Suddenly, a harsh "whooshing" cut through the silence of the night, followed by the blinding glare of floodlights that turned darkness into daylight.
"Do not move! You are suspected of illegally crossing the U.S. border. Cooperate with the investigation!"
Anyone who stood still would've been a fool.
The group of undocumented immigrants—Lock among them—scattered like startled prey.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Gunfire erupted from above as the aircraft's mounted machine guns opened fire.
Screams filled the air. "Ah! Help!" Some were shot down instantly, their limbs torn apart by the massive bullets. Blood sprayed into the air, painting the dirt red. The brutal efficiency of the military-grade weapons left no illusions: they weren't aiming to capture.
Lock's instincts screamed. His skin crawled as he sprinted toward the tree line. Exposed in open terrain, they were nothing but easy targets. But the woods—dense and vast—offered a chance. A slim one, but real.
He was alone and not a priority target. Miraculously, no bullets clipped him. He dove into the forest's shadowed embrace just in time.
Behind the treeline stretched a mountainous forest range, hundreds of kilometers wide—too large and wild for helicopters to comb through completely. This was why smugglers picked this route.
Lock panted, heart hammering in his chest, hidden among the trees. The searchlight swept across the canopy above but found nothing. After a few tense minutes, the helicopters turned and disappeared into the horizon.
They wouldn't bother chasing down a single straggler. After all, hundreds of thousands crossed illegally each year—one man slipping through the cracks meant nothing.
It took days of evading patrols, rationing stolen food, and sleeping under bushes, but eventually, Lock emerged on the edge of a small border city inside the United States.
Finally, he was safe—for now.
He found an old diner with a television playing the morning news. A blonde anchor spoke with a tight smile: "A military incident took place last night on the campus of Culver University. Officials deny claims of a 'giant' sighting, calling them rumors. But two college sophomores say otherwise and recorded a video on their phones."
The scene cuts to footage of a torn-up campus lawn and damaged buildings. The two students appeared on camera, visibly shaken.
"He was huge. Green, like, really green. Three, four meters tall—no joke. The bullets did nothing! They bounced off like toys! He picked up an armored truck and tossed it like it was made of cardboard!"
The footage played, grainy and pixelated, but the shape was unmistakable: the Hulk, towering and monstrous, a force of rage and muscle.
Seconds later, the video disappeared from the screen.
When Lock tried refreshing the stream, it was already gone. Scrubbed from the web.
Early Marvel timeline, he noted mentally. The government was still trying to cover up the existence of supers.
This, Lock realized, was the Incredible Hulk arc—the pivotal incident at Culver University.
Bruce Banner had returned to visit Elizabeth. The military sprung a trap. Hulk responded, predictably, by smashing everything in sight.
If Betty hadn't been injured and unconscious during the chaos, and if the Hulk hadn't instinctively shielded her, Ross's men would've been annihilated.
It was still early days. The superhero wars hadn't begun yet.
Lock breathed easier. He still had time—time to plan, to act.
He needed one thing: Hulk's blood.
In this arc, Banner secretly sent a sample of his blood to a scientist in New York: Dr. Samuel Stern of Greyburn College. The man was brilliant, eccentric, and deeply illegal in his research. Using just a few drops, Stern refined and replicated the gamma-infused blood until his entire lab was filled with vials.
Eventually, the soldier Blonsky would arrive, inject himself with the samples, and transform into the grey behemoth known as the Abomination.
But that hadn't happened yet.
Lock intended to move before it did.
The United States was a land of cars. Without one, travel was nearly impossible. Lock had no money, no identification. He resorted to the old-school method: sticking out his thumb by the roadside.
Being Asian helped. People didn't see him as threatening, unlike how they'd react to someone Black or Hispanic. The racial bias worked in his favor. Most people saw Asians as studious and harmless.
He hitchhiked his way across half the country, catching rides and splitting gas when he could. From dusty border towns to neon-lit rest stops, he traveled through the heart of the United States.
His destination: New York City.
Specifically, Dr. Stern's lab.
Greyburn College had an open campus. Security was almost laughably minimal. Lock blended in with the students, locating the correct building after a few hours of sleuthing.
He approached the lab door and knocked.
Tuk-tuk-tuk.
The door opened. A middle-aged man with glasses peeked out.
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"I want to experiment with you," Lock said casually.
Dr. Stern blinked. "Ah, no. The graduate assistants are off for the day. Come back tomorrow."
Lock smiled and pushed the door open, raising a pistol from inside his jacket.
Stern froze. "Wait—don't! There's no money in here—this is a lab!"
"I'm not here for money," Lock said. "I'm here for Mr. Green's blood."
The words hit Stern like a shockwave. Mr. Green was Bruce Banner's codename. His alias was Mr. Blue. No one but the two of them knew those names.
"How... how do you know about that?" Stern asked, visibly shaken.
"Doesn't matter. What matters is I'm your new test subject. Inject me with it."
"No. Not. All the test animals died—exploded. You'd die. It's not ready."
"I'm aware of the risks."
"I'm serious! The gamma energy—your cells can't hold it. It'll shred you from the inside out!"
Lock said nothing. He calmly removed a small vial from his pocket—a recovery potion from his mysterious system inventory.
He placed it between his teeth like a capsule, then lay down on the lab bed.
"I'm ready. Use the strongest sample you have."
Dr. Stern looked horrified. "You… want all of it?"
"Yes."
"That's suicide!"
Lock didn't flinch. "Do it."
Defeated and terrified, Stern complied. He strapped down Lock's arms, legs, and neck with multiple IV lines. One by one, thick vials of dark green fluid were connected to the machine.
Lock's body tensed as the injection began. The concentrated gamma-rich blood surged into him.
He swelled rapidly, muscles bulging, veins glowing faintly green beneath his skin. It was like watching a balloon stretch near the point of bursting.
And still, the injection continued.
Dr. Stern looked away. God, don't let him die. Not here. Not like this...
Lock clenched his jaw. The pain was indescribable.
But he never screamed.
And just as his body was about to rupture—
The recovery potion kicked in.
A wave of stability flooded through his bloodstream. The searing pain dulled. The cells began adapting. The gamma radiation wasn't destroying him—it was being absorbed.
Stern stared at the monitor. "What... what are you?"
Lock's eyes slowly opened.
They glowed green.
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A/N: Please Leave A Comment Or Drop A Powerstone It'll mean alot to me...