In the slums of Rio's Providência, Bruce Banner cautiously peeked out the window of the room he had rented. After confirming he wasn't being watched, he pulled up his hood and stepped outside, intending to explore the winding alleys of the hillside favela. Familiarizing himself with the terrain would help if he needed to flee, and maybe—just maybe—he'd find a place hiring.
What he didn't know was that every move he made was already under surveillance.
Two kilometers away, on a small hill, Blonsky was in a van, watching Banner through a high-powered scope.
Having studied Banner's file—and taken a beating from the Transformers—Blonsky wasn't about to get close to someone who could toss cars like baseballs. So after spending two days in Rio, he'd yet to make a move.
His observation paid off: while Banner was smart and cautious, he was still a scientist—not someone who understood how things worked in favelas. Here, as long as you had money, there were plenty of gray-area gangs willing to do whatever you asked.
When these gang members passed Banner on the street and stared him down, he didn't suspect surveillance. He simply assumed he'd wandered into gang territory and quickly walked away.
After a few such encounters, Banner unknowingly wandered into the area Blonsky wanted him to reach.
There, hanging on the wall of a dilapidated two-story building, was a hand-painted clinic sign. Below it, taped to the wall, was a help-wanted ad for medical staff.
In desperate need of work, Banner didn't think twice before walking in.
The clinic appeared empty. "Hello? Anyone here?" he called out, confused.
"Ju-just a moment," a woman's voice responded from upstairs.
Hearing a middle-aged woman's voice, Banner instinctively relaxed.
He glanced around the dusty reception area. The cracked walls were decorated with faded photos and aging medical equipment—things that further eased his nerves.
Thud, thud, thud. Heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs before a stocky woman, at least 200 pounds and clad in a white lab coat, appeared.
"Where does it hurt?" she asked flatly.
"N-no, ma'am," Banner explained quickly. "I saw the hiring ad outside."
"You're a doctor?" she asked with interest, but her expression soured as she took in his shabby clothes. "Got a license?"
"I, uh..." Banner hesitated. "Ma'am, I—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," she cut him off, waving a hand. "No ID? Then ten reais a day's all I can pay you."
"Ten?" Banner blinked. That was less than three U.S. dollars—barely enough to eat.
He knew after two days in the favela that such pay wouldn't even cover basic meals. Still, broke as he was, he nodded. The stingy offer made the situation seem all the more believable.
And so Banner began working at the clinic under the table, treating a handful of patients with minor issues—toothaches, stomach pain, the usual. Before he knew it, the morning had flown by.
At noon, the woman—who introduced herself as Carly—asked, "Want me to get you lunch? Three reais."
Stingy hag, Banner thought bitterly as his stomach let out a loud growl. "Alright. I hope it's enough to fill me up."
Soon, Carly returned with two plates.
Banner took his plate and immediately regretted expecting anything. Two slices of bread, a scoop of beans, a bit of mashed potato, and a drizzle of ketchup. Meanwhile, Carly's plate had the same items—plus a thick cut of roast meat.
Seeing Banner's expression, Carly rolled her eyes and said, "Sorry. You want meat, it's ten reais a meal."
Banner sighed and started eating.
Carly watched with satisfaction as he cleaned his plate, waiting for him to collapse.
But the entire afternoon passed, and Banner acted completely normal—bustling around the clinic like nothing happened.
Carly, however, was a seasoned operative. Even shocked that the drug—potent enough to knock out an elephant—had no effect, her expression and tone didn't give anything away.
At 8 p.m., she casually charged Banner another three reais for dinner, then handed him four reais and told him to clock out.
Meanwhile, two kilometers away, Blonsky was on the phone with Ross.
Upon hearing that Banner had shrugged off a sedative strong enough to drop an elephant, Ross felt a headache coming on.
If tranquilizers were useless, then a direct assault would be even worse. Should Banner transform into the Hulk and disappear into the rainforest, capturing him would become a nightmare.
And this was Rio—any civilian casualties would get Ross impeached faster than he could blink.
After thinking silently for a moment, Ross said, "He's working at a clinic, right? What if he's using the equipment to run tests on himself?
And didn't he come here looking for some kind of plant? Have someone build trust with him. Keep him steady. We'll look for another way to control him."
"Heh. Got it, sir," Blonsky replied.
Following orders, Carly received a series of calls the next day and went on house calls with a medical kit. Yet the clinic stayed empty all day.
On the third day, after another fruitless morning, Banner began to understand why Carly was so stingy. He glanced at the aging equipment in the clinic, fighting an inner struggle.
That afternoon, just as Carly returned and was cooking dinner, she took a mysterious call. Then she turned to Banner and asked, "You know how to perform surgery? Want to make some extra cash?"
Banner only needed a few seconds to figure it out: someone from the local gangs was probably injured and wanted a back-alley operation.
Without hesitation, he shook his head. "Never held a scalpel in my life."
"Idiot. No wonder you're broke and middle-aged."
After mocking him, Carly changed out of her lab coat, grabbed her kit, and left.
Before she walked out, she looked back and said, "I'm not coming back tonight. You stay here and make sure no one loots the place while I'm gone."
"Uh... sure. Alright."
Once she left, Banner's mind started racing. He hadn't checked his gamma radiation levels in over ten days.
The clinic was old, but it still had a working microscope.
After locking up for the night, Banner began drawing his own blood for testing.
Unbeknownst to him, every move he made was being recorded by a hidden camera in the clinic—its feed transmitted directly to Blonsky.
Grabbing his radio, Blonsky said, "Carly, your turn."
Bang bang bang! "Bruce! Open the door!"
Just as Banner prepared to examine the blood sample, Carly's frantic voice shouted from outside the clinic.
Caught off guard and feeling like a kid caught sneaking cookies, Banner quickly stashed the sample in a drawer and ran to open the door.
"What the hell were you doing in there?"
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