becoming a guinea pig, Banner had endured hardships to sneak into Brazil, where he now worked at a soda bottling factory.
Although the conditions were harsh and the wages barely covered subsistence, for the fugitive Banner, it was enough.
"AH!!!"
With a startled cry, Banner jolted awake.
Only when he saw his surroundings and heard the familiar but incomprehensible foreign language did he gradually relax.
For over half a year, the lab accident and the tragic state of his girlfriend, Betty, had constantly haunted him. Eight out of ten dreams were nightmares of those scenes, startling him awake.
Beep! Beep!
Heart rate: 175!
He looked at the number on his heart-rate monitor, which was nearly off the charts.
Banner immediately sat cross-legged, using breathing exercises to calm his anxiety and lower his heart rate. It was a practical technique from Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for controlling emotions.
Through half a year of non-stop effort, Banner had mastered it. He could now remain calm in situations that would make an ordinary person fly into a rage. This was, perhaps, the greatest gain from his time in Brazil.
Once his heart rate stabilized, Banner got up, made breakfast, and turned on the TV to watch while he ate.
Even in Brazil, Banner always kept up with the news from the United States. He had installed a satellite dish on the roof that could pick up signals from dozens of countries in North and South America, even the adult channels.
Of course, Banner absolutely could not watch those.
Over half a year without female contact was torture for a healthy adult male. Now, the moment he saw such intimate scenes, his heart rate would pound uncontrollably. Not even the breathing techniques worked then.
He switched to an American news channel, which was broadcasting a special report.
"Today, two days after the attack on Washington, the President has announced that the White House flag will be flown at half-mast, to honor S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Maria Hill"
"Many citizens of Washington have also taken to the streets, laying flowers in mourning and remembrance of Director Maria Hill."
The screen showed scenes of people laying flowers and weeping, interspersed with footage of the Triskelion's ruins and valiant photos of Director Maria Hill.
Banner stopped eating, his grip tightening on his spoon.
The Joker. It's the Joker again.
He remembered when he first joined General Ross's research team, arrogantly setting a goal: to help the world completely destroy the Joker organization.
After several years of effort, the experiment finally succeeded. But Banner never expected that he would be the result.
Although he loathed the thing inside him, Banner knew very well: it was the key to destroying the Joker organization.
But, Banner lacked the courage to step forward, to sacrifice himself and save the world. He was scared, terrified. He shrank from it. He didn't want to become a monster that everyone feared.
Watching the photos of those killed by the Joker organization flash on the screen, Banner was filled with guilt and self-blame.
If he hadn't run away, if he had turned himself over to General Ross, maybe these people wouldn't be dead.
Remembering his past boasts, Banner felt a strong sense of self-loathing.
He finished his breakfast with a heavy heart, grabbed his backpack, and left the room, walking a few hundred meters to the soda factory for work.
At the factory, he wasn't a genius physicist, just an ordinary bottling worker.
But, as the saying goes, talent will shine through anywhere.
To save money, the boss had built the factory in the favela. The place was filthy, inside and out, and the workshop's aging equipment was constantly breaking down.
Banner, with his seven Ph.D.s in STEM, had solved numerous equipment failures for the factory in just a few short months. This earned him the boss's adoration and his co-workers' resentment.
Not long after he started work today, the control switch for the production line's conveyor belt malfunctioned, spitting sparks. The boss hurried to call Banner over to fix it.
Banner skillfully disassembled the control box, and with a simple fix, the switch was working again.
Seeing this, the boss grinned from ear to ear. He loved having such a versatile—and cheap—employee.
The boss, all smiles, told Banner he wanted to hire him as a full-time employee. But Banner, uninterested in a promotion or raise, just silently reassembled the control box.
"Hss!"
Distracted, Banner accidentally cut his finger on a piece of metal. Two drops of blood fell from the second floor, landing on the bottling line below.
Banner was alarmed. He immediately yelled for the boss to shut down the line, then sprinted downstairs to find the blood.
His blood was toxic. If it got into a soda bottle and someone drank it, they would die from gamma poisoning.
He reached the line, pushed aside the empty glass bottles, and finally found the drop of blood.
Banner let out a small sigh of relief. He wiped the blood away with a rag and signaled for the boss to restart the line.
The clattering sound resumed as the empty bottles started moving again.
What Banner didn't notice, however, was that another drop of blood had, by sheer coincidence, landed on the rim of a bottle and was washed inside, mixing completely with the soda.
The destination for this batch of soda: The United States.
The long, dull workday finally ended. Banner dragged his weary body home.
After dinner, as usual, he got on his computer to contact his old friend: "Mr. Blue."
This "Mr. Blue" was a professor at a New York university and an expert in genetics. They had met on an online forum.
Banner had made a post, claiming a friend of his had a strange condition. He described the state of an episode and the changes in the blood cells in detail.
Mr. Blue was fascinated by the description, and their exchanges became more frequent.
Mr. Blue provided multiple treatment plans for Banner's friend. Banner tried them all, but every single one failed.
Banner sighed, messaging Mr. Blue: "Another failure!"
Mr. Blue, back in New York, was also frustrated. For the past six months, he had tried every protocol he could think of, all ending in failure.
Mr. Blue thought for a moment, then replied: "It's no use. I need to see your friend in person."
Banner shook his head and typed back: "My friend is out of the country. It's not convenient."
Mr. Blue: "Gamma radiation is extremely dangerous. If we can't meet, I must have a blood sample. Otherwise, I can't help him!"
Banner hesitated, then replied: "Alright. I'll have him mail it as soon as possible."
After ending the chat, Banner removed his shirt and used a syringe to draw some of his own blood.
He stored the blood in a glass vial, packed it carefully in foam and stored it, and took it to the local shipping office to mail to the address Mr. Blue had provided.
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
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