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General Ross stood behind his desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the holographic display floating in front of him. Lines of data scrolled past—failed searches, dead ends, and radiation anomalies that led nowhere.
Until now.
The door to his office opened.
A uniformed officer stepped in, calm as he looked at Ross.
"Sir," he said, holding out a data file, "we've found a possible location of Bruce Banner."
Ross's focus snapped to him.
"…What?"
The officer moved closer and placed the file into Ross's hands.
"It's a cold-drink distribution shipment," he explained. "One of the bottles was contaminated with radiation—trace gamma radiation."
"The man who drank the cold drink is now in the hospital. From his autopsy, we found radiated DNA signatures matching Bruce Banner."
Ross looked through the file and nodded.
"It's really his."
He looked back at the officer.
"Where?" he demanded.
The officer tapped the display. A map zoomed in, locking onto a remote location.
"This is the factory where the cold drink was manufactured."
"Most likely, Bruce Banner is there—either working in the factory or he visited it briefly. During that time, he was injured, and his blood dropped into one of the bottles. That man then drank it and was radiation-poisoned."
Ross's lips curled into a thin smile.
"He slipped up."
He straightened.
"Gather your men. We're going there," he said.
The officer nodded and left the office.
Ross stared at the hovering map, eyes cold.
"Bruce Banner," he muttered. "This time, you won't be able to run."
****
The military aircraft flew through the clouds as the coastline of Brazil came into view.
Below, the city stretched out—beaches near the shore, dense buildings further in, and finally Rocinha Favela, a huge hillside area packed with concrete houses built close together.
Inside the aircraft, General Ross stood near the console, His eyes were fixed on the live satellite feed displayed in front of him.
"Target area confirmed," an operator reported. "Rocinha Favela, Rio de Janeiro. The factory is located in the middle of the area, surrounded by civilian buildings."
Ross frowned.
"He picked a crowded place," he said. "Smart. He thinks we won't act."
He turned toward the crew.
"Seal the perimeter. I want air surveillance, ground units, and thermal scans running at the same time."
"Yes, sir."
Several screens activated, showing heat signatures, building layouts, and drone footage moving through narrow streets and rooftops.
Another officer spoke.
"Sir, local authorities have been informed. They'll stay out of the operation."
"Good," Ross replied. "Fewer complications."
The aircraft lowered its altitude as it approached the outskirts of the favela.
Ross focused on the image of the factory. It looked old and ordinary, blending in with the surrounding buildings.
"Send the men in," Ross ordered. "Get the factory manager or owner. Find out where Bruce Banner is living."
"Yes, sir," the officer replied.
The teams moved in immediately. Soldiers entered the factory, securing the area and locating the owner. Under pressure, the man quickly gave up the information.
"He lives in an apartment nearby," the officer reported. "Building 03."
Ross nodded.
"Then that's our next stop. Move in."
The order was relayed at once.
Ground units advanced through the narrow streets, spreading out around Building 03. Drones hovered above, locking onto the structure as thermal scanners swept each floor.
"Surround the building," Ross commanded.
The soldiers took their positions, weapons raised, eyes fixed on the windows.
Several units began moving inside the building. Leading them was Emil Blonsky, the special operations soldier loaned directly to Ross—chosen specifically to capture Bruce Banner and study the source of the super-soldier–level strength in his body, whether it was the Hulk serum or something beyond it.
Inside the building Bruce saw them coming from the window as he cursed "shit how did they found me?"
Without hesitation, Banner moved.
He smashed through a window and leapt outside just as soldiers burst into the room. Gunfire followed, bullets tearing through the air where he had been seconds earlier.
Banner landed hard, rolled, and sprinted across the narrow rooftops. Shouts erupted behind him.
"He's moving!"
Banner jumped into a neighboring room through an open window, barely slowing down. From there, he leapt again—back toward the factory.
I need time, he thought. I can't change here.
He forced himself to stay calm, breathing hard as he slipped back into the factory he was working while he hid here.
But it was already too late.
Drones spotted him immediately.
"Target reacquired," a voice reported.
Ross watched the live feed and gave the order.
"He's heading back to the factory. All units, converge."
Emil watched the screen and nodded.
"I have to say," he remarked, "he looks weak compared to the force we've brought."
"Don't underestimate him," Ross warned. "He can turn into a big green monster we call the Hulk. He has super strength and rapid healing. Bullets and missiles don't work on him."
Another soldier glanced at Emil.
"Why are you even here? Didn't you check the briefing before taking this job?"
Emil smirked.
"Monster or man—if it bleeds, I can beat it," he said confidently.
"I hope so," another soldier muttered as they advanced deeper into the factory.
"There!" one of them shouted.
They opened fire.
Tranquilizer rounds streaked toward Bruce Banner as he climbed a ladder. He barely dodged, stumbling as he ran across the platform.
"Encircle him!" Emil ordered.
The soldiers moved, spreading out and cutting off exits.
Another volley hit Bruce—one dart, then another. His steps faltered.
"Got him," someone said.
Bruce collapsed to his knees, gasping.
But then—
His breathing changed.
His body shook violently as his muscles began to swell. The darts snapped and bent as his skin thickened. A deep, furious roar echoed through the factory.
The Hulk emerged.
Many screamed as the Hulk smashed through equipment, throwing men aside like dolls. Walls cracked, machines shattered, and panic erupted across the comms.
"He's transforming!" a soldier yelled.
The Hulk leapt, crashing through the side of the factory and landing outside with a thunderous impact. In a single bound, he disappeared into the distance.
Emil watched him go, eyes narrowed.
"…We're going to need stronger sedatives," he muttered.
He glanced at the discarded darts, all crushed or snapped in half.
"Because whatever we just used," Emil added
"didn't even slow him down."