Breaking news shook Oscorp to its core.
A massive internal theft had occurred.
Core prototypes, priceless tech, even experimental blueprints—all gone, stolen right from under their noses.
Rumors spread like wildfire.
Some claimed they'd seen the culprit with their own eyes.
And the name that began circulating through the halls of Oscorp sent everyone into disbelief—
Obadiah Stane.
Former co-owner of Stark Industries.
Confirmed dead years ago.
Now apparently… walking again.
Within hours, theories ran rampant.
Some said Stane had faked his death and had been hiding in Oscorp all this time.
Others swore it was his vengeful spirit—bound to Stark Industries in life and death—now haunting Oscorp's halls to sabotage its rivals.
A few even claimed he was a corporeal ghost, hunting employees one by one.
And as if on cue, a certain Dr. Darren, Oscorp's newest recruit, mysteriously vanished the very same night.
Coincidence? Of course not.
But Darren was already miles away, lying comfortably on the couch of a stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. car, scrolling through the decrypted data he'd swiped.
When he transmitted the files to Nick Fury, the director's single eye twitched like a stormcloud.
"Ross," he growled through gritted teeth. "That old bastard's at it again. I knew he wouldn't let go of the super soldier project."
Then his tone sharpened.
"Agent Darren, new mission. Effective immediately."
He continued, low and urgent:
"Ross illegally breached our encrypted database. He's tracked Bruce Banner's location. You must reach him first. Under no circumstances can Banner fall into Ross's hands."
[NPC Nick Fury has issued a new mission]
[Mission: The Bruce Banner Defense]
[Objective: Prevent Bruce Banner from being captured by General Ross]
[Reward: +1500 EXP, +30 S.H.I.E.L.D. Reputation, Random Equipment ×1, Random Item ×1]
Darren sighed. "Banner's not a person anymore, he's a damn football. S.H.I.E.L.D. kicks him one way, the military kicks him back."
Then his tone turned incredulous.
"When did our S.H.I.E.L.D. security system turn into Hammer Industries 2.0?"
Fury's jaw clenched audibly. "The Security Council. They granted Ross special clearance!"
Ah, yes. The World Security Council.
That shadowy group of bureaucrats who could overrule even Fury himself.
International oversight, global balance, and a lifetime supply of idiocy.
Darren thumped his chest solemnly. "Director, say the word and I'll take care of those council clowns myself. We'll crown you top dog of the world, unite S.H.I.E.L.D. under one flag, march to the moon, and—"
"STOP! Stop, stop, stop!"
Fury nearly choked, his voice rising an octave.
"Agent Darren, I swear to God, if you finish that sentence—"
The man's single eye darted around nervously, as though the entire world government might be eavesdropping.
"Just—just do your job! And don't talk anymore!"
Click.
The line went dead.
...
That night, Harlem was alive with chaos.
Military trucks thundered down the streets, floodlights slicing through the darkness. Above, helicopters whirled like angry hornets, searchlights scouring every corner.
A squad of soldiers dismounted—led by a grim, square-jawed man with piano-player fingers and murder in his eyes.
General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross.
His men stormed an apartment complex with ruthless precision. Gunfire rattled the air.
Moments later, the sound of a sniper rifle cracked across the block—
PANG!
Glass shattered high above. Screams echoed.
And then—
They dragged out a beaten, bound Bruce Banner.
He was bruised, gagged, wrists tied so tight they'd turned white.
Behind the barricade, a woman burst forward, sobbing—
"Dad, please! Let him go!"
Betty Ross, Daughter of the General. Lover of the scientist.
Ross didn't even look at her.
"Bruce Banner is a fugitive. You should be grateful I'm not arresting you too."
There was no mercy in his eyes, only military obsession.
He'd spent eight years chasing Banner across the world—not for revenge, not for justice—
but for the monster inside him.
The Hulk.
Ross had devoted his life to recapturing that secret—rebuilding the Super Soldier serum, crafting a new generation of weapons.
And now, after all that time… Bruce had cured himself.
Injected the antidote.
Erased the Hulk.
To Ross, it wasn't a victory. It was blasphemy.
"You destroyed everything!" Ross roared, veins bulging. "If the Hulk's gone, you're finished! I'll make sure of it!"
But Bruce wasn't afraid.
For years, he'd lived terrified of the beast within him.
Afraid to get angry, to get close, to even love.
He turned his bruised face toward Betty, eyes full of sorrow and quiet peace.
"Betty… I don't regret what I did. My only regret… is breaking our promise. I never got to take you to Iceland—to see the Northern Lights."
Betty sobbed, shaking her head.
"It's okay, Bruce. I don't blame you. I—"
BANG!
A single gunshot cut through her words.
Bruce jerked violently, eyes going wide.
The bullet had struck him square in the forehead.
He collapsed instantly.
The soldiers froze. Ross spun around, shouting, "Who fired that shot!? WHO!?"
He was furious—more than anyone else there. Because deep down, he knew what that meant.
No Hulk. No sample. No project.
Eight years wasted.
Betty screamed, tears streaming down her face.
"BRUCE! NO!"
Her cry echoed through the night.
And then—
The impossible happened.
Bruce's body twitched. Then convulsed.
Then—his eyes snapped open, glowing green.
With a guttural growl, he shot upright—snapping the restraints like thread. His muscles swelled, his body expanding with crackling power. His torn clothes burst apart, leaving only a brand-new pair of bright green shorts.
And atop his head, a roaring blaze of flame ignited.
His voice boomed across the night, shaking windows for miles:
"Before I die… I MUST TAKE BETTY TO SEE THE NORTHERN LIGHTS IN ICELAND!!"
In one motion, he scooped Betty into his arms and took off like a rocket, tearing down the street faster than any vehicle could follow.
The soldiers stared after him, mouths hanging open. Even Ross—battle-hardened, unflinching Ross—just stood there, stunned.
All that remained was the echo of Bruce's vow, fading into the distance…and the lingering image of a green giant, head aflame, charging toward destiny with the woman he loved.